Haruto — Morning of the School Christmas Party
The winter sun had only begun to climb when Haruto Kurogane opened his eyes. A blade of pale light ran across his ceiling, cold and thin nothing like the warm festive glow the town had been decorating itself with for days. His room was quiet, cleaner than usual, almost too neat for a boy his age. But Haruto had grown used to neatness. It was the only thing that stayed still when everything else moved.
He sat up slowly. His left arm stung faintly when the blanket brushed against it—the same scar from the alley attack days ago. The bandage under his sleeve felt stiff. He rotated his wrist, checking the mobility, then exhaled and stood up.
Today was the school's official Christmas party.
He dressed in silence. The black shirt, the black jacket with sharp lines, the black pants he chose them intentionally. The silver chain around his neck sat against the fabric like a cold line of steel. The black watch clicked when he fastened it, steady as a heartbeat. The look was clean, mature; too mature for a first-year student perhaps, but Haruto was long past caring about expectations.
He checked himself once in the mirror. His expression was calm, empty even. But his eyes were sharp cold at the edges, controlled at the center.
He looked like someone who had made up his mind.
Downstairs, the smell of breakfast drifted through the hallway. His mother was already at the table, stirring miso soup. His father sat beside her, flipping through the morning newspaper, wearing his reading glasses low on his nose.
"Haruto," his mother said, looking up at him with a warm smile. "You woke up early today."
"I had to," he replied, pulling out a chair. "The school's Christmas party starts early. Student council needs to check the decorations."
His father lowered the newspaper enough to glance at him. "You're wearing black? Isn't that a bit heavy for a Christmas event?"
"It's fine," Haruto said.
His mother eyed the sleeves of Haruto's jacket. "Is your arm okay? You shouldn't move around too much."
He nodded. "It's healing."
"You know," his father said gently, "you don't have to force yourself to go. After the attack… I'd understand if you wanted to rest."
Haruto shook his head. "I have work to do. Today especially."
Something in the way he said it made both parents pause. His mother leaned forward slightly.
"Haruto," she said softly, "you've been quiet lately. More than usual."
He stirred his soup. "I'm just thinking."
"About the attack?" she asked.
"About a lot of things." He lifted his eyes. "But don't worry, Mom. I'm being careful."
She studied his face a moment longer, as if trying to read the parts he would never voice. Then she smiled and reached for the small thermos on the counter.
"Then at least take warm tea with you," she said, handing it to him. "It's cold outside."
He stood, accepting it with a small nod. "Thanks."
His father folded his newspaper. "Haruto."
He looked over.
"Whatever you're planning," his father said, "don't put yourself at risk again. We already almost lost you once."
Haruto's fingers tightened around the thermos, the metal cold under his grip.
"I won't," he answered.
His mother reached out and gently smoothed his collar. "Stay safe, okay?"
"I will."
He put on his coat, slung his bag over one shoulder, and stepped out into the biting December air.
As the door clicked shut behind him, he whispered under his breath:
"Today."
He exhaled, watching the white mist fade into the morning sky.
"It starts today."
Miyuki's perspective
Miyuki Sato sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection as she tried to clip a small silver hairpin into place. Her hands were shaking. She dropped the pin three times before managing to fasten it.
The Christmas dress she wore a soft cream-colored cardigan over a red plaid skirt should have made her feel festive. Pretty, even. But instead it felt like a costume, something pretending to be cheerful when she felt anything but.
Her chest felt heavy. Her mouth was dry. And no matter how many times she blinked, her eyes kept drifting to the corner of her desk where Haruto's old study notes sat notes he had once shared with her without hesitation.
Back when he still talked to her.
Back when he still believed in her.
She swallowed hard. The quiet in her room made her thoughts louder, and her thoughts had become the cruelest things she knew.
Haruto hadn't spoken a single word to her since the night of Souta's private Christmas party.
Not a greeting. Not a glance. Not even the casual politeness he gave to strangers.
He treated her as if she no longer existed.
She placed the hairpin down and covered her face with both hands.
"What have I done…?"
The question came out as a whisper, thin and fraying at the edges.
Images replayed aggressively in her mind: —Haruto's soft smile when he used to help her with homework
*Haruto grabbing her arm years ago when she tripped on the school stairs
*Haruto's hand brushing snow off her shoulder last winter
*Haruto looking at her with quiet gentleness
And then
The party.
The kiss.
Her body pressing against Souta while she told herself lies she wanted to believe.
Haruto's expression that night calm, unreadable appeared in her mind. She hadn't understood it then. Now she did.
It was disappointment.
Deep, cutting disappointment… the kind that didn't need yelling to hurt.
A knock sounded at her door.
"Miyuki? You ready?"
Souta's voice. Confident, casual, as if everything between them were still perfect.
She wiped her eyes quickly and forced her voice into something stable. "Y-Yeah, come in."
He opened the door, wearing a stylish red jacket and black scarf. His hair was styled neatly, and he looked every bit the athletic golden boy everyone admired.
He grinned. "Whoa. You look cute today."
She smiled faintly. "Thanks."
He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her waist. She didn't resist but her body didn't lean into him either.
"You okay?" he asked, noticing her stiffness.
"I'm fine," she lied.
