Morning, or something like it.
The curtains didn’t really keep time anymore; the gray light that slipped through them was the same at dawn as at dusk.
The air was dense with heat and human scent. She peeled herself out of the mattress, and her joints creaked like old wood. Her shirt clung to her back with night-sweat, and when she straightened, the chill made her shiver hard enough that her teeth clicked.
Her face was colorless except for the red marks she’d scratched into her arms earlier.
She touched them lightly, then turned away.
The first part of her routine was always the same.
Three steps to the corner shrine, bow once, kneel.
After that, she stepped out to the living room. The small sports bag sat open before her, its mouth swallowing light.
Inside: gloves, duct tape, bottles of clear liquid clinking faintly. A folded jumpsuit. Cheap black boots. A handful of syringes, their needles capped, lined up like tiny silver spears. All ready.
A familiar pressure began to coil inside her chest — that hollow ache that felt like the inside of her ribs were eating themselves.
She froze, fingers twitching above the zipper.
No mark.
She could still recall the conversation: the butterfly-shaped bruise on Shu’s body, the matching marks on Madoka, Yae, Takaishi, Sayaka.
Threads connecting them.
Threads that did not include her.
A strangled noise escaped her throat — half laugh, half sob.
Her hands shot to her arms, nails digging until they broke the skin.
Little crescents blossomed red against the pallor.
The pain didn’t help. It never did.
She scratched harder anyway, breath hitching in short, animal bursts.
She whispered, hoarse:
“Why not me?”
The hiss of the fluorescent bulb answered.
She rose to her feet in a shuddering lurch, pacing the narrow line between shrine and kitchen, her bare soles sticking faintly to the floor.
Her pulse thundered in her ears, then dropped into that awful, low silence — the one where she could hear herself think too clearly.
You’re unworthy.
He knows it.
They all know it.
Her nails raked across her neck this time, thin white lines rising in their wake.
She slammed her forehead against a corner, hard enough for the plaster to flake.
Once.
Twice.
The third impact left a faint smear of blood where her skin split.
The ringing in her head blurred into the hallway recording.
“Good morning.”
“Thank you.”
“Good morning.”
“Thank you.”
She mouthed along between ragged breaths.
Each repetition steadied her pulse, a metronome dragging her back from the edge.
Her hands dropped to her sides.
She stayed like that for a long moment, head bowed, shoulders trembling, until the sting on her skin cooled and the room stopped tilting.
Then, very slowly, she smiled.
Because beneath the panic, under the self-loathing, she remembered that despite not having a mark, she could feel Shu's. Proof that there was an actual link between them, however one sided.
The ache in her chest reversed, twisting into something bright and nauseatingly sweet.
She laughed once, a wet sound, half-sobbing.
Then she pressed her hands flat against her sternum, whispering through her teeth:
"Thank you."
Relief shivered through her, dizzying. The pain on her arms turned into proof of existence; the smell of the apartment into incense.
She wiped her face with the back of her wrist, smearing tears and sweat into a single film of salt.
Calm returned by degrees.
Her breathing leveled.
The madness folded neatly back into ritual.
Ai knelt again before the half-packed bag, smoothing each item as if it were silk.
She wiped the blood from the duct-tape roll, straightened the syringes into a line, retied the gloves with a bow of twine, then he finally zipped the bag shut.
She sat back on her heels and looked toward the shrine.
The paper effigy of Shu stared back, the crooked smile shimmering in the flicker of the dying bulb.
“I’m ready now,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for doubting.”
She had lots of things to do today, and tonight, so this was one of the rare times when Ai would have breakfast.
The kitchen barely deserved the name.
A single flickering bulb swung above a counter that looked more like a dumpster than a place to cook. Rust laced the sink; the air carried the sour, metallic tang of old water. Everything was wrong in degrees too small to measure, and framed by the mold blooming in the corners and over dirty dishes and containers.
She had been preparing for this moment all month.
The refrigerator door whined open, shedding its small square of blue light. Inside lay her meal, wrapped neatly in plastic film: two misshapen onigiri, triangles collapsing at the corners, wrapped with slivers of seaweed that had gone almost gray.
She unwrapped them carefully, setting them on a chipped plate.
Her own creation. Made from leftover rice grains salvaged from Shu's trash.
