All it took was an unfortunate encounter with someone who knew much more than what met the eye. From their meeting at an adventure course to measuring the distance between the sun and the moon, there was no telling how deep she had fallen for him; n...
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11 ☆ ( "WATCH YOUR BACK." )
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I walked the halls after class, Teacher Fujii's words lingering in my head. I was probably wearing an uncertain frown, my eyebrows creased together in confusion. I kept questioning him, even if he wasn't present: Why did you imply I should take the risk, then? If you doubted me, why think it's a good idea to hurt your other student? What could even be the point of pursuing something if you believe it is unjust?
I initially believed that Teacher Fujii and I were similar, but now, I'm unsure–because if I am to act on logic, then at that moment, I am sure he acted on feeling.
"Sato," Unfamiliar. Her tone was distinct, nothing common to my ear. I stop in my tracks, tightening my grip around the milk that Riki bought me before class began. Slowly, I turn my head and face the person, and I'm proven correct: I've never seen this student before in my life. She flashes me a smile, red ribbons for accessories holding up a thick assembly of hair on each side. I don't walk toward her, forbidding the satisfaction of being acknowledged–and accepting that, she takes four steps toward me.
We still stand at least three steps away from each other, just enough for her to stick her hand out in front of me. "Yamaguchi Hisako."
Her name is as beautiful as her physique. I look at her head-to-toe, firmly analyzing her: I recognize her.
"Nishimura!"
"Oh," Riki smiled and walked to his left, seeing a female holding out a blue water bottle toward him. She smiled as her friends nudged and giggled. "Thank you."
The girl who gave Riki the water bottle back then. The girl I was presumably jealous of, even if I didn't know of her existence. She must've known that I decoded her presence, her hand still adamant on shaking mine. "Yamaguchi," I almost chewed on each syllable. I wanted it to be evident that I didn't like her name, but the more I did, the more irritating her innocent stare became. "Mm. Nice to meet you."
Still, she waited. Her hand, was precious and pristine, with her red-painted nails out. She was a rebel. Hesitantly, I took it. We shook for a moment, her hand squeezed like soft tape around my hand. It wouldn't let go, getting tighter as I pulled–god, her fingers were like a trap box.
