The morning sun spilled over Sakura High School, painting the cherry blossom trees in soft pinks and golds.
The three-story building buzzed with the usual chaos of students pouring through the gates, their laughter and chatter echoing across the atrium.
The scent of spring executed the breeze, mingling with the aroma of coffee from the nearby Luminos Café.
To an outsider, it was just another day at Sakura High.
But beneath the surface, a storm was brewing, one that would shatter the fragile peace of the school's social hierarchy.
Rumours had spread like wildfire since last night.
Whispers slithered through the hallways, the cafeteria, and the field, growing darker with every retelling.
Paulo Satoshi is dead. The words were spoken in hushed tones, laced with disbelief, fear, or, for some, quiet satisfaction.
No one knew the full story, but the pieces were there: Miya Mori breaking up with him under Tokyo Bridge, a fight, a body tossed into the river.
By when morning came, the tale had morphed into something grotesque, a tragic accident, a gang dispute, or, for the more dramatic, a murder covered up by the popular crowd.
Miya Mori stood by her locker on the second floor, her navy school bag slung over one of her shoulders, the tiny pink blossom keychain swaying gently around her short, thin, and girly neck.
Her chestnut brown eyes scanned the hallway, but her usual warmth was absent.
Her bangs framed a face that looked almost too perfect, too composed, as if she had rehearsed this moment.
She adjusted her burgundy bow, her fingers lingering on the fabric.
He is gone, she told herself, the thought both a relief and a weight.
She had watched Paulo sink into the river, his blue hoodie vanishing beneath the current.
She had not flinched.
She had not screamed.
She had just turned away, Rin's arm around her waist, Shin's laughter ringing in her ears.
Alexis had been there too, his red eyes glinting with something unreadable.
It was done. Paulo was done.
But her heart stuttered when she overheard two girls from Class 2-B whispering nearby.
"They're saying the police found his hoodie snagged on a rock downstream," one said, voice trembling. "No body yet, but… he couldn't have survived that current."
Miya's grip tightened on her bag.
Good, she thought, but the word felt hollow.
She did not love Paulo, she never had.
He was a means to an end, a shield to keep her secret with Rin safe.
But the image of his swollen, bloodied face as Rin's fist connected flashed in her mind.
She pushed it down, her lips curling into a practiced smile as Shin Takahashi approached.
"Morning, Miya," Shin said, his tall frame looming over her. His purple hoodie was slightly wrinkled, his black hair messy from the morning wind.
His blue eyes held a glint of amusement, as if the universe was his personal joke.
"Heard the news? Your ex is fish food." He leaned against the locker, grinning.
Miya's smile did not waver, but her voice was sharp. "Do not be crude, Shin. It is… tragic." The lie slipped out easily, honed by years of manipulation.
She glanced around, ensuring no one was listening too closely. "Where's Rin?"
"Late, as usual," Shin said, shrugging, "Probably primping that purple hair of his. You know how he is."
He lowered his voice, his grin fading, "You okay? Last night was… intense."
"I'm fine," Miya said quickly, her eyes flicking to the floor. "It had to be done. Paulo was clingy. Obsessed. He would have found out about me and Rin eventually."
She did not mention how Paulo's Taekwondo skills had kept him standing longer than any of them expected, or how Mizaki Kirazaka had lurked in the shadows, her violet eyes burning into Paulo like she owned him.
Miya did not care about Mizaki's obsession, not yet.
As long as the principal's daughter stayed out of her way, she was irrelevant.
Across the atrium, Mizaki Kirazaka held court near the cherry blossom mural, her bubble-gum-pink hair catching the light. Her uniform was impeccable, the navy blazer tailored to perfection, her pink blossom pin glinting on her lapel.
Marina Satō and Shizuka Suzuki flanked her, Marina's blue hair cascading like a waterfall, Shizuka's green eyes darting nervously.
Mizaki's smile was radiant, but her mind was elsewhere, under Tokyo Bridge, where she had watched Paulo fight for his life.
She had seen the way he clung to that rock, his red hair plastered to his forehead, his blue eyes defiant even as blood streamed down his face.
She had whispered to him, her voice a promise: You are mine, Paulo. No one else can have you.
"They're saying he's dead," Marina said softly, her red eyes scanning the crowd, "The river… it is deep there. No one could have survived."
Shizuka nodded, clutching her books. "It is awful. Paulo was… nice. Why would anyone do that?"
Mizaki's smile tightened, her violet eyes narrowing. "People do awful things when they're desperate," she said, her voice smooth as silk.
"Miya probably pushed him too far. You know how she is."
She did not believe Paulo was dead, not truly.
She had seen the fire in him, the strength.
He was out there, somewhere, and when he came back, he would need her.
She would make sure of it. The bell rang, signalling the start of classes, but the atmosphere remained heavy.
