Threads of Fates Unravel
The dim glow of enchanted lanterns cast shifting shadows across the small dorm room. Stacks of books lined the desk, neatly arranged—except for the handful of crumpled papers pushed to the edge, remnants of Akira’s late-night attempts at studying. Or, more accurately, trying to decipher how magic worked in this world.
Perched on the bed, Morgana flicked his tail impatiently as Akira leaned against the desk, arms crossed.
“Well, since animals aren’t allowed in this school—especially a magical one—they’d probably detect anything weird in class…” Akira mused, tapping a finger against his chin.
Morgana huffed. “I am not a cat! And besides, there’s a spell strong enough to cover up any traces. You just don’t know about it because you’re still a noob.” He shot Akira a pointed look. “Speaking of which, do you even know how to cast spells here?”
Akira shrugged. “Well, kind of? Magic in this world is based on imagination, right? That’s what the fandom theorized, anyway.”
Morgana groaned. “It’s way more complex than that.” Then his ears perked up. “Oh! I almost forgot—I can show you something that might help!”
With a flick of his tail, glowing 3D panels materialized midair. Floating stats, icons, and numbers hovered around them, like a game menu brought to life.
“Here’s your current stat sheet: Knowledge, Guts, Proficiency, Kindness, and Charm.” Morgana pointed at the glowing text before smirking. “Since you’ve transmigrated into ‘Ren Amamiya,’ your Charm level is already at 7—and the rest of your stats are looking solid. But your Knowledge?” His grin widened. “Maxed out at 10.”
Akira blinked. That was worth months of grinding in the original game…
Morgana puffed out his chest. “Since you’re still a newbie, I can’t follow you to class without getting caught, so I’ll stay here in your dorm and wait.”
Akira frowned. “Wait—then how did you even get into the school in the first place?”
Morgana waved a paw dismissively. “I was summoned, obviously. Then you found me. At first, I panicked, thinking I’d been caught, but turns out it was just you.”
Akira sighed. “Right. So if I need to ‘level up,’ what exactly do I have to do?”
Morgana gave him an exasperated look. “Duh. Just like in the original game.”
“…You mean relationships and bosses?”
“Exactly! The more you accomplish, the more skills you unlock—including deeper insights into characters, relationship charts, affection levels…”
Akira smirked, leaning back against the desk. “Ooh, wonder what my bond level with Akechi is right now.”
Morgana’s fur bristled. “Stop bringing him up as if he didn’t literally try to—”
Akira clamped a hand over Morgana’s mouth.
“Shhh, kitty.” He grinned. “Anyway, I gotta get to class. Can’t afford to tank my attendance and make people hate me more than they already do.”
Morgana muttered something under his breath—probably an insult—as Akira grabbed his things and headed for the door.
✦━──────━✦
Akira had always been observant.
It wasn’t something he consciously tried to do—he just noticed things. The way people carried themselves, the weight in their steps, the shift in their tone when they spoke. The tension that lingered when they thought no one was looking.
Sometimes, it was a curse. Seeing things he shouldn’t see. Knowing things people didn’t want known.
But he’d long since learned: Ignorance was just another form of neglect.
And Akira wasn’t in the habit of looking away.
So when Yuuki Mishima walked into class late, Akira knew something was wrong.
The morning had already settled into its usual rhythm—students murmuring over notes, a few halfheartedly scribbling in their notebooks, others just struggling to keep their eyes open. At the front of the class, Kawakami droned on, her tone flat with the same exhaustion as her students.
Then—
The door creaked open.
A few heads turned, but only briefly.
Akira’s gaze, however, lingered.
Mishima had always been the kind of guy who tried to disappear into the background. He rarely spoke unless spoken to, kept his head down, avoided conflict.
But today—
Today, he looked like he wanted to evaporate.
His uniform was rumpled, his sleeves too long—like he was hiding his hands. His movements were stiff. Too careful. Too measured. It set Akira on edge.
Then, for the briefest second—Mishima stepped forward.
And winced.
A small thing. A flicker of pain so quick it could have been missed.
But Akira didn’t miss it.
Something in his gut tightened.
The air in the room shifted.
