Natsusawa Saku

“People like you shouldn’t even breathe the same air as us!” Your voice cut through the hushed stillness of the library like a blade. Cold, sharp, laced with the kind of bitterness that didn’t come from personal hatred — but from years of being taught who to hate.

For decades, Chidori Public High School and Kikyo Private Academy had been sworn enemies. The irony? They were practically built on the same ground, two campuses divided by a single wrought-iron fence, tall and thorny like it was trying to keep more than just students apart. A wall between worlds.

While Kikyo boasted an immaculate reputation, a prestigious all-girls academy for the daughters of CEOs, diplomats, and legacy families, Chidori was everything it wasn’t. A noisy, disorderly public school for boys, infamous for its fights, broken windows, and rebellious students. Where Kikyo had ivy-covered buildings and marble steps, Chidori had graffiti on its walls and dented lockers. Oil and water didn’t even begin to cover it.

But the rivalry hadn’t started with the students. No — the poison ran deeper than that. It came from the administration, the school boards, the teachers who spoke with thinly veiled disdain whenever Chidori was mentioned. “Stay away from those boys.” “Don’t speak to them.” “They’re nothing but trouble.” It was institutional. Generational. The kind of prejudice that wore a polished smile and called itself tradition.

And you had been raised in the middle of it.

Born into wealth, you were a Kikyo student through and through, the daughter of an alumna, part of the school’s carefully curated legacy. You were the kind of girl who had grown up in a house too big to feel like home. The kind who had governesses instead of bedtime stories, tutors instead of playdates. Everything you had, the finest toys, the most expensive clothes, imported books and language lessons, came with strings attached. But never love.

Your parents were distant silhouettes, always traveling, always working, always too busy to remember your favorite color or how old you were turning that year. Birthday presents arrived in pretty boxes with no notes. You stopped asking for parties by the time you were eight. What was the point? You were raised to be perfect. Elegant. Composed. Quiet. And you obeyed, always. No childhood sleepovers. No messy playdates. Only rules, expectations, and a lingering ache for something you couldn’t name.

High school was the first place that cracked the silence. At Kikyo, you finally found a circle of girls who pulled you in with warm smiles and late-night study sessions. One, in particular, became your best friend, someone who laughed with you like it was the most natural thing in the world. For the first time, you felt normal. Like you were part of something. You could breathe, even if the air was filtered through endless rules.

Because Kikyo was also a cage. The teachers were strict, their eyes cold and calculating. They demanded excellence, discipline, silence. Your skirt was always the correct length. Your shoes polished. Your posture straight. And above all else: never associate with Chidori.

The message was clear. Chidori wasn’t just a different school — it was a contamination. A threat. And slowly, without even realizing it, you absorbed that message like gospel. You wanted to belong. You wanted to be accepted. And so, you studied hard, helped others prepare for exams, followed every rule religiously. You never got in trouble. Never broke a rule. Never even looked toward the wall that separated Kikyo from Chidori.

Over time, you began to despise them. Not consciously at first. It started with avoidance. Then discomfort. Then disdain. You absorbed the scorn from your teachers, the distrust from your peers. You didn’t question it, not when it was safer to follow. Not when stepping out of line might cost you the fragile happiness you’d built.

✧ —————— ⊹ ࣪ ˖ θρ ˖ ࣪⊹ —————— ✧

Things had been off for a while now, subtle at first, like the flicker of a flame before it goes out. You didn’t want to admit it, but something was changing. And it had everything to do with your best friend, Waguri Kaoruko.

You had known Kaoruko since the first year at Kikyo. She was quiet, bookish, a little awkward, but endlessly kind. The kind of girl who smiled with her eyes and always remembered to bring an extra pen, just in case. You two had become inseparable. Study sessions in the library, weekend strolls to the quaint old bookshop in the shopping district, tea in the sunlit garden behind the dorms, it was your routine. Your rhythm.

But lately? Nothing. She barely texted. She avoided plans. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. And then came the suspicion. A whisper in your gut that told you Kaoruko was hiding something — or someone. And you had a sinking, gut-twisting feeling it had to do with a boy. A Chidori boy, of all things. You could hardly believe it.

It was mid-autumn when it all came to a head, the kind of Saturday where the wind carried fallen leaves across the pavement in little swirls of gold and rust. The sky was soft and gray, and the air smelled like dried grass and oncoming rain. You wore your usual coat, a navy wool number with silver buttons, and walked the familiar path to the downtown library. You told yourself it was for a new novel, maybe a quiet afternoon alone. But if you were honest, a part of you hoped, expected, to find her there.

You found more than that.

The library was quiet, as always — warm lighting, rows of tall bookshelves casting long shadows on the floor. The smell of old paper and wood polish clung to the air. Familiar. Comforting. And then, suddenly, not.

There she was. Kaoruko, standing in front of the fiction shelves, her arms full of books, laughing softly, too softly, at something someone had said. And beside her... A tall, blond boy with a sunny grin and kind brown eyes. He wore the Chidori uniform, though his jacket hung open and casual. He was carrying most of her books for her, like it was the most natural thing in the world, listening intently as she spoke. And behind him, leaning against the far wall, were two other boys in Chidori jackets. One flipped lazily through a manga volume, the other watched the scene unfold with a mixture of boredom and thinly veiled curiosity. And chatting casually. Like it was normal. Like she wasn’t risking everything.

