A Morning Too Bright for What Was Coming
Some mornings shine too brightly for their own good.
Jeremy High basked in one of those unnaturally cheerful mornings—the kind where the sun seemed personally invested in blinding students through the windows, and the breeze carried the faint smell of cafeteria ramen even before first period.
On days like these, Riyura always felt a kind of restless excitement. The blue of the sky was just a little too vibrant, the shadows too gentle, the air holding the promise of something ridiculous or magical.
And today was the school's annual Orange-Eating Contest, a silly tradition no one took seriously except for the five students who absolutely shouldn't have been competing in anything involving food, speed, or social expectations.
Riyura adjusted the crooked bow tie that never obeyed the laws of physics. "Alright everyone! Let's keep emergency services on standby, but let's try to avoid actually needing them!"
Subarashī cracked his knuckles like he was preparing for an anime tournament arc. "ORANGE ENERGY OVERLOAD—MODE: CITRUS GOD!"
Miyaka was already laughing, peeling her orange with an expression halfway between delight and quiet terror. "I'm allergic to disappointment… so don't let me lose, okay?"
Even Cartoon Headayami—forever scowling, forever oddly rigid—held his orange with samurai-like intensity, juice dripping down his chin like it insulted his ancestors.
And somewhere among them, sitting quietly like a shadow that forgot how to blend in, was Shoehead Gloveohiko. He picked up a single, small orange. Rolled it between his palms. Not smiling. Not frowning.
Just… distant. Riyura noticed it instantly. He always did.He opened his mouth to ask—and then the contest began.
The Goofy Beginning That Should've Stayed Goofy
Riyura slapped his makeshift gong (a borrowed cafeteria tray) and shouted, "BEGIN! And may the tastiest among you thrive!"
Subarashī attacked his orange like he was fighting a mid-boss in a JRPG. "Witness… the CITRUS BLADE TECHNIQUE!" He peeled it so dramatically he accidentally flung the rind into the ceiling light. The room dimmed ominously. Someone screamed. A teacher outside fainted. The usual Jeremy High nonsense.
Miyaka tried to peel her orange only for the peel to cling to her fingers like a desperate koala. "Why won't you let go?! Release me, citrus demon!"
Cartoon Headayami ate his orange with all the joy of a tax auditor, his expression unwavering even as juice ran down his chin like a tragic waterfall. "I am participating," he stated flatly, sounding like a person reading his own arrest warrant.
Riyura was laughing. He always laughed. This was what he loved—his weird friends, their loud hearts, the silly traditions that stitched their days together. And then—Shoehead bit into his orange. And everything changed.
When Juice Turns to Blood
It happened so fast Riyura didn't understand at first. Shoehead's chewing slowed. Stopped. His shoulders stiffened. Riyura stepped closer, the laughter fading like a dying fireworks spark. "Shoehead? Hey, you okay?"
Then the first drop of juice trickled down Shoehead's chin—glinting warm and golden in the sunlight—but Shoehead saw blood. His breath caught. His pupils shrank to sharp black dots. He dropped the half-eaten orange. The world around him fractured into shards of memory he never asked to see again.
A scream tore itself from his throat—raw, animal, agonized. The kind of scream that made even the class clown freeze. "Shoehead?!" Riyura reached toward him—but Shoehead's body moved before thought.
He punched the nearest desk so hard it snapped like brittle bones. Students shrieked. Juice splattered everywhere. Cartoons on posters fell off the walls from the vibration.
He slammed another desk. Then another. Until the room echoed with splintering wood and shattering air. Riyura stared, horrified. Shoehead was always weird, but never violent. Never this broken.
Then came the words Riyura wished he never heard:
"Yachimaru…! Yachimaru Gloveohiko—MOM—!!" His voice broke. Tears streamed—no, more than tears. They glistened dark, almost red, mixing with sweat and saliva. His face twisted into raw anguish.
"I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I didn't mean—!! Why did you leave me?! That night—why did—" He couldn't finish. Or wouldn't. Then he bolted. Shoved past desks, past teachers rushing in, past Riyura's trembling hand reaching for him.
And the sunlight that had been so warm suddenly felt unbearably cold.
The Weight of a Friend's Pain
Riyura stood in the wreckage of desks and oranges, his hands shaking. Subarashī hovered beside him, unusually silent. Miyaka clutched her left sleeve. Even Cartoon Headayami looked shaken, his normally expressionless face stretched toward confusion.
Riyura took a step toward the hallway. "I need to go after hi—" "No." Subarashī's hand fell on his shoulder. Riyura blinked. "Why not?"
"Because he doesn't want anyone right now," Miyaka whispered. Her eyes were soft but firm. "He said it himself…" Riyura's heart tightened. He remembered Shoehead's voice—quiet, bitter: "You can't help everyone… and you shouldn't try to fix me. Not this time." Riyura shook his head. "I just… I don't want him to be alone."