Each grain of rice had been chosen by hand. She remembered that part vividly: crouching over the small plastic bag day after day, picking the grains one by one. It had taken hours. She hadn’t minded.
She lifted the first onigiri with both hands, as though it were fragile glass. The smell was faint: salt, iron, dust. She bit in.
The texture was rough; the rice was uneven, some grains hard, some soft. But the moment it touched her tongue her eyes fluttered shut. The warmth in her stomach wasn’t hunger, it was recognition. Something inside her uncoiled, stretching, sighing. The cheap salt and vinegar stung her throat; tears sprang up without warning.
She forced herself to chew slowly, savoring every swallow. Each bite was a litany: He was here. He touched this world. I am part of that touch.
The room tilted.
Her vision fuzzed at the edges. A hum filled her skull, low and warm, like the sound of blood inside the ears.
“Perfect…” she breathed. “It’s perfect.”
Her eyes rolled back as she devoured the onigiri, drool and rice grains dribbling down her chin, which she then picked again and consumed as to not waste a bit. Her entire body quivered with rapture as she savored each bite, her hands shaking violently. The ecstasy was so intense that she almost choked, yet she couldn't stop stuffing her face.
"O-oh god... s-so... divine..." She mumbled between mouthfuls, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her heart was pounding against her chest, and her breathing became rapid and shallow.
Suddenly, she remembered something and rushed over to the shrine. She grabbed a small vial filled with what appeared to be dried sweat from one of her beloved's old shirts. With shaking hands, she sprinkled a few grains into her mouth, moaning loudly as she chews.
She stumbled back, her legs weakening, and collapsed onto the floor. Her eyes were unfocused, and her body was covered in a sheen of sweat.*
It wasn’t about the taste (although it tasted amazing). It was about connection.
The thought that this, somehow, brought her closer to him. That by consuming even the faintest trace of his world, she was part of it again.
She lingered in that vertigo, waiting for the afterglow to fade. When it did, she rose, washed her hands, and began to dress for the day.
In the bathroom, Ai stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror, disgust twisting her features. She hated every inch of her body.
"Why do I have to be this way? Why can't I be perfect for him?" She sobbed, pounding a fist against the wall. The pain radiated through her knuckles but did nothing to quell the self-loathing churning inside.
Her hair hung limply around her face, greasy and unwashed. She couldn't even bear to look at herself anymore. Her face contorted with pain and frustration as she wrestled with the tight chest binder.
It was nearly impossible to fasten. She tugged and pulled, sweat beading on her forehead, but the binder refused to cooperate.
"No... no, please..."
She whimpered, tears streaming down her face. The elastic dug into her soft flesh, cutting off circulation and making it hard to breathe. But Ai welcomed the discomfort - anything was better than having these cursed udders that made her look like a slut.
With a final grunt of effort, she managed to cinch the binder closed. It felt like a vice around her ribcage, squeezing out all the air in her lungs. Ai gasped for breath as she stumbled over to the mirror again.
"There... I look almost human now..."
She mumbled bitterly at her reflection. The binder flattened out some of her curves but couldn't completely hide them. She still looked like a whore in heat compared to his divine perfection.
Her hands still shook as she buttoned up the white sailor top of her uniform.
She whimpered, tugging the hem down in a futile attempt to conceal herself. But it was no use in her eyes.
Next came the pleated blue skirt. Ai remembered genuinely liking this type of skirts when she had entered middle school. Now she felt dirty and exposed just wearing it.
With shaking hands, she pulled on a pair of black tights and slipped into some worn-out sneakers.
With trembling fingers, Ai packed her bag with meticulous care - notebooks and pens for school, "snacks" and water bottles for sustenance during long hours of stalking. And then there were the special items hidden in secret compartments: syringes filled with his holy sweat and tears, rolls of clear tape to lift prints from doorknobs and water bottles, a magnifying glass to study his discarded tissues.
Each item was a sacred relic to Ai, imbued with the essence of her beloved. She revered them like religious artifacts, running her fingers over the smooth plastic and worn paper with reverent awe. To touch these things was to touch him in some small way.
While she waited near Shu's place Ai took out a journal.
She flipped to today’s page, writing her observations
He would leave his apartment at 7:14.
She would follow at 7:18, keeping to the opposite side of the street.
At 7:27 they’d reach the corner with the vending machines, where he always stopped to buy a drink. That was where she could get close enough to breathe the same air without being noticed.