Students moved sluggishly, their usual energy dampened by the rumour mill.
In Class 3-A, Alexis Smith slouched at his desk by the window, his green hoodie pulled low over his blonde hair. His red eyes stared at the cherry blossoms outside, but he saw nothing.
Last night had been a blur, Rin's fists, Shin's kicks, Miya's cold detachment. Alexis had joined in, his betrayal cutting deeper than any punch.
He had been Paulo's best friend, the one who walked home with him, who laughed at his dumb jokes about Miya's student council duties.
But when Miya had called him to the bridge, when she had promised him a place in her inner circle, he had folded.
Paulo was in the way.
Paulo had to go.
Now, sitting in the classroom where Paulo's empty desk sat in the back row, Alexis felt a twinge of something, guilt, maybe, or fear.
He had seen Paulo's body hit the water, lifeless.
No one could have survived that.
But the rumours were too neat, too final.
What if Paulo had crawled out? What if he told someone? Alexis's fingers drummed on his desk, his jaw tight.
He pushed the thought away.
Paulo was dead.
End of story.
***
Forty-three minutes.
That is how long it had taken Paulo Satoshi to limp home last night, each step a knife in his ribs, each breath a fire in his lungs.
The river had tried to claim him, its icy grip pulling at his ruined cobalt-blue hoodie.
But he had fought.
He had clawed his way to a rock, hauled his broken body onto the bank, and refused to die.
Now, as the morning sun burned his eyes, he stood at the gates of Sakura High, a ghost in the flesh.
Paulo looked nothing like the boy who had left these gates yesterday.
His red hair was matted, dull without its usual vibrancy.
His fair skin was marred with bruises, purple and yellow blooming across his cheekbones, his jaw swollen where Rin's fist had landed.
His left eye was half-shut, the lid puffy. His hoodie was gone, replaced by a plain black T-shirt that hung loose on his lean frame, hiding the bandages wrapped around his torso.
His tracksuit joggers were swapped for dark jeans, the only clean pair he owned. Every movement hurt, but he stood tall, his posture defiant despite the pain.
His blue eyes, once warm and lively, were cold as steel, scanning the courtyard like a predator.
He had made a choice in the dark, alone in his empty house.
The old Paulo, the one who loved Miya, who trusted Alexis, who smiled easily, was dead.
What walked into Sakura High now was something else.
Something harder.
Something ready to burn it all down.
The courtyard fell silent as he crossed the threshold.
Students froze mid-step, their conversations dying.
A girl dropped her phone, the clatter echoing.
Eyes followed him, wide with shock, fear, or disbelief.
Paulo did not acknowledge them.
He did not limp, did not wince, did not falter.
He walked with purpose; his gaze fixed on the main entrance.
Miya was the first to see him.
She had been heading to the cafeteria with Shin when she spotted the figure at the gates.
Her heart stopped. The cherry blossom keychain slipped from her fingers, clattering to the ground.
"No," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Shin followed her gaze, his grin vanishing.
"Holy shit," Shin muttered, his blue eyes wide. "That's… that's not possible."
Paulo's eyes found Miya's across the courtyard.
For a moment, time slowed.
Her chestnut brown eyes, once so expressive, were filled with panic.
She took a step back, her neat bangs trembling as she shook her head.
Paulo's lips did not move, but his gaze said everything: I am not done with you.
Mizaki Kirazaka was next.
She had been descending the stairs from the third floor, Marina, and Shizuka at her side, when she saw him.
Her breath caught, her violet eyes lighting up with a mix of joy and hunger. He is alive.
Her heart raced, her fingers curling into fists.
She had known it, deep down.
Paulo was too strong to die.
Too perfect.
She pushed past her friends, her high ponytail swaying, her polished loafers clicking against the tiles.
"Paulo!" she called, her voice bright but edged with something darker.
He did not stop.
Did not look at her.
His focus was on the second floor, where Class 3-A waited.
Alexis Smith was in the hallway when the whispers reached him.
"He's here," a girl hissed, her voice trembling, "Paulo's back."
Alexis's blood ran cold.
He pushed through the crowd, his red eyes scanning for his former friend.
When he saw Paulo, his stomach lurched.
The bruises, the coldness in those blue eyes, it was not the Paulo he knew.
This was someone else. Someone dangerous.
"Paulo," Alexis said, stepping forward, his voice cracking. "Man, we thought… we thought you were—"
Paulo stopped, his head turning slowly.
His gaze pinned Alexis in place, sharp and unyielding.
"Thought I was what?" he asked, his voice low, devoid of warmth. The hallway went quiet, students holding their breath.
Alexis swallowed, his hands trembling.
"Dead," he said finally, the word barely a whisper. "We thought you drowned."
Paulo's lips twitched, not a smile but something colder.
"Disappointed?" he asked, stepping closer.
Alexis flinched, his back hitting the lockers.
