The hum of excitement filled the air, punctuated by the occasional crackle of the school’s PA system. The festival was in full swing, with laughter and music spilling through every corridor. Mizuki Akiyama stood backstage, her hands trembling as she adjusted the bow on her outfit. She caught her reflection in the mirror, eyes narrowing as she tilted her head to examine her look. Everything seemed in place, but her heart wouldn’t stop hammering.
Not because of the performance. She’d done this before. It was something else—something bigger.
Ena Shinonome sat on a stool nearby, sketching absentmindedly on her tablet. Her focus was elsewhere, but Mizuki still felt her presence like a beacon, grounding and overwhelming. Ena wasn’t just a friend. She was Mizuki’s haven, her muse, whose opinion mattered more than anyone else’s. And tonight, Mizuki was finally going to tell her the truth.
“You’re fidgeting again,” Ena said, her voice light but tinged with amusement. She didn’t look up from her tablet. “Relax, Mizuki. You look great. As always.”
The casual compliment sent a warmth spreading through Mizuki’s chest, but it did nothing to calm her nerves.
“I’m not fidgeting,” Mizuki replied, forcing a grin as she turned away from the mirror.
Ena arched a brow. “Sure you’re not.”
Mizuki laughed softly, but it was hollow. She crossed the small space between them, her footsteps muffled by the distant sound of the school band playing outside. She clutched the hem of her outfit tightly, hesitating.
“Ena,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ena finally looked up, her sharp eyes meeting Mizuki’s. She tilted her head, her expression softening. “What’s up?”
Mizuki swallowed hard. This was it—the moment she’d rehearsed in her head a hundred times. But the words felt heavier now, stuck in her throat. How could she put everything she was feeling into a single conversation? How could she make Ena understand that this wasn’t just about friendship, but about showing her entire self—the parts she usually kept hidden?
“I—” Mizuki started, but her voice faltered. She glanced away, her hands trembling again.
Before she could continue, the door to the backstage room creaked open. A few other students walked in, chatting loudly, their laughter filling the space. One of them glanced at Mizuki and froze, their eyes widening slightly.
“Oh, wow,” the student said, louder than they probably intended. “I didn’t know you dressed like that outside school, Mizuki.”
The casual remark felt like a gunshot in the quiet room. Ena’s gaze snapped to Mizuki, her brows furrowing in confusion.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ena asked, her voice sharp.
The student shrugged, oblivious to the tension in the air. “Nothing bad. Just surprising, I guess. Didn’t expect you to be so... bold. But it’s cool!” They gave a nervous laugh and quickly excused themselves, leaving the room just as quickly as they’d entered.
Mizuki’s blood ran cold. Her secret—her carefully guarded identity—was no longer hers alone. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Ena, who was still staring at her, the confusion in her expression deepening into something unreadable.
“Mizuki,” Ena said slowly, her voice softer now. “What did they mean by that?”
Mizuki opened her mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Her chest felt tight, like she couldn’t breathe. All the rehearsals in her head, all the ways she’d imagined this going—it all crumbled in an instant.
“I—I need to go,” Mizuki muttered, her voice trembling. She turned on her heel, pushing past the door before Ena could say another word.
“Mizuki, wait!” Ena called after her, but Mizuki didn’t stop.
The festival lights blurred around her as she ran, the sound of her own heartbeat drowning out everything else. She couldn’t face Ena, not like this—not when Ena had seen the cracks in her carefully constructed mask.
By the time Mizuki slowed down, she found herself outside, standing in the cold drizzle of the evening rain. She wrapped her arms around herself, the chill seeping into her skin.
She’d wanted to share her truth with Ena. But not like this. Not like this.
Ena leaned against the doorframe of the now-empty backstage room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The sound of the festival buzzed faintly in the background, but it felt far away, muffled by the whirlwind of thoughts spinning in her head.
Mizuki’s abrupt departure left a heavy knot in Ena’s stomach. She replayed the scene over and over, trying to make sense of what had happened.
That student’s comment. The way Mizuki’s expression shattered like glass.
The memory of Mizuki’s trembling voice clung to her mind, and for the first time, Ena realized just how little she truly understood about her closest friend.