And so, like every other day Ai trailed behind Shu at a discreet distance, her eyes glued to his back as he walked. She memorized every detail - the way his uniform fit snugly over broad shoulders, the precise length of his hair, the confident set of his jaw. To Ai, he was perfect in every way.
As they neared the academy gates, Shu stopped to help an elderly woman struggling with her shopping bags. Ai watched enraptured as he loaded them into a taxi for her with gentle courtesy. Her heart swelled with adoration - he was so kind and selfless!
Shu accepted a juice box from the old woman and finished it in a single long sip before tossing it into a trash bin. Ai's breath caught in her throat as she lunged forward to snatch up the discarded container before anyone else could touch it.
The straw was still wet with Shu's saliva and Ai brought it to her lips with trembling fingers. She sucked on it greedily, savoring the faint taste of him mingled with artificial fruit flavors. It was like ambrosia on her tongue.
She chewed on the straw until it broke between her teeth, then tucked the box away in her bag for later.
Straightening up, Ai smoothed down her disheveled uniform and tried to compose herself before slipping into the school behind Shu.
The day was like any other so far.
Ai sat slumped over her desk, eyes glazed and unfocused as the teacher droned on at the front of the classroom. Her hand moved mechanically, scrawling Shu's name over and over again in her notebook until the pages were filled with a chaotic tangle of letters.
She barely registered the other students' snickering glances or whispered comments about her strange behavior. Ai existed in a world of her own making, where only Shu mattered - his face, his voice, his touch. Everything else was just noise.
When the bell rang signaling lunch break, Ai leapt to her feet and rushed out into the hallway.
Ai waited near the the door to Shu's classroom, tape at the ready as students began filing in. When Shu appeared at last, Ai held her breath and extended a shaky hand towards him...
He brushed past without noticing her presence and Ai exhaled shakily. She hurried forward and pressed the tape firmly against one of his prints on the doorknob, then peeled it off with trembling fingers. The faint impression of his skin adhered to the tape and Ai brought it to her lips, kissing it reverently.
She tucked the precious memento away in her pocket and slipped into the classroom after him, head down. No one paid her any mind as she slid into a seat far from Shu's group of friends. Ai spent the rest of class dissociating while she rubbed his fingerprint between her fingertips under the desk...
Ai dragged her feet as she approached the changing room, dreading what lay ahead. Physical Education was always a trial for her - not only did it mean exerting herself and sweating in front of others, but it also meant being forced to wear revealing sports clothing that made her feel even more self-conscious about her body. So far she had managed to skip it.
She changed into the mandatory shorts and t-shirt with shaking hands, trying not to look at her reflection in the mirror. The outfit clung to every curve, and Ai felt a wave of nausea rise up inside her.
Pushing down these thoughts with great effort, Ai stepped out.
On the walk from the gate to the changing-room wing, Ai’s focus had been simple, stay invisible, keep breathing, don’t get caught staring at him.
But the moment she stepped onto the track, her plan fell apart.
Madoka Onguuchi spotted her first.
“Ah—Suishi-san, right? Hey!”
Her voice was warm, easy, the kind of friendliness that sounded like it had never once been forced. She jogged over, sunlight shining on her hair and the edge of her smile, the white of her PE shirt knotted up into a short top that exposed her midriff. Confidence in female form.
Ai’s first reaction was purely physical—her throat locked.
She managed a sound halfway between a cough and a word. “M-Madoka… Onguuchi-san.”
“Just Madoka’s fine,” the other girl laughed. “You’re joining us for training today, right? That’s awesome. I was worried you'd try to skip again.”
Ai nodded too fast. “Y-yeah. T-training.”
Up close, the difference between them was cruel.
Madoka’s uniform fit like it had been made for her, loose enough to move, tight enough to outline a lifeform that was comfortable in her own skin.
Ai’s hung unevenly: the bandages around her chest pulling the fabric in strange directions, the jacket zipped too high.
Standing next to Madoka made her feel like she was made of too much matter, too tall, too heavy, a silhouette drawn with the wrong proportions.
Madoka kept talking, all easy rhythm. “Glad you came. Shu was so happy you were feeling better after the other day. He—”
The sound of his name was a pin through Ai’s skull. Her stomach twisted, and she realized she’d been clutching her sleeve with both hands, the fabric digging into her palms.
