The morning sunlight streamed through the cssroom windows, casting a warm glow over the rows of desks. Haruki sat at her usual spot, her sketchbook open in front of her, pencil moving swiftly across the page. Instead of her cssmates, the desks in her drawing were occupied by whimsical creatures—a fox with nine tails lounged in the corner, a dragon coiled around the teacher’s podium, and a flock of tiny winged sprites flitted through the air. A smirk tugged at her lips as she added the finishing touches to a griffin perched smugly on Aiko’s desk.

  Aiko, seated beside her, leaned over to peek at the sketch. “You look unusually happy today,” she noted, her tone equal parts curious and suspicious. “Did something good happen?”

  Across from them, Akihito sat with his arms crossed, half-listening while flipping through his own notebook. He raised an eyebrow at Haruki’s expression but didn’t comment.

  Haruki didn’t look up, her pencil still moving. “I submitted my Career Pn,” she said, her voice light and sing-songy.

  Aiko’s eyes widened, and she practically shot forward in her chair. “You did?!” she excimed, much too loud for the cssroom. A few students gnced their way, but Aiko didn’t seem to care. “What did you pick?”

  Haruki finally looked up, drawing out the moment with an infuriatingly smug grin. “Tokyo University,” she said, pausing dramatically. “Fine Arts program.”

  Aiko and Akihito reacted at the same time—

  “What?!” Aiko gasped, her eyes sparkling with surprise.

  “WHAT?!” Akihito groaned, his tone ced with horror.

  Meanwhile, Akihito rubbed his temples as if physically pained. “Look, I know you’re impulsive and stubborn as a mule, but I didn’t think you’d just impulsively decide the trajectory of your career in a day, let alone from my off-hand remarks.” He stared at her in disbelief.

  Haruki scoffed, half-annoyed. “Look, you were the one who suggested Tokyo University yesterday!”

  “Suggested!” Akihito emphasized the word. “I was thinking at least you’d put it into consideration as one of your choices, not nose-dive into it!”

  “But I want to go to Tokyo University,” Haruki said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  Akihito exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look—” he started, his voice filled with exasperation. “Did at least your parents approve of it?”

  “No,” Haruki said in a sing-songy tone.

  Akihito stared at her, deadpan. “Of course.”

  Aiko snorted, cpping Haruki on the back. “Well, you’re in for an interesting conversation at home.”

  Haruki grinned, twirling her pencil between her fingers. “Oh, I’m well aware.”

  Akihito groaned, dropping his head onto his desk in defeat, “You’re crazy.”

  Haruki shrugged, her pencil still moving. “Maybe. But it’s my future, not theirs.”

  Aiko leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her hair. “Wow. I mean, I knew you were stubborn, but this is next level. What are you going to do when they find out?”

  Haruki’s smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered. “I’ll deal with it when the time comes,” she said, her tone casual. “For now, I’m just happy I finally made a decision.”

  Akihito shook his head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? But hey, It takes guts to go after what you want.”

  Haruki chuckled, her smug expression softening. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

  The bell rang, signaling the start of css, and the room filled with the sound of shuffling papers and murmured conversations. Haruki closed her sketchbook and tucked it into her bag, her mind already wandering to the future. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she was in control of her own destiny.

  -o-

  The school day had ended, and the hallways buzzed with the chatter of students heading to clubs, cram school, or home. Haruki stretched her arms above her head as she walked, a grin spreading across her face. “Ahh, I’ve been waiting for this all week,” she mused aloud. “Today’s the plein air session! I wonder where we’ll go this time. Maybe the riverside? Or that garden behind the old shrine? Ugh, I can’t wait to just sit outside and paint.”

  Aiko trailed beside her, shaking her head. “You’re way too excited for someone who just turned their entire career pn into an act of rebellion.”

  Behind them, Akihito sighed, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he matched their pace. “I thought you’d at least talk with your parents and try to convince them, Haruki,” he said, his tone serious. “Arguing against your parents is one thing, but going against them is another.”

  “Yeah,” Aiko chimed in, nodding sagely. “You know, like, make a PowerPoint presentation or something. ‘Top Ten Reasons Why I Should Go to Art School.’”

  Haruki smirked. “You’re siding with him, Aiko? I thought you were all about rebelling against parental expectations with me.”

  “I know,” Aiko groaned dramatically, throwing her hands up. “But me arguing with my parents is one thing—we argue all the time. You arguing with your parents is another thing entirely.” She gave Haruki a pointed look. “Your parents are scary.”

  “Yeah, look.” Akihito shot her a skeptical gnce. “Tell me you’ve at least discussed this with one of them.”

  Haruki smirked but didn’t slow her pace. “I talked with my mom,” she said simply.

  Akihito narrowed his eyes. “And your dad?”

  Haruki shrugged. “He wasn’t around,” she said, her voice casual. “But I don’t think he’d care.”

  Akihito let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. “You’re crazy,” he muttered. “Do you even hear yourself? Your dad’s not just some businessman—he’s the CEO of a major automotive company. Of course he’d care!”

  Haruki stopped in her tracks and turned to face him, her expression calm but unwavering. “No, he wasn’t around,” she said, emphasizing each word. “He’s never around. He’s too busy with work to care about what I do.”

  Akihito frowned but didn’t argue. Aiko shifted uncomfortably beside them, her gaze darting between the two.

  Haruki sighed, gripping her sketchbook tighter. “Look, I know it sounds reckless, but I can’t keep waiting for their approval. If I do, I’ll never get to live my life. I have to take this step, even if it’s scary.”