Kawakami paused mid-sentence, lowering her chalk. A frown tugged at her brows.
“You’re late,” she said—not accusatory, but questioning. “Something happen?”
Mishima hesitated.
The pause was too long.
“I—Sorry, I—” His voice was thin, barely above a whisper. “I just… lost track of time.”
Liar.
Akira didn’t need magic to tell that much.
Beside him, Ann shifted in her seat, her frown slight but present. Ryuji, who had been slouched over his desk, suddenly straightened, his usual lazy posture gone.
Mishima moved toward his seat, eyes never lifting from the floor.
And then—
Flinch.
So small. Barely noticeable.
But Akira saw it.
The stiff inhale. The way his shoulders curled inward, like a wounded animal instinctively guarding itself. The way his hands clenched against his lap, fingers white-knuckled where they gripped his pants.
Something happened to him.
Something bad.
Kawakami must have noticed too, because her frown deepened. “You should go to the nurse’s office.”
Normally, Mishima would have waved it off—he hated attention.
But this time—
He only nodded.
No protest. No excuses.
His head remained bowed as he pushed himself back up, slow and careful, as if even standing hurt.
The room was silent as he left.
Akira’s fingers curled against the desk.
That wasn’t normal.
✦━──────━✦
Then everything went to hell.
It happened so fast.
One moment, Akira was half-listening to the teacher drone on about magic theory, idly tapping his fingers against the desk. The next—
A commotion.
Yelling. Gasps. Chairs scraping against the floor as students twisted toward the door.
“Someone’s on the rooftop!”
The words rang through the hallway, sharp and urgent, cutting through the usual hum of student chatter like a blade.
Akira barely had time to register them before the air in the room shifted—an invisible pull, a charged static of dread pressing against his skin.
Heads turned. Students murmured.
Then—
“Is that—Shiho?”
A hushed silence.
Akira’s stomach dropped.
Shiho Suzui.
His mind caught up with his body a second too late. He was already moving, pushing past desks, past startled classmates frozen in the moment.
Ann’s chair scraped against the floor as she shot up beside him. Her face had gone pale, lips slightly parted, like she wanted to say something—like she wanted this to be some kind of mistake.
But deep down, they both knew.
Akira barely heard the teacher’s shout behind them, barely felt the way students stumbled out of the way as he and Ann bolted into the corridor.
Footsteps pounded against the floor, echoing like a war drum in his ears.
Akira moved.
Ryuji was shouting after him. Ann, too. But Akira didn’t stop.
He ran.
His coat billowed behind him as he tore through the halls, his pulse a hammer against his ribs. The echoes of his footsteps blurred with the panicked murmurs around him, the whispers of students too afraid to do anything but watch.
The stairs blurred beneath him. Three steps at a time. His breath burned.
Then—
He burst through the rooftop door.
And saw her.
Shiho Suzui stood at the edge.
Her back to him.
Her figure wavered against the vast, open sky, the endless drop yawning beneath her feet. The wind howled around her, tugging at her uniform, whipping her hair into wild, desperate spirals—like the air itself was trying to hold her back.
Ann’s best friend.
The girl who, in the game, had jumped.
Akira’s chest tightened, his breath catching in his throat.
No.
His feet felt like lead. The world blurred at the edges, shrinking, darkening—but her? Shiho remained sharp. Too sharp. The way her fingers curled at her sides, the way her shoulders trembled, the way she leaned just a fraction too far forward—
The way she was slipping.
She turned at the noise, eyes wide, tear-streaked, lost.
She was shaking.
Her lips parted, trying to form words, but they barely came out. Broken. Fragile. A whisper carried away by the wind.
“I—I…” She swallowed hard, voice cracking. “Please tell them…”
Akira took a step forward. “Shiho—”
She didn’t seem to hear him.
Didn’t seem to hear anything.
Her gaze was distant, unfocused—locked on something far beyond this rooftop, beyond the world still trying to hold onto her.
“…Tell my mom and dad I’m sorry,” she choked out, voice raw, shaking as violently as her hands. “Tell Ann—”
A strangled sob behind him.
“Shiho!”
Ann.
