This was the quietest chapter of all. The "fluff" was gone, replaced by a strange, thin atmosphere—like the air at the top of a mountain where it's hard to catch your breath.
Shiori didn't show up at the lockers. Ren waited for exactly three minutes, looking at his watch with a huff of annoyance. She's probably just overslept again, he thought, shoving his hands into his pockets. He bought his own coffee, but it was cold and bitter, the machine rattling as if it were mocks him.
In class, her seat was empty. It stayed empty through second period, then third.
Around noon, Ren's phone buzzed. It was a text from Shiori.
- "Sorry, Ren. I'm a bit under the weather today. Don't let the Class B guys take our spot on the roof. See you soon."
Ren stared at the screen. He felt a flicker of irritation. Under the weather? Again? He typed back a quick, short reply: "Lame. Who's going to help me with the English Vocab?"
He didn't ask if she needed medicine. He didn't ask if she was alone. He just missed the "service" she provided.
The afternoon felt endless. Without Shiori's constant chatter, Ren realized how loud the silence of the school actually was. He went to the rooftop by himself, sitting on their usual bench. He looked at the spot beside him, half-expecting to see her leaning over a notebook, her hair blowing in the wind.
He felt a strange, restless tug in his gut. It wasn't worry—not yet. It was the discomfort of a machine that was missing a gear. He had spent three years letting her build a world around him, and now that she wasn't there to maintain it, the walls felt thin.
On his way home, he passed the station where they usually parted ways. He stopped for a second, looking at the lamp post where she had waved goodbye the day before.
He almost called her. His thumb hovered over her name in his contacts. But then, a notification popped up—a new event in his game.
"She'll be back tomorrow," he muttered to himself, pocketing the phone. "She always is. She's the chaser. She doesn't know how to stop."
He went home, ate dinner, and played his game until 2:00 AM. He was winning. He was hitting new ranks. But every time there was a lull in the action, he found himself checking his phone for a "Goodnight" text that never came.
That night, for the first time, Ren dreamt of a bookmark. A blue, glass bookmark that was falling into a deep, dark ocean. He reached for it, but his arms felt heavy, like they were made of lead. He watched it sink until the light couldn't reach it anymore.
He woke up with a start, his room bathed in the cold, blue light of pre-dawn. He felt a sudden, sharp chill—the kind of cold that comes when the heater suddenly dies in the
middle of winter.
He checked his phone. No new messages.
"Consistent," he whispered, the word he had used to describe her. It felt hollow now. It felt like a lie.
He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, telling himself that in a few hours, he'd see her at the lockers with a warm can of coffee and that annoying, bright smile. He didn't realize that Chapter 9 was the last time his world would ever feel "normal." The ink was dry, and the next page was blank.