Minato Mizuhara transfers from Kanagawa and perfectly plays the role of a bright, cheerful newcomer. He smiles at everyone, chats easily, and blends into the class. But on his first day, one girl sees through his mask: Akari Kajiwara, the ace of the judo club. She simply says, 'That laugh—you used the same one before.' Minato freezes, his fingertips turning cold.
From then on, they start walking home together. Beside the silent Akari, who asks nothing, Minato finds an odd comfort. He gradually
The Classroom Without Sunlight - The Silence in the Next Seat
Golden Week ended, and the atmosphere in the classroom loosened just a little. The lingering warmth of the holidays still clung to the corners of the hallways, and the morning chatter before homeroom was far softer than it had been in early April. Minato sat at his usual seat by the window, adjusting the position of his pencil case on the desk.
(Today's the seat change.)
His homeroom teacher, Fujii Rie, stood at the podium and wrote "Seat Change" on the blackboard. The twenty-nine-year-old Japanese literature teacher wore her navy suit crisp as always, her eyes narrowing behind black-rimmed glasses.
Alright, everyone, let's start morning homeroom. We're doing a seat change today, so clear out your desks.
The classroom erupted in chatter all at once. A few of the girls exchanged glances with their neighbors, murmuring "I wonder where I'll end up," while the boys lazily pulled crumpled printouts from their desks. Minato also dragged a bundle of wrinkled papers from his desk and shoved them into his backpack.
(Anywhere's fine. Whoever I end up next to, I'll make it work.)
Minato chanted that silently in his head.
The seat change was done by lottery. Inside a box Fujii placed on the teacher's desk were folded slips of paper, one for each student. Each slip had a seat number written on it, and students moved to the corresponding seat in the order they drew. Simple, and hard to complain about.
Draw in order of your attendance number. Starting from number one.
The students walked up to the teacher's desk one by one. Minato waited for his number to be called, gazing out the window. From late April into May, the sky over Kugenuma was often hazy and pale. Today too, a damp wind blew in from the sea, making the curtains sway gently.
(It's already been a month since I came to this school.)
Minato pressed the wristband on his right wrist lightly with his left thumb. It was a habit. When he got nervous, he couldn't help doing it.
Eventually, Minato's turn came.
He put his hand into the box on the teacher's desk. Pinched out a slip of paper and unfolded it.
Let's see...
The number corresponded to the very back seat by the window.
Minato looked up and glanced at that seat.
In the seat next to it, a student who had already moved sat waiting. Chestnut-colored short bob. Her bangs were cut straight across above her eyebrows, and her single-lidded dark eyes were cast down at the textbook in her hands. Her posture was straight, her uniform collar neat.
Kajiwara Akari.
The girl who, on the afternoon of his first day as a transfer student, had passed him in the hallway and said only, "You used that same laugh before," before walking away.
(Her, huh.)
Minato felt his fingertips go cold for just a moment.
But he didn't let it show. He placed a bright smile on his lips.
Oh, so I'm next to Kajiwara-san. Nice to meet you.
Akari raised her head. Her direct gaze looked at Minato.
...Yeah.
That was all.
Akari dropped her eyes back to her textbook.
Minato sat down and hung his backpack on the side of his desk. On Akari's desk next to him were a single textbook and a single notebook. Her pencil case was made of black cloth, its corners slightly frayed. Nothing else was placed there.
(She's not interested, huh.)
That was Minato's assessment.
Akari's reply conveyed neither interest nor wariness toward Minato as a person. She had simply acknowledged the fact that someone had sat down next to her.
(That's fine.)
Minato let out a quiet breath of relief in his heart.
If no one was interested in him, the risk of having his mask peeled off decreased. Having his smile seen through on his first day as a transfer student was probably a coincidence, or something unique to that day. If Akari wasn't interested in him, she wouldn't pry any further.
(Good.)
That's what he thought.
But right next to that relief, a small loneliness sat quietly.
Minato pretended not to notice it and faced forward.
Once the seat change was over, the atmosphere in the classroom shifted again. Conversations started up here and there at the new seats, and laughter rose. In front of Minato sat a boy from the soccer club. In the neighboring row was a girl he'd talked to a few times since April.
Mizuhara-kun, the window seat is so nice. Can you see the ocean?
Yeah, just a little. It's hazy today, though.
Minato answered with a smile. He read the other person's expression. This girl was favorably disposed toward him. He brightened the angle of his smile slightly and lightened his tone.
So nice. My seat's on the hallway side, so boring.
Well, seat changes are all luck.
I guess so.
The conversation ended there. Minato turned his eyes out the window. Beneath the hazy sky, the silhouette of Enoshima floated faintly in the distance.
From that day on, Minato consciously began bringing up topics to try to make Akari laugh.
The trigger was something simple.
The day after the seat change, Minato spoke to Akari: "Did you get the last problem on yesterday's math homework?" Akari answered only, "...Yeah."
The next day, he talked about the weather.
The wind's strong today. The waves out at sea look like they'd be high.
...I guess.
The day after that, he talked about club activities.
Kajiwara-san, you're in the judo club, right? Morning practice starts at six? That's amazing.
...It's normal.
And the day after that, he talked about class.
The Japanese literature teacher's story earlier was long, huh. Classical Japanese conjugation and all that—honestly, I didn't really get it.
...I see.
Akari never spoke more than necessary.
No matter what topic Minato brought up, what came back was only the bare minimum of acknowledgment or a short word. Even when he tried to make her laugh with a light joke, Akari only moved her lips slightly—she never laughed out loud.
