The greatest torment for a person lies in their inability to bridge the chasm between knowing and doing.

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During the morning homeroom, Hasebe, the homeroom teacher, proceeded with the usual roll call. When he called out Sakurakoji Sakura’s name, there was no response. It was clear that Sakura was absent from school today. Hasebe looked somewhat surprised; in his impression, Sakura was a student who never arrived late or missed class. After asking around if anyone knew the reason and receiving no answer, he continued with the roll call, planning to call her after the meeting ended.

Tsukasa Jingūji sat silently in the back row, quietly observing the reactions of his classmates. After class, he sent another message to Sakura via LINE. The message was read, but she did not reply.

In general, Tsukasa was a keen observer. Those not accepted by the group, those excluded from the atmosphere, often see others from a detached, almost godlike perspective. Coupled with his eidetic memory, Tsukasa quickly noticed something was off with someone.

Though part of the same small circle, a girl named Sayaka wore a detached, indifferent expression that was unlike her usual self. Having frequently dealt with negative emotions, Tsukasa found this expression all too familiar and concluded silently that Sayaka must know something.

This realization strangely brought Tsukasa some relief. If it was merely a quarrel among friends, that was perfectly normal for high school students. In fact, someone like Tsukasa, who had no one to argue with, was the real anomaly, the one out of place.

Of course, Tsukasa was not reckless enough to confront anyone openly; he did not want to expose his relationship with Sakura at school and cause her more trouble. Instead, he continued to feign indifference, staring silently out the window. This was how he always behaved. But now, he felt a sudden urge to change.

If at this moment he remained the same inactive Tsukasa, he feared he would never change. He was afraid of becoming such an adult.

“What should I do? Sakura still hasn’t replied. Is she sick?”

“Why don’t we visit her house after school?”

“Hey, Sayaka, you seem to know where Sakura lives, right?”

“I…”

At the front of the classroom, three girls gathered, whispering about Sakura. Meanwhile, the boy in the back row stood up, feeling as if he were walking inside a transparent bubble. Even though his indoor shoes touched the floor, he felt as if he were stepping on a soft yet resilient bubble shimmering with rainbow light. This bubble isolated him from the classroom, from the school, from everyone else.

If not for Hoshino Morino, he would still feel everyone was hostile toward him, unaware that he barely mattered to them at all. If it weren’t for Sakura, he would lack a reason to convince himself to pierce the bubble and step out.

Step by step toward the girls, Tsukasa felt an unexpected calmness, and even his words came smoothly. When others saw him actively talking to girls, their faces registered disbelief—this guy actually spoke first?

Standing before the group, Tsukasa looked at Sayaka, who sat stiffly, and spoke softly, “Could I have a moment to talk with you alone?”

...

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In front of the bustling station, a girl squatted alone by a utility pole, staring blankly at a nearby dessert shop. Soon, a patrolling police officer approached to question her. This was to be expected; a high school girl wandering near the station on a weekday morning would naturally draw attention.

She gave the excuse of having overslept and apologized for missing school. Since she ran quickly, she narrowly avoided being taken in for counseling.

Walking along a deserted slope, Sakura drooped in despair. Every two steps, she would pause, squat down, and watch ants crawling at her feet like a child conducting summer research.

By noon, Sakura was still wandering the slope, having not attended any classes.

In truth, Sakura did not want to become a truant girl; she simply did not know how to face her friends. Lost in thought, she unknowingly missed the time to go to school. This only made it harder to take that first step, harder to enter the school, and she aimlessly wandered around.

Many people miss the chance to start school and end up absent the next day, and then the next, until they become homebound, shackled and unable to move.

By then, returning to school required a tremendous amount of courage and determination. That’s how it’s always portrayed in manga, she thought.

Feeling the cool autumn breeze while squatting with sunlight warming her back, suddenly a shadow covered her silhouette. Sakura looked up in surprise.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

“Huh? Hoshino Morino, senior? Why are you here?”

Morino pointed toward the school. “The student council room is on the fourth floor of the old building, with the best view of this slope. I originally planned to slack off, but who knew I’d find such a cute junior here?”

The elegant and composed student council president smiled and extended her hand to the crouching junior.

“May I guide this lost and adorable junior back?”

...

Beneath a cherry tree shedding its last leaves, two girls sat side by side. Sakura kept her head bowed, while Morino wore a calm, gentle smile.

“I see,” Morino nodded after hearing Sakura’s words, then fell silent.

The quiet made Sakura uneasy. Remembering her friend’s tearful face from yesterday, she buried her head between her knees.

“You must think I’m terrible, both toward Sayaka and Tsukasa.”

Her voice muffled by her uniform’s fabric, a soft rustling reached Morino’s ears.

“Hmm…” Morino pressed a finger to her lips, pondering for a moment.

“Sakurakoji, are you feeling regret?”