"You're not thinking about Haruto again, right?" he teased lightly. "He's probably over everything by now. You worry too much."
Her stomach tightened.
If only he knew.
Miyuki lowered her gaze. "Souta… about Haruto… I just feel like "
"Hey." He tapped her forehead gently. "You're with me now, remember? Just relax. Don't stress."
Her eyes drifted away.
Relax?
How could she relax when Haruto's silence felt like a knife she had stabbed into herself?
He noticed her expression shift, but quickly misread it. "You're scared he'll avoid you at school's party? Don't worry. If he tries to be weird, I'll handle it."
She nearly flinched.
Haruto wasn't "being weird."
He was hurt.
And she had caused it.
Souta grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door. "Come on. Let's go catch the train before it gets crowded."
She followed, but as she stepped outside, her heart whispered a truth she didn't dare say aloud:
"I wish… Haruto would talk to me again."
Haruto On the Walk to the Station
Haruto walked through the frost-coated streets, each exhale turning to white mist. His breath came evenly. His boots crunched against the thin ice forming on the edges of the sidewalk.
He passed a bakery where the scent of fresh bread hung warm in the air. Children in bright coats ran past him, laughing about presents. A group of elderly neighbors decorated a pine outside an apartment complex. Everything looked peaceful. Joyful.
But inside Haruto, the world was a winter storm waiting to break.
He slipped one hand into his coat pocket, feeling the edges of his phone, where years of files and recordings were hidden truths that stained the future Valkyrie had shown him.
His mother crying at his grave.
His father collapsed.
Miyuki calling him a memory.
Souta living comfortably on stolen happiness.
His mother broken, controlled.
The moment Valkyrie revealed his mother's future, something inside him twisted. It hadn't untangled since.
A quiet fire simmered in his chest not a wild anger, but a cold, steady one.
The kind that thinks.
The kind that plans.
He reached the station steps.
"Almost there," he murmured.
He wasn't rushing. He wasn't nervous.
He was simply ready.
He walked up the stairs, tapping his train card on the reader, the machine beeping softly. The platform was already partially crowded students chatting, commuters sipping hot cans of coffee, couples laughing while their breath mingled in the air.
Haruto stood alone among them, black-clad and silent.
His reflection in the train window looked older than he was. As if he had shed pieces of himself until only purpose remained.
Haruto on the Train
The train doors op
ened with a soft chime.
Haruto stepped inside.
Heads turned immediately. Some students whispered. Some stared openly. Some admired quietly.
It wasn't just his appearance.
It was the aura.
Black shirt.
Black coat.
Black slacks.
Silver chain.
Black watch.
Glasses that curved cleanly at the edges.
Headphones resting around his neck, low music humming through them.
A book in his hand a dark-bound hardback.
He looked effortlessly composed.
Dangerously calm.
He moved to stand near the window divider the place where the glass let you see into the next compartment.
He opened his book, flipping to where he left off. The movement was smooth, deliberate. As if nothing in the world could shake the stillness inside him.
The train started moving.
A few girls in the car whispered:
"Isn't that Haruto Kurogane?"
"He looks… different today."
"Cooler. Colder."
"Like an anime protagonist ."
"He's so handsome in black…"
Haruto didn't react. He read calmly, his finger resting on the line he was memorizing.
But then
Movement in the next compartment caught his eye.
He lifted his gaze slightly.
His eyes narrowed.
Souta.
And next to him
Miyuki.
Miyuki was hugging him, her head resting against his chest. Souta had one arm wrapped around her, laughing about something. They were close. Warm. Comfortable. Like lovers on a casual winter date.
Haruto watched silently through the glass between the compartments.
His expression didn't change.
His chest didn't rise sharply.
His grip on the book didn't tighten.
But his eyes…
They hardened slightly just enough for a chill to pass through him.
Miyuki lifted her head to say something to Souta.
Then her eyes drifted lazily to the side.
And she froze.
Her breath stopped.
Her heart stopped.
Her shoulders locked.
Because on the other side of the glass
Haruto Kurogane was watching her.
Not with hatred.
Not with anger.
Not with jealousy.
With something far worse:
Indifference sharpened by quiet judgment.
He looked immaculate in black, framed by winter morning light so composed it felt unreal.
Her body trembled before she could stop it.
Souta noticed instantly. "Miyuki? You cold?"
She didn't answer.
She couldn't.
Her lips parted soundlessly.
Haruto's unreadable eyes stayed on her for three long seconds.
Then
He smiled.
A small, calm, polite smile.
The kind of smile you give a stranger.
And then he lowered his gaze back to his book.
As if she were no one special.
As if everything between them had never meant anything.
Miyuki's chest tightened painfully.
Her fingers curled in Souta's jacket.
Her breathing turned shallow.
"Why… why does he look like that…?" she whispered.
Souta misheard and pulled her into a tighter embrace. "Hey, it's okay. Don't think about him."
But Haruto wasn't thinking about them.
He had already closed that chapter.
This train scene this one fleeting moment was merely his quiet confirmation:
"Today is the last day they will ever smile this peacefully in front of me."
He turned a page in his book.
The train sped toward the school.
Winter sunlight flowed over the tracks.
And the futures of all three of them
Haruto, Miyuki, Souta
shifted silently into place.