I descended the stairs, careful with each step, hoping to slip away from the suffocating pressure that clung to the Shiba household like stale air.
Unfortunately, that hope didn't last long.
"Ah! Good morning, Onii-chan," my sister said casually as she passed me, not even bothering to look my way.
I blinked, unsure whether she expected a response. In the end, I gave her none.
I continued into the kitchen, my legs feeling heavier than they should've. Mom stood at the counter, busy with breakfast, the clatter of utensils filling the silence I hadn't bothered to break.
"Good morning, Kaede. Takumi," she said, evenly.
"Good morning, Mom," my sister replied without hesitation.
I raised a hand in acknowledgment, nothing more. As if on cue, the two of them exchanged a glance—brief, practiced. The kind that silently asked the same question they always did.
How long is he going to stay mad?
For the rest of my life.
Don't bother pretending we're a family now.
Honestly, I almost wished you'd kept mistreating me.
Then I'd at least have an excuse—something concrete—to justify tearing into you.
And I know you're both waiting for it.
The outburst. The anger. The scene.
No. I'm not even going to bother.
Your mere existence is already an insult to the words mother and sister. No effort required.
The realization unsettled me.
Memories surfaced without warning.
Middle school. The bullying.
Names whispered, chalked onto my desk, carved into the margins of my notebooks.
It should've stayed like that.
Then I decided to take retribution into my own hands.
I beat one of them.
The bullying didn't stop—it mutated. And the worse it became, the more violent I got in return. Each time, it felt easier. More natural.
When the ringleader ended up in the hospital after what I did to him, I knew I'd crossed a line.
The bullies stopped after that.
As if common sense finally kicked in.
I told them, flatly, "You might be next."
And then, "The next one won't wake up in a hospital bed."
That was enough.
I was no longer their target.
I became the teachers' problem.
No matter how many times I explained that I was defending myself, it didn't matter. The words bounced right off them. Excuses, they called it. Violence, they called me.
When it became clear no one was listening—when every plea hit a wall—I snapped.
I grabbed my homeroom teacher by the collar and punched him.
His glasses shattered on the floor.
My mother didn't ask what happened.
She sat across from me, smoothing the crease in her apron, eyes fixed on the table.
"Takumi," she said, calm enough to hurt, "do you know how embarrassed I was today?"
I stayed silent.
"The vice-principal called," she continued. "He asked what kind of home you come from."
Her fingers tightened slightly.
"I told him you were always a difficult child."
That struck a chord.
"Difficult child? For defending myself? They always pick on me—everyone—"
She cut me off.
"Enough."
Her voice snapped, sharp and sudden, loud enough to make me flinch.
She stood up, chair scraping against the floor. "Do you hear yourself?," she said, anger finally spilling through the cracks in her composure. "Always everyone else's fault. Always excuses."
I clenched my fists. "I was just—"
"You were violent," she said, pointing at me. "You embarrassed your school. You embarrassed your teachers. You embarrassed this family."
The words hit harder than the slap I was half-expecting.
"Do you know what people will say?," she went on, pacing now. "That I raised you wrong. That there's something wrong with you. With us."
She stopped in front of me, eyes burning.
"Your sister manages to live quietly. Why can't you?"
I swallowed, my throat tight.
"You're a shame," she said, not shouting anymore—worse, calm again.
"A stain I have to explain away every time someone asks about my son."
I shivered—not in fear, but in anger.
My own mother… betrayed me.
The words tore out of my throat before I could stop them, sharp and poisonous.
"It's your fault for giving birth to me…," I said. "I didn't ask for any of this! You should've just had an abortion!"
The room froze.
For a split second, her face went completely blank, like something inside her had shut off. Then her hand moved—fast.
The slap cracked across my cheek, loud enough to echo off the walls.
"How dare you," she hissed, her voice trembling with fury. "Do you have any idea what you're saying?"
My cheek burned, but I didn't look away.
She was breathing hard now, eyes glossy—not with guilt, not with regret, but with wounded pride.
"I carried you," she said. "I fed you. I sacrificed for you. And this is how you repay me?"
She turned away first.
"Go to your room," she said coldly. "I don't want to see your face right now."
I didn't answer.
I went to the kitchen.
The knife was already in my hand by the time I realized what I was doing. My fingers were numb. I walked back and held it out toward her, the handle shaking in my grip.
"Then if I'm such a shame to you and this family…" My voice cracked. "Kill me. Kill me now."
Her breath hitched.
For the first time, her face changed — color draining, eyes widening in something close to fear.
"I don't want to live anymore!" I shouted. "Fuck you! Fuck all of you!"
"Takumi—!"
Her voice broke.
"Stop."
"Why?" I asked. "You said I ruin everything. You said I embarrass you. So what's the difference?"
Her hand hovered, unsure whether to take the knife or push it away.
"I didn't mean it like that," she said — too quickly.
That was it.
Not I'm sorry.
Not I was wrong.
