Sakuramine Academy — Morning | 7:42 AM

  Kazuki walked to school alone.

  The route hadn’t changed. Same narrow streets. Same convenience store with the cracked poster taped to the door. Same traffic light that always lingered a second too long before turning green.

  But something about it felt heavier.

  He kept his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched—not from cold, but from thought. Rei’s voice replayed in fragments, not loud enough to dominate, just persistent enough to refuse silence.

  Old friend.

  Kazuki exhaled slowly and crossed the street.

  When he reached the school gates, the familiar noise of morning chatter washed over him. Lockers slammed. Laughter spiked and faded. A group of first-years sprinted past, late and panicked.

  Normal.

  He spotted Hana near the entrance.

  She was laughing about something Kenji had said, head tilted back slightly, sunlight catching the edge of her hair. For a moment, Kazuki almost convinced himself nothing was wrong.

  Then she noticed him.

  Her smile didn’t disappear—but it softened. Shifted.

  “Morning,” she said, falling into step beside him as they walked inside.

  “Morning,” he replied.

  They walked a few steps in silence.

  Not awkward. Not cold.

  Just… careful.

  Naomi noticed before anyone else.

  She was standing near the lockers with Ayame, skimming something on her phone while simultaneously reminding Shun about a council form he hadn’t signed. Her eyes flicked up, sharp and instinctive.

  She clocked it instantly.

  Kenji, blissfully unaware, clapped Kazuki on the shoulder. “Yo. You look like you fought a demon in your sleep.”

  “Something like that,” Kazuki muttered.

  Shun gave him a brief glance, then looked away. He’d seen that look before.

  Ayame, distracted by three conversations at once, missed it entirely.

  Hana nudged Kazuki lightly with her elbow. “You sleep?”

  “Enough.”

  She studied him for half a second longer than necessary, then nodded. “Cool.”

  The bell rang.

  As they moved toward class, Kazuki felt it again—not panic, not fear.

  Distance.

  Not physical. Emotional.

  Like something fragile had been set down between them, neither sure who should pick it up first.

  When they reached the classroom, Hana took her seat as usual.

  Kazuki followed.

  For a moment, everything looked exactly the same.

  But when he glanced sideways, Hana was already staring at her notebook, jaw tight, pen tapping softly against the paper.

  He opened his mouth to say something.

  Then closed it.

  The day had started.

  And whatever Rei had stirred the night before hadn’t gone back to sleep.

  Sakuramine Academy — Late Morning | 10:56 AM

  The hallway smelled faintly of floor cleaner and warm metal lockers.

  Sunlight poured through the tall windows lining the east wing, slicing the corridor into alternating bands of gold and shadow. Students drifted between classes in loose clusters—some loud, some half-asleep, some already exhausted despite the day barely being halfway through.

  Kazuki walked with Hana at his side.

  Not touching. Not distant.

  Just… aware.

  As they passed the stairwell, voices drifted toward them—unintended, careless.

  “…it’s not out yet.”

  “But people have it.”

  “I swear my cousin’s friend heard it.”

  Kazuki didn’t slow, but his body reacted anyway. His shoulders tensed. His jaw set.

  Hana felt it immediately.

  She glanced at him, brow furrowing, then angled her head subtly toward the voices. “What are they talking about?”

  “Nothing,” Kazuki said, too quickly.

  They passed another group near the lockers.

  “…industry remix.”

  “…KAZ wouldn’t just disappear like that.”

  “…if it leaks—”

  The words didn’t chase him.

  They followed.

  Like footsteps half a second out of sync with his own.

  Further down the hall, Aoi and Mika were leaned against the windowsill, phones out, scrolling.

  “I mean, it hasn’t dropped,” Aoi said, animated but cautious. “But if there’s even a chance it exists—”

  “Files move fast,” Mika replied. “Especially when people think they’re sitting on something valuable.”

  Kazuki’s fingers curled inside his pockets.

  Naomi, walking a few steps behind, noticed.

  She always did.

  “Kazuki,” she said evenly. “Walk with me.”

  It wasn’t a request.

  They peeled away from the flow of students, pushing open the door to a narrow stairwell. The noise of the hallway dulled instantly, replaced by the low hum of ventilation and the distant echo of footsteps above.

