Machida Yuki has spent her whole life being the reliable one—the flawless manager who records every stat, the eldest daughter who runs the household while her parents work late. Giving up before hoping, staying quiet before confessing: that's how she's kept herself from getting hurt. But when the third-years retire and a cocky first-year named Naruse Sho looks her dead in the eye and says, "I like you, Yuki-san"—not once, but as many times as it takes—her carefully knotted defenses begin to fray
Cheeky Brat: The Knot of the Shoelace - A Sneaky Person — Settling Things with Kido-senpai and Tears in the Park
By the end of October, the city had fully donned its autumn colors. The ginkgo trees lining the street in front of the station had turned gold, and each gust of wind sent their leaves fluttering down. Machida Yuki walked through them, her footsteps pressing into the fallen leaves, heading toward the café where they'd agreed to meet.
At the corner of the shopping arcade that stretched from the station stood a small café called Poplar. The place Kido-senpai had chosen was a touch too refined for students—a quiet, settled sort of establishment. Yuki paused once before the door and took a deep breath.
(I'll be fine. I can handle this.)
She repeated it silently to herself, then pushed open the door.
A light chime rang out, and the scent of coffee curled into her nose. The interior was wrapped in the dimness of early evening, and there, at a table by the window, sat Kido-senpai.
When he spotted her, Kido raised a hand casually.
"Over here."
Yuki gave a small nod and lowered herself into the seat across from him. The chair's surface was cool against her.
Kido-senpai watched her with the same gentle expression as always. He looked a little thinner than before—probably busy with the university basketball team. Yuki thought this as she opened the menu.
"What are you having? It's on me."
"No, I'll pay for my own."
Yuki said it firmly.
Kido smiled, looking slightly troubled.
"You haven't changed at all, Machida."
His voice was exactly as it had been before. Something deep in Yuki's chest gave a small, sharp ache.
They sat in silence for a while after ordering, until the drinks arrived. Outside the window, ginkgo leaves danced in the wind, glittering under the streetlights.
"...So, what did you want to talk about?"
Yuki was the one to break the silence.
Kido wrapped both hands around his cup and looked down for a moment.
"Ah... yeah."
He fell quiet, as if searching for the right words.
"I broke up with Hashino. Like I told you on the phone."
"...Yes."
Yuki nodded quietly.
"And there's something I wanted to tell you, Machida. ...No, maybe 'tell' isn't right. Maybe it's more like—I wanted to settle things properly."
There was something uncertain in his voice.
"Settle things?"
"Yeah."
Kido set down his cup and looked straight into her eyes.
"Machida, you... you had feelings for me, didn't you."
Yuki's heart slammed against her ribs.
(He knew.)
(He knew all along.)
She felt the blood drain from her face. Her fingertips trembled slightly against her skirt.
"...Since when did you know?"
Her voice came out hoarse.
"It's not like there was a specific moment. ...I had a vague sense of it. The way you looked at me was different from how you looked at the other club members."
Kido spoke apologetically.
"But I chose Rina. I don't regret that. I don't—but I always thought I should have talked to you properly about it."
His voice was quiet.
"I know it's unfair to bring this up now. But I wanted to talk to you, Machida. I wanted to close this properly, inside myself."
Yuki swallowed his words one by one, slowly.
(Unfair.)
(If you know that, then why say it?)
(Why now, of all times?)
A year and a half. The feelings Yuki had locked away deep in her chest. And Kido had known from the start. Known—and chosen Hashino Rina anyway.
That was just how things were. Who Kido fell for was his to decide. And Yuki's choice not to confess was hers.
But still.
"...That's the thing about you, senpai."
She felt her own voice shaking.
"That side of you—it's unfair."
For the first time, the truth slipped from Yuki's lips.
Words she hadn't been able to say for a year and a half. Words she'd never intended to say. And now they slid free.
Kido's eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then he bowed his head deeply.
"...I'm sorry."
That was all he said.
Hearing his "sorry," Yuki found, strangely, that no anger rose in her.
Only a sensation like a hole had opened up in the center of her chest.
(This is the end.)
(This is really the end.)
Yuki rose slowly to her feet.
"...Thank you for the meal. I'll be going now."
"Machida."
Kido called after her.
"Let me walk you home. It's dark out."
"I'm fine. I can get home on my own."
She said it without turning around.
"Besides, if you walked me home, I think I'd become even more unfair than I already am."
With that, Yuki left the café.
The sound of the door closing echoed strangely loud.
Outside, the night air brushed cool against her cheeks. Ginkgo leaves swirled in the wind, dancing in the streetlight.
Yuki started walking—in the opposite direction from the station.
The way home. But her feet wouldn't carry her forward.
(It's over.)
(It's finally over.)
Even as she thought it, tears spilled over on their own.
Yuki hurriedly looked down. There were still people around. What if someone saw her?
(Don't cry.)
(I can't cry here.)
She bit her lip and tried to hold back the tears.
But she couldn't.
The tears kept coming, no matter how she tried to stop them, one after another. Her vision blurred.
Yuki quickened her pace. Avoiding eyes, she turned into a back street.
(Somewhere no one's around.)
(Somewhere no one can see me.)
Almost running, she ducked into a small park nearby.
An empty park. A swing set, a slide, two small benches. The streetlight cast a cold white glow.
Yuki collapsed onto a bench.
She looked around, confirming no one was there.
No one.
Only after making sure did she finally cry aloud.
"...Ugh—ah..."
The voice she'd been holding back tore loose from her throat.
A year and a half.
A year and a half of loving Kido-senpai.
Feelings she couldn't convey.
The self that knew and said nothing.
And Kido's unfairness—showing up before her now, saying he "wanted to talk."
All of it, all of it churned together in her chest and spilled out as tears.