She exhaled sharply, shoving her tablet into her bag. You can’t just leave things like this, she thought, her jaw tightening.
Mizuki had always been her biggest supporter, the one who cheered her on when no one else did, who understood her frustrations better than anyone else. And now, when Mizuki clearly needed her, Ena had frozen, her own shock holding her back.
That wouldn’t happen again.
Ena slipped outside, her boots crunching against the damp grass as she scanned the school courtyard. Rain drizzled softly, painting the ground with faint reflections of the festival lights.
Mizuki was nowhere in sight.
She sighed, pulling out her phone. She hesitated before dialing, biting her lip as the phone rang once, twice—then went to voicemail.
“Of course,” Ena muttered under her breath, running a hand through her hair.
She opened her messaging app instead.
Ena: Mizuki. Where are you? Please, let’s talk.
The message stayed marked as unread, and Ena’s chest tightened.
In moments like these, she wished she were better at saying what she felt. Mizuki had always been the one to bridge the gap between them, teasing her out of her silences and making her feel understood without needing to say much.
Now Ena had to be the one to step up. But where could Mizuki have gone?
Her thumb hovered over Kanade’s name in her contacts list. She hesitated for a moment before hitting call.
Kanade answered on the second ring, her voice quiet but steady. “Ena? What’s going on?”
“It’s Mizuki,” Ena said, cutting straight to the point. “I need to find her. I think... something happened. Something important. Do you know where she might be?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
“She didn’t come to the Empty SEKAI, did she?” Kanade finally asked.
“The Empty SEKAI?” Ena repeated, confusion flickering across her face.
“She mentioned it before,” Kanade explained softly. “It’s a place tied to emotions—when someone feels like they don’t belong anywhere else, they end up there.”
Ena’s grip on the phone tightened. “That’s... Mizuki’s SEKAI?”
“Yes,” Kanade confirmed. “But if she’s there, she’s probably feeling really overwhelmed. You might not be able to get through to her right away.”
Ena shook her head, determination hardening her voice. “It doesn’t matter. Tell me how to get there.”
Kanade hesitated again, but she eventually gave Ena the instructions, her tone laced with concern. “Just be careful, Ena. It’s not easy to walk through someone else’s emotions. You’ll see things that might be hard to handle.”
Ena nodded, even though Kanade couldn’t see her. “I’ll deal with it. I’m not leaving Mizuki alone.”
Ena followed Kanade’s instructions, her heart pounding as she approached the quiet park on the edge of town. The rain had picked up slightly, soaking through her jacket as she stood in the middle of the empty clearing.
According to Kanade, the SEKAI could only be accessed by focusing on her connection to Mizuki. Ena closed her eyes, letting her memories surface.
Mizuki’s laughter. The way her eyes sparkled when she talked about fashion. The warmth of her hand brushing against Ena’s when she passed her a drink during late-night calls.
A faint glow began to form in the rain-soaked air. Ena opened her eyes, watching as a small portal rippled into existence in front of her.
She didn’t hesitate. Stepping through the portal felt like plunging into icy water, the world shifting around her in a blur of cold and silence.
When the sensation stopped, Ena found herself standing in the middle of a strange, desolate cityscape.
The Empty SEKAI stretched endlessly around her—a monochrome world drenched in rain. Cracked streets wound through tall, crumbling buildings, their windows shattered and dark.
Reflections in puddles scattered across the ground caught Ena’s attention. She stepped closer to one, peering into its surface.
Instead of her own reflection, she saw Mizuki, sitting alone in a dimly lit room. Her shoulders were hunched, her expression heavy with sadness.
The image flickered, changing to a younger Mizuki clutching a fabric swatch tightly in her hands while a group of voices laughed cruelly in the background.
Ena’s throat tightened. This place wasn’t just a manifestation of Mizuki’s emotions—it was a reflection of her pain.
“Mizuki!” Ena called, her voice echoing through the empty streets.
There was no response, but a faint glow caught her eye in the distance, emanating from what looked like a broken bridge.
Without hesitation, Ena began walking, the rain soaking through her clothes as she pressed on.