She forced a smile that felt brittle on her face. “R-really?”
“Yeah! He said—well, you know how he is. Always worried about everyone.”
Madoka grinned again, oblivious to the way Ai’s knuckles whitened.
Inside, Ai was cataloguing everything about her: the curve of her posture, the gloss of her hair, the way her laugh carried.
Madoka was everything Ai wasn’t—and worse, everything he might admire.
Popular. Charming. Bright.
A part of Ai’s mind whispered, Of course he talks to her. Of course she gets to stand in the same light.
She wanted to step back, to fade into the background where the air didn’t feel like static. Instead, she stood there, smiling the wrong smile, her tongue heavy in her mouth.
Madoka clapped her hands together, that easy, sunny smile flashing.
“Alright, Ai-chan! Before we start jogging, you gotta loosen up first! You don’t wanna tear something, right?”
Madoka’s voice was effortlessly cheerful, but Ai heard it like a siren in her head.
She nodded anyway, mumbling, “O-of course.”
Madoka moved into a stretch, folding herself forward in a clean, practiced motion. “Like this! Hold for ten seconds—breathe in, breathe out…”
Ai copied her, awkwardly. Her back bent too stiffly, her legs trembling from tension rather than effort. She wasn’t unfit — far from it — but the simple act of stretching in front of people made her throat close.
Madoka straightened and turned to help her, crouching slightly to adjust Ai’s stance.
“No, like this — you’ll hurt your lower back if you lock your knees.”
Her hands brushed Ai’s arm lightly as she guided it.
That touch, casual and harmless, made Ai’s skin crawl.
She flinched before she could stop herself, jerking slightly away. “I-I’m fine! I can do it!”
Madoka blinked, then smiled with faint concern. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you. You okay?”
Ai nodded too quickly. “Yes. I’m fine.”
Madoka hesitated for a second, then let it drop, stepping back to give her space.
“Okay, okay. Just take it slow. You’ll warm up in no time. After you're done, you can join me for a jog!”
“I—I’m l-looking forward to it,” she stammered.
“Same here,” Madoka said cheerfully, clapping her on the shoulder before trotting off to join the others. “See you out there!”
The touch left a ghost of warmth through Ai’s clothes. She stared at the handprint like it was a burn.
Ai stayed quiet, stretching in silence. Her arms rose above her head, the fabric of her shirt tugging slightly, revealing the faint band of white cloth pressed tight against her ribs, her bindings. She pulled her arms down fast, heart hammering, praying no one noticed.
Her reflection caught faintly in the glass of a nearby storage shed, pale skin, hair hiding her face, shoulders tense. She looked like she didn’t belong there at all.
Then, very quietly, she whispered to herself:
“She talks too much.”
Then, as if by divine intervention, Kaoru arrived. Shirt perfectly pressed, hair tucked neatly behind her ear, glasses reflecting the sky so no one could tell where she was looking
Kaoru’s mouth lifted just enough to pass for a smile. “You said ten o’clock. It’s half past ten.”
Madoka only laughed from afar. “You and your timing. Come on, Kao-Kao, cut her some slack.”
Ai’s shoulders twitched at the nickname. Kao-Kao. It sounded soft, familiar, everything Ai’s voice could never be.
She watched Kaoru cross the field toward them, her steps soundless on the loose gravel.
Kaoru’s eyes flicked briefly toward Ai, a silent check-in. She didn’t say anything, but Ai could feel it: the subtle scrutiny, the kind that came from someone who knew her true self, at least more than the others. Kaoru had seen a bit of her before; she was here for that reason, no matter how politely it was phrased.
Then the gyaru menace came back, unexpectedly, which made Ai tense up so much her whole body hurt.
Madoka leaned her elbows on her knees, all cheer and warmth. “I forgot to tell you. So, quick rundown! The others are scattered around—Ran’s with Měi and Takaishi doing strength drills, Sayaka’s making Yae do stretches that look like torture, and Shu’s... Well you'll see when he comes by again. He said you should take it easy today, Suishi-san.”
Ai blinked, startled out of her spiral. “M-me?”
“Yup! He said you should just get a feel for the track again, maybe some light jogging and warm-ups. His exact words were ‘no heroics, no collapsing.’” Madoka grinned, clearly finding it adorable.
