Metamorphosis

The morning sun filtered through the tall classroom windows, casting long stripes of light across the rows of desks and the still-clean blackboard. It was the start of another week in the final year of high school, and the hallway already buzzed with distant laughter, hurried footsteps, and the thud of backpacks hitting the floor.

Saki Yoshida paused at the door of Class 3-A, clutching the strap of her bag with both hands like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Today will be different, she told herself, repeating the words like a prayer. I’ve changed. They’ll see. They’ll want to talk to me for real this time.

She took a deep breath, tucked a strand of platinum-blonde hair behind her ear (the chemical scent of the dye still lingered beneath the strawberry perfume she’d sprayed on this morning), and stepped inside.

That’s when she saw it.

Her desk—the one at the back near the window, the spot she’d chosen on purpose so she wouldn’t bother anyone—was covered in thick black and red marker scrawls. Bold, ugly letters screamed across the surface.

“SLUT” “TOO EASY” “WHO’S PAYING TODAY?” “GYARU TRASH” “GO BACK TO YOUR NERD HOLE” And right in the center, a crude drawing of a female body with arrows pointing at the chest and crotch, the word “USED” scrawled huge underneath.

The air rushed out of her lungs.

Her legs wobbled for a second. She blinked rapidly, as if blinking hard enough could make the words disappear. But they stayed, shouting in silence.

A few classmates were already seated, glancing sideways. Some snickered under their breath; others pretended not to notice. No one said anything. No one moved to help.

Saki’s face burned. Her eyes stung, but she bit her lower lip hard to keep the tears from falling right there in front of everyone. Don’t cry. Not here. They’ll laugh even more.

Her trembling fingers let the bag slide to the floor with a soft thud. She approached the desk slowly, almost on tiptoe, as if any sudden noise would make it worse. She pressed her open palm over the words, rubbing gently, like she could erase them with sheer will.

Nothing changed.

“...Why?” she whispered, so quiet it barely made a sound. Her voice cracked, thin and raw. “I... I just wanted...”

She leaned down, resting her forehead against the edge of the desk, hiding her face behind the curtain of long blonde hair. The tears finally slipped free, dripping silently onto the marker lines, smudging the black ink just a little.

“Sorry...” she murmured to no one in particular. “Sorry for... existing...”

The bell rang in the distance, signaling the start of class. Saki stayed frozen there, trying to breathe without making a sound, hoping no one would notice the quiet drops falling.

But she knew they were watching.

The night hung heavy over the quiet residential neighborhood, the starless sky smothered by thick clouds. Streetlights flickered intermittently, throwing long, jagged shadows across cracked sidewalks. It was well past midnight, and the silence was broken only by the distant hum of an air conditioner and the occasional bark of a dog.

Saki Yoshida ran barefoot, the cold, rough asphalt biting into the soles of her feet with every frantic step. Her thin cotton pajamas clung to her sweat-damp skin, platinum-blonde hair wild and sticking to her tear-streaked face. Her left arm throbbed where the red handprint from her mother still burned hot.

The scene from just minutes ago replayed in her mind like a broken loop.

Her mother—eyes bloodshot, voice hoarse from anger and alcohol—had grabbed her by the arm the moment Saki tried to explain about the scribbled desk at school, the rumors, how everything was spiraling worse.

“You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing?!” her mother had screamed, face twisted in fury. “You little slut! You’ve brought shame on this whole house! Tanaka’s already fed up, and so am I!”

Saki had tried to speak, her voice shaking:

“M-Mom... it’s not like that... I didn’t... please, just listen...”

But her mother only gripped harder, nails digging into skin.

“SHUT UP! Get out of my sight! GET OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW, YOU WORTHLESS GIRL! I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU IN THIS HOUSE TONIGHT!”

The slap came next—sharp, stinging, echoing through the small living room. Saki stumbled back, cheek on fire. She didn’t scream. She just stared at her mother with wide, pleading eyes, waiting for the woman in front of her to become the one who had once helped dye her hair for the first time, smiling.

She never did.