As Ena moved through the SEKAI, she encountered more reflections in the puddles—each one revealing moments of Mizuki’s self-doubt and rejection.
In one, Mizuki stood in front of a mirror, hesitating before wiping away makeup with shaking hands.
In another, she sat alone at lunch, her smile faltering as classmates whispered nearby.
Ena’s chest ached with every step, guilt settling heavy in her stomach. How much has she been hiding from me? From everyone?
But mixed in with the sadness, there were moments of hope:
Mizuki laughing with Kanade during a Nightcord de. rehearsal.
Mizuki’s eyes lighting up when Ena complimented her designs.
Mizuki softly saying, “You make me feel like I can be myself.”
Ena paused, the memory bringing a lump to her throat. You trusted me with that, Mizuki. I won’t let you down.
With renewed determination, Ena pressed on toward the glowing bridge.
Ena stood frozen for a moment, her heart aching at the sight of Mizuki huddled on the broken bridge. The rain poured endlessly around them, soaking Mizuki’s hair and clothes. She seemed smaller somehow, her usual spark replaced with a fragile, haunting stillness.
Ena’s boots splashed softly against the puddles as she approached, the quiet sound echoing in the desolate SEKAI.
“Mizuki,” she called gently, her voice trembling.
Mizuki didn’t look up. Her shoulders remained hunched, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Mizuki said, her voice barely audible over the rain.
Ena’s brows furrowed. She took another step forward, her determination outweighing the growing lump in her throat. “Why not? You’re here, aren’t you? You ran away—again. Did you really think I’d just let that happen?”
Mizuki flinched, but she didn’t respond. Ena sighed, kneeling beside her on the wet, crumbling surface of the bridge.
“Talk to me,” Ena said, her voice softening.
Mizuki finally lifted her head, her eyes rimmed with red, though the rain masked her tears. She turned her face away, avoiding Ena’s gaze.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Mizuki murmured. “You’ve already seen it. You’ve seen the parts of me I’ve tried so hard to keep hidden. What’s the point?”
Ena bit her lip, her chest tightening at Mizuki’s words. She wanted to scream, to shake her friend and demand why she thought so little of herself. But she knew that wouldn’t help.
Instead, Ena reached out hesitantly, her fingers brushing against Mizuki’s sleeve.
“I don’t know what you’ve been through,” Ena admitted. “But I know this—you’re more than the worst parts of yourself.”
Mizuki let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You say that now. But what about later? What about when you realize how... different I am? When you realize I’m not the ‘Mizuki’ you thought I was?”
Ena’s grip on Mizuki’s sleeve tightened. “Stop it. You’re Mizuki, okay? The Mizuki who’s annoyingly good at cheering people up, who’s ridiculously talented, and who drives me insane with their stupid jokes.”
A faint smile flickered across Mizuki’s lips before it vanished.
“You don’t get it, Ena,” Mizuki whispered. “I’ve spent so long pretending. Pretending to be someone who fits, someone who’s easy to like. But I’m not.”
Ena’s voice rose, her frustration breaking through. “So what if you’re not ‘easy to like’? You think I’m some perfect, lovable person? News flash, Mizuki—I’m not. I’m a mess too. But that’s what makes us human.”
Mizuki stared at her, wide-eyed, as Ena’s words hung in the air.
Before either of them could say more, the air around them grew colder. A low, rumbling sound echoed through the SEKAI, and Ena turned sharply.
From the swirling mist, a dark, shadowy figure began to emerge. Its form was fluid, shifting like liquid smoke, with piercing eyes that glowed red in the dim light.
Mizuki’s breath hitched. “No...”
The creature’s voice boomed, low and menacing, as it began to speak:
“Why bother fighting, Mizuki? You know they’ll leave you eventually. Just like everyone else.”
Ena’s fists clenched. “What the hell is that thing?”
Mizuki’s voice wavered. “It’s... it’s my doubt. My fear. It always shows up when I’m here.”
The creature loomed closer, its shape twisting into something monstrous. It sneered, its voice dripping with venom.
“Even now, you’re afraid, aren’t you? Afraid Ena will see you for who you really are. Afraid she’ll walk away when she realizes you’re not worth it.”
