The evening air around the academy carried a strange silence—one that neither Luna nor Souta could ignore. Even though they were apart, walking in different corners of the city, their thoughts drifted back to the same place, the same memory, as though an unseen thread tugged them into a shared dream. A soft summer breeze brushed past them, and suddenly, the world around them blurred into the warmth of their childhood—the summer camp that had changed everything.
The memory opened with the brightness of a sun too gentle to burn and too golden to ignore. The school's annual summer camp sat nestled between two small hills, surrounded by thick forests where sunlight dripped like liquid gold between the leaves. The air was scented with pine, wet soil, and distant wildflowers. A small river forked around the camp, its water so clear that even pebbles beneath looked like shining marbles. Wooden cottages lined the area, each painted lightly with pastel colors—lavender, soft blue, peach, mint—chosen by the children themselves every year.
Luna remembered stepping out of the bus, wide-eyed, her small hands clutching her backpack straps tightly. She had always loved quiet places, and the camp was a dream—open skies, singing birds, soft wind, and endless space to breathe. Haruto was the first to jump off the bus with his usual carefree smile, Beru following behind with excitement that could barely be contained, and Souta—Souta was already running around like a free spirit unleashed, trying to climb the nearest tree before the teachers could stop him.
Souta, remembering the same moment now, smiled faintly to himself. Even back then, he had been a whirlwind of trouble, curiosity, and energy. He could never sit still, always poking his head into places he shouldn't. But back then… Luna was the complete opposite—quiet, thoughtful, gentle. She chose her words carefully, her steps carefully, and her smiles were soft like the morning sun. He never understood why he felt so drawn to her even as children. Maybe because she grounded him, or maybe because she always looked at him—not with annoyance like the teachers, not with laughter like the other kids—but with concern, as though his safety mattered to her.
The memory deepened, shifting to the first day of the camp. Luna remembered the field games Haruto forced everyone to join. Beru dragged her along by the wrist, Souta tripped over a rope obstacle and rolled down a small muddy slope, popping up with grass in his hair but laughing like he had just discovered treasure. And for the first time, Luna laughed—openly, freely. She could still hear the sound of it in her mind, like tiny bells. Souta remembered glancing back at her, surprised at how beautiful that sound was, even then.
But the real moment—the one that carved their bond deeper than either of them understood—happened on the third day.
The camp trail that year included a short trek up a nearby hill where the river could be seen weaving through the forest like a silver ribbon. The children walked in groups, some talking loudly, some collecting stones, some complaining about the heat. Luna walked behind, admiring a butterfly with wings like painted glass. She stepped a little too close to the edge of a narrow path—not knowing that the soil beneath had weakened from the previous night's rainfall.
She felt it before it happened—a sinking, shifting sensation under her shoes. The earth crumbled.
Luna remembered the terrifying weightlessness, the rush of wind, the moment her feet lost the ground, the world flipping upside down. She remembered screaming, not because she thought she would die, but because everything had happened too quickly for her small mind to accept.
But Souta remembered something else entirely.
He had been walking ahead with Haruto, boasting about how he could climb trees faster than any squirrel. And then he heard her scream. It was a sound that sliced the air cleanly, sharp enough to freeze every child on the trail. He didn't think—he just spun around, saw Luna disappearing over the edge, and ran.
Teachers shouted. Haruto reached out but was too far. Beru gasped. But Souta had always been quick, reckless, and wild enough to trust his instincts. He threw himself forward, belly sliding across the dirt, reaching down with all the force his small body had.
His hand caught her wrist.
Luna's memory trembled at this part. She remembered looking up through tears, seeing Souta's small hand gripping her with all his strength, his fingers trembling, his face pale but determined. "I got you! Don't let go!" he had yelled, his voice cracking. She remembered the burning in her arms, the fear, the relief, the wind tossing her hair everywhere. And then she remembered the moment more people reached them—Haruto holding Souta's waist, teachers grabbing Haruto, a chain of desperate hands pulling them up.
