Class 1-1.
That was where she belonged.
Hisui took her seat at the last row, near the window. The chair felt familiar beneath her, the faint scratches on the desk exactly where she remembered them.
Outside, the sky stretched wide and bright. Inside, the classroom buzzed with life.
Voices overlapped. Laughter came easily.
She watched them.
Familiar faces.
Classmates she had once spoken to, laughed with… trusted.
Her gaze moved slowly, quietly—studying them, as if trying to place each one back into a role she had already seen before.
What kind of person was I… at this time?
The question lingered.
She remembered enough.
She didn't care much about studying. Never aimed to stand out. The idea of being the top student felt… exhausting.
Instead, she drifted.
Just another mediocre student.
Blending in. Laughing when needed. Living a life that looked full—at least from the outside.
Her fingers traced lightly against the edge of her desk.
She could make friends.
That wasn't the problem.
The problem was—
She cared too much.
Too much effort. Too much giving.
Too little thought about herself.
A faint crease formed between her brows.
She remembered how it ended.
Being used.
Again and again.
And still… she stayed the same.
Her gaze lowered slightly.
So this is where it starts.
A version of her that didn't know any better.
Didn't protect herself.
Didn't question anything.
Silence settled in her chest.
Then—
A quiet thought surfaced.
…Do I really want to be her again?
Her eyes lifted, calm but distant.
Or…
Should I change?
The noise of the classroom continued around her, unchanged.
But for Hisui—
Everything had already begun to shift.
The classroom door slid open.
Conversations died almost instantly.
A woman stepped in—tall, straight-backed, her presence firm enough to quiet the room without effort. Thin-framed glasses rested neatly on her nose, her sharp eyes scanning the class with practiced precision.
"Good morning. I am Mineko-sensei. I'll be your homeroom teacher—and your Biology instructor for this year."
Her voice was calm, but carried authority.
"Take your seats."
Chairs shifted. The room settled.
Hisui sat still, her gaze forward, posture composed.
Unchanged.
"Before anything else," Mineko-sensei continued, placing her materials on the desk, "we'll begin with self-introductions. Keep it brief. After that, we'll proceed with class committee elections."
A soft wave of tension passed through the room.
Hisui didn't react.
Introductions.
Of course.
Her eyes drifted—just slightly—to the seat beside her.
Brown hair.
Small lips, pressed tight.
Uncertain eyes that flickered toward the front… then away.
Yamamura Kou.
He looked exactly as she remembered.
Timid. Quiet. Slightly smaller than most of the boys in class. His posture shrank inward, as if trying to take up less space than he already did.
His long lashes cast faint shadows against his cheeks. A straight, delicate nose. Features that made his face almost too refined—too gentle.
Beautiful.
And fragile.
His fingers tightened around the edge of his desk.
He doesn't want to do this.
Hisui knew that feeling.
No—she remembered it.
She remembered him.
Back then, she had spoken to him first.
Casual conversations. Small, harmless questions.
Day after day.
Until silence turned into familiarity.
And familiarity into friendship.
It had been easy.
Natural.
That was how it started.
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer.
Kou swallowed quietly, eyes lowering.
Avoiding attention.
Avoiding everything.
…
Hisui looked away.
Forward again.
Expression calm. Unreadable.
That version of me…
The one who reached out so easily.
The one who gave without thinking.
Her fingers rested lightly on her desk.
Still.
Controlled.
She already knew where that path led.
Used.
Overlooked.
Forgotten when it mattered.
Silence stretched in her chest.
Mineko-sensei called the first name.
A student stood. Spoke. Sat down.
Then another.
The routine began.
Ordinary.
Unavoidable.
Hisui's gaze shifted once more—just slightly.
Kou's turn would come soon.
He would stand.
Hesitate.
Struggle to speak.
A quiet thought surfaced, colder than before.
Do I still reach out to him?
Or do I let this version of him… remain a stranger?
Before she realized it—
"Kyoku Hisui."
Her name.
Called.
Hisui stood.
Smooth. Controlled.
As if her body moved on its own.
"Kyoku Hisui," she repeated, her voice even. "Fifteen years old. From Greenfield Middle School."
A pause.