  Akihito’s jaw tightened. “That’s not the point. You might not care about what they think, but they’ll definitely care about you going against them. And your parents aren’t exactly the ‘let it go’ type.”

  Haruki nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I know. But I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

  -o-

  As Haruki sled the door open to the arts club room, the room was buzzing with energy as club members prepared for their weekly plein air session. Easels were being adjusted, canvases stacked, sketchbooks flipped open, and tubes of paint uncapped. The faint scent of oil paint and graphite filled the air, mixing with the chatter of students discussing the best locations for today’s outing.

  At the center of it all, like a captain amidst a storm of creativity, stood Makoto, the Art Club’s president. He was giving instructions to a group of younger students, gesturing animatedly with a charcoal stick in hand.

  But as Haruki scanned the room, something unusual caught her eye—someone who definitely wasn’t a regur in the Art Club.

  Mrs. Kitagawa.

  Haruki stiffened. What was the school counselor doing here?

  Aiko and Akihito entered behind her, the three of them exchanging wary gnces. Before Haruki could dwell on it, Makoto’s voice rang out over the hum of activity.

  “Haruki! Mrs. Kitagawa wants to see you.”

  A murmur of curiosity rippled through the club, but everyone quickly went back to their preparations.

  Haruki exhaled, schooling her expression into something neutral. She slung her bag off her shoulder, setting it down in the corner, before making her way toward Mrs. Kitagawa.

  Haruki crossed her arms, shifting her weight slightly as she faced Mrs. Kitagawa. “If this is about my Career Pns form, I swear I submitted it this morning,” she said, forcing a small, confident smile. “I didn’t forget.”

  Mrs. Kitagawa nodded. “Yes, I received it.”

  Haruki tilted her head. Then what is it?

  “But that’s not why I called you here,” Mrs. Kitagawa continued, her tone even, measured.

  Haruki’s stomach dipped slightly. Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag. “Then… why?”

  There was a pause.

  Mrs. Kitagawa exhaled softly before delivering the news. “Your father is in the teacher’s office. He’s here to pick you up for a family occasion.”

  Haruki felt the words before she fully processed them—a strange weight settling in her chest, as if the air had thickened around her.

  Her grip tightened on her bag. “What?”

  Mrs. Kitagawa’s expression remained gentle but firm. “Your father requested that you leave with him immediately.”

  Haruki’s pulse quickened. This had to be a mistake. Her father never just showed up like this. He was supposed to be too busy for things like unannounced visits.

  And today—today—was the club’s plein air session.

  “But I have club activities,” she argued, her voice steadier than she felt. “We’re heading out for plein air today, and Makoto needs my help with the first-years—I can’t be absent.”

  “I understand,” Mrs. Kitagawa said, her voice soft but unwavering. “But this is your father’s request.”

  Request.

  No, this wasn’t a request. It was an order.

  The weight in her chest sank lower. There was no room for negotiation here.

  Slowly, reluctantly, she turned toward Akihito. “Can you cover for me?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “Help Makoto with the first-years?”

  Akihito hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

  Haruki swallowed, then reached for her bag. The excitement from earlier—the rush of stepping into the clubroom, the anticipation of an afternoon spent outside with paint and sunlight—was gone, drained out of her like ink washing away in the rain.

  Without another word, she followed Mrs. Kitagawa toward the door.

  Aiko and Akihito stood in silence, watching her go.

  -o-

  Haruki trailed behind Mrs. Kitagawa, her steps slower than they needed to be, as if dragging her feet might somehow dey the inevitable.

  This is it…

  The thought settled heavily in her chest, dull and suffocating. She watched as the club rooms passed by—each doorway revealing glimpses of students lost in their passions.

  The soft melody of a violin drifted from the music room, accompanied by the occasional stumble of fingers pressing the wrong note. Someone in the literature club gestured wildly as they debated over a novel, voices overpping in a lively discussion. Inside the manga club, students huddled around a table, sketching, erasing, redrawing—completely immersed in their craft.

  They were all doing what they loved. Pursuing what made them feel alive.

  Haruki swallowed hard. And I’m walking the green mile.

  She felt it with every step—like she was heading toward something final, something irreversible. As if, the moment she reached that office, she wouldn’t just be facing her father.

  She’d be facing the end of her dream.

  Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.

  No. Not yet.

  She kept walking, but the weight in her chest only grew heavier.

  Haruki stepped into the teacher’s office, her breath catching for a split second.

  There he was.

  Nagano Fujiyama.

  Even in the casual setting of a school, he exuded the same commanding presence that made boardrooms fall silent upon his arrival. His tailored suit sat fwlessly on his frame, not a crease in sight. His dark hair, streaked with silver, was neatly pulled back, revealing sharp, assessing eyes that took in everything without a hint of warmth. Around his fingers gleamed heavy rings—symbols of wealth and power.

  The nametag still hung from his neck, CEO of Fujiyama Automotive Company. As if he needed a reminder.

  As if she did.

  Mrs. Kitagawa cleared her throat lightly, stepping aside as he offered her a slight bow.

  "Thanks for bringing my daughter," he said smoothly, his voice even, businesslike. Then, finally, he turned his gaze on Haruki.

  “Haruki…”

  Just her name. Simple. Unreadable.

  She gripped the strap of her bag, her heartbeat quickening.

  "Come," he said, gesturing toward the hallway. "We’re going to talk."

  It wasn’t a request.