Cartoon Headayami sighed—actually sighed—and said, "He already is. And he chooses it. He told us all from expression, and I can tell you could tell that to." It felt like defeat. Like watching a friend drown behind glass.
At the School Gates: A Collision of Shadows
Shoehead stumbled out of the building, gasping for air like he'd been underwater for years. The gates stood open, the wind brushing past him like a silent witness. And waiting beside them was Letace Brain. Calm. Unmoving. Eyes sharp enough to read a soul like an open book.
Shoehead froze. "…You."
Letace stepped toward him, her expression unreadable. "You remembered something." It wasn't a question. Shoehead clenched his fists. "Don't—don't act like you know everything."
"I know enough." Her voice was quiet. Dangerous. "You lost something today. And it wasn't the contest." He laughed bitterly—a sound that hurt to hear. "You think this is funny? You think you understand what I saw?"
"I understand Riyura is hurting because of you." That pierced deeper than any knife. Shoehead stepped back. "Don't you dare drag him into my—" "You already did." Silence. The kind that feels like standing at the edge of a cliff.
Letace's voice softened, but only slightly. "Tell me the truth, Shoehead. What did you remember?" He squeezed his eyes shut. And then—"I killed her." The world exhaled. Riyura, who had followed quietly but stayed hidden behind the wall, felt his heart drop.
Letace didn't gasp. Didn't flinch. She only frowned. "…Explain." Shoehead's hands trembled.
"We fought. All the time. She yelled. I yelled louder. And one night—" He swallowed the memory like poison. "One night, I got so angry I pushed her. Too hard. Too far. She fell. Hit her head."
A broken laugh escaped him. "I killed her. The only person who ever cared about me. And I buried the memory. Because I couldn't live with it." Letace's eyes hardened like frozen steel.
"That's stupid." Shoehead stared at her, stunned. "…What?" "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she snapped. "You push people away because you're scared you'll hurt them. You hide behind jokes and weirdness and silence. And Riyura—Riyura, who loves people more than himself—he's the one you've hurt the most."
Her voice broke, just a little. "If you keep running… you'll lose everything."
The Super Twist: A Memory-Shattering Choice
The air thickened. Clouds rolled above them, painting the sky in bruised colors. Something electric sparked between Letace and the world around her—as if the atmosphere bent to her emotions.
And suddenly she held… something. Not a gun. Not really. More like an impossible device—sleek, reflective, glowing faintly like a dying star. A machine that hummed with the low resonance of forbidden memory science. Shoehead's breath caught. "Letace… what are you—"
And Riyura, hiding behind the corner, felt his heart freeze. Letace whispered, "I can erase it." The world seemed to stop. "Erase what?" Shoehead asked. "The memory," she said softly. "The pain. The guilt. The part of you that's breaking everything around you."
Shoehead staggered back. "No. No, don't—you can't—"
"It's hurting you," Letace said. "And it's hurting Riyura. And I…" Her voice softened in a way Riyura had never heard. "…I don't want you to destroy yourself anymore."
The wind howled. Leaves spiraled. Letace lifted the device. Shoehead's eyes widened. "WAIT—" A burst of white light swallowed the world.
When Light Takes A Soul Away
When the brightness faded—Shoehead collapsed. Not dead. But empty. Still breathing. Still alive. But hollowed out. Letace stood over him, expression unreadable. Almost serene.
Then she murmured, "I'm glad you're not hurting anymore." She pressed the device once more. Light rippled outward—silent, invisible to anyone else. A memory erased. A connection severed.
Shoehead Gloveohiko vanished from everyone's mind. Everyone except Letace. And Riyura—who had witnessed everything from the shadows. Forgot him him the most as she had intended him to do so the most.
Aftermath: A Void Shaped Like a Friend
The next day, Jeremy High felt… wrong.
Subarashī stared at his lunch like he'd forgotten what food was. Miyaka doodled aimlessly, a small frown between her brows. Cartoon Headayami lingered near the windows more than usual, looking at the gates as if expecting someone who never arrived.
Riyura felt it most. A heaviness behind his ribs. A longing with no object. Like laughing with a hole in his heart.
"Why… does it feel like we're missing someone?" he whispered. No one answered. Because no one remembered. Except Letace, who walked past him with a soft smile. Too soft. Too calm.
A smile hiding storm clouds.
Final Scene: A Smile That Should Not Be Trusted
The camera would pan to her face if this were an anime. But in reality, it was just Riyura looking at Letace's profile—the edge of her smile gentle, the sunset glowing behind her like a halo. Her heart pounded once, quietly.
She whispered to herself: "At least now… I'm the only one who knows the truth." The sky deepened into orange and violet, a bittersweet gradient of secrets and silence. And the episode ends with a single question echoing like a distant thunderclap:
Who truly controls the shadows within Jeremy High now?...