Ai’s throat tightened. He thought about me.
Even a warning felt like a blessing.
Kaoru stepped closer. “That’s reasonable. After missing classes, it’s better to build rhythm first.” Her tone was neutral, professional almost, but her gaze lingered on Ai’s face, as if measuring her pulse through her expression.
Ai nodded too quickly. “O-of course. I’ll… start slow.”
Madoka stretched, hair catching the sunlight like fire. “We’ll do it together then! A few laps, nothing crazy.”
The words together and laps tangled in Ai’s mind—equal parts comfort and threat.
When Madoka jogged ahead toward the lane, Ai followed, Kaoru trailing just far enough behind to watch without intruding.
The track was rough, stones crunching underfoot, but every step Ai took seemed to shake loose some of the stiffness in her chest.
Madoka glanced back once, flashing her that same easy smile. “See? Not so bad!”
Ai tried to smile back. It came out thin, crooked. “N-not bad.”
She could feel Kaoru’s gaze at her back, like a tether keeping her from spinning out.
And even through the noise of her own heartbeat, she could still sense him somewhere on the field—his voice carrying across the wind, the axis of her tiny universe.
“Oh—there they are,” Madoka said suddenly, slowing her jog. She shaded her eyes with one hand, looking toward the far end of the field.
Ai followed her gaze, heartbeat climbing in her throat before she even saw him.
Across the cracked lanes, beyond the long grass and the broken hurdles, Shu was running. Not jogging, not sprinting—running like he meant to pull the whole world behind him.
A thick rope circled his waist, taut and shaking with each stride. At the other end, a massive truck tire lurched and skidded across the dirt, coughing up clouds of dust.
And standing on top of it, legs braced, one hand gripping the rope like a captain at sea, was Momo.
“Faster, Shujinkō!” she barked, voice echoing across the track. “Put your back into it! You call that effort!?”
Shu gasped out a laugh between breaths. “This… was… your idea!”
“Damn right it was! Don’t slow down now!”
Madoka grinned, shaking her head. “I told you she got that idea from a manga. The old-school kind, where everyone trains by dragging heavy stuff uphill or fighting bears.”
Kaoru, beside them, muttered, “I doubt it's very effective.”
Ai didn’t hear either of them.
The sight had swallowed her whole.
The rhythm of his motion, the curve of his shoulders under the sun, the way the light caught the sweat on his neck it all burned itself into her retinas. Each step he took felt like it landed inside her chest.
She could almost feel the pull of the rope in her own ribs.
Madoka elbowed her lightly, oblivious. “Pretty intense, huh? He really meant it when he said he wanted to get stronger.”
Ai blinked, forcing air back into her lungs. “Y-yeah…”
She hadn’t realized her hands were trembling until Kaoru quietly placed a bottle of water into them. “Stay hydrated,” Kaoru said evenly, eyes flicking toward her face in quiet warning.
Ai nodded, clutching the bottle too tightly. The plastic crinkled in her grip.
Out on the track, Shu stumbled once, caught himself, then broke into laughter—pure, breathless, unguarded laughter that carried all the way across the field.
Momo threw her arms up. “That’s more like it!”
The afternoon sun had turned the track’s surface into a shimmer of heat. They kept a steady rhythm—Madoka leading, Ai pacing a few strides behind, with Kaoru just to the side.
Madoka spoke over the sound of their sneakers scuffing the dirt. “See? This isn’t so bad once you get into it. Next time we’ll try stretches or maybe weights.”
Ai nodded, though she wasn’t really listening.
Then her expression changed. A flicker—half panic, half decision. She slowed, clutching at her side.
“I-I’m sorry,” she blurted. “Bathroom.”
Madoka glanced back, wiping sweat from her forehead. “Oh, sure! Go ahead—we’ll keep the pace slow till you get back.”
Ai bowed slightly, too fast, and broke away toward the old school building.
Kaoru kept jogging beside Madoka for another lap, her mind already piecing together what that sudden retreat really meant.
After a few minutes, she exhaled through her nose. “Wait a second, I’ll catch up.”
Madoka blinked. “Eh? Kao-Kao, you good?”
Kaoru’s voice was even. “Just need some air.”
She peeled off from the track, walking at first, then moving faster once she passed the storage shed.
The girls’ bathroom inside the disused wing was silent. No echo of running water, no movement, only the faint buzz of a single fluorescent tube.
