The rooftop was never mine. Not officially. But I claimed it—quietly, over time, like moss growing on forgotten stone.

  It was the only place where the air didn’t reek of other people’s desperation. No shouting. No flirting. No fake laughter. Just wind, rusted railings, and silence. A perfect lunch spot for someone uninterested in the messy middle part of high school.

  But today, I wasn’t alone.

  I opened the heavy metal door and froze.

  She was already there.

  Yui Hanazawa. Second-year. The kind of girl who smiled so easily it made people think she had no problems. Bright eyes, ponytail swaying behind her like punctuation. She was the kind of person who joined events, remembered birthdays, and probably helped lost freshmen find their homerooms.

  Except right now, she was crying.

  And she wasn’t alone.

  Some guy stood opposite her. Clean uniform, smooth hair, forgettable face. He wasn’t saying much. He didn’t need to. I caught just enough to understand what I’d walked into.

  A confession. Or what was left of it.

  “I just…” Yui’s voice cracked, soft and hoarse. “I thought we were something.”

  “You thought wrong,” the guy replied, tone flat.

  Oof. Cold. Efficient. Almost admirable.

  She stood there, like someone had hit pause on her body but left her heart spinning out. Her fists were clenched, not from anger—but to keep from falling apart.

  I could have left. Should have. I wasn’t supposed to be here.

  But the door had creaked. She heard it. She turned.

  Our eyes met.

  Damn it.

  For a second, she looked embarrassed. Like I’d caught her doing something unspeakable. Then that passed. What came next surprised me.

  She laughed. Not a happy sound. Not even a bitter one. Just… empty.

  “Of course,” she muttered. “Perfect.”

  I said nothing. I didn’t know her well. She wasn’t in my class. We’d never spoken directly. I was just a background extra in the school she starred in.

  But she stared at me now like I was supposed to have answers.

  “Do you ever wonder,” she said, wiping her eyes, “if you’re just not good enough to be anyone’s first choice?”

  My instinct told me to leave. My gut said this wasn’t my scene.

  My mouth, unfortunately, said something else.

  “I stopped wondering. Turns out not being a choice at all is more efficient.”

  She blinked at that. “That’s… depressing.”

  “Realistic.”

  She tilted her head. “You’re Minazuki, right? Student council. Secretary?”

  I gave a small nod.

  “I’ve seen you around,” she said, forcing a smile. “You never talk to anyone.”

  “That’s by design.”

  “And here you are. Walking into a breakup like it’s a lunch appointment.”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Unlucky timing.”

  She exhaled slowly and turned back toward the fence. The silence crept in, awkward and heavy, but not unbearable. Not for me.

  Then came the voice that was unbearable.

  “Well this is unexpected.”

  I winced before I turned.

  Miyako Hanazawa stood at the rooftop entrance, arms crossed, expression smug. She wore the same uniform as me—minus the apathy. Her student council pin caught the sun like a blade. Her eyes flicked from me to her sister, then back again.

  “You?” she said. “With her? That’s either fate, comedy, or blackmail.”

  “I was just leaving.”

  “Mm. Sure you were.”

  Yui turned, visibly startled. “Nee-san?”

  “Yui,” Miyako said gently, walking over and placing a hand on her shoulder. “What happened?”

  There was hesitation. Then Yui’s composure crumbled again.

  “I told him. Everything. I thought he liked me. I thought it would mean something. But it didn’t. It never did.”

  Miyako’s jaw tightened. For a second, the teasing mask slipped. She pulled Yui into a light hug, rubbing her back, whispering things I didn’t stick around to hear.

  I moved toward the door.

  “Stop,” Miyako said without looking.

  I froze.

  “You saw all of it, didn’t you?”

  “By accident.”

  “And now you’re just going to walk away?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  I turned back slowly. “Excuse me?”

  She looked at me now. Direct. Calm. Dangerous.

  “You’re part of this now.”

  “On what planet?”