Akira barely had time to react before she was shoving past him, stumbling in her desperation.
“Shiho—” Her voice cracked, splintering into something raw, something helpless. Her chest heaved, her entire body trembling as she reached out—not close enough, never close enough.
“You promised me!” Ann fell to her knees, hands outstretched, grasping at nothing. At air. At the friend slipping through her fingers.
Her words tumbled out between gasps, frantic, breaking apart. “You promised we’d do all those dumb girl things together, remember? Shopping, stupid makeovers, sneaking out of class just to get caught and laugh about it later—”
Shiho flinched. A tremor ran through her.
Ann sobbed, shaking her head, violently, desperately, as if she could just shake this nightmare away.
“You said we’d go to that café with the ridiculous parfait! You swore—” Her breath hitched, her voice shattering on the words. “Shiho, please! Don’t do this! Don’t leave me!”
A flicker. A pause.
For just a moment—just one unbearable moment—Shiho hesitated.
Her fingers twitched. Curled into weak fists. Her shoulders shook.
Her lips parted. A breath, a sound—like she wanted to say something. Like she wanted to reach out, to hold on, to cling to the lifeline Ann was throwing her—
Then—
The wind shrieked, a deafening roar against the hollow silence.
And she let go.
Ann lunged.
Her fingers grazed fabric—a fleeting, fragile contact—before Shiho slipped through her grasp.
The scream that tore from Ann’s throat was not human.
Akira moved—too late, too late, too late. His legs gave out beneath him as he hit the ground, hands scraping against rough concrete.
Shiho was gone.
The wind roared.
And the sky swallowed her whole.
A sharp gasp tore through Akira’s lungs, but his body moved before thought could catch up. His arm shot out, fingers reaching—magic surged through his veins, molten and electric, sharper than instinct, stronger than reason.
Time shattered.
In that frozen moment, he saw everything.
The way Shiho’s body twisted midair, limbs weightless, fragile. The wind catching in her hair, strands snapping like golden threads against the storm-gray sky. The exact distance between her and the earth, the cruel mathematics of gravity whispering its verdict.
And then—
Something ancient, something vast uncoiled inside him.
A pulse of power, deeper than flesh, older than memory.
His heart slammed against his ribs. His vision fractured—magic burned through his senses, unraveling reality at the seams.
His hand clenched. His breath hitched. His will surged.
The rooftop vanished.
For a single, suspended heartbeat, Akira hung between the pull of gravity and the force of something greater—something he shouldn’t yet understand, but did.
Then—
Stone. Cold air. Darkness.
The world slammed back into focus.
He was no longer on the rooftop.
Instead, he was below.
The schoolyard stretched around them—too wide, too open, yet suffocating all the same.
The sky was overcast, heavy clouds swallowing the sun, casting the world in a dim, gray hush. The sports field lay empty, the metal goalposts standing like silent specters, the distant chain-link fence rattling softly in the wind.
But it felt wrong.
Too still. Too empty.
The air pressed down, thick—too thick—like an invisible weight on his chest. Every breath felt damp, choked with something unseen, something heavy that curled in his lungs and refused to leave.
And in the middle of it all—
Shiho was shaking. No—convulsing.
Her entire body locked in a battle against itself, muscles seizing, chest heaving as if she couldn’t pull in enough air to survive. Curled in on herself, she looked like she wanted to disappear, like she could sink into the dirt and never be found again. Her fingers clawed at the grass, ripping it from the ground, her nails raw and caked with soil—desperate for something solid, something real, something to keep her from slipping away completely.
Her breaths were coming too fast, too shallow, each one more ragged than the last. She was trying to breathe, but it wasn’t working. It wasn’t air. It wasn’t reaching her lungs. Her chest hitched and squeezed, caving inward like it was shrinking, like something inside her was tightening and coiling around her ribs and wouldn’t let go. No matter how hard she gasped, it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.
“I—I can’t—” Her voice cracked, strangled, barely squeezing past her lips. Her nails dug into her palms, carving crescents deep into her skin as her arms trembled violently. “I can’t—I can’t—I can’t—”
Her hands shot to her throat, clawing, yanking at the collar of her uniform like she was choking, like something was strangling her from the inside out. It was too tight. It was suffocating her. She pulled harder, but nothing loosened, nothing gave, nothing helped. The panic coiled tighter in her chest, thick and all-consuming, until the only thing left was the terror swallowing her whole.
