...17/09/2009 Thursday; Midday...
The bell of Gekkoukan High echoed through the corridors, ringing like a collective call for rest.
The metallic sound reverberated between the walls, soon followed by the chatter of students. Chairs scraping, laughter, lunchboxes opening — the typical chaos of lunchtime.
Some students gathered in makeshift groups, turning desks around to share food and conversation. Others simply left the classroom, looking for a quieter corner to eat.
In Class 3-D, Hiro rose from his seat, stretching as his body protested the long hours of class. A small pop from his shoulder made him let out a faint sigh. He glanced back — and, as usual, his eyes stopped on her.
Mitsuru stood there, phone in hand, eyes focused on the screen. The red strands of her hair caught the sunlight streaming through the window, giving her an almost ethereal appearance.
"Hey... aren't you going to eat?" Hiro asked, turning to her with a curious tone.
Mitsuru lifted her gaze and smiled — that restrained, gentle smile she reserved for calm moments.
"No, I have to deal with something for the student council. Hidetoshi said the archery club is having some issues."
Hiro crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.
"Yukari's club? Is it serious?"
She made a small dismissive gesture with her hand.
"Don't worry. The supplier for the club's bow maintenance tools didn't send the order. I just need to find out what happened."
Her eyes softened, her firm tone melting into something gentler.
"I'm sorry I won't be keeping you company today."
Hiro smiled, relaxed, his shoulders easing.
"It's fine. I didn't even bring lunch today."
"Really?" she asked, a bit surprised. "Do you want mine?"
He shook his head, laughing softly.
"No need. I'll grab something to eat."
Mitsuru nodded, putting her phone away.
"Alright then. I'll see you later."
Hiro waved, his gaze lingering a moment longer — holding more affection than his words ever could.
As he turned toward the door, the sounds of the students filled his ears — laughter, voices, the clinking of utensils.
The corridor of Gekkoukan High was alive with echoes of footsteps, overlapping voices, and distant laughter. The smell of food drifted in from every direction.
Hiro walked calmly, hands in his pockets, passing groups of students chatting in the hallways.
The bell's ring still seemed to vibrate in the air, and the sunlight streaming through the windows painted the polished floor with warm midday tones.
Suddenly, he felt a light tap on his shoulder.
Hiro turned, surprised, and saw Fuuka standing there.
She looked a little shy, her cheeks faintly pink, fingers gripping a lunchbox wrapped in a floral cloth.
"Fuuka?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"
"Hi, Hiro..." Fuuka replied softly, her voice low and hesitant. "I was looking for you."
She stepped forward and held out the lunchbox with a nervous smile. Hiro blinked, slightly confused, before taking the bundle. The gentle warmth seeped through the cloth, and when he moved it slightly, he felt something liquid slosh inside.
"What's this?" he asked curiously.
Fuuka looked away, scratching her cheek with her fingertips.
"It's... something I cooked. Or, well, tried to cook. I wanted you to taste it."
"You cook?" Hiro lifted an eyebrow, surprised. "I've seen Yukari cooking with Minato, but I didn't know you did too."
Fuuka let out an awkward little laugh.
"I wouldn't say I really know how... I'm not that confident yet."
Hiro went silent for a moment — and a very specific memory surfaced in his mind.
One night at the dorm: he and Akihiko arriving to find Junpei collapsed on the floor, smoke pouring out of the kitchen.
Beside him, what was supposed to be grilled fish... but looked more like a lump of charcoal.
Fuuka noticed Hiro's distant look and gave a small laugh, trying to hide her nervousness.
"But I think it turned out alright today. I actually managed to make something decent this time... so I hope it's okay."
"Ah... I see." Hiro forced a small smile and swallowed hard, adjusting the lunchbox in his hands. "Well... I can eat it, sure."
Fuuka's face brightened immediately.
"Phew... thank goodness." she sighed, relief clear in her voice. "I was afraid I'd be bothering you."
Hiro took a deep breath, trying to convince himself it couldn't be that bad.
He smiled, a little nervous, and reached out to ruffle her hair gently.
"You're not bothering me. I like spending time with you."
Fuuka smiled shyly, her eyes drifting away.
"Me too, Hiro."
"Come on," he said, pointing toward the stairs. "We can sit on the rooftop."
Fuuka nodded, and the two walked side by side through the hallways, climbing the school's stairway as the sounds of laughter and chatter echoed around them.
When they reached the rooftop, a cool breeze greeted them along with the wide view of Tatsumi Port Island. The turbine blades in the distance turned lazily, and the faint sound of the sea mixed with the city's hum.
They sat on one of the benches near the railing. Hiro placed the lunchbox between his legs and began untying the cloth that wrapped it.
"What did you try to make?" he asked curiously, glancing at her.
Fuuka rested her hands on her lap and replied with an uncertain smile,
"Ah, something simple... rice, steamed vegetables... and roasted chicken."
Hiro's smile froze. A chill ran down his spine.
The weight of the lunchbox in his hands felt... wrong.