  Dust motes floated in the light cutting through a small window.

  Naomi crossed her arms. “Okay. Start talking.”

  Kazuki leaned back against the cool concrete wall, eyes fixed somewhere past her shoulder.

  “This remix everyone’s whispering about,” she continued. “Did you approve it?”

  “No.”

  The word landed flat. Final.

  Naomi’s expression shifted—not disbelief, but calculation. “So you didn’t clear it. You didn’t sign off on it.”

  “I didn’t even know it existed,” Kazuki said quietly. “Not until yesterday.”

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  Silence stretched.

  Naomi exhaled slowly, running a hand through her hair. “Then how do people know?”

  Kazuki shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “You’re not lying.”

  He met her eyes. “I wouldn’t.”

  She nodded once, accepting it.

  “That’s bad,” she said. “Because if it hasn’t dropped and people are talking like it has, then something’s already moving.”

  Kazuki looked toward the stairwell door, where faint voices leaked through the gap. “So it’s not just gossip.”

  “No,” Naomi said. “It’s momentum.”

  The bell rang somewhere deeper in the building—sharp, metallic, impatient.

  Naomi softened her tone. “You don’t have to tell me everything. But I need to know one thing.”

  He waited.

  “Is this going to come back on you?”

  Kazuki hesitated.

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But it feels like it might.”

  Naomi straightened. “Then we don’t panic.”

  She reached for the door. “We stay clean. We stay ahead.”

  They stepped back into the hallway.

  The noise rushed in again—laughter, lockers, the ordinary chaos of school life. Hana turned as soon as she saw them.

  “You good?” she asked.

  Kazuki smiled.

  It was practiced. Careful.

  “Yeah.”

  She watched him for a beat longer than necessary.

  Didn’t believe it.

  And somewhere beyond Sakuramine’s walls, a rumour kept moving—quiet, unfinished, and dangerous precisely because no one could say where it started.

  Sakuramine Academy — Late Morning | 11:41 AM

  The classroom faded quietly.

  Not all at once—just enough for Kazuki’s focus to slip.

  The teacher’s voice blurred into background noise as his eyes drifted toward the window, sunlight reflecting off the glass in soft, uneven patterns. His pen slowed, then stopped entirely.

  The smell of warm electronics filled his senses.

  Not the classroom.

  A studio.

  Small. Dim. Cables coiled messily at his feet. A mic stand adjusted too high, then too low. A producer counting him in with two fingers raised.

  This was Long Time—before it had a name.

  Before features. Before expectations.

  Just him, pacing the booth, murmuring half-formed lyrics under his breath. Scratching lines out. Writing new ones. Laughing to himself when something finally clicked.

  The beat looped again.

  And again.

  He leaned into the mic, voice rough but honest, heart racing as the verse finally landed the way it was supposed to.

  Yeah… that’s it.

  A folded piece of paper smacked into his desk.

  Kazuki startled, breath catching sharply as the studio vanished.

  He blinked, reality snapping back into place—the classroom, the desks, the hum of the lights overhead.

  He turned.

  Hana was looking at him, elbow resting casually on her desk, eyes pretending to be uninterested.

  He picked up the paper and unfolded it.

  You free to talk later?

  Kazuki glanced at her, then scribbled quickly.

  Uhhh yeah why?

  He flicked it back.

  She opened it, barely hesitating before grabbing another sheet.

  Just want to talk to you, goofy…

  His lips curved upward despite himself.

  He wrote back.

  Oh that’s alright yeah we can. Where do you wanna meet up?

  He tossed it gently this time.

  She read it, frowned slightly, then grabbed yet another piece of paper.

  Out back of the school by the bike shed?

  Kazuki nodded to himself and replied.

  Sounds good. But seriously—what is there to talk about?

  He sent it back, already turning his attention back to his work, convinced that was the end of it.

  The paper hit his shoulder.

  Harder this time.

  He sighed, picked it up, and unfolded it.

  I miss you <3

  His pen froze mid-word.

  Slowly, Kazuki looked up.

  Hana was already back to her worksheet, head down, expression neutral—like she hadn’t just detonated something in his chest.

  He didn’t write anything this time.

  Instead, he lifted his hand slightly and caught her attention.

  When she looked over, he mouthed the words carefully.

