"Hey, Ayana, are you alright?"
A voice, restrained yet filled with concern, broke the heavy silence surrounding her thoughts. Koni, a slender girl with short, brightly dyed yellow hair, leaned closer, her eyes sharp with worry as they searched her friend's face.
Ayana flinched as if she'd been yanked from another world. Her dark, contemplative eyes slowly refocused on her classmate's familiar features.
— "Huh? Yeah, I'm fine, Koni," she replied with a smile — a practiced, thin mask meant to conceal the storm brewing beneath. — "Just thinking, that's all."
She rubbed her forehead, as though trying to wipe away the weight pressing against her mind. That simple, well-worn smile might have fooled anyone, but not Koni. Narrowing her eyes, the girl's suspicion all but manifested in the air between them.
— "Is it about that again?" Koni asked softly, but her words sliced through Ayana's composure like a blade.
Before Ayana could reply, the teacher's voice filled the room, calm and measured, as he continued writing mathematical formulas across the sleek electronic board. White lines sprawled into intricate patterns, equations unfurling like webs, distant and irrelevant compared to the turmoil haunting her thoughts.
— "Class, pay attention! These formulas form the foundation of your next assignment."
He swept a stern gaze across the rows of students, his sharp features and clipped tone erecting an invisible wall of authority that no one dared breach.
Ayana pressed her lips together, feeling the tension return like a knot tightening inside her chest. Her fingers absently tugged at the corner of her notebook page, while her eyes wandered, aimless, across endless streams of numbers.
— "You have too many secrets, Ayana," Koni murmured, never lifting her gaze from her notes. — "That's not healthy."
— "Everyone has secrets," Ayana whispered back, her voice as cold and still as the calm before a storm.
The sharp chime of the bell signaled the end of class, and the corridors soon filled with the rush of voices and footsteps. Ayana moved with deliberate slowness, packing her books as if time had no claim on her. Beside her, Koni brimmed with restless energy, springing to her feet so quickly that her ponytail bounced.
— "Finally, freedom!" she declared, throwing her arms wide. — "Let's get out of here before it gets too crowded!"
They strolled the polished stone path toward the campus gates when heavy footsteps approached from behind. A group of boys, classmates with easy grins and cocky postures, caught up and moved to block their way. Hajime, tall and radiating a practiced self-assurance, led the charge. A smirk played on his lips — the kind that always assumed compliance.
— "Hey, ladies. You free tonight?" He tossed the words as though they were a prize. — "There's a party at my place. Big house, plenty of room. Drinks, music — the whole deal!"
He puffed up his chest, as if posture alone would seal the deal.
— "Oh, that sounds awesome!" Koni beamed, her eyes shining with excitement. — "Count me in!"
Hajime shifted his gaze to Ayana, one brow arching.
— "And what about you, beautiful?" His voice softened, dripping with charm.
Ayana remained silent. Her expression didn't change — her face a mask, smooth and unreadable as a midnight lake. She raised her eyes, and what Hajime saw in them was not interest, but indifference carved from ice.
— "No," she said. A simple word, sharp as a chime of steel.
Naoto, standing beside Hajime, exchanged a look with him before stepping forward. His hand, hesitant but persistent, reached toward her shoulder, fingers hovering just short of contact.
— "Come on, don't be so uptight. It's just a bit of fun. I swear, you'll enjoy it—"
Her eyes lifted. Slowly. Like the draw of a blade.
They met his. Cold. Unmoving. Endless gray depths, as if staring into the heart of a storm.
— "Don't make me repeat myself."
Her voice was quiet. But the weight behind it — the tension of steel wire pulled taut — left no room for argument.
Naoto jerked his hand back as though burned. No one else moved to stop her.
Without another word, Ayana turned and walked away.
At the gates, a sleek black car waited under the soft wash of afternoon light, its polished surface gleaming like obsidian. A driver in immaculate attire stepped forward, bowing as he opened the door. She slipped inside, and the door closed with a gentle, final click.
As the car eased forward, the school disappearing into the past, Ayana didn't look back.
Inside the cabin, silence reigned, broken only by the low, steady hum of the engine. She rested her hand against the glass, tracing its smooth, cool surface with her fingertips. The lights of the city blurred into streaks of gold and silver, fleeting memories vanishing in the dark. Her thoughts pulled her elsewhere — into the shadows that had been stalking her dreams for days.
In the nightmare, walls crumbled and shattered around her. Silent figures — faceless, nameless — glided like specters, swift and deadly. Their every motion whispered death. But they were only preludes to the true horror. From the depths of blackness emerged him — the man with the white bandage. His presence rippled like a wound in the fabric of reality. He moved as though he were one with the darkness itself. His gaze… no, it wasn't a gaze. It was a force that pierced her soul.
— "We've arrived, my lady."
Sebastian's calm, measured voice was the tolling of a clock, bringing her back.
— "Thank you," she murmured, softer than usual. She blinked, pushing the haunting images aside.
Beyond the tinted window, wrought-iron gates adorned with the family crest slowly parted, revealing the path home.
The Fujiwara estate was no mere mansion. It was a monument — to ambition, to legacy, to unshakable power. Polished marble pillars rose like sentinels; stained glass windows cast fractured rainbows of light. Every corner, every shadow, seemed to speak one truth: Power does not falter. Weakness has no place here.
Ayana stepped out, her feet meeting the smooth stone as Sebastian lingered behind her, a silent guardian.
Her father, Fujiwara Takatsu, waited within — a man whose smile could unsettle even the powerful. He stood at the helm of SakuraTech, a global juggernaut of technology and military innovation. His resolve was as unyielding as time itself.
Her mother, Saiyonji Naoko, hailed from a bloodline as ancient as Japan's feudal wars. The Saiyonji clan, keepers of wealth and secrets, wielded influence like a blade. With beauty as sharp as her mind, she could turn alliances into ashes with a whisper.
As Ayana ascended the steps, her breath hitched. She could feel the weight of shadows waiting beyond the grand doors.
But she wasn't ready to retreat. Her fingers curled into a fist as the memory of his eyes burned anew.
In every nightmare, there's meaning, she thought. And I will find it.
© Marukuro Rafaello, 2025. All rights reserved.