Chapter 9

Monday hit like a slap to the side of the head.

There's something about fluorescent lights at 8:00 a.m. that makes the world feel too sharp - like someone turned the saturation up on all the things I'd rather blur. Everyone was louder than they needed to be. More awake than made sense. Chattering about exam dates, weekend drinks, campus events. Voices like gravel in my ears.

I pulled my hoodie low and shoved my hands in my pockets. Earbuds in, no music. Just enough to mute the edges of things. It was easier that way - pretending I wasn't part of the same hallway, the same school, the same city. I could move through it like a ghost.

Still, I felt them.

The eyes.

Not many. Just enough to prick the back of my neck when I passed. A few scattered whispers that stopped the second I got close. That fight hadn't stayed in the ring. Someone had recorded it - of course they had - and by now it was passed around, edited, memed, commented on. Everyone wanted to be the first to say something that sounded cool. Or cruel.

I kept walking. Kept breathing. One foot in front of the other. That was the whole strategy.

I was almost at the vending machines by the library when someone called out-

"Hey. Nakamura, right?"

I stopped. Slowly.

Turned.

The guy was thin, awkward posture, arms full of books. Jacket too big for his frame. The kind of person most people walk past without noticing. I probably had.

"I'm Minato," he said, shifting his grip on the stack. "We are in Political Theory lecture together. You probably don't know me."

He smiled, half-hopeful. Waiting to be dismissed.

I thought about saying I didn't know him.

But then I saw the way he kept glancing down, like he was already bracing to be ignored.

"I recognise you," I said.

He brightened. Not much. Just a flicker. But it was enough to make me regret how many people I hadn't noticed before.

"I saw the fight," he said. "Well - part of it. Someone sent me a clip, and then I found the whole video. You were... focused. Calm."

Focused. That was one way to put it.

"Thanks," I said, though it didn't come out warm. Just automatic. Like I was still waiting for the catch.

He scratched the back of his head. "Most people don't stay calm in situations like that. I get flustered ordering coffee."

Still waiting for the joke. The punchline.

It didn't come.

"I just thought," he said, "you seemed like someone worth talking to."

My throat tightened around nothing. No words. Just the dry shock of someone being sincere.

"Okay," I said.

It wasn't profound. But it felt like something cracked open.

A little.

Later, after class, I found myself walking toward the usual tree out near the back quad. I didn't mean to. My legs just took me there. The sky was grey again - bare branches etched across it like veins.

Tanaka was already there.

He tossed me a bottle of tea without a word. I caught it on reflex.

"Didn't think I'd see you back so soon," he said.

"You thought I'd disappear?"

"I thought you'd pretend none of it happened."

I sat beside him. The bench was cold, and the wind bit through my sleeves.

"You left right after the match," he said.

We sat in silence for a minute. Long enough to hear the distant clatter of the cafeteria's loading bay, some bird overhead calling once and then disappearing.

"You made an impression," he said eventually.

"I wasn't trying to."

"That's why it worked."

I gave him a sideways look. "You talk like you're writing a documentary script."

He smirked. "I've been thinking of doing audio essays. Real earnest stuff. 'The quiet rage of a boy who can't breathe.'"

I snorted. "Sounds pretentious."

"Exactly," he said. "It'll win awards."

I let the quiet settle again.

Then, without meaning to, I asked, "Why do you even bother with me?"

Tanaka didn't blink. Didn't fumble.

"Because you're real," he said. "Everyone else acts like they're in a commercial. You just… show up. No filters. No fake smiles."

I didn't have a response for that. Not one I could say out loud.

That night, I checked my phone before bed.

A message from Sae.

You're not as invisible as you think. Want to walk?

I stared at it longer than I should've.

Then I replied:

Okay.

We met near the canal path. Same place we used to sneak off to after the lectures. She had on her usual oversized jacket, hair tied back with one of those elastic cords she wore on her wrist like a bracelet. She didn't smile. I didn't either.

Didn't need to.

We walked in silence for a while. The gravel crunched under our shoes.

Then she said, "You look different."

"Is that a good thing?"

"It's a thing," she said. "You're… lighter. Not relaxed, but less clenched."

I shrugged.

She looked at me. "Do you still feel like punching people?"

The question made me pause.

"I don't know," I said. "I think I was bracing for something. A hit that never came. Now I'm just… tired."

She nodded like that made perfect sense.

"You're allowed to rest, you know."

"Doesn't feel like I am."

She bumped my shoulder lightly. "I'm giving you permission. There. Now it's official."

We didn't talk much after that. Just walked. It was better that way. Simpler. Like silence was a language we both remembered how to speak.

After my last lecture, I stayed behind to help the professor gather some handouts. It wasn't a big deal. I just didn't feel like walking out with everyone else.

The classroom emptied. I moved slow. My bag felt heavier than usual. When I finally stepped outside, the sky was already bruising toward evening.

I crossed the front quad and was halfway to the station when someone said my name.

"Kenji."

I stopped.

No one called me that here.

Not even Tanaka.

I turned, and there he was - standing just past the gate.

Shun.

Same stance. Same stare. Black windbreaker zipped up to his jaw. A duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

He hadn't changed. Or maybe he had and I just didn't want to admit it.

I didn't move.

Neither did he.

Then, after a moment, he crossed the street.

"I need to talk to you," he said.

"I'm busy."

"It's important. I wouldn't be here otherwise."

Something about his voice told me he wasn't bluffing.

I exhaled slowly. "Five minutes."

We sat on a bench near the east path. People passed by, none of them paying attention.

He didn't waste time.

"I came from home. Thought you should hear it from me."

I braced.

"Dad had a heart attack. Yesterday morning. He's stable, but it's serious. He's not speaking much. Right side's weak."

I looked straight ahead. Counted the cracks in the sidewalk.

"Mom's not handling it well. Not that she'd ever admit that."

"She didn't call me."

"I know. I think they… didn't know how. Or didn't think you'd care."

I let out a dry, bitter laugh. "They had no problem calling when they wanted to remind me what a disappointment I was."

"Kenji-"

"No," I said. "You don't get to come here and act like this is some kind of reunion special. You know what it was like."

He didn't deny it.

"I'm not asking you to forgive them," he said quietly. "I just thought… you'd want to know. In case."

"In case what?"

"In case you want to say something before it's too late."

I looked at him.

Really looked.

He wasn't trying to guilt me. Not really. He was tired, and worried, and older than I remembered.

"I'll think about it," I said.

He nodded. "I'm in the city for a few days."

Then he got up and left.

Didn't ask for anything.

Didn't say goodbye.

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, chest tight - not from asthma, but something older, deeper.

I saw you win. But I also saw you almost break.

Yeah.

I'm still breaking.

But I'm still here.

And that has to count for something.