  Missed you too.

  Her pen slipped.

  Just slightly.

  She smiled.

  So did he.

  The classroom filled back in around them—the scratching of pens, the low murmur of voices, the steady passage of time—until the bell rang, sharp and unavoidable.

  They gathered their things without another word.

  But the quiet between them was lighter now.

  And for the first time that day, Kazuki felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

  Sakuramine Academy — Rooftop | 12:34 PM

  The rooftop door creaked open, letting in a rush of warm air and distant city noise.

  Lunch light spilled across the concrete, the sky stretched wide and blue above them. The sounds of the school softened up here—voices muffled, footsteps distant, the world narrowed down to just the eight of them.

  Kazuki stood near the railing.

  Not leaning. Not pacing.

  Standing.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, breaking the silence, “we go back to the studio.”

  Everyone turned toward him.

  “We’re finishing what we started,” he continued evenly. “Full session. No distractions.”

  Ayame’s eyes lit up immediately. “So—about Marei—”

  “No.”

  The word cut clean through the air.

  Kazuki didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t explain himself.

  He simply repeated it. “Nobody brings up Marei. Not tomorrow. Not in the booth. Not in passing.”

  The rooftop went quiet.

  Ayame’s shoulders dropped just slightly, disappointment flickering across her face. Mika frowned, clearly biting back a comment. Aoi shifted her weight, glancing between them. Even Kenji looked conflicted, mouth opening before closing again.

  Hana let out a slow, audible breath.

  Shun did the same.

  Naomi noticed.

  Kazuki glanced at Hana and Shun briefly—just long enough to acknowledge the relief written plainly on their faces—before turning back to the group.

  “We’re here to make our music,” he said. “Not chase someone else’s name.”

  A moment passed.

  Then Naomi leaned in closer, voice lowered so only he could hear.

  “If we’re winning this festival with originals,” she murmured, “then KAZ has to come out.”

  Kazuki met her gaze.

  Held it.

  Then nodded once.

  “I’ll need you to carry weight too,” he whispered back. “You were just as good as me back in the States.”

  Naomi blinked.

  Then, without warning, straightened up and shouted—

  “I THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER SAY IT!”

  Everyone jumped.

  Kazuki groaned, rubbing his temple. “Naomi—”

  She laughed, loud and unapologetic. “What? You finally acknowledged my genius.”

  Kenji snorted. “About time.”

  Naomi stepped forward, energy shifting, tone sharpening. “Listen up.”

  She gestured outward, toward the city beyond the school walls. “Music doesn’t start on stage. It starts at the foundation.”

  She turned back to them. “The studio is our sanctuary. That’s where we build something that makes people feel before they even realise they’re listening.”

  Ayame nodded, instantly locked in.

  “Instruments. Space. Silence,” Naomi continued. “Those things change minds. And if we get it right, we don’t just represent ourselves—we represent Sakuramine.”

  Everyone listened.

  Everyone—except Kazuki.

  He was already somewhere else.

  His eyes were on his notebook, fingers tracing the margins where lyrics had been rewritten again and again. He ran through the verses in his head, testing cadence, emphasis, breath.

  KAZ standard.

  He could hear his mum’s voice without meaning to.

  If you wouldn’t defend it in front of the world, don’t record it.

  Kazuki looked up suddenly.

  “I have an idea,” he said.

  The group turned.

  “We can take the production further,” he added. “But I need to talk to my mum first.”

  That got their attention.

  Naomi’s eyebrows rose. Hana tilted her head. Even Ayame went still.

  “If she’s on board,” Kazuki said, “then we’re not just making a song. We’re making a statement.”

  Aoi grinned. Mika nodded enthusiastically. Kenji pumped a fist.

  “Tomorrow, then,” Naomi said. “Studio session. For real.”

  The bell rang, sharp and insistent.

  Chairs scraped. Bags were slung over shoulders. One by one, they filtered toward the stairwell, energy buzzing differently now—focused, intentional.

  Kazuki lingered a second longer, looking out over the city.

  Tomorrow wasn’t just another session.

  It was the beginning of something he could no longer pretend wasn’t coming.

  Sakuramine Academy — After School | 4:18 PM

  The bike shed sat just far enough from the main building to feel forgotten.