She didn’t need to guess where Ai had gone.
Kaoru stood before the cracked sign that read “BOYS’ CHANGING ROOM.”
Her expression didn’t move, but her left eye twitched once behind her round glasses.
This was absurd. Even for her.
She glanced both ways down the hall—empty. The muffled sound of students echoed faintly from the far side of the gym, and the air here carried the smell of dust and old liniment.
“Of course,” she muttered. “Of course she’d pick here.”
The idea of doning her costume came to her mind. She actually considered it, if only because the idea of sneaking into the boys’ room felt like breaching a military compound. But the thought of explaining that outfit, in that place if someone walked in made her jaw tighten.
“…No.”
She pushed the door open.
The hinges gave a soft, traitorous creak. Inside, the air was warm. Rows of metal lockers stretched ahead, their paint flaking.
Kaoru stepped in carefully, shoes silent against the floor. She took in every detail automatically—the half-open lockers, a towel left hanging, a bag of sports tape, someone’s forgotten water bottle.
And then she saw movement.
At the far end, kneeling before a half-open locker, was Ai.
Kaoru froze.
Ai’s hair fell in a curtain around her face, her entire body trembling as she clutched a small bundle of fabric in both hands.
Kaoru’s heart sank.
She didn’t even have to get closer to know.
Ai held the underwear to her chest like a precious treasure, already imagining how good it would feel against her skin. She couldn't wait to get back to her shrine and worship this new holy relic properly.
“Ai,” she said, quietly but firmly.
The reaction was immediate. Ai jerked like she’d been shot, the bundle clutched to her chest.
Kaoru stepped closer, keeping her tone flat. “You’re in the boys’ changing room.”
“I—It’s not— I was just—” Ai’s words tangled, collapsing in on themselves. She backed up until her shoulder hit a locker. The sound of metal rattled, sharp and guilty.
Kaoru stopped a few paces away. “Is that his?”
Ai couldn’t answer. Her eyes darted everywhere but at her, cheeks burning crimson. The trembling in her hands made the fabric shake too, like it was alive.
Kaoru sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You realize if someone else walked in—”
“I had to,” Ai blurted out suddenly. Her voice cracked like glass. “You don’t understand, I had to! He was probably going to wash it—his scent, it would— it would fade—”
The silence that followed was awful and seemed to stretch forever.
Kaoru exhaled slowly. “You’re unbelievable.”
Ai flinched. “I—I know. I know it’s disgusting.”
“I didn’t say that,” Kaoru replied, voice still level. “I said unbelievable.”
She crouched slightly, meeting Ai’s eyes over the edge of her glasses. “You’re lucky it was me who found you. If Madoka or, god forbid, Yae walked in—”
Ai’s breath hitched again.
Ai was still crouched in front of the open locker, hands trembling, face half-hidden behind the curtain of her black hair. The trembling wasn’t fear this time, it was a kind of feverish conviction, a desperate sincerity that made Kaoru’s stomach twist.
Kaoru spoke slowly. “Put it back.”
Ai didn’t move. Her voice came small, high, nervous—but disturbingly earnest. “I’m not stealing it.”
Kaoru blinked. “…Excuse me?”
Ai lifted her head, eyes wide, glistening, and there was a strange calm beneath the panic. “It’s not stealing. I brought one—an exact one—” She fumbled with her bag and pulled out a folded, pristine pair of boxers, the same color, same brand, even the same size tag. “See? The same. I made sure to buy them the same day he did. I—I checked the receipts and everything.”
Kaoru just stared at her. For a long moment she couldn’t even form a word.
“So…” Ai continued, voice trembling but fast now, as though rushing to make her logic sound real. “I’m just… exchanging them. Not stealing. That’s not bad, right? It’s—it’s equal trade.”
Kaoru pressed her fingers to her temple. “Ai, that’s— that’s exactly what stealing is. You can’t just—replace—someone’s underwear like it’s a library book!”
“It’s clean!” Ai said quickly, as if that helped. “Perfectly clean. I washed it three times. I even used his brand of detergent—”
“Oh my god.”
Kaoru took a step back, as though physical distance might protect her sanity. “You actually researched what detergent he uses?”
Ai hesitated. “…I checked his trash.”
