Unfolded Story

It's like our fates are scripted to smash together. There I am, cruising down the hallway about to hit the stairs to the ground floor for the gym, and who do I see? That blonde-haired dude, coming down from the second floor, hauling two massive canvases. He's moving extra cautious, obviously trying not to trip over his own feet.

While my buddies charge ahead, I find myself rooted to the spot, my eyes glued to one of the canvases. And yeah, I recognize that painting—it classily hung on the wall during the school festival, a piece I later found out he painted.

"Woah! Watch where you're going, dickhead!" a voice jolts me back to reality, jerking my attention to the scene unfolding below.

"Ha-ha! Come on, be cool to him. His club's pretty much a ghost town now," another chimes in, half-mocking, half-pitying.

"And where exactly are you hauling that crap? Planning to flog it at a garage sale? Dude, nobody's gonna buy that," a third sneers, his voice dripping with disdain.

Just down the steps from me, a pack of five guys is having a blast ripping into that blonde-haired dude, who doesn't utter a word. He just keeps wrestling with those bulky canvases, pushing through their jibes as he heads to somewhere I can't see yet.

"Hasegawa, chop chop! Evaluation's about to kick off."

"Ah… yeah, got it."

Man, disrespecting a third-year senior, and we're just freshmen—I hate to admit it, but yeah, these cocky dudes are the ones I'm rolling with. It's pretty messed up, and honestly, it's embarrassing that I don't call them out. I'm not looking to stir up any drama right now, so I just tag along behind them as we head down the stairs. As we cruise past that blonde-haired dude, these cocky guys I'm with deliberately bump shoulders with him, cackling and spewing some nonsense I can't even follow because all I'm focused on is him.

This blonde-haired guy… wasn't he the one who once laid into a man pretty bad? But now, why doesn't he punch them in the face or say a word? Yet, he just hits them with this icy glare, the kind that could slice right through steel. What's up with that?

As that heartless laughter of that group bounces off the walls, I glance back at the blonde-haired guy. His canvases look like they're about to slip from his grip as he takes each step with caution.

Usually, when I get the itch to dive into someone's life like a parasite, to suck up every scrap of info I can, there's no empathy in me—just the rush of digging into something fresh. But for some reason, with this guy, it feels off, against my usual style. Suddenly, I don't know why… I've kinda lost my original game plan here. And somehow, just thinking about maybe piling more onto his already heavy load of scars is seriously choking me up.

Rather than just wanting to unravel his story or get inside his head, there's this overwhelming urge to just be there for him, to stand by his side.

Before I even realize it, I've stopped dead, just standing there while my group has moved way ahead, leaving me in the dust. That guy, too, just breezes past me. I find myself rooted to the spot, watching that sandy blonde hair fading into the distance. I'm stuck there for a minute, seriously questioning my motives and planning my next move.

"I guess this is where it all kicks off," I mutter to myself.

Shaking off my doubts, I take a deep breath, and get moving. I head downstairs, my steps steady but silent, as I tail the blonde-haired guy from behind.

His cautious steps lead me to the disposal area behind the school. There, he sets his canvases down on a stack of others already piled up. Quietly, I tuck myself behind a corner of the building, barely poking my head out, and catch him having a quick chat with a janitor. Then he heads back to the canvas pile, lighter and a crumpled piece of paper in his grip.

What? He's really gonna torch them all, huh?

As he flicks the lighter, it looks like he's about to reduce all those canvases to ashes. But then, he pauses, lighter in hand, like he's second-guessing his drastic move. I stay hidden, watching as he picks up the canvas he painted, studying it intensely for a long moment before setting it aside. Just when I think maybe he's going to save that one piece, he grabs a few others and lines them up with his own.

Looks like he's still on board to torch them.

And then, he does it. He lights the fire, watching the flames consume the canvases like someone trying to burn away the past, like a heartbroken dude desperate to forget and move on without any reminders.

The fire isn't roaring, but seeing him stand there, it's like I'm watching a scene straight out of a high school drama—some guy admiring a campfire at the end of a cultural festival, where he then spills his guts to his crush, and they share this sweet, naive moment of love, all while clueless that high school romances usually crumble before the cherry blossoms even get a chance to bloom again.

Watching him there, lost in the flames, I can't help but wonder… Did he ever actually enjoy himself at the last festival?