“Shiho—”
"Don’t touch me!"
Her scream tore through the schoolyard, raw and ragged and too loud against the eerie stillness of the morning. It ricocheted off the brick walls of the school building, crashed through the empty field, shattered the silence into jagged, splintered pieces that cut through the air like broken glass.
She convulsed again, her back arching sharply before curling in on herself once more. Her nails raked over her arms, her neck, her skin, like she was trying to tear something out of herself, something invisible and unbearable and wrong. Her breathing was sharp and desperate and choked, but no matter how hard she tried, it still wasn’t working. She was still here. She was still drowning.
The wind howled through the trees, but it barely reached her. The air felt too thin, too tight, like even the atmosphere had turned against her.
Ann froze.
Her hands hovered midair, fingers trembling, unable to bridge the distance between them. Her chest heaved, her breath stumbling in uneven gulps, her eyes wide and frantic, her face streaked with tears. Her voice broke when she spoke, thick with something unbearable.
"Shiho, please, it's me—"
But Shiho didn’t hear her. She couldn’t.
Her fingers clawed at her skin, her body rocking, shaking so violently that her teeth chattered. Her arms wrapped so tightly around herself that it had to hurt, her whole body braced against something unseen, something crushing her from all sides.
“I—I shouldn’t be here—” The words tumbled out in a frantic, broken mess between her gasps, barely intelligible. She rocked harder, faster, the motion growing erratic. Her fingers curled against her arms, digging in, her entire body wound so tightly she looked like she might snap.
“I want to die—”
No.
Ann lurched forward without thinking.
Shiho screamed.
The sound was pure terror, ripping through the space between them, shredding the last fragile thread of composure holding the moment together. Her arms flailed, her body twisting violently, her feet scrambling against the ground, as though she was fighting hands that weren’t even there. She recoiled from nothing. She was running from something invisible. She was trapped in a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from.
Ann flinched.
Her breath hitched, and she had to squeeze her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. She didn’t know what to do.
And Akira felt it.
The spiral.
The force that was dragging Shiho under, suffocating and relentless, pulling her deeper and deeper, until there was nothing left of her to reach. She was drowning in it, slipping past them, falling further into something none of them could see, and nothing—nothing—was pulling her back.
Ann's expression twisted, the desperation in her eyes stark and wild. Her hands hovered over Shiho’s trembling form, fingers twitching, aching to do something, to fix something, to save her, but what was there to fix when she was already falling apart?
Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms.
Then, through clenched teeth, she whispered the spell.
It was soft. Too soft. Almost gentle.
But the magic that spilled from her lips carried something bitter, something laced with frustration and grief, something desperate and helpless and angry at the world for letting it come to this.
It wasn’t just a spell.
It was a command. A plea. A cruel mercy.
"Somnum’s Embrace."
The moment it took hold, Shiho’s body went still.
Her muscles slackened, the tremors fading from her limbs as the magic forced her into unconsciousness. The panic, the terror, the unbearable weight of her breaking mind—gone.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Ann’s hands hovered in the air, still shaking.
Her breath stuttered in her throat, her vision blurring, her entire body trembling as she knelt there, staring at Shiho’s unconscious form, watching the rise and fall of her chest like she was waiting for it to stop.
She had saved her.
Hadn’t she?
Akira wasn’t sure if Ann had spared Shiho from her suffering—
Or if she had spared herself from watching it.
Silence settled over the rooftop, heavy and expectant, yet the world itself was anything but silent.
Gasps and whispers wove through the air, feet shuffled against concrete, and the wind tore through the open space with an almost restless urgency, but none of it truly registered. The sounds blurred together into something distant, insignificant—mere background noise against the weight of what had just shifted.
Something had changed.
The atmosphere trembled, charged with a force that defied logic, humming with a presence both unseen and undeniable. Colors sharpened into an unnatural vibrancy, too vivid, too raw, as though the very fabric of reality had fractured, peeling back its layers to reveal the hidden truths buried beneath.