Kaoru dragged a hand down her face. “Of course you did.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Kaoru spoke again, more softly this time, but no less serious. “Ai. Listen to me. You need to leave it. Walk out of here. Right now.”
“But—”
“No.” Kaoru’s tone sharpened. “You think you can make this sound rational, but it isn’t. It’s not trade, it’s not balance, it’s—” she gestured helplessly “—whatever this is. And if anyone else finds you here, you're done for.”
Ai looked down, shoulders shaking, gripping the boxers tighter like they were her lifeline. “I just wanted… something real. Something of his that’s—mine.”
Kaoru’s voice softened a fraction. “He’s not yours.”
Ai flinched as if struck.
“I know you think he’s the reason you’re still breathing,” Kaoru said, quiet but firm, “but this isn’t the way to repay that. It’s the way to destroy it.”
The trembling stilled. Ai stared down at the fabric in her hands, and for a second—just a second—Kaoru thought she saw something crack open behind her eyes.
Then, slowly, Ai put the folded boxers back into the locker. Her fingers lingered there, ghosting over the cotton, like she was touching something sacred.
Kaoru stayed in the doorway, arms crossed, watching until Ai stepped back.
“…Good,” she said finally. “Now close it. We’re done here.”
Ai obeyed, turning the lock with a faint metallic click. Her face was pale, almost drained, and she whispered, “You won’t tell anyone, right?”
Kaoru exhaled, rubbing the bridge of her nose again. “I wouldn’t even know how to start explaining this.”
Ai nodded faintly, picking up her bag with shaking hands from the small tremor of satisfaction that passed over her as they stepped into the hallway.
But inside Ai’s head, something cold and electric coiled with triumph.
She hadn’t failed. Not even close.
The fabric that Kaoru had seen, the one Ai had pretended to cradle like some fragile treasure,wasn’t the true prize. That had been the second replacement pair, the one she’d slipped into her bag specifically to bait out suspicion. A decoy to make Kaoru think she’d won.
The real one, the one that mattered, was pressed against her own skin right now. Hidden under the folds of her clothes, tucked carefully between the underside of her chest and the fabric of her undershirt.
The scent. The texture. The warmth it still held when she’d first lifted it from the locker, it was all still there.
Even now she could feel it radiating faintly, like a secret heartbeat that belonged only to her.
Kaoru was still lecturing her softly as they walked down the corridor. “…you can’t keep doing things like this, Ai. You’re getting better—slowly—but if you push your luck, someone else will see. You understand?”
Ai nodded on reflex, eyes downcast, every gesture perfect. “I understand.”
She wasn't lying. Ai really understood.
Kaoru sighed, satisfied enough to drop it. “Good. Then let’s get back before Madoka starts wondering what we’re doing.”
The walk back was quiet at first.
Evening had pulled its gray veil over the city; the air smelled faintly of iron and rain. The lamps along the street hadn’t flickered on yet, leaving their shadows long and indistinct.
Ai walked half a step ahead, her gym bag hanging limp from her shoulder. She looked almost normal—almost. The faint sway of exhaustion in her steps, her silence. To anyone else, she’d just look tired.
Kaoru knew better.
“I’ll walk you back,” she’d said after training, and Ai hadn’t objected.
But halfway down the slope toward the lower district, Kaoru finally decided to stop pretending.
“You know why I’m here, right?”
Ai didn’t turn around. “You said it was to make sure I didn’t pass out.”
“That was the excuse.” Kaoru’s tone stayed even. “The real reason is that you said you were going to find whoever did that to the president.”
Ai’s head tilted slightly, hair falling over one side of her face.
“And?”
“And I’m telling you not to,” Kaoru said.
Ai stopped walking.
The silence stretched, broken only by the distant hum of the city and the squeak of a loose power line. When she spoke again, her voice was soft. Too soft.
“So you’re fine with letting someone like that walk away?”
Kaoru sighed quietly, stepping closer. “It’s not about being fine with it. It’s about not making things worse. Whoever he was—”
“He,” Ai repeated, cutting her off. “It. Whoever did that lost their right ot be considered a person, or a living being.”
“…You don’t even know who it was, Ai. None of us do.”
“But I could have,” Ai murmured. “If I’d been there.”
Kaoru’s stomach sank. She knew that tone. That glassy calm, the kind that came just before Ai cracked open from the inside.