Saki ran. She grabbed only her phone and fled out the front door—no shoes, no jacket, no plan.

Now, in the dark streets, she stopped abruptly, pressing her back against a damp wall. Her chest heaved too fast. She opened her phone with icy, trembling fingers.

The screen lit up her swollen, crying face.

Unread messages: zero.

Missed calls: zero.

She scrolled through WhatsApp, LINE, Instagram... through her contacts. Hayato? Blocked weeks ago. The gyaru “friends”? All offline. Classmates? Names she barely knew.

No one.

“...No one...” she whispered to herself, the words so faint they nearly dissolved into the cold wind. A fresh tear slid down her chin and dropped onto the screen.

Then she heard it.

Footsteps.

Slow. Steady. Coming from around the dark corner to her left.

Saki froze. Her heart slammed against her ribs again—this time it was fear laced with something desperate. It could be... someone bad. It could be stepdad. It could be...

Or maybe...

Maybe it was someone who cared.

She clutched the phone to her chest, whole body shaking, eyes locked on the blackness where the footsteps grew louder, closer.

“...Who... who’s there?” she whispered, voice cracking at the end. “Please... don’t hurt me...”

The footsteps paused for a single second.

Then they continued. Even closer.

Saki took one shaky step back, pressing harder against the wall, ready to run again... but her legs felt like lead. She could only stare into the shadows, waiting, silently praying that this time, someone had come to help.

The rain poured down in relentless sheets, turning the narrow alleyway into a slick, filthy river of mud and discarded trash. Puddles reflected the faint, sickly glow of a distant neon sign flickering from the main street—red and blue lights bleeding into the darkness like open wounds. Empty cans and crumpled wrappers floated in the grime, and the air reeked of rot, urine, and the sharp tang of wet asphalt. It was the kind of back alley no one ventured into willingly: walls tagged with faded graffiti, a rusted dumpster overflowing with garbage, and shadows so deep they seemed to swallow any hope of escape. The cold seeped through everything, turning breaths into visible mist, and the distant rumble of traffic sounded like mocking laughter from a world that had moved on without her.

Saki Yoshida lay crumpled against the cold brick wall, her gyaru clothes torn and soaked—mini skirt hiked up messily, crop top clinging transparently to her shivering skin. Her platinum hair matted to her face like wet strings, smeared makeup running in black rivers down her cheeks. The drugs still coursed through her veins, a hazy fog that made her limbs feel like lead, her vision blur at the edges. She could barely remember his face now—the guy who’d smiled so sweetly at the club, promised her she was "special," bought her drinks laced with something stronger. He’d taken her here, used her roughly against the wall, whispering lies about love while his hands bruised her hips. And then... gone. Left her like trash, stumbling and high, without even a backward glance.

Her body trembled uncontrollably, not just from the cold but from the poison working its way deeper. It felt like her insides were dissolving, her heart stuttering in uneven beats, her breaths shallow and ragged. Why... why does this keep happening? The thought echoed in her fractured mind, a loop of despair. She hugged her knees to her chest, nails digging into her arms hard enough to draw blood, but she barely felt it.

“...I’m so useless...” she whispered hoarsely, voice breaking into a sob that dissolved into the rain. Tears mixed with the downpour, hot against her icy skin. “No one wants me... not really... I’m just... just a thing to use and throw away...”

She rocked back and forth slightly, the motion feeble, her head lolling as the drugs pulled her under. Her eyelids fluttered, heavy, the world fading in and out like a dying lightbulb. It’d be better if I just... disappeared. No more pain. No more mistakes. Another wave of nausea hit, and she gagged, but nothing came up—her stomach empty, hollow like the rest of her.

“...Sorry... everyone...” she murmured, barely audible over the patter of rain. “I’m sorry I’m... like this... worthless... so worthless...”

Her fingers went slack, slipping from her arms, and she slumped further against the wall, the darkness closing in tighter, her body teetering on the edge of blackout. The alley seemed to grow quieter, lonelier, as if even the rain pitied her enough to wash away the evidence of her existence.

.