"Nice to meet you."
She gave a small, polite bow.
Eyes were on her.
She could feel them.
Watching. Judging. Curious.
It didn't matter.
It never did.
Her gaze lifted—
And then—
It stopped.
Gray.
A pair of gray eyes met hers.
—
Her breath caught.
Just for a second.
A sharp, silent hitch in her chest.
Her heart—
Skipped.
No.
It stumbled.
The world seemed to narrow, sound fading into something distant and hollow.
…Him.
Tachibana Haiiro.
The name surfaced instantly, like something buried that had never truly disappeared.
Of course.
Of course he was here.
How could she forget?
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.
Suppress it.
Now.
Hisui inhaled—slow, controlled—forcing everything back down, sealing the crack before it could widen.
Her expression didn't change.
Cold.
Composed.
Empty.
Just like before.
She looked away first.
Sat down.
As if nothing had happened.
…
But inside—
Memories surged.
Their houses, side by side.
Afternoons that stretched too long.
His younger sister laughing, pulling her inside like she belonged there.
And him—
Always there.
Quiet.
Distant.
Leaning against a wall, or sitting somewhere with a sketchbook in hand.
Tachibana Haiiro.
Soccer player.
Artist.
Unreachable.
She had liked him.
From the very first time—
That day on the playground.
It had been small.
Simple.
A glance.
A moment.
And somehow, it stayed.
They never really talked.
Never played.
Never got close.
She was too embarrassed.
Too aware.
Too careful around him.
And him—
…
She never understood him.
Not once.
She had always assumed the simplest answer.
He wasn't interested.
A quiet exhale slipped from her lips.
Barely noticeable.
So I have to go through this again.
Her gaze lowered slightly, unfocused.
This feeling.
This tension.
This… quiet ache she had never resolved.
Her chest felt heavier than before.
And for the first time since waking up—
Hisui felt something close to unease.
A second chance.
It wasn't just about fixing mistakes.
It meant reliving them.
Facing them.
Every single one.
Her fingers tightened faintly against her skirt.
So this is the cost.
Her expression remained calm.
Unshaken.
But her thoughts were anything but.
Hisui set her pen down.
The page in front of her was filled—neat lines of writing detailing the day.
Events.
Changes.
Things that felt… off.
Things that hadn't happened before.
Or at least—
Not the way she remembered.
Her fingers rested lightly on the notebook.
This might be necessary.
If things continue to change…
I need to keep track.
A small precaution.
A quiet form of control.
Something to anchor herself to.
…
She stood and walked toward the window.
The curtain slid softly beneath her fingers as she pulled it aside.
Her gaze drifted—
And stopped.
The neighboring house.
The balcony.
Him.
Tachibana Haiiro sat casually, a guitar resting against his frame. His fingers moved with ease, strumming soft, unhurried chords into the evening air.
The sound didn't reach her clearly—
But she knew it.
She remembered it.
And somehow—
That was enough.
A faint tightness settled in her chest.
Annoying.
Her brows drew together slightly.
Even after everything…
Even after she had already moved on—
Why does it feel like this again?
Her grip on the curtain tightened just a little.
This was the problem.
Being fifteen again didn't just reset time.
It reset her.
The feelings.
The reactions.
The parts of her she thought she had already buried.
…
In the future, nothing had changed between them.
No closeness.
No distance worth naming.
Just—
Neighbors.
They went to different colleges. Chose different paths. Lived separate lives that only overlapped during holidays and chance encounters.
Polite conversations.
Familiar silence.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
They had never become friends.
Never crossed that line.
And eventually—
She stopped trying to understand it.
A quiet exhale left her lips.
After him…
She never let herself fall like that again.
Not for anyone.
Especially not for men.
Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer.
The soft movement of his fingers.
The calm, unreadable expression she knew too well.
Unreachable.
Just like before.
…
Hisui let the curtain fall back into place.
Enough.
She turned away from the window and walked to her bed, letting herself fall onto the soft sheets.
The ceiling came into view.
Blank.
Still.
Just like her expression.
Today was enough.
Too much change.
Too many things resurfacing.
Her eyes slowly closed.
No more thinking.
Not tonight.