The instant they rolled back to solid ground, Souta didn't let go of her wrist. Not even after the teachers checked her for injuries. Not even after she started crying. He just sat there, covered in dirt, shaking, but still holding her hand tightly, repeating, "You're safe… you're safe… it's okay… I got you…"
That was the day they became best friends.
The memory faded like morning mist, leaving a gentle ache in both their hearts. Luna stopped walking for a moment, pressing a hand to her chest. She had forgotten how deeply that moment had shaped her. How much it meant that someone had cared so fiercely for her, even as a child. Souta wasn't just mischievous. He wasn't just loud, annoying, or unpredictable. He had always been someone who would leap into danger without hesitation if someone he cared about needed him.
And thinking about that—thinking about what had happened recently, the pain she had felt, the way he had hurt her unintentionally—she realized that maybe she had been too harsh. Maybe she should have spoken to him clearly, told him how she felt. She had always known his heart was genuine. That memory only reminded her more.
Souta, walking alone under the streetlights of the present, felt the same ache. He had messed up. Hurt her feelings. Pushed her away when she had never pushed him. But remembering the cliff incident made his chest feel tight. She had always been precious to him. He didn't know when he realized it—maybe long ago, maybe last year, maybe yesterday—but Luna Ayame meant more to him than words could capture. And tonight, he wanted to fix things.
He stopped walking and pulled out his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen, trembling a little with nerves he wasn't used to feeling.
Souta: Luna… can we meet? Just for a moment. At the park. I want to talk to you. Properly. Please.
He stared at the message before pressing send. His heart pounded, not knowing whether she would reply or ignore him. But he needed to apologize—sincerely, honestly. No jokes, no excuses. Just truth.
Meanwhile, Luna was still lost in her thoughts near the edge of her street when her phone buzzed. She pulled it out and saw his message. For a second, her breath caught. The urge to cry rose unexpectedly—not out of sadness, but relief. He wanted to meet. He wanted to talk.
Without thinking, she whispered softly to herself, "I'll forgive you." And she began running.
She didn't grab a jacket. She didn't think about anything else. Her feet moved on their own, heart pounding with hope. The night air rushed past her, cool and sweet, carrying the scent of jasmine from her neighborhood gardens. Her hair flowed behind her like silver ribbons. She felt light, almost childlike again, as though her heart had returned to that summer camp moment when everything was simple.
What Luna didn't notice was the faint rustle behind her.
A shadow had been watching. Waiting.
As she passed under a dim streetlight, the shadow slipped out—silent, swift, dangerous. The air grew colder around her, and something felt wrong. She slowed for a moment, turning her head slightly, sensing eyes on her. But before she could react—
A strong arm wrapped around her waist. A gloved hand covered her mouth.
Luna's scream never escaped. Her phone slipped from her hand, hitting the pavement. The shadow pulled her backward into an alley where two more figures waited—faces masked, steps coordinated. She struggled, thrashing desperately, but one of the men whispered softly against her ear, "Don't make this harder. Come quietly."
She kicked, clawed, tried to shout, but a cloth pressed against her nose and mouth. The world spun. The shadows blurred. Her knees weakened. The last thing she heard was one of the men saying, "The boss will be pleased. Move."
And everything turned black.
Back at the park, Souta waited.
He sat on the swing, tapping his foot nervously. He checked his phone every few minutes. He rehearsed what he would say. He imagined her smiling softly, imagined their conversation ending with laughter, imagined everything returning to normal.
But minutes turned to hours.
The park emptied. Streetlights flickered. The night grew cold.
Souta's heart slowly sank. He looked at the path repeatedly, expecting her to appear at any moment. But she didn't. His messages remained unread. His calls didn't go through.
"Maybe… maybe she still hasn't forgiven me," he whispered to himself.
He forced a smile, trying to stay positive, but it felt hollow. Still, he didn't leave. Something inside him refused to walk away. So he stayed. On the swing. Under the pale light of the moon. Waiting for the girl who had been his bond since childhood.
Waiting for a forgiveness he didn't know she desperately wanted to give.
Waiting, while Luna was taken farther and farther away into the night.
And the park remained silent.
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To be continued...