"...Why now, of all times..."
Yuki buried her face in her knees and wept, stifling the sound.
Her shoulders shook.
The tears wouldn't stop.
(I cry this much.)
(I wanted to cry this much.)
Yuki was startled by how freely the tears came.
Tears she'd never shown anyone.
At home, at school, at club—Yuki always had to be perfect.
At home, she looked after her younger siblings and did the housework.
At school, she was the flawless manager.
She couldn't show weakness to anyone.
She couldn't let anyone see her cry.
So crying out loud like this, in an empty park, was a first.
(I've always been alone.)
(Always, always crying alone.)
That thought drew even more tears from her.
How long had she been like that?
Just as the tears were beginning to settle—
Yuki suddenly sensed a presence.
She lifted her head.
At the park entrance stood a figure.
Backlit by the streetlight, watching her.
Yuki felt her heart clench tight.
(Who?)
(Did they see me?)
She turned her face away in a panic and wiped her tears.
But they still wouldn't stop.
"...Yuki-san."
A voice she recognized.
Yuki raised her head fearfully.
Standing there was Naruse Sho.
He was in his tracksuit, shoulders heaving. Had he been running?
"...Why are you here?"
Yuki's voice trembled.
"I looked up your route home, Yuki-san. ...I figured if you'd gone to see senpai, you might be crying."
With that, Naruse slowly lowered himself onto the bench beside her.
The bench creaked softly.
"Don't look."
Yuki said it with her face still turned away.
"Don't look at me like this."
"I won't."
Naruse said quietly.
"But I want you to stop crying alone. Please."
At those words, Yuki's chest tightened again.
"...What would you know?"
She turned her tear-streaked face toward him.
"What could you possibly know about me? How much, how much I—"
Her voice shook.
"I don't know."
Naruse looked straight into her eyes.
"I'm not gonna say I understand everything about you, Yuki-san. But."
His amber eyes caught the streetlight, shining with earnestness.
"I don't want to see you crying, Yuki-san. That's all."
He said it with a completely serious face.
Yuki looked into his eyes and lost her words.
Always so cheeky, so lazy, so impossible to pin down—that was her kouhai.
But the Naruse before her now had stripped away every one of those masks.
He was simply worried about her.
He simply wanted her tears to stop.
Those serious eyes.
(This boy—he really does care about me.)
For the first time, Yuki faced the weight of Naruse's feelings head-on.
(I want someone to watch me.)
(I want someone to see me.)
For the first time, Yuki realized that somewhere deep in her heart, she was wishing for exactly that.
She'd always done everything alone.
She'd always cried alone.
But the truth was—
(I wanted someone to see me.)
Yuki looked away from Naruse and hung her head.
Tears welled up again.
But they felt a little different from the painful, sorrowful, helpless tears of before.
Naruse said nothing more.
He simply sat beside her until she stopped crying.
The night wind carried ginkgo leaves to their feet.
Only the dry rustle of leaves echoed through the park.
How much time had passed?
Yuki's tears had finally stopped.
She rubbed her eyes roughly and lifted her head.
"...I'm okay now."
Her voice was a little nasal.
"You're not okay."
Naruse muttered.
"Your eyes are bright red. Your nose too. ...Well, even so, you're still beautiful, Yuki-san."
"...Ridiculous."
Yuki said it and smiled, just a little.
Seeing her smile through her tear-mussed face, Naruse's mouth softened, just barely.
"I said I wouldn't wait for you, Yuki-san, but..."
He spoke quietly, still facing forward.
"I'm taking that back."
Yuki looked at his profile.
"...Why?"
"Until you settle things properly with senpai, I'll wait properly too. So—"
He turned to look at her.
"—I want you to not run from me either, Yuki-san."
Yuki stared into his eyes.
Don't run from me.
The words sank deep, deep into her chest.
She couldn't say anything.
She didn't answer.
But when Naruse held out his handkerchief, she took it without a word.
A white, clean handkerchief.
Yuki clutched it tight.
"...I'll walk you home."
Naruse stood.
"I can get home on my own."
"No. If I let a crying high school girl walk home alone at this hour, I won't be able to sleep."
His tone left no room for argument.
Yuki sighed and stood.
"...Do what you want."
"Yeah, yeah."
The two of them walked side by side through the night.
Naruse matched his pace to hers, walking slowly.
"...Thank you."
Yuki said it in a small voice.
"Huh?"
"...Nothing. If you didn't hear it, that's fine."
"I heard it. I want you to say it again."
"I'm not telling you."
Yuki turned her face away.
Naruse chuckled softly.
"You know, that side of you is really cute, Yuki-san."
"...Shut up."
Yuki said nothing more.
But inside, things felt just a little different from before.
(Even though it's Naruse.)
(Even though he's just my cheeky kouhai.)
Yuki felt the handkerchief clutched in her hand, tracing its texture with her fingertips.
When they reached the front of her house, Naruse stopped.
"Alright, I'll leave you here."
"...Yeah."
"I'll wash the handkerchief and give it back. You have to return it, okay? It's my important handkerchief."
"...I got it."
"See you at club tomorrow."
With that, Naruse turned his back to her.
"Naruse."
When she called his name, he turned around.
"...Really. Thank you."
This time, she said it clearly.
Naruse looked surprised for a moment, then smiled happily.
"You're welcome."
He waved his hand loosely and disappeared into the night.
Yuki opened the front door and stepped inside.
The house was quiet.
Her siblings must already be asleep.
Yuki stood frozen in the entryway, staring at the handkerchief in her hands.
A white handkerchief.
Naruse's handkerchief.
She pressed it to her chest.
(Naruse.)
(You really—why do you...)
Yuki stood there in the entryway for a while.
The next day.
From the morning on, Yuki headed to school
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