Mizuki cringed, her head bowing. Ena’s chest burned with anger—not at Mizuki, but at the cruel manifestation of her pain.
Ena stepped forward, putting herself between Mizuki and the creature. She glared at it, her voice steady and sharp.
“Shut up. Mizuki isn’t alone anymore, and she never will be. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
The creature hissed, recoiling slightly, but it didn’t retreat.
The creature’s form began to shift again, taking on the shape of Mizuki’s own silhouette. It smirked cruelly, mirroring Mizuki’s insecurities.
“You can’t protect her,” it snarled at Ena. “You don’t even know the full truth.”
Ena turned her head, glancing at Mizuki. “Then tell me the truth, Mizuki. Show me everything. I don’t care what it is—I’m not leaving.”
Mizuki looked up at Ena, her eyes shining with uncertainty.
“You mean that?” Mizuki asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ena nodded firmly. “I mean it. All of it. You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”
The creature let out a roar, its shadowy form lunging toward them. Ena grabbed Mizuki’s hand and pulled her to her feet.
“Come on,” Ena said. “You’re stronger than this thing. And I’ll help you prove it.”
As the creature attacked, Mizuki began to speak—not to Ena, but to the monster itself.
“You’re wrong,” Mizuki said, her voice trembling at first but growing stronger. “I might be scared, and I might not have all the answers... but that doesn’t mean I’m not worthy of love. It doesn’t mean I have to keep hiding.”
The creature shrieked, its form flickering and distorting. Ena tightened her grip on Mizuki’s hand, her voice cutting through the noise.
“You hear that? Mizuki doesn’t need you anymore.”
The creature let out one final, desperate roar before dissolving into mist. The rain began to ease, and the oppressive weight in the air lifted.
The Empty SEKAI began to change around them. The gray, crumbling cityscape gave way to soft sunlight filtering through parting clouds. Flowers began to bloom along the edges of the bridge, their colors vibrant against the fading rain.
Mizuki turned to Ena, her expression a mixture of relief and uncertainty.
“You really stayed,” Mizuki said softly.
Ena rolled her eyes, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Of course I stayed. What kind of person do you think I am?”
Mizuki laughed, the sound light and genuine.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Mizuki’s heart felt just a little less heavy.
The rain had stopped entirely, and the Empty SEKAI was no longer the desolate, gray landscape it had been when Ena arrived. The bridge beneath Mizuki and Ena’s feet seemed sturdier now, no longer crumbling but solid and adorned with vines of bright flowers.
Mizuki stood quietly, staring out at the horizon where the mist was clearing. She could feel the weight in her chest easing, but the fear still lingered, faint and insistent. Ena’s presence beside her, steady and unwavering, was the only thing keeping her grounded.
“I didn’t think anyone would ever come here,” Mizuki said finally, her voice quiet but steady.
Ena turned to look at her, her sharp eyes softening. “Why wouldn’t I? Mizuki, you’re important to me. Do you really think I’d let you go through this alone?”
Mizuki let out a small laugh, her lips curling into a faint smile. “I guess I just... I didn’t think anyone would want to deal with this side of me.”
Ena crossed her arms, tilting her head with a mock frown. “Deal with it? Mizuki, this is who you are. And honestly... I think you’re pretty amazing.”
Mizuki’s breath caught, and she turned to Ena, her heart thudding in her chest. “You really mean that?”
Ena scoffed, though her expression was tinged with warmth. “Of course I do. You’re not perfect—none of us are. But you’re brave, creative, and stupidly good at making me laugh when I don’t even want to. And yeah, you’re a pain sometimes, but I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”
The words hit Mizuki harder than she expected. She felt the corners of her eyes sting again, but this time it wasn’t sadness—it was something lighter, something closer to hope.
“Ena,” Mizuki said softly, her voice trembling. “Thank you.”
Ena sighed dramatically, though her smirk gave her away. “Don’t thank me yet. You still owe me an explanation for running off like that.”
Mizuki laughed, the sound more genuine than it had been in days. “Alright, alright. I’ll tell you everything. Just... give me a minute.”
They sat down together on the edge of the newly restored bridge, their feet dangling above the now-clear waters below. Mizuki fidgeted with the hem of her jacket, her nerves bubbling to the surface again.
