While walking home, Isagi glanced at the time on his phone and was surprised to see it was already 6:30 a.m.
He let out an almost inaudible "tch…", more resigned than worried. He knew exactly how long it would take to get home, yet he still muttered to himself.
"I'm gonna end up being late…"
And with that, he quickened his pace.
The quickened pace turned into a jog. Then the jog turned into a full sprint—not a normal run, but that absurd speed that allowed him to cross an entire field in just a few breaths, far too fast for any ordinary person awake at that hour to notice.
The cold wind cut across his face, prickling the dried sweat on his nape and lifting the hem of his T-shirt slightly. His body protested the heavy training he'd just put it through; every step reminded him that keeping this up might not be the smartest idea… yet he moved lightly, precisely, as if that near-superhuman rhythm felt completely natural.
In less than two minutes, he was already turning the last corner and catching sight of the family home.
The front door was unlocked, as it always was in the morning.
He slipped inside quietly, controlling his breathing so he wouldn't sound like he'd just sprinted like an Olympic athlete. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingled with the smell of toast.
At the table, his father, Issei, was leafing through a crumpled newspaper while his mother, Iyo, arranged a jar of jam.
"Morning," Isagi said as he quickly passed through the hallway leading to the kitchen—more of an automatic gesture than a proper greeting.
Issei raised a single eyebrow, the classic sign he'd noticed something but decided not to comment.
Iyo smiled, gentle as always.
"Good morning, dear."
Isagi was already climbing the stairs when Issei called out, without much effort:
"Back late, huh?"
He simply raised a hand in response—because if he stopped to talk, he'd lose time.
In his room, the routine was so familiar his body moved on autopilot: he opened the wardrobe, grabbed the impeccably folded Ichinan Academy uniform, tossed it onto the bed, and picked out socks, underwear, and a towel—all in one fluid motion, the way someone does when they've been doing it forever.
Then he dashed downstairs to the bathroom. The shower was quick, almost military. The hot water relaxed his muscles for a few seconds—just long enough for him to let out a long sigh, drop his head under the stream, and try to forget he still had an entire day ahead before he could lie down again.
He stepped out, wrapped the towel around his waist, went back upstairs, and put on the uniform efficiently, without wasting time. The tie came out crooked on the first try; he huffed and adjusted it more carefully until it was straight.
Back in the kitchen, he found the scene he saw almost every day: Issei tugging at the collar of his dress shirt with the expression of someone battling an ancient enemy, while Iyo patiently tried to help him with almost divine patience.
"…Dad, you still haven't learned to tie a tie by yourself?" Isagi asked, opening the cupboard to grab a mug.
Issei grumbled something that sounded like "this is unnecessary for my job," but Iyo just laughed softly.
"Your father has been like this since before you were born…" she said, adjusting the knot with light movements.
Isagi prepared his strong, simple coffee while listening to the two of them gently bicker about the schedule, the weather forecast, the usual traffic. It was comfortable. Sometimes even cozy in a way he wouldn't admit out loud.
"And you?" Issei asked, slinging his work bag over his shoulder. "Any problems today?"
"Nah," Isagi replied, blowing on his coffee before taking a small sip. "Just… a busy morning."
Iyo tilted her head slightly, curious, but didn't press. She always seemed to know exactly when not to push.
Issei finished getting ready, gave his wife a quick kiss, patted Isagi lightly on the shoulder—a pat so soft it barely registered, like the tap of a tired cat—and left with a "see you later."
When the door closed, the house grew quieter.
Isagi washed his own mug, set it on the rack, and went back upstairs, taking the steps calmly. Upstairs, he packed his backpack with care: pencil case, notebooks, literature book, water bottle, school wallet—everything in its proper place, following the order he himself had created so he wouldn't waste time.
His phone buzzed once.
He didn't even need to look to know who the message was from.
But he looked anyway.
It was Marin.
Of course it was Marin.
The notification glowed with that outrageously pink icon she insisted was "discreet." The message, as always, came with three completely random emojis that had nothing to do with the context:
"ISAGIIII-KUNNNN You promised! Hurry up and send me pics of the cosplay!! I wanna see!! I wanna see nooowwww!! >///<…"
Isagi let out a heavy sigh—the kind that came straight from the soul.
He had completely forgotten he'd promised to show her the finished cosplay. And knowing Marin, if he took another five minutes, she'd probably send a video call, a fifty-second voice note, or—worse—a crying selfie.
He opened the wardrobe, reached up to the highest shelf, pulled down the large white box, and placed it on the bed. The sound of stiff paper opening echoed through the quiet room. Inside, folded with impeccable care, was the complete cosplay. He took it out piece by piece, spreading it across the blue bedspread and smoothing out a few creases that had appeared overnight.
Once it looked presentable, he grabbed his phone, adjusted the angle, and took several photos: front, back, fabric details, accessories lined up. Nothing artistic—just functional. He sent everything on LINE.
Marin's reply came in exactly five seconds.
"Isagiii-kun, no matter how many times I see it, it's so beautiful!!! I'm dying! If I hadn't taken the subway today, I swear I'd already be at your place! I'd come right now to try it on—even if it meant skipping school!"
Isagi typed slowly, like someone speaking to a wild animal that might explode at any moment:
"Kitagawa-san, you have a test today, remember? You don't want to repeat the year, do you?"
Marin replied almost instantly, as if she'd already typed the message before he even finished his own.