The ground pulsed beneath his feet. The world inhaled. And in that breath, in that fleeting moment of clarity—
Akira saw.
Threads of light wove through the air, impossibly thin, impossibly real, intertwining with the space around him, threading through people, sky, earth—binding everything together in ways no one else could perceive. What had once been unseen now stood exposed, delicate strands of energy stretching across existence itself, revealing connections, lies, and the weight of truth laid bare.
And then—
His gaze locked onto him.
Kamoshida.
Standing among the crowd, his expression carefully composed, every detail of his face sculpted into a mask of feigned concern. Too smooth. Too measured. A performance perfected by years of deception.
But Akira saw what lay beneath.
The filth clinging to his skin, writhing just beneath the surface. Shadows seeped from him in thick, undulating tendrils, a living corruption that pulsed and coiled like something sentient, something hungry. The darkness clung to him, feeding, thriving, staining him with the weight of sins no one else could see.
No one else—except him.
Akira exhaled slowly, steadying the fire rising in his chest, feeling it coil around his ribs and settle into something colder, sharper, more precise.
His fingers curled into a fist.
So this was it.
Third Eye.
A power that should have remained dormant, one that was meant to awaken in time, tempered by experience and control—forced open instead by sheer, unrelenting will. It burned at the edges of his mind, too vast, too much, but his heartbeat remained steady, his thoughts impossibly clear.
Because now, beyond any shadow of doubt—
He knew.
He was going to ruin Kamoshida.
✦━──────━✦
Akechi arranged a meeting with him not long after.
Akira arrived late.
Not on purpose. Not really.
He’d spent too much time with Ann and Ryuji, trying to pick up the pieces after what had almost happened. Ann had barely been holding herself together. He and Ryuji had done what they could, but what was there to say? That it wasn’t her fault? That Shiho would have died if not for luck—if not for something Akira barely understood himself?
It wasn’t enough.
And now he had to sit here and play games with him.
Akira sighed, rolling his shoulders before stepping into the office. Akechi was already seated behind his desk, watching him like a bird of prey.
Akira smirked on instinct. Gotta keep up appearances, right?
Akechi exhaled, slow and measured. “Punctuality isn’t your strong suit, is it?”
Akira strolled over, dropping into the chair across from him with deliberate laziness. “I like to make an entrance.”
Akechi’s smile was polite, practiced—airtight. “I’m sure that would be more effective if I were impressed.”
Akira tilted his head. “And are you?”
Akechi didn’t answer. Instead, he folded his hands atop the desk. “Let’s not waste time. I wanted to ask you about Shiho Suzui.”
Akira schooled his expression into something neutral. “What about her?”
Akechi’s gaze flicked over him, dissecting every tell, every twitch of his fingers. “Why did she try to jump?”
A loaded question. And one Akira should have had an answer for.
But he didn’t. Not yet.
His jaw tightened. “I don’t know.”
Akechi hummed, as if weighing his response. “You don’t?”
Akira resisted the urge to scowl. Of course he didn’t believe him. Hell, even Akira didn’t believe in himself.
“…She was desperate,” he admitted, crossing his arms. “That much was obvious. But there’s more to it. Something pushed her to that point.”
Akechi nodded, as if turning the words over in his mind. Then, casually, he said, “And you stopped her.”
Akira tensed.
Akechi arranged a meeting with him not long after.
Akira arrived late.
Not on purpose. Not really.
He’d spent too much time with Ann and Ryuji, trying to pick up the pieces after what had almost happened. Ann had barely been holding herself together. He and Ryuji had done what they could, but what was there to say? That it wasn’t her fault? That Shiho would have died if not for luck—if not for something Akira barely understood himself?
It wasn’t enough.
And now he had to sit here and play games with him.
Akira sighed, rolling his shoulders before stepping into the office. Akechi was already seated behind his desk, watching him like a bird of prey.
Akira smirked on instinct. Gotta keep up appearances, right?
Akechi exhaled, slow and measured. “Punctuality isn’t your strong suit, is it?”
