The morning arrived wrapped in pale winter light.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains in thin, golden strips. Outside, the world shimmered faintly—frost clinging to rooftops.
Teacher came to room to check that everyone was ready or not.
Knock.
Knock.
The door slid open before anyone could properly react.
"Is everyone ready?" the teacher asked, stepping inside with the calm authority of someone who already expected disappointment.
A chorus of half-organized voices answered him.
"Yes, sir—almost—just a minute—"
Hitori didn't bother with politeness.
"We are," he said flatly, pointing across the room, "except that idiot."
There, in the far corner, Minato lay completely motionless, wrapped in his blanket like a human cocoon, blissfully unaware of both time and consequences.
The teacher sighed.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough to say I knew it.
He walked over, each step deliberate, until he stood beside the bed. For a moment, he simply looked down at Minato, as if considering his life choices.
Then, without warning, he grabbed the blanket—
—and pulled it away in one clean motion.
Cold air rushed in like an uninvited guest.
Minato flinched.
"…Huh?" His voice was thick with sleep, words barely forming. "Who the hell took my blanket…?"
Behind the teacher, a ripple passed through the room. Shoulders shook. Hands clamped over mouths. Someone made a choking sound that was definitely not a cough.
Minato pushed himself up slowly, hair a complete disaster, eyes barely open as he blinked against the light.
Then he looked up.
And froze.
The teacher stood there.
Watching him.
Silently.
"…Teach?" Minato's voice cracked mid-word, like it had just tripped over itself. "W-what are you doing in here…?"
thwack.
The sound was sharp, clean, and undeniably deserved.
"Don't waste another second," the teacher said, his voice firm, edged with just enough irritation to carry weight. "Get ready. Unless you want more motivation."
Minato clutched his head, still half-processing reality. "Y-yes, sir—!"
The teacher gave the room one last sweeping glance—taking in the chaos, the suppressed laughter, the general lack of discipline—before turning and sliding the door shut behind him.
The moment it clicked closed—
The room exploded.
Laughter burst out like it had been waiting its entire life for this exact moment. Loud, uncontrollable, echoing off the walls.
"I can't believe you said 'who took my blanket'—"
"Your face—did you see your face?!"
"You looked like you saw your ancestors!"
Minato sat there, still stunned, hair sticking in every possible direction, trying to regain some fragment of dignity that had already left the building.
"…You're all dead," he muttered, though the threat lacked any real force.
Hitori wiped at his eyes, still laughing. "You're the one who almost died just now."
"I was asleep!"
"That's the problem!"
Another wave of laughter hit.
Minato groaned, dragging a hand down his face before finally swinging his legs off the bed. The cold floor sent a visible shiver through him.
"Why is it so cold…" he mumbled.
"It's a dream my boy," someone replied helpfully.
"Shut up."
Outside, Kyoto waited.
Inside, the day had already begun.
Minato stood, stretching lazily despite everything, then glanced around at his still-laughing classmates.
"…You're all enjoying this way too much."
"Of course we are," Hitori said. "It's not every day we get a good day meal like that."
Minato scoffed, grabbing his uniform jacket. "Just wait. I'll get my revenge."
"Sure," someone called out. "After you wake up properly."
More laughter.
Second and third years gathered in uneven clusters, coats half-buttoned, scarves hastily wrapped, bags slung over shoulders in ways that suggested more chaos than preparation. The morning air bit at exposed skin, sharp and unapologetic, turning every breath into a faint cloud that lingered for a second before disappearing.
Some students stamped their feet against the cold. Others huddled close, chasing warmth through conversation. A few still looked like they hadn't fully returned from sleep, eyes heavy, movements slow.
At the front, the teachers stood like anchors in the shifting crowd.
"Alright, listen up!"
The noise thinned, reluctantly.
"Our first visit today is Fushimi Inari Taisha," one teacher announced, voice steady, practiced. "We'll be climbing, so stay in your assigned groups and don't wander off."
A pause.
Then, almost as an afterthought—
"And keep up."
A quiet ripple passed through the students.
"Climbing?"
"First thing in the morning?"
"How am I supposed to call this a fun trip?" someone muttered in the back.
"Shut up and listen to what that asshole is saying," someone else whispered, not even trying to hide the lack of enthusiasm.
"Buses are ready. Move out."
The ride was shorter than expected.
Kyoto slipped by outside the windows, calm and composed, as if it had no interest in matching the restless energy inside the bus. Conversations rose and fell in waves, some students still waking up, others already debating how far they'd actually make it up the mountain.
"I'm telling you, I'm not going all the way," one said.
"You say that now," his friend replied. "Watch you suddenly become competitive halfway through."
"I will not."
"You absolutely will."
Minato leaned back in his seat, arms folded, eyes half-lidded but awake enough to follow the conversation around him. "If there's a prize at the top, maybe," he muttered.
"There's pride," Hitori said from across the aisle.
Minato glanced at him. "That's not enough motivation."
Takahashi, sitting by the window, watched as the bus slowed.
And then stopped.
The doors opened.
Cold air rushed in again, sharper this time, carrying with it something different—something quieter, heavier. The kind of stillness that didn't come from emptiness, but from age.
They stepped out.
And there it was.
The entrance to Fushimi Inari Taisha rose ahead of them, marked by towering vermilion gates that stood bold against the pale winter sky. Beyond them, more gates stretched into the distance, forming a path that curved and climbed, disappearing into the trees like a promise—or a challenge.
"…That's a lot of stairs," someone said.
"No one told me it was this serious," another added.
The teachers gathered them once more near the starting point, voices cutting through the growing noise.
"Stay with your groups!"
"Don't run ahead!"
"We'll regroup at designated checkpoints!"
The instructions layered over each other, practical and necessary, though already beginning to fade as attention shifted elsewhere.
Because the path was right there.
Waiting.