It was the first day of the new term, and Classroom 2-B buzzed with fresh schedules, sleepy yawns, and leftover summer heat. The windows were cracked open, letting in the faint scent of pavement and morning dew.
Kaito sat in his usual seat, flipping through his new timetable, half-listening to a heated conversation about who had gotten into the same electives. Ren slouched beside him, one earbud in, tapping his pencil idly.
They were relaxed. Steady.
Together.
Then the door slid open.
Everyone turned.
A man stepped in—tall, trim, maybe in his late thirties. Dressed sharply, with an expression that gave nothing away. His hair was a darker version of Ren's. His eyes even more so.
Kaito felt Ren stiffen beside him. Not just stillness—something tighter. Sharper.
The man walked to the front and wrote his name on the board in smooth, sure strokes.
Mr. Hayashi.
Kaito blinked.
Hayashi?
He turned to Ren—who was frozen, pale, eyes locked on the man at the front like he'd seen a ghost.
The teacher turned, adjusted his glasses, and surveyed the room.
"My name is Daisuke Hayashi," he said, calm and clipped. "I'll be your new homeroom teacher, as well as your history instructor for the term."
He didn't look at Ren.
Not once.
But Kaito saw it—just a flicker. The briefest glance. Recognition. And something else, buried deep.
Ren was holding his pencil too tightly. His knuckles white.
Kaito leaned over. "Ren…?"
Ren didn't answer.
After class, the room emptied quickly. But Ren didn't move.
Kaito waited, heart uneasy.
"He didn't tell me," Ren said finally. His voice was low. Hollow. "I knew he was moving back to Tokyo. But I didn't think…"
He trailed off.
"Ren," Kaito said carefully, "that's your—?"
"My father," Ren confirmed. "Yeah."
Kaito sat beside him in the quiet.
Ren stared straight ahead. "We haven't spoken properly since the divorce. I lived with my mom in Sapporo. He stayed here. When I transferred, I didn't even think about where he might be teaching now. Figures he'd end up in my school."
"Do you… want to talk to him?"
Ren let out a sharp breath. "No. I don't even know if he wants to talk to me. You saw him. He acted like I was just another student."
Kaito wanted to say something—something comforting or wise—but all he could do was reach out and put a hand on Ren's.
And Ren didn't pull away.
He just held on.
That night, Ren messaged Kaito.
Ren: Sorry I was off today. Thanks for staying.
Kaito: Always. Do you want to talk about him?
Ren: Not yet. But soon.
Kaito read the message twice.
Then three times.
And typed:
Kaito: Whenever you're ready. I'll be here.