“Don’t,” Kaoru said. “You’re not responsible for that. You weren’t supposed to follow him that day.”
Ai turned then, slowly. Her expression was placid, but her eyes had that shimmer, feverish, bottomless.
“I wasn’t supposed to? I only wasn't there because you stopped me.”
Kaoru’s mouth went dry. “What?”
“That day,” Ai said. “You chased me away, interfered with a routine that had been fine until then.”
Her voice never rose. It didn’t need to. Every word came like a needle sliding under the skin.
“And while I was busy with you, he got hurt.”
Kaoru opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Ai’s fingers twitched at her side. “So maybe,” she whispered, “you’re the one I should blame.”
The air felt colder suddenly. A chill skated down Kaoru’s back, not from the temperature, but from the way Ai said it. Not angry. Not emotional. Just stating a fact she’d finally accepted.
Kaoru forced herself to meet her gaze. “You’re tired. You don’t mean that.”
Ai blinked slowly, her head tilting again. The faintest curl of a smile ghosted her lips. “No, I mean it.”
Kaoru’s instinct screamed to step back, but she didn’t. “Ai. Listen to me. Whatever you’re thinking of doing—don’t. You don’t know what’s out there, and if you get hurt—”
“It’d be worth it.”
That stopped Kaoru cold.
Ai stepped forward just enough for the streetlight’s glow to catch her eyes—pale and glassy, like there was no real person behind them, just an echo that had learned how to speak.
“Someone hurt him,” she said softly. “Someone dared to hurt him. You think I can just sleep knowing that?”
Kaoru exhaled slowly through her nose, forcing her voice steady. “If you do anything reckless, he could be the one who gets blamed for not stopping you. Is that what you want?”
That hit something—Ai flinched, her jaw tightening, her expression crumbling just slightly.
For a few seconds, the only sound was the wind sliding through the alley.
Finally Ai whispered, “You don’t understand.”
Kaoru’s voice gentled. “Then help me.”
Ai’s fingers tightened around the strap of her bag until her knuckles went white. “I just can’t let it go,” she said, so softly it was almost lost to the air. “Because if I do… it’s like saying it’s okay for anyone to hurt him. And I can’t. I won’t.”
They stared at each other for a while before Ai’s expression softened again, at least on the surface.
“…Fine,” Ai said quietly, letting the word stretch out in a tired sigh. “If you’re going to make such a fuss about it, it doesn’t have to be now.”
Kaoru eyed her warily. “You mean that?”
Ai gave a small shrug, her eyes cast down, bangs brushing her cheeks. “You’d report me if I didn’t listen, wouldn’t you?” Her smile came thin, crooked, practiced. “I’m insane, not stupid.”
That jab landed sharper than it should have. Kaoru’s mouth tightened. “It’s not about reporting you. It’s about keeping you from doing something irreversible.”
“Mm,” Ai hummed faintly. “Sure.”
She began walking again, her tone almost thoughtful. “It’s not like the culprit’s going anywhere. Yae will find him eventually.”
The name hung in the air between them like a splinter.
Kaoru didn’t say anything, but something in her chest twisted. Yae—of all people. The thought that Ai trusted her judgment more than hers… that stung. A bit. Only a tiny bit.
Not because she wanted Ai’s approval, but because it confirmed something she didn’t want to admit: Ai saw her as a leash, not a friend, not as someone to rely on.
Ai, oblivious, or pretending to be, continued in a lazy murmur, eyes unfocused as though already wandering elsewhere. “Besides, I’ve got other plans for tonight…”
Kaoru’s head turned sharply. “What kind of plans?”
Ai didn’t answer right away. A soft, breathy laugh slipped from her lips instead, the kind that sounded too light for the words beneath it.
“Oh, just… something I’ve been meaning to do for a while,” she said, voice lowering to a dreamy whisper. “A little celebration. Private. Holy, even.”
Kaoru frowned. “Ai—”
“Don’t worry.” Ai waved her off, smile curving too gently to be normal. “No one’s getting hurt.”
She laughed again under her breath, a strange, nervous little sound that stretched too long and cracked halfway through, something that wasn’t quite laughter, wasn’t quite crying either.
Kaoru stopped walking. “You’re scaring me again.”
Ai didn’t stop. She just turned her head slightly, glancing back with a look that was almost affectionate. “You scare too easily, Kao-Kao.”