Akira strolled over, dropping into the chair across from him with deliberate laziness. “I like to make an entrance.”
Akechi’s smile was polite, practiced—airtight. “I’m sure that would be more effective if I were impressed.”
Akira tilted his head. “And are you?”
Akechi didn’t answer. Instead, he folded his hands atop the desk. “Let’s not waste time. I wanted to ask you about Shiho Suzui.”
Akira schooled his expression into something neutral. “What about her?”
Akechi’s gaze flicked over him, dissecting every tell, every twitch of his fingers. “Why did she try to jump?”
A loaded question. And one Akira should have had an answer for.
But he didn’t. Not yet.
His jaw tightened. “I don’t know.”
Akechi hummed, as if weighing his response. “You don’t?”
Akira resisted the urge to scowl. Of course he didn’t believe him. Hell, even Akira didn’t believe in himself.
“…She was desperate,” he admitted, crossing his arms. “That much was obvious. But there’s more to it. Something pushed her to that point.”
Akechi nodded, as if turning the words over in his mind. Then, casually, he said, “And you stopped her.”
Akira tensed.
Akechi’s smile didn’t waver, but something in his gaze sharpened, a glint of calculation slipping through the polished charm. “Quite the feat, considering the circumstances. You wouldn’t happen to be hiding any particularly impressive magic, would you?”
There it was.
Akira forced himself to stay relaxed, even as irritation prickled beneath his skin. “Magic’s part of the curriculum, last I checked. Shouldn’t be that surprising.”
Akechi exhaled a quiet laugh, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Oh, don’t be modest.” His voice dipped, casual but edged with something too precise to be idle curiosity. “You slowed time, didn’t you?”
Akira’s fingers curled against the fabric of his sleeve before he caught himself.
He hadn’t told anyone that.
His expression remained even, but his voice turned flat. “…You’ve been looking into me.”
Akechi hummed, the sound light, almost pleasant. “It’s my job to investigate, you know. And time manipulation—that’s not exactly common.” His smile deepened, all quiet intrigue and deliberate prodding. “Tell me, where did you learn the forbidden power?”
Of course.
Of course the so-called detective prince was already sinking his claws in. Akira had spent years playing this game, watching from the sidelines as Akechi unraveled secrets with surgical precision, exposing the things people would rather keep buried. Now, for the first time, he was on the receiving end of that scrutiny.
His tongue clicked against his teeth. “Tch. And here I thought you just wanted to get to know me.”
Akechi chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re an interesting one, Kurusu.”
Akira’s smile was sharp, all teeth. “You have no idea.”
But in the back of his mind, beneath the bravado, a quiet unease lingered.
Because if there was anyone capable of piecing the truth together—
It was Akechi.
✦━──────━✦
Akechi eventually gave up and dismissed him, and although Akira knew he should have left without a second thought, without hesitation, without allowing himself to dwell, he found that he couldn’t quite shake the lingering desire to stay. A part of him had hoped—perhaps foolishly—that he would have the chance to spend more time with his favorite character, that he could find a way to earn Akechi’s trust, pull him closer, and, against all odds, change the course of his fate. But no matter how much that hope clawed at the back of his mind, urging him to try, to reach for something that had never been his to grasp, he knew that there were far more pressing matters demanding his attention.
By the time he stepped out of the office, the weight of the day crashed down on him all at once, heavier than he had anticipated, pressing against his ribs with the suffocating realization of just how much had unraveled in a single afternoon. The conversation with Akechi had left a bitter taste in his mouth, but compared to the real disaster that had unfolded, compared to the irreversible damage that had already been done, it was nothing more than an afterthought.
School had been canceled, not for a routine announcement or a welcomed break, but because Shiho Suzui had come dangerously close to losing her life.
The news had spread with ruthless efficiency, traveling faster than any official announcement, carried from student to student in hushed voices that filled the hallways with an unbearable murmur of speculation, fear, and, worst of all, detached fascination. Some students spoke in whispers that barely reached above a breath, their gazes flickering nervously between one another as if merely discussing it would invite disaster upon themselves, while others had no such reservations, their words laced with the same morbid curiosity they reserved for scandalous rumors and fleeting gossip. There were those who looked genuinely shaken, whose eyes carried the weight of something heavier than mere secondhand information, but far too many treated the entire situation as nothing more than entertainment, a fleeting spectacle to be analyzed and picked apart, devoid of the human suffering that lay at its core.