Paulo did not touch him, did not need to. The threat was in his eyes; in the way he loomed despite his injuries.
"Paulo, I—" Alexis started, but Paulo cut him off.
"Save it," he said, his voice like a blade.
"You made your choice." He turned away, leaving Alexis frozen, as he continued toward Class 3-A.
Rin Itō was waiting outside the classroom, his violet-purple hair catching the light from the window.
His golden-yellow eyes narrowed as Paulo approached, his loose tie swaying.
"Well, shit," Rin said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Look who crawled out of the river. Gotta say, Satoshi, you are tougher than I thought."
Paulo did not respond.
He stopped a foot from Rin; his blue eyes locked on those golden ones.
The air crackled with tension. Rin was taller, broader, but Paulo did not back down.
His Taekwondo training screamed in his muscles, urging him to strike, to break Rin's smug face.
But he held back. Not yet. Not here.
"You got something to say?" Rin asked, leaning forward, his earring glinting. "Or you just gonna stand there like a drowned rat?"
Paulo's voice was quiet, deadly. "Enjoy your moment, Itō. It will not last."
Rin's grin faltered, just for a second.
Then he laughed, loud and sharp, clapping Paulo on the shoulder.
Paulo did not flinch, but the pain in his ribs flared, white-hot.
"Big words for a guy who got his ass handed to him," Rin said, stepping aside, "Go on, hero. Class is waiting."
Paulo walked past him, into the classroom.
The room went silent as he entered, every eye on him.
His desk in the back was untouched, a ghost's throne.
He sat down, ignoring the stares, and pulled out a notebook.
The teacher, Mr. Yamada arrived but froze mid-sentence, his chalk hovering over the board.
"Mr. Satoshi," he said, his voice unsteady. "You're… here."
"Obviously," Paulo said, not looking up.
His pen moved across the page, writing nothing, just lines to keep his hands steady.
The class erupted into whispers, but Paulo did not hear them.
His mind was elsewhere, cataloguing faces, moments, weaknesses.
Miya's lies.
Alexis's betrayal.
Rin's arrogance.
Shin's cruelty.
And Mizaki… Mizaki was a problem he had not solved yet.
Her obsession was a wildcard; one he would need to neutralize.
Mizaki slipped into the classroom late, her presence commanding attention.
She took her seat near the front; her violet eyes fixed on Paulo.
She smiled, slow and deliberate, and mouthed, Welcome back.
Paulo did not acknowledge her, but his jaw tightened.
Lunch came too slowly.
The cafeteria was a minefield, every table a potential ambush.
Paulo sat alone in the corner, his tray untouched.
His ribs ached with every breath, but he did not care.
He watched.
Miya sat with Rin and Shin, her laughter too loud, too forced.
Alexis was at another table, his red eyes darting to Paulo every few seconds.
Mizaki held court with Marina and Shizuka, her gaze flicking to Paulo like a magnet.
He stood, ignoring the pain, and left the cafeteria.
He needed air, needed space.
The field was quieter, the cherry blossoms drifting lazily to the ground.
He leaned against a tree, closing his eyes.
For a moment, he let himself feel the weight of it all, the betrayal, the pain, the loss.
Then he pushed it down, locking it away. There was no room for weakness now.
"Paulo."
He opened his eyes.
Mizaki stood a few feet away, her pink hair glowing in the sunlight.
Her uniform was perfect, her smile softer than usual.
"You're hurt," she said, stepping closer. "Let me help you."
"I don't need your help," Paulo said, his voice flat.
"You don't have to do this alone," she said, her voice almost a whisper.
"Miya does not deserve you. None of them do. But I…" She reached out, her fingers brushing his arm.
Paulo stepped back, his eyes hard, "Stay away from me, Mizaki."
Her smile did not falter, but her eyes darkened.
"You'll see," she said. "I'm the only one who understands you."
She walked away, her heels clicking, leaving Paulo alone under the tree.
He clenched his fists, his knuckles white.
Mizaki was dangerous, but so was he. And he had a list.
Miya. Alexis. Rin. Shin. Mizaki.
One by one, they would pay.
***
The rest of the day passed in a blur of stares and whispers.
Paulo moved through the halls like a shadow, his presence unsettling everyone.
Teachers avoided his gaze.
Students parted when he walked by.
By the time the final bell rang, Sakura High was a powder keg, and Paulo was the spark.
He left through the gates, his steps steady despite the pain.
The route home beckoned, past Luminos Café, toward Tokyo Bridge.
He paused at the bridge, staring at the river below.
The current was calm today, mocking him.
He touched the bruises on his face, his fingers lingering on the swollen skin.
"They think I'm a ghost," he murmured, his voice carried away by the wind. "Let them."
He turned and walked away, the cherry blossoms falling behind him.
Paulo Satoshi was back, and Sakura High would never be the same.