Just distance.
She took the knife from my hand and set it on the counter, carefully, like it might break.
"Don't do things like this," she said, quieter now. "You're… you're being unreasonable."
Unreasonable.
She pressed her lips together, eyes unfocused, as if searching for the right script and coming up empty.
"Go to your room," she repeated. "We'll talk later."
We never did.
The color drained from my face. My stomach twisted, the memory turning breakfast into something I had to force down.
I stood up.
"Takumi? You haven't finished your—" Mom started.
"I'm not hungry," I cut in.
I pushed my chair back and turned away.
"If you'll excuse me."
I grabbed my backpack, slipped on my shoes, and bolted out of the house as fast as I could.
The spring air of Matsumoto hit me like a curse, sakura petals drifting through the streets, their sweetness turning sour in my nose.
I hate this place.
Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Small. I turned around.
"Good morning, Shiba-kun," Yamashita said, offering a small smile before pulling her hand back.
"Morning, Yamashita," I replied, casual.
I thought she'd walk past me, but instead she slowed her pace and fell in beside me, walking at my right side.
Weird—but I didn't question it.
Maybe I just needed to hear a voice that didn't come from my own head.
"I started reading Norwegian Wood, by the way…" I said, trying to fill the quiet.
I couldn't lie—it struck a chord. Watanabe made it out of Japan. I wanted to be like him, somehow.
Yamashita's eyes lit up for a moment, and I couldn't tell if it was surprise or something else entirely.
"Really? How do you like it so far?" she asked, that spark in her eyes only ever reserved for books.
"It's… good, I guess," I said, scratching the back of my cheek. "Watanabe makes a point about the student movement being kind of hypocritical."
She nodded, clearly intrigued. "Yeah… I can see that. He notices things most people overlook. The way he watches people… it's almost like he's invisible to them, but he sees everything."
Then, quietly: "He reminds me of someone…"
I tensed, turning slightly. You don't mean me, right?
Her gaze drifted forward, thoughtful, not meeting mine. "Someone quiet… someone who doesn't show what they're feeling, but you know they notice everything anyway."
"Makes sense, I guess…," I replied, not knowing what else to say.
Then silence settled between us—not heavy, not awkward. Just surprisingly comfortable.
From a distance, I spotted Suzuki, walking around with her usual idol-like confidence, surrounded by an invisible spotlight only she seemed aware of.
Her eyes flicked toward us. Narrowed, just a little.
Then, to my surprise, she raised a hand and waved us over.
"Good morning, Yamashita-san! Shiba-kun!" she called out, bright and energetic, like she was greeting an audience.
"Good morning, Suzuki,"
"Good morning, Suzuki-san,"
We answered in unison.
She closed the distance quickly, falling into step beside us as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Since when are the two of you so close?" Suzuki asked with a grin that was just a little too knowing.
Yamashita didn't flinch. She adjusted the strap of her bag, posture straight, expression calm—almost studious.
"We just happened to run into each other," she replied evenly. "We were walking the same way."
Suzuki hummed, eyes flicking between us.
"Mm. Funny how often that happens lately."
I felt the air shift—not heavier, exactly, but charged. Like static before a spark.
Yamashita met Suzuki's gaze, unblinking. Her smile was small, polite… and firm.
"Is that a problem, Suzuki-san?"
"Oh? Not at all," Suzuki laughed lightly, though her grip tightened around her phone. "I just didn't know Shiba-kun was so popular."
Yamashita's fingers curled briefly around her bag strap.
"I think," she said, voice still soft, "people just notice him more when they actually look."
Suzuki's grin widened.
"Well," she said, stepping closer, slipping effortlessly onto my left side, "I've always been good at noticing things first."
Ladies and gentlemen… this was the peak of absurdity.
A few days ago, I was a nobody. Background noise.
Now, somehow, two girls were walking beside me, drawing eyes and whispers like I'd committed a crime just by existing.
As we passed through the school gate, I heard it.
"Is that Shiba?" "That delinquent?" "What are they doing with him—did he threaten them?"
I clicked my tongue.
"Fucking normies…" I muttered, then glanced at them. "You should walk ahead. Wouldn't wanna be seen with a delinquent like me."
"I don't care," Suzuki shot back without missing a beat.
Yamashita adjusted her glasses, voice calm.
"I'm the class president, Shiba-kun. You're one of the students I'm responsible for."
You know what? I stopped questioning it.
I didn't reply, my thoughts drifting somewhere quieter.
As we entered the classroom, I switched on my usual background-noise filter, tuning out the shocked stares and hushed reactions when they saw me walk in with the two of them.
I waved them goodbye, then headed for my seat like nothing was out of the ordinary.
I sat down.
And one thought—small, quiet, but stubborn—took root in my mind like a seed I didn't even know had been planted.
I want to live alone.
I was done pretending that the creatures calling themselves my family were tolerable.
Done convincing myself they were worth enduring.
That chapter was over.