Akira hated it.
He hated the way they talked about her, the way they made a tragedy into a topic of casual conversation, the way they seemed utterly blind to the reality that a girl had stood on the edge of a rooftop and had nearly thrown herself into the abyss.
His fingers curled into fists, his nails pressing into the fabric of his uniform as he forced himself to keep moving, unwilling to waste another second listening to their words.
He needed to do something.
When he finally reached the school entrance, he found Ryuji standing off to the side, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his usual restless energy nowhere to be seen. There was no cocky grin, no easy smirk, none of the reckless bravado that so often defined him; instead, his entire posture carried the weight of exhaustion, his shoulders tense as though bracing for an impact he knew he could not avoid.
The moment Ryuji glanced up and met his gaze, Akira didn’t waste any time with pleasantries or empty words that neither of them had the patience for, because there was only one thing that mattered right now, and there was no point in pretending otherwise.
“We need to stop Kamoshida.”
Ryuji frowned, his posture shifting slightly, his weight no longer resting so casually against the wall. “Dude, what are you—”
“Everyone’s in danger,” Akira interrupted, his tone firm, unwavering. “Ann. Shiho. Mishima. You. And probably a lot of other students.”
For a moment, Ryuji didn’t respond, his expression unreadable as he stared at Akira, but despite his silence, there was something in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his breath caught for just a fraction of a second, that told Akira everything he needed to know. He had struck a nerve.
Eventually, Ryuji exhaled, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges in a way that betrayed just how much he had been holding back. “You knew?”
Akira nodded, watching as Ryuji’s jaw tightened and his fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white from the sheer force of his grip. His entire body had gone rigid, every muscle locked in place, as though he were fighting against something that threatened to tear its way to the surface.
“I tried to stop him,” Ryuji muttered, the words barely more than a breath, but there was something raw in his voice, something unsteady that made it clear just how deeply this ran. “I called him out on his disgusting bullshit. The abuse. The harassment. I didn’t hold back—I told him exactly what he was, told him that I wasn’t gonna let him get away with it, that he wasn’t gonna keep hurting people and walk away like it was nothing. But none of it mattered. The bastard didn’t even take me seriously. I reported him to the principal, tried to do things the right way, but nothing happened. Nothing ever happens.”
Akira said nothing, offering him the silence to speak, to release the words that had clearly been festering inside of him for far too long.
Ryuji’s breathing had grown uneven, his chest rising and falling with shallow, erratic movements that made it clear he was barely holding himself together, but still, he continued. “I even tried to talk to Ann,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “We were best friends, y’know? Since middle school. I thought that maybe if I said something, if I let her know she wasn’t alone, that she’d—” He stopped himself, inhaling sharply before shaking his head, his lips pressing together in frustration. “She brushed me off. And I know it wasn’t because she didn’t care. It was because of him. Because he’s got his claws in everything, because she was scared, because she knew that if I got involved, I’d just end up another casualty.”
His voice cracked slightly on the last word, but if he noticed, he made no effort to hide it.
Akira’s grip tightened at his sides, his nails pressing into his palms as he watched the guilt flicker across Ryuji’s face, blending seamlessly with the anger and frustration that had long since taken root inside of him.
“We’re stopping him,” Akira said, his voice steady, deliberate, carrying no room for doubt or hesitation. It wasn’t a suggestion, nor was it a reckless declaration fueled by emotion alone. It was a promise. “But we have to be smart about it.”
Ryuji inhaled sharply, his teeth clenched together in a poor attempt to contain the fury simmering just beneath the surface. When he finally exhaled, the tension in his shoulders remained, the barely restrained anger still evident in every inch of his posture, but when he looked at Akira, his gaze held no uncertainty.
“I’m in.”
There was no need for any further words, no need for additional reassurances or justifications, because in that moment, both of them understood exactly what they were about to do.
They were going to end this.
✦━──────━✦