Inside his head, an alarm siren went off.
This is supposed to be solid. Why does it feel like there's liquid in here?
"Ahh... I see," he said, forcing a shaky laugh. "But... why does it feel like there's soup inside?"
"Soup?" Fuuka blinked, confused.
He slowly lifted the lid, like someone trying to disarm a bomb.
The steam that escaped hit his face with a smell that defied all culinary logic.
The "rice" had turned into a thick, white broth where chunks of vegetables floated like castaways.
The chicken — or what was left of it — had a color somewhere between brown and charcoal, and the smell... was an indecipherable mix of salt, vinegar, and something way too sweet.
Hiro froze. His smile vanished completely, replaced by pure regret.
"Good Lord..." he muttered under his breath. "What the hell is this?"
Fuuka leaned forward slightly, blinking in confusion as she looked at the open lunchbox. To her, it seemed... acceptable. Nothing particularly strange, at least at first glance.
Hiro looked at her, utterly bewildered, his brow furrowed in existential despair.
"Fuuka, what did you do?"
"Well..." she began, scratching her cheek with a nervous smile. "I followed a recipe I found on a cooking blog. But... I guess it didn't turn out the way I expected."
"You guess?!" Hiro pointed at what was supposed to be rice, disbelief written all over his face. "The rice turned into soup!"
Fuuka lowered her gaze, shoulders drooping. "I'm sorry... I told you I'm not good at cooking."
Her tone disarmed him. Hiro looked down at the lunchbox in his lap, a tight feeling forming in his chest.
She had tried. Maybe spent hours preparing this, even without knowing what she was doing.
He knew he shouldn't — he really shouldn't — but something inside him kept him from backing down.
"I just hope this doesn't kill me," he said, picking up the spoon attached to the lid.
Fuuka watched him expectantly, her hands clasped in her lap.
He dipped the spoon into the "rice" and lifted the thick liquid, which dripped in sticky strands.
As soon as the smell hit his nose, his whole body shivered.
"Holy crap..." he muttered, resigned.
He closed his eyes and brought the spoon to his mouth.
The first thing that hit was the salt — not just salty, but a mineral avalanche that burned his tongue. Then came the sourness, sharp like pure vinegar, followed by a growing heat that climbed up his throat.
Hiro tried to swallow, but his body reacted before his mind could.
His muscles tensed, and he coughed violently, fighting not to spit it out in front of her.
His face twisted in sheer despair.
His body refused to cooperate. His throat locked up.
"Hiro!" Fuuka cried out, alarmed, her voice full of panic. "Are you okay?!"
He dropped the lunchbox on the bench, his face pale and eyes wide.
In an almost instinctive movement, he shot up and sprinted toward the trash can by the rooftop door.
His footsteps echoed loudly — sharp, frantic, like each one was a race against death itself.
When he reached it, he yanked the lid open and spat everything out, coughing as if his entire body was trying to purge the infernal taste.
Each breath was a struggle, but slowly, relief washed over him — as if he could finally breathe again.
Hiro stepped away from the trash can and started walking back to Fuuka, the look of pure regret still written all over his face.
The taste of what he had just tried to eat stubbornly lingered, even after spitting it out.
He sat beside her, letting out a heavy sigh as his body slowly relaxed.
"Fuuka... I think you really need to learn to cook with someone," he said, rubbing his chest as if still trying to recover from the ordeal.
Fuuka turned her gaze toward the view ahead.
The sky above the school was clear, with only a few clouds scattered across the blue. The midday light shimmered over the distant buildings.
A faint smile crossed her lips, but her voice carried a touch of melancholy.
"Well... I didn't really have many people to teach me."
Hiro tilted his head slightly, curious. "Hmm?"
Fuuka looked back at him, her eyes distant, as if lost in old memories. "Before I joined S.E.E.S... long before you showed up... I didn't have many friends."
Hiro rested his elbows on his knees, gazing down at the ground, thoughtful. "Actually... I never asked you something."
She blinked, intrigued. "What is it?"
A gentle breeze blew, lifting a few strands of her hair. Hiro watched her silently for a moment before speaking.
"Around the beginning of June... everyone at school was saying you'd disappeared. They were talking about a ghost wandering the halls, but the teachers kept insisting you were just sick." He lifted his eyes to hers, his tone steady. "After everything we've been through in Tartarus and during the Dark Hour... I don't think that was true."
Fuuka's smile faded. She fell silent for a moment, her fingers intertwining on her lap. The memories returned — the cold of Tartarus, the distant sound of the creatures, the suffocating fear that nearly froze her in place.
She remembered walking in circles through the endless corridors of that maze.
And then... she remembered when she first saw them — S.E.E.S, their voices shouting her name through the darkness.
The battle against the two Shadow Arcana... The Emperor and The Empress.
She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
"You're right..." she murmured, her eyes fixed on the horizon. "It wasn't an illness."
Hiro turned his head toward her, curiosity flickering in his gaze. "Then what was it?"
TO BE CONTINUED...