(Tough crowd.)
Minato smiled wryly in his heart.
But it didn't feel bad.
Akari's attitude wasn't the same as rejecting him. She simply didn't talk because there was no need to talk. That's how it looked.
Minato observed the reactions of his other classmates.
During break, several girls gathered in the hallway, talking. He could hear their voices.
Hey, Kajiwara-san really is unfriendly, isn't she?
I know. Mizuhara-kun, who ended up next to her, is kind of pitiful.
But she's the ace of the judo club, so maybe that's just how she is.
Minato pretended not to hear and walked past.
(Unfriendly, huh.)
Sure, it might look that way.
But Minato was starting to notice.
Akari wasn't deliberately building walls.
That was just genuinely simple.
If she had nothing to say, she didn't speak. If she had nothing to ask, she didn't ask. If she didn't feel like laughing, she didn't laugh.
That was all there was to it.
(I've never met anyone like that before.)
That's what Minato thought.
Everyone Minato had met until now wore some kind of mask. Minato himself was the same. Behind a smile was another face, and behind words was another meaning.
But Akari had no backside.
At least, that's how it seemed to Minato.
And sitting next to Akari was strangely comfortable.
Throughout his three years of middle school, Minato had always feared other people's silence.
At his school in Kanagawa, what Minato experienced was a "quiet shaving down."
Being ignored. Things going missing. Rumors.
No one laid a hand on Minato. No one cursed him to his face.
But when Minato spoke, everyone went silent.
When Minato entered the classroom, conversations stopped.
When Minato approached, people moved away.
Silence was a form of rejection.
A voiceless declaration: "You're not someone who belongs here."
Minato kept bathing in that silence, and bit by bit, he broke.
The old scar on his right wrist was from that time.
That's why Minato was afraid of silence.
When he was alone with someone and the conversation lapsed, something stirred deep in his chest.
(I have to say something.)
(This silence is rejecting me.)
(Hurry, something, words—)
And so Minato had always forced himself to talk.
But Akari's silence was different.
Even when Minato went quiet, Akari said nothing.
She was simply there, quietly.
Looking out the window, reading her textbook, occasionally glancing his way.
That silence wasn't rejection.
It was just stillness.
(Being next to this person is easy.)
Minato couldn't quite put that feeling into words.
But he definitely felt it.
June came, and the days grew longer.
After school, Minato was packing up his things in the classroom. Today was a day without club activities. He could go straight home.
He shouldered his backpack and left the classroom. The hallway was still full of students, some preparing for club activities, others chatting with friends.
Minato exited the school gate and started walking the road toward Kugenuma-Kaigan Station.
After a while, ahead of him, he spotted a familiar back.
Chestnut-colored short bob. A straight spine.
It was Kajiwara Akari.
(Same direction, huh.)
Minato hesitated a little.
Should he call out to her, or not?
They sat next to each other in class, but there was no need to be together after school too. Akari might want to walk home alone.
But ignoring her and walking on when they were headed the same way would be strange too.
Minato quickened his pace a little and came up beside Akari.
Kajiwara-san, are you headed toward the station too?
Akari looked at Minato.
...Yeah.
Oh, really. I take the train from Kugenuma-Kaigan Station too.
...I see.
The conversation stopped.
Minato panicked inwardly.
(I have to say something.)
He searched for a topic in his head. Weather. Class. Club. All topics he'd already brought up in the classroom.
Speaking of which, today's P.E. was soccer, huh. Kajiwara-san, you were running a lot out there. As expected.
...It's normal.
No, no, that sprint was fast. Even the guys were surprised.
...I see.
(Stopped again.)
Keeping his smile in place, Minato desperately searched for the next topic in his head.
Then, Akari spoke.
Mizuhara.
Huh? What?
Still facing forward, Akari said quietly.
You don't have to force yourself.
Minato's feet nearly stopped for a moment.
You don't have to force yourself.
Those words dropped softly into the depths of Minato's chest.
On his first day as a transfer student, the words "You used that same laugh before" had been a blade that peeled off his mask.
But these words now were different.
"You don't have to force yourself."
It was as if she had seen through the fact that he was desperately performing—and was telling him he didn't have to perform. That was the ring of it.
(Ah, I see.)
Minato thought.
(This person knows that I'm forcing myself.)
(And she's telling me I don't have to.)
Minato was at a loss for words.
He had to say something.
But he didn't know what to say.
He couldn't even make a smile.
Minato walked silently beside Akari.
Akari said nothing either.
The two of them walked through the evening residential streets.
In the distance, the sound of the Enoshima Electric Railway crossing came—clanging, clanging, clanging, a peaceful warning bell.
The wind blew, swaying Akari's bangs.
Minato glanced at her profile.
Akari was looking straight ahead.
Her profile was quiet.
(If it's next to this person—)
Minato thought.
(Maybe I don't have to force myself.)
From that day on, Minato and Akari began walking home together.
The trigger was Minato's invitation.
Hey, if you don't mind, want to walk home together today too?
Akari looked at Minato and tilted her head just slightly.
...Do whatever you want.
That was Akari's reply.
Neither a refusal nor an acceptance.
But Minato understood that this was Akari's way of saying "sure."
(Do whatever you want, huh.)
Minato gave a small laugh.
This time, it wasn't a manufactured smile—it was a laugh that came out naturally.
Three weeks passed after that.
Late June. The rainy season was approaching, and the sky was gloomy and overcast every day.
Minato and A
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