The classroom felt… different.
Not noisy.
Not chaotic.
Just… awkward.
Yamabuki noticed it immediately.
"…Why is it so quiet today?"
Takumi leaned closer.
"…It's not the class."
"…Then what?"
Takumi smirked slightly.
"…It's her."
The Distance
Naya Yamada.
She was there.
Same seat. Same posture. Same calm face.
Perfect as always.
But—
She didn't look at Yamabuki.
Not even once.
Something Wrong
Yamabuki scratched his head.
"…Did I do something?"
Takumi shrugged.
"You exist. That's enough."
"I'LL END YOU."
Attempt #1
During break—
Yamabuki walked toward her.
Step by step.
"Oi."
"…What?"
Her voice was cold.
Flat.
Different.
Yamabuki paused.
"…Are you mad?"
"…No."
"You are."
"I said I'm not."
"…You definitely are."
The Wall
Naya stood up.
"…Move."
"Huh?"
"You're in the way."
Yamabuki froze.
"…Since when?"
"…Now."
Silence.
She walked past him.
Didn't stop.
Didn't look back.
The Crack Inside
Her steps were steady.
But her thoughts weren't.
Why am I acting like this…?
Her hands tightened slightly.
He didn't do anything wrong…
Pause.
Then why does it feel like this…?
Attempt #2
After school—
Yamabuki waited.
Leaning against the wall.
"…She has to come out eventually…"
Door opened.
Naya stepped out.
She saw him.
And immediately—
"…Move."
"…Again?!"
"I have somewhere to be."
"You always say that!"
"…Because I do."
The Question
Yamabuki frowned.
"…Did I do something wrong?"
Silence.
Naya stopped.
For a second.
Just one second.
"…No."
"Then why are you acting like this?!"
No answer.
The Truth (Almost)
Her lips parted slightly.
Words almost came out.
Because you smiled at someone else.
Because it annoyed me.
Because I keep thinking about you.
But—
"…It's none of your business."
The Push
Yamabuki's expression dropped.
"…Oh."
That one word.
Simple.
But it hit.
"…Fine."
He stepped aside.
"…Do whatever you want."
The Moment
Naya walked past him.
Again.
Just like before.
But this time—
Her chest felt tight.
Painful.
"…Why does this feel wrong…"
Ending
That night—
Naya sat alone.
Room silent.
Dark.
Her thoughts louder than ever.
"…I don't like him."
Silence.
"…I don't."
She closed her eyes.
"…I don't care about him."
But her hand—
Slowly tightened.
Over her chest.
"…Then why… does it hurt?"
Final Line
"…I don't care… so why can't I stop thinking about him…?"