"Later, losers!"

Miyako Fukanora threw up two peace signs as she bounced down the steps of Seijou High, her voice echoing off the walls like the final burst of sunlight in a long day.

Behind her, the after-school crowd spilled out into the courtyard — friends laughing, couples arguing softly, club leaders waving signs. Miyako was a part of it all, the human sunbeam that seemed to know everyone by name.

She stopped to tie one sneaker, humming a song she’d half-forgotten the lyrics to, then sprang up like someone lit a fire under her.

“Ugh, I forgot to charge my phone again,” she groaned, tapping the black screen. “Whatever. It’s not like I don’t know the way home blind.”

She passed the ramen stand on the corner, gave a casual salute to the old lady closing her shop, and took the long way home through the park — twirling once under the fading gold leaves just for the hell of it.

By the time she reached her apartment, her dad’s shoes weren’t by the door. Usual.

"I’m hoooome!" she called out anyway.

Dinner was a banana and the last slice of microwave pizza. She watched five minutes of a variety show, then got bored and flopped backward onto her bed, arms spread like a starfish.

"Okay, brain, time to shut up and let me sleep."

Her eyes fluttered closed.

Wind.

Not from a fan. Not from a window.

A real breeze.

Miyako’s eyes opened.

She was no longer in her room.

She was standing in the middle of a cracked road under buzzing streetlights. Neon colors flickered across wet concrete. Her nose burned with the smell of cigarette smoke and asphalt.

Her heart skipped.

“Where am I…?”

She turned.

Five boys stood nearby. All dressed in black coats, some with ripped sleeves, one gripping a rusted pipe lazily at his side. They looked like characters from a manga — all sharp edges, messy hair, and quiet fire.

"Kai. You good?"

A voice spoke from behind.

She turned her head again — but this time, it didn’t feel like her own decision. Her limbs moved stiffly, like a puppet on strings.

"He’s always like this after we meet with Shin's crew," one of them laughed.

Kai...?

One of the boys slapped her — him? — on the back, jostling her forward. Her — his — hands caught a glimpse of dim orange from a cigarette burning between two fingers.

The group started walking again.

And she walked with them.

Not saying anything. Not thinking anything. Just moving, pulled forward by rhythm, tension, instinct. Her body knew where to go. Her brain was screaming to stop.

But her lips stayed shut.

Concrete. Steel. Cold.

Somewhere ahead, music thudded faintly from a second-floor bar. An alley twisted off to the left. Spray paint screamed names in kanji she didn’t recognize.

She caught a glimpse of her — his — reflection in a broken window.

Not her face.

A boy’s. Older. Worn.

Dark hair. Lean jaw. Bandaged knuckles. A scar just above one eye.

Her breath hitched.

She woke up.

No gasp. No scream.

Just silence.

Miyako lay completely still in her bed, eyes wide open in the dark. The blanket clung to her like it was afraid to move.

The only sound in the room was the soft whirr of her tiny desk fan.

Her mouth was dry.

She blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then turned her head slowly toward the clock on her nightstand.

2:34 a.m.

Her heart thumped once, hard — then slowed into silence. Like it, too, was trying to pretend it hadn’t just been somewhere else.

She didn’t move for a long time.

Didn’t sit up.

Didn’t reach for her phone.

Just lay there.

Completely still.

Like waking up too fast would somehow pull her right back.