The bell rang gently, signaling the end of class. The literature teacher, standing at the front, put down the chalk and brushed the white dust off his hands as he turned around.
"The semester's nearly over, but don't slack off. The amount of holiday homework depends on your final exam scores. If you want to enjoy your break, make sure you study properly at home, okay?"
"Yes, sir~~" the class replied in a half-hearted chorus.
"Alright then, class dismissed." He waved and left.
The classroom burst into a riot of energy. Students who'd been passing notes all period now finally had permission to speak, excitedly sharing tips about yesterday's video games. The boys rushed to cram their books and pencil cases into their backpacks, slinging arms over each other's shoulders as they raced off to their clubs. The girls stretched lazily, chatting about café plans and romantic crushes.
Teenagers always had endless things to talk about—gossip, rumors, the latest hot takes. Every little nerve of their sensitive worlds intertwined: joy, confusion, heartbreak... all converging in this one brief phase of life, giving shape to what people call "youth."
Sakura Ayane didn't join the lively chatter.
Instead, she walked quietly to the blackboard. As the day's class monitor, she picked up the eraser and stood on tiptoe, wiping away the teacher's dramatic scribbles one stroke at a time.
Behind her, the classroom slowly quieted as students left in groups. By the time she'd finished cleaning the board, the room felt almost empty.
Which made it easier to sweep the scraps of trash between the desks and chairs.
When she returned after emptying the trash bin, she was the only one left.
Technically, there was supposed to be a boy and a girl on duty—but of course, it was no surprise the boy had bailed.
Books and movies about school life love to highlight the burning passion of youth and its pure, determined spirit. That's always the classic golden trope.
But Sakura Ayane preferred the quiet moments after school, when the heat of the day began to cool.
The warm sunset, the school building bathed in soft amber light, the shadows of trees stretching across the cobblestone paths, the rumble of a distant train rolling down the tracks.
There was a lazy beauty in these scenes, stripped of chaos and noise. They felt peaceful.
She quietly packed her bag and walked down the glowing corridor lit by dusk. Her white sailor uniform now tinged with pink, her shadow drawn long behind her.
When did she stop having someone to walk home with?
She used to be a rowdy tomboy, hair cut short, always running wild with the other kids in the park. For a girl, she was unusually boisterous.
Then one day in elementary school, while playing basketball, she fainted from overexertion and had to be taken to the children's hospital by ambulance. That was when the doctor told her she had a frail constitution.
That was also her first time sitting in a wheelchair.
People stared. They made comments. Even the other kids, scolded by their parents, stopped inviting her to play, afraid they'd get blamed. And the delicate girl cliques? They didn't want a tomboy crashing their vibe.
So the last chapter of elementary school was spent staring out from a wheelchair.
That was when she first realized how much she hated being scrutinized, poked at, analyzed like some case study.
She entered junior high hoping for a fresh start. Determined to face her physical limitations, she joined a theater club. But running back and forth between school and the troupe wore her out. In the end, she came away with few fond memories of middle school.
If she had to name one major takeaway, it would be the overwhelming discomfort she felt the first time she stood beneath the spotlight.
Nope. Not for me.
Being up there in front of everyone, acting confident and radiant under a blinding glare? No way. She bailed as fast as she could.
That was the day she truly understood her nature.
All those "growth" experiences in junior high had been flavorless and hollow—a waste of time. When she expressed regret, her teacher tried to comfort her: "Well, at least your voice has potential. If you hate the stage so much, why not try working behind the scenes?"
That reignited something.
She realized she liked the process behind the movie more than the finished film. She enjoyed seeing bloopers of actors flailing around in front of green screens more than the CGI spectacle itself.
And so she dived into a voice acting course at a local talent training center.
The price of that, though, was her already small social circle shrinking even further.
By that point, friend groups in her class were fully formed. Her absence from team events made her the default loner. At the voice acting school, most were much older, with little shared interest or conversation. It wasn't exactly natural for a high school girl to become besties with college students or working adults.
Still, she kept commuting between both worlds. Took part in agency tryouts. And just like that, her first year of high school slipped by.
Sakura Ayane still hadn't found her own "group."
In truth, high schoolers are even more complicated than kids. They're starting to brush against the edges of adult life. And at this awkward, unpredictable age, their clumsy, unripe selves start to emerge.
Those who study hard begin to grow weary or doubtful. The rebels lash out, bully others, trying to feel powerful. Crushes begin. Conflicts with parents stir. Secret ambitions and emotional minefields pop up.
Maybe it's because her social development had stalled since elementary school, but Sakura felt totally out of place in this high school social game.
Maybe the adult world is more stable... more mature?
That sweet fantasy had already been suffocated by the stench of liquor and trash from that night.
There was a man belting out Noh songs, a weirdo asking her what the meaning of life was, and a poor high school boy just like her—smiling through gritted teeth as he gave in to reality.
So many things clashed with her own sense of judgment and values.
Still, she pushed through her studies and training, quietly bearing the weight of her confusion and frustration. Her world grew smaller, her future hazier and tinged with fear.
Sakura Ayane stood alone on the train platform. The crowd around her was thick, yet she felt utterly isolated.
No friend to walk home with. No one to chat with. No study buddy. No senpai to invite her to the aquarium. No partner to pass secret notes with in class.
Is it my fault?
Maybe... maybe this is the normal way, and I'm just too stubborn to accept it?
The train rumbled into the station.
She stepped into the carriage, lost in thought.
One more time, she resolved to change something.
Yes—again.
Because she'd already failed many, many times.