“You probably already figured this out,” Mizuki began, her gaze fixed on the water. “But... I’ve been hiding a lot about myself. For a long time.”
Ena didn’t interrupt, waiting patiently as Mizuki gathered her thoughts.
“It’s not that I didn’t trust you,” Mizuki continued, her voice soft. “It’s just... I’ve always been scared. Scared of how people would react if they knew the real me. I thought it’d be easier to keep pretending—to keep playing the version of Mizuki that everyone expected.”
Ena’s brows furrowed, her heart aching at the vulnerability in Mizuki’s voice.
“But it’s exhausting,” Mizuki admitted, her hands tightening into fists. “Every time I wanted to show people who I really am, I’d hear this voice in my head telling me it wasn’t worth it. That they’d hate me. That I’d lose them.”
Mizuki glanced at Ena, her eyes filled with uncertainty. “That voice was wrong... wasn’t it?”
Ena didn’t hesitate. “Completely wrong.”
Mizuki blinked, startled by the conviction in Ena’s tone.
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Mizuki,” Ena continued, her voice firm. “I don’t care what version of yourself you show me—it’s still you. And I want to know all of you, even the parts you’re scared of.”
Mizuki’s lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to respond but couldn’t find the words. Instead, she nodded, her chest feeling both heavy and light all at once.
For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, the warmth of the newly brightened SEKAI wrapping around them like a blanket.
Eventually, Mizuki spoke again, her voice quieter. “You know... I think I’ve always been jealous of you, Ena.”
Ena’s brow arched. “Jealous? Of me? Why?”
Mizuki smiled faintly, her fingers brushing against the petals of a flower growing along the bridge. “You’re so confident. You say what you feel, even if it’s not always nice. I’ve always admired that about you. I wanted to be that brave.”
Ena blinked, startled. “Brave? Mizuki, I’m a walking disaster most of the time. Half the things I say come out wrong.”
“Maybe,” Mizuki admitted, her smile growing. “But you’re honest. And that honesty... it’s what makes you feel so real. I guess I just wanted to be real too.”
Ena’s expression softened, and she reached out to place a hand on Mizuki’s shoulder. “You are real, Mizuki. You always have been. You don’t have to compare yourself to anyone—especially not to me.”
Mizuki looked at her, her eyes shimmering with a mix of emotions. For the first time in a long time, she felt seen.
Ena stood, brushing off her skirt before holding a hand out to Mizuki.
“Come on,” she said. “We’ve got a festival to get back to.”
Mizuki hesitated, glancing around the renewed SEKAI. “Do you think it’s okay to leave? I feel like... this place hasn’t changed completely.”
Ena smiled faintly. “It doesn’t have to change all at once. Just like you. But it’s already brighter, and that’s because you decided to face it.”
Mizuki stared at her for a moment before taking her hand, letting Ena pull her to her feet.
As they walked back toward the portal, Mizuki felt a sense of quiet relief settle over her.
“Ena?” Mizuki said, breaking the silence.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For finding me. For staying.”
Ena smirked, though her expression held a rare softness. “You’re stuck with me now, Mizuki. Get used to it.”
Mizuki laughed, the sound light and genuine, as they stepped through the portal together.
Back in the real world, the festival lights sparkled around them. Mizuki and Ena walked side by side, their clothes still damp from the rain.
“Think Kanade’s gonna freak out that we disappeared?” Mizuki asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.
Ena rolled her eyes. “She’ll survive. Besides, she probably expected us to do something dramatic.”
They shared a laugh, the tension between them finally easing.
As they wandered through the lively festival, Ena glanced at Mizuki, her gaze lingering for a moment.
“I meant what I said, you know,” Ena said softly. “I’m here for you. Always.”
Mizuki felt her cheeks flush, but she didn’t look away. “I know. And... I’ll try to be braver. For you. For me.”
Ena smiled, a rare, genuine warmth lighting up her face. “Good. That’s all I ask.”
Under the glow of the festival lights, the two walked together, the weight of their unspoken truths finally lifted.
For the first time, Mizuki felt like she was exactly where she belonged.