  Paint chipped along the metal frame. A couple of rusted chains hung loose from empty racks. The air smelled faintly of oil and warm concrete, cicadas buzzing somewhere nearby as the afternoon slowly slipped toward evening.

  Hana was already there.

  She leaned against one of the posts, arms folded, foot tapping lightly against the ground. When she spotted Kazuki approaching, she straightened without realising she’d done it.

  “Took you long enough,” she said.

  “You’re early,” he replied.

  “Rude.”

  They stood there for a second, neither quite sure who was supposed to speak first.

  “So,” Hana said, breaking the silence, “your mum.”

  Kazuki blinked. “My—what about her?”

  “You keep mentioning her,” Hana said, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Studio connections. Quality control. Artists. What’s the deal?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “She… worked with artists before. Behind the scenes stuff. Production. Management. That kind of thing.”

  Not a lie.

  Just not the whole truth.

  Hana hummed thoughtfully. “That explains a lot.”

  “Does it?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “You talk about music like someone who grew up around it. Not like someone who just likes it.”

  Kazuki smiled faintly. “Guess that’s on her.”

  A pause settled between them.

  Then Hana cleared her throat. “About yesterday.”

  He turned fully toward her. “You mean the… drug thing?”

  She winced. “When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”

  “I didn’t think it was,” Kazuki said gently.

  “That’s the problem,” Hana shot back. “You should’ve felt a way about it.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “Because it meant something to me,” she said, crossing her arms again. “So it should mean something to you.”

  Kazuki tilted his head. “That’s not really how emotions work.”

  She stared at him.

  “Oh?” she said sweetly. “And how do you know that? Are you a guru now? A psychologist? Should I be taking notes?”

  He laughed.

  Not a chuckle. Not a breathy exhale.

  A real laugh.

  Hana stopped mid-rant, eyes narrowing as she looked at him sideways. “…Why are you laughing?”

  Kazuki wiped at his eyes, still smiling. “I don’t know. You’re just—”

  He stopped himself.

  Took a breath.

  “There’s stuff I wanted to say too,” he said more quietly. “If you don’t mind.”

  Hana’s teasing faltered. Her cheeks warmed.

  “Get on with it,” she muttered.

  Kazuki inhaled deeply.

  “Since the first day we met,” he began, staring at the gravel beneath their feet, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

  Hana’s breath caught.

  “You make my days brighter,” he continued. “You make me want to be better. When you tease me, I complain—but when you don’t, I start wondering what’s wrong.”

  He looked up then, eyes steady.

  “I want you to be happy. I want you to feel like you matter—because you do. And no matter what happens in the future… Japan, the US, anywhere—I want you by my side. Keeping me in check.”

  His ears burned.

  He bowed, deeply and sincerely. “Thank you for listening.”

  Hana stood frozen.

  Then—

  She stepped forward and kissed him.

  It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t rushed.

  Just certain.

  She pulled back a second later, giving him space as his brain visibly short-circuited. Kazuki lifted a hand to his lips, blinking.

  Hana smirked. “What a silly idiot,” she said. “Did you really think I was going to leave you alone just because I got flustered?”

  “I—uh—” Kazuki started.

  She cut him off. “Also, if you wanted to tell me you liked me, there are way more romantic ways than a closure conversation in the school bike shed.”

  Kazuki smiled, wide and helpless. “I agree.”

  She laughed, then turned, heading toward the exit. As he hurried to catch up, she glanced back over her shoulder.

  “You know what, Kazuki? You might wanna prepare yourself.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer.

  She jumped on his back.

  “PIGGY! PIGGY! PIGGY!”

  “Hana—!” Kazuki protested, stumbling forward as she laughed uncontrollably.

  The sun dipped low, bathing them in gold as their voices echoed down the path—another day ending, another chapter quietly turning.

  [Static crackle. Screen flickers on.]

  Kenji sits dead centre, arms crossed, staring straight ahead.

  dating now, right?”

  Shun, off to the side, sipping a drink:

  “They kissed.”

  Ayame leans into frame, far too excited.

  “In the bike shed. Which is honestly not romantic enough for the emotional damage that occurred today.”

  “But let’s talk about you two.”

  everyone.”

  “…She looked thirsty.”

  [Beat.]

  [Static crackle. Screen cuts out.]