The afternoon sun slanted through the second-floor corridor windows, painting warm rectangles across the pale floors. The bell had rung minutes ago, but the school still felt rattled, as if it was trying to settle after a long breath it didn't know it had been holding.
Students rushed through the hallways—some animated, some frustrated, some relieved. It was the kind of end-of-day noise that rose from uniforms, scuffed shoes, friendship groups, and tired teachers closing binders. A normal day… except it wasn't.
Not for Eadlyn.
Not after everything that summer had shifted.
He stepped out of 1A with his water bottle, intending to refill it at the fountain. A group of second-years walked past him. One of them glanced sideways.
"…that's him."
"The festival guy?"
"With Sayaka-senpai?"
"Lucky."
"Or dead."
Laughter. Half-joking, half-envious, fully loud enough to be heard.
Eadlyn didn't react. He just stepped aside and let them pass.
Because reacting gave rumors life.
And he'd learned enough to know when silence was better than correction.
When he turned the corner, he nearly collided with Sayaka.
She stood in front of the student council noticeboard, a stack of printed forms pressed neatly against her chest. Her hair was tied back into a high ponytail, uniform sharp, posture straight—perfectly composed. The model student. The dependable senpai. The one everyone whispered about but no one approached casually.
But Eadlyn noticed the details other people didn't:
the slight tension in her jaw,
the way she held her documents a little too tightly,
the micro-second pause before she breathed out.
Everything she didn't say… he saw.
"Busy?" he asked casually.
"As usual," she said, shifting the stack into a more comfortable grip.
A group of first-years passed behind them—soft whispers floating like dust.
"Sayaka-senpai—"
"—is that the guy—"
"—the festival—hand holding—fortune slip—"
Sayaka didn't react at all.
Her face remained an unmoving mirror of calm. But her fingers pressed slightly harder into the papers.
"Rumors started?" he asked, voice low.
Sayaka finally looked at him. Not with irritation. Not with embarrassment. Just… acknowledgment.
"They always start after festivals."
Her tone wasn't defensive.
It wasn't even resigned.
It was factual—like explaining the weather.
"You okay with it?" he asked quietly.
Her eyes flickered—soft, thoughtful, razor sharp all at once.
"Are you?" she countered gently.
He held her gaze.
"I'm fine."
No hesitation. No wobble.
Just truth.
A very small smile touched her lips.
"Then I am too."
Simple.
Honest.
Uncomplicated.
Like two people silently agreeing to hold the line together.
Sayaka turned toward the council room.
"See you tomorrow."
He nodded. "Yeah."
No need for more.
Their understanding was enough.
The Announcement
Back in class, Naomi was preparing the homework list when the intercom clicked on.
"Will Greyson Eadlyn from Class 1A please come to the main office."
The class erupted.
"What did you do already?"
"Bro's in trouble?"
"Did you fight someone?"
"Foreign kid speedrun to the principal's office—"
Naomi sighed.
"Quiet. Let him go."
He packed his bag calmly and headed out.
The school office smelled faintly of printer ink and old paperwork. Principal Akira looked up from her desk. Her dark blazer gave her a sharp, authoritative presence, but the camera that rested casually near her elbow softened it—like she carried two identities in one body.
"Mr. Greyson," she said, gesturing to the chair. "Sit."
He obeyed.
She folded her hands.
"I've heard you made quite an impression this summer."
He blinked. "Ma'am?"
"The festival."
Her eyes glimmered with sensei-humor.
"Lantern path. Sayaka. Goldfish. Fortune slips. Fireworks."
He didn't speak.
She leaned forward slightly.
"You are visible, Mr. Greyson. That is both a gift and a danger."
Her words weren't warning him.
They were measuring him.
"I've been observing you," she continued, "and I see two possibilities:
someone who causes chaos without meaning to…
or someone who carries responsibility well."
He met her gaze. Firm. Quiet.
"I'm trying to be the second."
"Good," she said. "Then I have a proposal."
She opened a folder labeled:
STUDENT COUNCIL OPERATIONS.
"Sayaka has spoken highly of your composure. I would like you to assist the council this term. Not as a public figure. Not as someone who stands in front."
She tapped the folder lightly.
"But someone who holds things together from the inside."
The responsibility felt heavy—
not like a burden,
but like a role he could grow into.
"I'll do it," he said.
Her smile was subtle but approving.
"Then welcome aboard."
As he stood to leave, she added:
"And Mr. Greyson… rumors fade when behavior is consistent.
Remain steady.
Your steadiness will protect not just you—
but the people attached to you."
He understood exactly what she meant.
Evening
When he got home, he showered, ate dinner quietly, and sat by his desk with his notebook.
He didn't write a story or a reflection.
Just one thought:
Diary:
Today the world started watching.
I don't mind.
Not as long as I remember to watch back—
not to defend myself,
but to understand how my presence affects others.
Rumors don't scare me.
Becoming careless does.
He closed the notebook slowly.
Outside, cicadas screamed into the night—
loud, relentless.
For once, he didn't feel small under the noise.
He felt centered.
He felt ready.
He felt… steady.