“Maybe.”

“You should at least understand what you regret. Is it lying to your friends, your own carelessness, or agreeing to Tsukasa’s proposal in the first place?”

“I don’t know. Maybe all of it.”

“I thought so. If people could understand their hearts so precisely, they wouldn’t make mistakes,” Morino sighed lightly.

“Hey, if it were you, senior, what would you do?” Sakura asked, wanting to know how someone who could walk effortlessly alongside Tsukasa would handle similar troubles.

But after imagining it, Sakura concluded that Morino would never have pretended to be a stranger to Tsukasa from the start. This made her feel even sadder and accept that her current fate was deserved.

Morino blinked. “If you mean whether you should go to school, my conclusion is yes. Otherwise, it will just get harder and harder.”

“Just like in the manga,” Sakura murmured.

Morino smiled faintly. “Why not try thinking of something lighter?”

“Lighter?”

“Blame everything on Tsukasa and be a carefree, heartless girl.”

Sakura was startled. “Huh?”

“Look, this whole thing started because Tsukasa’s personality is too twisted. He made decisions based on his own biases, completely ignoring your wishes to get close to him. He’s self-deluded, thinking he’s protecting you.”

“If it were me, guess what I’d say to him?”

Sakura waited quietly for Morino’s answer.

Morino gave a cocky smile. “I’d confess to him at the whole school assembly, right on the stage, making him drop his jaw and widen his eyes, so he’d never forget my name for the rest of his high school life.”

Sakura opened her mouth, speechless.

“Ah, I’m not saying I like Tsukasa or really want to confess. What I mean is an attitude, a way of acting,” Morino amended, calming Sakura’s expression.

“Acting?” Sakura tilted her head.

“Tsukasa, if he wants others to think they’re close to him or know how to tame him, can’t let his lonely aura lead him around. You spoil him too much. Once you follow his rhythm, you’ll slowly drown in his loneliness. That’s no good.”

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“You have to oppose him. If he tries to lead you east, pull him west. Use force and decisiveness to correct his twisted nature, leaving him no room to think.”

Sakura was speechless, contemplating Morino’s words deep inside and instinctively agreeing.

But she knew there was an unbridgeable gap between knowing and doing. When facing that boy, she softened, succumbed to his loneliness, couldn’t lift her head, and could only cautiously hide her true feelings.

This was the biggest difference between Sakura and Morino.

Though usually lively and outgoing, Sakura was Tsukasa’s witness, having seen how loneliness clung to him. This made it easier for her to empathize with him than others.

Because she knew the boy’s past, these childhood memories became a reason for hesitation, a shackle limiting their relationship from advancing.

Could there be anything more sorrowful?

“I don’t want to trouble him. When we entered high school, he hoped I wouldn’t get involved with him, and I agreed. Even though he always smiled then, to me, he looked like he had no unscathed skin left, covered in wounds.”

Morino silently admired Sakura’s lost expression.

“Sakurakoji, you really like him, don’t you?”

“...Yes, since I was very little. Even when he became someone I didn’t recognize, a scoundrel in others’ eyes, I still… liked him.”

Morino was speechless. Such blind devotion evoked admiration.

Though unable to agree with Sakura’s feelings, Morino didn’t think Sakura was necessarily wrong.

She doubted she could ever like anyone so irreplaceably. Compared to romance, she felt there were more important things for her to do now.

Yet, she couldn’t help but recall the diary in her bedroom drawer, every word she wrote filled with sincere emotion—joy and pain.

If all that was true, then she must have loved deeply too.

This difference in experience made Morino suddenly dazed. She lowered her head and whispered softly, “It’s really something to envy…”

Sakura looked at Morino in confusion.

The student council president shook her head with a light laugh. “I meant Tsukasa. Isn’t it enviable to have such a cute girl devoted to him?”

“I-I’m not that devoted,” Sakura blushed, embarrassed to say such things to a peer.

Especially since Morino was the dignified student council president and Tsukasa’s ex-girlfriend.

Though both claimed to have cut ties and harbored no romantic feelings, Sakura’s concern as an outsider was natural.

Sakura confided in Morino now simply because she had no one else nearby.

And Morino was an excellent listener, her maturity beyond her years making her easy to trust.

“Senior, what do you think I should do now?”

After a while, Sakura asked with a hint of pleading.

Morino looked at her, then suddenly raised her hand and began to stroke the girl’s short hair.

“Uh… senior?”

Sakura felt a bit shy but surprisingly did not dislike the gesture.

After all, she was supposed to be a rival in love.

“You’re such a foolish child. Even now, you want to do things for him, not for yourself.”

Sakura remained silent, accepting this truth.

Morino stood, folded the handkerchief beneath her, and turned to smile at Sakura.

“Right now, it’s not about what you should do, but what he should do.

“If he truly listens and takes to heart what I said…”

(End of chapter)