“I swear to god, this is turning into Tokyo Revengers.”

Miyako Fukanora flung her locker open like she was about to narrate an anime recap.
“Like, full-on delinquent drama. Gang maps, turf wars, sketchy names like Dajikana and Sakuraji. I'm living it.”

Sumire, leaning against the lockers with a granola bar half-unwrapped, didn’t even flinch.

“You’re not fighting. You’re napping. There’s a difference.”

“In the dream, I’m in this guy’s body — Kaito, right? And he’s built. Like, lean muscle, scars, total bad-boy energy.”

Sumire raised an eyebrow.
“You sound like you’re describing your dream boyfriend.”

“No, I’m just saying. The guy’s got main-character anatomy. And if someone like Mikey from Tokyo Revengers shows up? Game over.”

Sumire squinted at her.

“You do realize you’re still in a guy’s body when you say shit like that, right?”

“Yeah? So what?”

“So, to everyone else, you’re just some dude walking around thirsting over other dudes. It looks real questionably straight from the outside.”

Miyako stared.
“…I’m still a straight girl inside.”

“Tell that to the dream mirror.”

“I’m not into Kaito. I’m just appreciating the body I’m stuck with, okay? There’s a difference.”

“Mhm. That’s what all the confused anime protagonists say before the fanfics drop.”

“I hate you.”

“And yet, you keep talking to me.”

They started walking toward class.

“Seriously though,” Miyako said. “This dream’s too real. I tasted ramen. I felt pain. If I’m not dreaming, and I get stabbed in that world... I don’t think I’m waking up.”

Sumire, chewing slowly, asked:
“You sure you don’t just have a repressed god complex and a sleep disorder?”

“Yes. And also possibly a gang war coming.”

“I’m serious, Sumire.”
Miyako Fukanora leaned in, palms flat against the lockers like she was delivering secret classified intel.
“Every time I go to sleep, I wake up as him. Kaito. And it’s like I’m living there. Not just watching. Actually feeling everything. Pain. Taste. Heat. Everything.”

Sumire raised a single eyebrow, slowly. The universal look of “you sound insane but I’m listening.”

“I’d think you were some crazy crackhead,” she said, voice dry as ever, “but you seem... kind of literal about this shit.”

Miyako nodded, fast.
“Because it’s happening. Like, I can describe his whole fucking house. The room’s a biohazard, the bathroom’s been spiritually destroyed by his brother, and I found gang documents under his bed. This guy’s second-in-command in a gang called Dajikana. They’ve got turf wars with another crew called Sakuraji.”

Sumire chewed on the inside of her cheek.
Then:
“Alright. After school, let’s research all of this.”

Miyako blinked.
“Wait, really?”

“Yeah.” Sumire shrugged. “Not because I believe you. I just want to see how deep your delusion goes. But if there is something out there — even some rumor, old news article, anything — I want to know.”

She closed her locker, the slam echoing through the now-empty hallway.

“But don’t get your hopes up. I doubt anything’ll come up. Real gang shit doesn’t show up on Google with bright red arrows and infographics.”

Miyako smirked.
“Don’t underestimate the internet, Sumire. Someone’s probably already made a YouTube conspiracy playlist about this.”

“If I find an edited TikTok of you and Kaito set to sad piano music, I’m deleting your existence.”

“Honestly? Fair.”

They started walking toward their next class.

“So we research after school.” Miyako said.
**“Yeah.”
Sumire nodded.
“We’ll see if your dream’s got roots.”