  “On the one where you’re our student council secretary, which means you’re technically involved in the wellbeing of our students. And,” she added with a glint in her eye, “you also owe me.”

  “That was months ago. And I never admitted guilt.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m cashing in.”

  Yui watched us, confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing important,” Miyako said smoothly. “Just making sure Minazuki here doesn’t retreat into his crypt before I’m done.”

  “I live in an apartment.”

  “Same thing.”

  I sighed. “What do you want?”

  She straightened up. “She’s not okay. And I can’t babysit her 24/7. You saw the worst of it, so you don’t get to pretend you’re not involved.”

  “That logic is appalling.”

  “That logic is mine,” she replied. “And unless you want our council president hearing about your little ‘system optimizations’ in the budget spreadsheet, you’ll listen.”

  “…That wasn’t fraud. It was a data-cleaning operation.”

  “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

  Yui looked between us like she was watching an alien debate.

  “I don’t get it,” she said softly. “Why are you making him do anything?”

  “Because,” Miyako said, turning to her with a smile, “he’s actually decent underneath all that concrete. He just needs pressure. And guilt. Lots of guilt.”

  I glared at her.

  She winked.

  I didn’t go back to the rooftop for three days.

  Instead, I ate lunch in the library. In a back corner near the window where nobody wandered. I read a book on behavioral economics. I reorganized my notes. I did everything but think about what I saw.

  But memories bleed in whether you want them to or not.

  Yui’s voice. Cracking like thin glass. Her eyes, wide with humiliation. The kind of pain you can’t fake.

  And then, as always, came a softer intrusion. Warmer. Older.

  A small hand patting my head while I sat at the kitchen table. A soft humming voice as she stirred a pot on a tired stove.

  “You don’t have to talk, Aki. I’m here anyway.”

  I shut the memory down.

  That door stays closed.

  It didn’t stay closed for long.

  Miyako cornered me again on Thursday.

  We were in the council room after school, finishing paperwork. Well—I was finishing paperwork. She was watching me.

  “You’re avoiding her,” she said without looking up from her phone.

  “She doesn’t need me.”

  “She cried on a rooftop in front of you. That’s not nothing.”

  “Plenty of people cry. Doesn’t mean I’m responsible for fixing them.”

  “No. But you’re good at seeing what other people miss.”

  I paused. That felt… close.

  “She doesn’t need someone to pity her,” I said.

  “She doesn’t. She needs someone who won’t lie to her. You’re uniquely bad at lying. That’s why I picked you.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “So this is all some twisted mentorship plan?”

  “No. I’m just tired of being the only person in her life who tells her the truth.”

  She stood, grabbed her bag, then looked back at me with a rare softness.

  “Just… be there. Even if you say nothing.”

  That part I knew how to do.

  The next day, I found Yui sitting alone behind the gym after class. It was a quiet spot. Isolated. Smart choice.

  She looked up when I walked over.

  “You again,” she said, brushing hair from her face. “Sent by my sister?”

  “Blackmailed, technically.”

  She smiled faintly. “Figures.”

  I sat down on the grass nearby, not close enough to crowd her. Not far enough to escape.

  We sat in silence for five minutes.

  Ten.

  She didn’t say anything. Neither did I.

  Then, finally:

  “Do you think I’m pathetic?”

  “No.”

  “You hesitated.”

  “I think you’re human. Which is worse.”

  She laughed at that. Not forced. Real. A small, tired sound.

  “I liked him for years, you know. Since middle school. I thought we had something.”

  “You did. He just didn’t realize it was yours, not his.”

  She looked at me sideways. “That’s… actually a nice way to put it.”

  “It’s just true.”

  She pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them.

  “I don’t know how to go back to being normal.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t pretend to be fine. Don’t perform for anyone. Just… be as broken as you are, until you’re not.”

  She blinked at me.

  Then nodded. Slowly.

  “Okay.”

  We sat there until the sky turned amber.

  For once, I didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.

  And maybe—just maybe—neither did she.

  End of Chapter 1