"The louder the world applauds, the quieter your heart becomes."
There was a peculiar silence in the room—not the kind you sought after a long day, but the kind that squeezed your lungs and made your fingers twitch. Kaito sat in his room, staring at the ceiling as if answers were written in the cracks of the plaster. His mind wasn't quiet. It hadn't been quiet for days.
He had done it.
He had pulled the strings, set the trap, and watched as the truth unraveled in front of everyone. Yuuki had been vindicated. Kazuki's facade shattered. The students who had whispered behind backs now whispered about him. Kaito.
And that was the problem.
He was no longer invisible.
That name, once mumbled in the margins of attendance lists, was now spoken in cafeteria corners, threaded into group chats, mentioned in lectures, even used in sentences like "Have you heard what Kaito did? The guy who helped Yuuki? He's kind of… amazing."
Kaito could hear his pulse thudding in his ears.
It was supposed to be for Yuuki. Just Yuuki.
He didn't want the spotlight. Didn't want the camera angles or the way people now stared with admiration, as if expecting him to say something profound every time he opened his mouth. But that was the problem—he *didn't* open his mouth. Not without rehearsing. Not without his voice getting caught somewhere between his throat and fear.
Now, the world had pulled him to center stage, and his legs were shaking under the weight of that forced performance.
He sat cross-legged on his bed, hoodie hood pulled over his head, arms wrapped around his knees like a shield. Haru stood in the doorway, holding two cans of iced coffee.
"You look like a scared raccoon," Haru muttered, tossing one of the cans onto the bed.
Kaito didn't catch it. It hit the mattress and rolled to the floor. "Don't wanna go to class," he murmured.
"It's Saturday."
"Oh… right."
Silence. Then Haru sighed and walked over, crouching beside him. "They're calling you a genius online. You know that?"
Kaito buried his face in his knees. "I just followed instructions."
"You exposed Kazuki and made sure Yuuki wasn't crushed. That's not just following instructions, that's… chess. Psychological warfare."
"I'm not a genius," Kaito mumbled.
"No, but you are kind of a legend now. You know there's a meme of your death glare from the press room? Someone said you look like an anime villain who's about to deliver a monologue."
Kaito let out a sound—half laugh, half wheeze. "I can't do this."
"Do what?"
"This attention. People looking at me. I feel like I'm being dissected."
Haru nodded, serious now. "Yeah. Fame's like that. It's never what it looks like from the outside. Everyone thinks they want it until it shows up, uninvited, dragging anxiety behind it like a shadow."
Kaito's hands were trembling. "I don't know how to be this person they think I am."
"Then don't be."
Kaito looked up.
"Be you," Haru said, gently. "The awkward, quiet guy who cares too much and overthinks everything. That's the one who helped Yuuki. Not some version they invented."
By Monday, the whispers followed him like smoke.
In the lecture hall, students turned in their seats, not maliciously, but with awe. Some offered shy waves. A few girls giggled and whispered behind cupped hands. Even the professors looked at him differently now.
He sat in the back, heart thumping with every second, hands fidgeting under the desk.
When class ended, a boy he didn't recognize approached him with wide eyes. "Hey, Kaito-san, uh… would you maybe be interested in joining the psychology club? We think you'd bring something really unique."
Kaito stared at him. The words clogged in his throat. "I…"
The boy waited. Kaito's silence stretched, turned awkward. Then the boy smiled politely and handed him a flyer. "Think about it!"
He nodded. The boy left. Kaito exhaled.
"Breathe," a soft voice said beside him.
Yuuki.
She stood there in her usual calm elegance, her hands clasped in front of her, eyes warm. "You don't have to answer anyone. Just… take your time."
He nodded.
And then the weight of what he'd done—what he'd helped her do—pressed down on him all over again. "I didn't want this."
"I know," she said, sitting beside him. "But maybe… this is what change looks like. Not always comfortable, but always necessary."
Kaito looked at her. "They still hate you, don't they?"
"Some do. But more than before… some understand."
That night, Kaito stared at the mirror in his bathroom. He studied the boy in the reflection—dark-haired, pale, eyes that held storms and sunlight in tandem.
He didn't see a hero.
He saw someone trying not to drown.
*What if they find out I'm still the same scared boy? What if they see through it?*
He curled his fingers into fists.
"I didn't do it for them," he whispered to himself.
He did it because he couldn't watch Yuuki break again. Because he remembered what it felt like to be crushed by rumors and too afraid to speak. He did it because someone had to.
So maybe this attention wasn't his choice.
But neither was being invisible for so long.
The next day, Yuuki and Haru sat with him on the rooftop.
Below them, students moved like threads in a tapestry, and for once, Kaito didn't feel like he was unraveling.
"Remember when I said the world's evil?" Haru said, chewing on a Pocky stick.
"You still believe that?" Yuuki asked.
He nodded. "Yeah. But it's also weirdly beautiful. Like… even in all this mess, we're still here. Alive. Trying."
Kaito smiled faintly. "Trying."
Yuuki reached out and took Kaito's hand in hers. He flinched, but didn't pull away.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He didn't know what to say.
So he just said the only truth he could find inside himself.
"I was scared," he whispered.
"You were brave anyway," she replied.
And that somehow meant everything.