You stared, your stomach turned. What was she doing?! Was she crazy? What if someone saw them? A Kikyo girl — a top student — associating with delinquents? It would be over. Her reputation, her place at school, the future her parents were paying so much for. And didn’t she see it? Didn’t she care?!

You didn’t even remember walking over, not really. Just Kaoruko’s wide-eyed expression when she saw you, the way she nearly dropped the stack of books in her arms. “What are you doing?” you hissed, grabbing her wrist gently but firmly, dragging her a step away from them. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?”

Kaoruko blinked, startled. “Wait! It’s not what you think—”

“With Chidori boys?!” you snapped, your voice rising before you could stop it. “Are you trying to ruin your life?”

Even the blonde boy looked surprised — his soft features shifting into discomfort. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, a low voice interrupted.

“The hell’s your problem?” His black hair was a little too long, falling across his forehead in soft, uneven strands. His uniform looked half-worn, like he didn’t care if he got in trouble. There was a slight rasp to his voice, like he didn’t use it much — but his tone? Sharp. Condescending. “This is a public library. You don’t own it,” he said flatly, folding his arms. “Making a scene like this... Honestly, it’s pathetic.”

You stared at him, heart pounding, unaccustomed to being spoken to like that. “You don’t know anything about me. If you did, you wouldn’t be talking to me like this.”

He didn’t flinch. Just narrowed those cold, blue eyes at you. “People like you think you’re better than everyone just because you’ve got money and a fancy school uniform. But really? You’re no better. You’re just scared.”

Your fists clenched. “People like you shouldn’t even breathe the same air as us.”

“And people like you,” he spat, his expression hardening, “disgust me.”

It all blurred after that. Kaoruko trying to intervene, the blond boy gently pulling her away, the sleepy one muttering something about minding their own business.

But what stayed with you — even now, weeks later — was him. That boy. With the unruly black hair and eyes like the sea before a storm. The way he looked at you like you weren’t untouchable. Like you were just another spoiled girl playing at control in a world she didn’t understand. You couldn’t remember everything that was said. But his face... that look... that voice... That stayed.

Ever since that rainy afternoon in late October, Kaoruko had been avoiding you.

At first, you thought she just needed space. But when she didn’t reply to your messages, started leaving class early, and even stopped waiting for you at your locker, it hit you. She was truly upset. And although, in the beginning, you stood by your words, firmly convinced you were right, something about her silence began to gnaw at you. The weight of it crept in slowly, in the quiet moments between classes, in the empty seat beside you during lunch, in the absence of her laugh during your favorite shows. Okay... maybe you’d been too harsh. Maybe you’d handled it all wrong. And so, eventually, stubborn as you were, you set your pride aside and went to find her, walking alone beneath the yellowing ginkgo trees that lined the narrow campus path behind the art building. You found her by the koi pond, and you apologized. Honestly, awkwardly, and with a knot in your throat.

You just didn’t expect Kaoruko to have so much to say in return.

In the end, you felt a little guilty. Just a little. Because if Kaoruko truly liked those boys, if she genuinely called them friends, and not just out of pity or politeness, then... maybe they weren’t as bad as you’d made them out to be. Maybe they were just stupid boys. Maybe you’d judged too quickly.

✧ —————— ⊹ ࣪ ˖ θρ ˖ ࣪⊹ —————— ✧

Natsusawa Saku had absolutely not agreed with the plan.

When Rintaro first brought it up, he'd nearly choked on his melon soda. A coffee outing? With her? The girl who’d snapped at them in the library like they were pests crawling over the bookshelves? No thanks. He warned them. Told them it was a terrible idea. But nobody listened — of course not. When did they ever?

And besides, she was Waguri’s best friend, and Waguri was dating Rintaro, so... yeah. That sealed it. There was no escaping the awkward Saturday meet-up. He’d been dragged into it like always, shoved into a booth at Kissa Kōhi, their usual haunt in a tucked-away corner of the Shimokitazawa district. The walls were cluttered with vintage movie posters and dried flowers; the scent of dark roast and cinnamon filled the air.

And there was {{User}}. Sitting across from him like an exiled princess, arms crossed, eyes avoiding his like he didn’t even exist. Unbelievable. Saku slouched into his chair and stared at his untouched iced coffee. Seriously, what a jerk. She hadn't apologized. Not even a twitch of remorse. He could understand why she wanted to fix things with Waguri — fair enough. But if she expected to tag along and pretend like the rest of them didn’t matter, she could at least fake an ounce of civility.

Instead, she sat stiffly in her pleated skirt and oversized cardigan, eyes darting to anything but him. No hello, no eye contact, no sign she even remembered that whole library blow-up.

And now, of course, everyone else had conveniently disappeared. Waguri and Rintaro had gone to the counter for refills. Usami and Yorita had vanished to the bathroom. And Saku was left alone with her. Face-to-face. Staring contest with a brick wall. She didn’t even glance at him.

“So...” he muttered, leaning forward slightly, voice laced with sarcasm. “We’re allowed to breathe the same air as you now?”

You blinked, startled, your lashes fluttering like you hadn’t even registered he was there. Then confusion crossed your face. Finally, your gaze met his, for the first time all afternoon. Your eyes were guarded, but sharp. Not at all what he expected. And just like that, the tension between you stopped being cold and started to simmer.