"I know, I know! I know about the test! But the cosplay is worth it!! You don't understand, Isagi-kun! It's Shizuku-tan!! My Shizuku-tan!! I need to show her my love!! If I could skip class just to wear it right now, I totally would! ><"
Isagi read it all with his usual neutral expression, but a breath escaped through his nose that bordered on a quiet laugh. He didn't need to see her face to picture the scene: eyes sparkling, hands flailing, her whole body vibrating like she was about to spontaneously combust. She was probably blushing all the way to her ears as she typed—and that wasn't exactly rare for anyone who knew Marin well.
He replied with one final, short, simple message—because anything more would only fuel her explosive excitement:
"You're way too cute."
And he locked the screen before another flood of messages could arrive.
The room fell back into its usual silence.
Isagi carefully closed the cosplay box, slid it back to the far end of the wardrobe shelf, and pushed it until it clicked into its exact spot. His backpack was ready, so he just slung it over his shoulder and took a deep breath—more to mentally prepare himself for the rest of the day than for any other reason.
He went downstairs calmly, leaving behind the accumulated fatigue of the early morning and trying to shift into "normal Ichinan student" mode—something that required more effort than it should.
Iyo was in the kitchen, rinsing a bowl. She looked up when she heard his footsteps.
"Heading out, dear?"
"Yep." He slipped on his shoes at the entrance, adjusted his backpack, and gave a small wave. "I'm off."
She smiled—soft, always soft.
"Have a good day at school."
Isagi made an affirmative sound, opened the door, and let the fresh morning air touch his face as he stepped toward the gate. He walked out the gate, adjusted the backpack strap on his shoulder, and headed down the street still bathed in that cool, bluish early-morning light. He didn't need to run, so he jogged at his own pace—a fast, normal rhythm that wouldn't even make him sweat.
His footsteps were so light they barely made a sound.
The cold wind brushed his face, carrying the distinctive scents of the early hours: warm bread from a distant bakery, lingering chill from the night, damp grass from the school field. It was a comfortable silence. A silence that matched exactly what he wanted for his mind right then.
After about twenty minutes, the school came into view in the distance—the large gate still half-closed, the blue-and-white banner catching the faint morning light. A few students walked slowly, looking sleepy. Others yawned, hugging their jackets. And Isagi… he wasn't even sweating. Not a bit. His breathing was perfect, his body light, as if he'd only taken a casual stroll around the block.
When he got close enough, he slowed from a jog to a relaxed walk. His uniform was impeccable, tie in place, hair still slightly damp from the shower but already drying at the tips. He stopped in a discreet corner near the shadow of the side wall and pulled his phone from his pocket.
There were still twenty minutes until class started.
The screen lit up, and the first notification was exactly what he expected. Marin.
"ISAGI-KUNNNN!!! Don't just call me cute like that!! Seriously, my heart almost stopped!!! I'm dying to have you see me as Shizuku-tan. You have no idea what you're doing to me, ugh!!! >///< Stop it!!!!!"
Isagi let out a short breath through his nose, holding back the laugh before it escaped too much. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and typed calmly.
"Kitagawa-san, breathe. I'm already at school. We'll see each other in class soon."
Almost instantly, the "typing…" bubble appeared.
"EEEEEEHHHH!? You're already at school!? How do you get there so early every day?? Are you trying to compete with the sun!? I just got to the station! It'll take me a few minutes to get to school!"
Isagi locked the screen before he got trapped in another twenty messages.
The next notification was from Yuki.
"Good morning, Isagi-kun! I hope you're not running through the hallways again today. Take care of your leg. :)"
He replied without thinking twice.
"No worries, Suou-san. I'm taking it easy today."
Next came a message from Kaguya. The way she wrote was always elegant, flawless—as if even her texts had formal manners.
"Good morning, Isagi-kun. About tonight… just confirming: everything is still on? I'm looking forward to it. Perhaps a little too much."
Isagi took a deep breath before typing. Of all today's commitments, this was the one that could cause the biggest headache if he forgot.
"Everything's set, Shinomiya-san. I won't miss it. I'll message you when I'm on my way."
Her reply came almost immediately—something rare for her.
"I'm glad. Have an excellent day."
Isagi scrolled down. Alya had sent a short message…
"Don't be late. Good morning."
He replied in the same tone:
"Good morning to you too, Alya. I'm at school. I won't be late."
Finally, Maria.
Unlike the others, Maria wrote with affection, with that tenderness that seemed to wrap around every word.
"Good morning, Saa-kun. When you get to school, send me a message, okay? I want to know you're alright."
Isagi stared at the phone for two seconds before typing.
"Good morning, Maa-chan. I just got here. I'm fine."
She replied right away:
"I'm glad… Have a wonderful day. Tell me later how everything went—want to have lunch together?"
Isagi said he'd see and let her know, then quickly locked the screen as if the phone might explode if he stared any longer.
With everyone answered, he let out a long sigh and rested the back of his head against the wall. The sky was a little brighter now. The flow of students was slowly increasing. Low conversations, dragging footsteps, scattered laughter.
He firmly slipped the phone back into his pocket with an almost automatic "that's enough for now" gesture.
He turned toward the main gate of Ichinan Academy and started walking. He passed the club posters taped to the wall, the janitor sweeping the entrance, the first groups of students chatting with juice boxes in hand—some greeted him because of his newfound popularity.
Everything felt normal, just like any other morning.
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