Upon waking, Saki freshened up and opened her desk drawer. She retrieved a tube of hot glue, a set of acrylic paints, a small container of glitter, and an empty experimental vial. Skipping breakfast entirely, she seated herself at the damaged desk and began working meticulously. After some time, she stood, held the newly crafted object—a small vial now resembling a colourful miniature galaxy—up to the sunlight, and whispered softly, "Happy Birthday to you..." She then placed it carefully inside her cupboard alongside several similar handmade items.
Her faint smile vanished the moment her eyes fell upon the other objects in the cupboard. Each one silently testified to years of patient, solitary endurance. She closed the cupboard door, took a bath, dressed for school, shouldered her bag, locked the apartment, and stepped outside.
As she walked, even elderly passers-by muttered to one another, "Don't look at her—we don't want her misfortune rubbing off on us. Stay away!" Overwhelmed and frustrated beyond endurance, Saki covered her face and ran.
At school, her classmates recoiled as she approached, calling out, "Ugh, the curse is here—everyone move away!" She reached her classroom and, as usual, sat alone on a bench in the corridor outside, separated from the others. Teachers, too, treated her with disdain; many shielded the side of their face when passing, unwilling even to glance at her. Other students tossed leftover food in her direction, jeering, "Here, dustbin!"
Finally, the accumulated pain became unbearable. With no hope remaining, Saki rose abruptly and fled to the girls' washroom, where she broke down in tears. Michi, on her way to class, noticed Saki running and followed quietly. Pressing her ear to the door, she heard Saki sobbing to herself:
"Everyone is heartless... even the teachers and the elderly. I can't bear it anymore. It feels so terrible—like I don't matter to anyone at all..."
Michi knocked gently. "Saki... please come out."
Saki wiped her tears, opened the door slowly, and whispered, "Michi..."
"Saki, why are you crying? Please tell me what's wrong."
At that moment, several girls entered the washroom. One sneered, "Who said the curse could use this washroom?" Another added, "How dare you still stand here, trash bin?" They laughed cruelly.
Saki's hands clenched into fists; frustration and anger flashed across her face.
"Stop it!" Michi's voice cut sharply through the room. "Stop mocking her."
For the first time, someone had defended her. Saki breathed, barely audible, "Michi..."
One of the girls retorted, "Why are you taking the side of that idiot trash bin?"
"Enough. Her name is Saki. Call her by her name."
Michi gently but firmly took hold of Saki's wrist and led her out of the washroom and into the crowded corridor. A student shouted, "Hey, curse!" triggering laughter from others.
Michi stopped, turned, and raised her voice clearly: "Stop calling her that. Her name is Saki. If I hear anyone speak to her that way again, they will answer for it."
The corridor buzzed with whispers. One boy muttered, "If she's a curse, we'll call her a curse."
Without hesitation, Michi stepped forward and slapped him across the face. A stunned silence fell over the corridor.
"I said," she repeated, voice steady and cold, "call her by her name—with the respect she deserves."
Teachers approached, alarmed. "What is happening here?"
One student quickly reported, "Sensei, Michi slapped Urasa."
"Michi, explain yourself."
"Sensei, these students mentally harass Saki every single day."
"Everyone—back to your classrooms. Now."
Saki started toward her usual bench in the corridor, but Michi caught her wrist again. "From today, you sit inside the classroom—with the rest of us."
Saki collected her bag and, head lowered, followed Michi into the room. She hesitated, then slowly raised her eyes and took the last seat, directly behind Dave.
Dave muttered, "Why is the curse sitting here?"
The class erupted in protest—until Michi's voice rang out once more: "Listen, everyone. She is our classmate. She belongs here in this classroom."
Dave turned, caught Michi's fierce gaze, and—visibly impressed by her resolve—said quietly, "I'm okay with it, Michi."
Yudashi, seated near the window, glanced back. When Saki briefly lifted her eyes and met his, something shifted. The girl he had never truly noticed before now stirred an unexpected warmth in him.
"I'm okay with it too," Yudashi said aloud.
One by one, reluctantly at first, the rest of the class began to accept her presence.
Michi took the seat in the row beside Saki. Leaning close so only Saki could hear, she whispered, "Speak up, Saki. Be confident. Just be yourself—exactly as you are, okay?"
Saki offered a small, genuine smile. "Thank you, Michi. Without you, I think—"
Michi gently interrupted. "It's okay. Really."
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