Every morning the same morning comes. So I will keep protecting the one who loves you most.
Haruto lives in an ordinary provincial city, enjoying a peaceful high school life. Clear skies, the same classroom, the unchanging smiles of friends. Every morning his little sister Hina jumps into his bed, his childhood friend Mao greets him with a smile, and his junior Hinata waits for him at the shoe lockers. Haruto has no idea why he's so popular. He just accepts the gentle days as they come.
Then a transfer student named Tsukasa appears. She's a tsundere—always putting up a tough front, ye
Every morning the same morning comes. So I will keep protecting the one who loves you most. - Rewinding Thursday — A path that feels like I've walked it before
The light streaming through the classroom window felt a little whiter than usual.
Haruto sat at his desk, gazing absently out the window. The cherry trees planted along the embankment of the Kiriha River swayed in the wind. The Thursday morning air still carried a faint trace of yesterday's rain, and it was cool against his skin.
(What day is it today, again?)
That was the thought that crossed his mind. No—he knew. It was Thursday. His class schedule, his turn for daily duties, all of it was in his head. And yet, there was a small discomfort lodged deep in his chest. Something felt just slightly... off.
"Good morning, Haruto."
A voice came from the seat beside him. It was Mao. Her long black hair, reaching down to her waist, was tied in a single bundle, and her soft brown eyes were fixed on him. She was smiling. A small dimple rose at the corner of her mouth. It was her usual smile.
"Ah, good morning."
Haruto raised a hand lightly in response. Mao hung her bag on the side of her desk and sat down, turning toward him.
"Hey, did you know there's club today after school? Mr. Ichikawa said he'd drop by."
"Huh, is that so."
As Haruto gave a noncommittal reply, something suddenly came to mind. No—rather than coming to mind, it was more like something had caught. Snagged.
(Mao's shift—when was it again?)
Mao worked part-time at Nocto Cafe in Arietta Mall. She had shifts after school a few days a week. Haruto had gone to that cafe with Mao yesterday. And Mao had, if he remembered correctly—
"Hey, Mao."
Haruto opened his mouth.
"Your shift—was it Thursday?"
Mao's hands stopped. Just for an instant.
It was only a moment. The motion of pulling her textbook onto her desk froze. But she smiled again immediately.
"What's that? It's always been Thursday. What are you saying at this point?"
Mao laughed and lightly tapped Haruto's shoulder. The gesture was just like always. No hesitation—the natural closeness of a childhood friend.
"Was it? I could've sworn it was Tuesday."
"Tuesday? Tuesday's club day, isn't it? Haruto, are you losing it?"
Mao tilted her head and gave him a mischievous smile. Haruto smiled back vaguely.
(Tuesday's club... yeah, that's right.)
The Literature Club met on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. No club on Tuesdays. That's why Mao often took Tuesday shifts. He'd known that for ages.
(But didn't Mao say yesterday that her shift was Tuesday?)
Haruto felt something catch in the back of his mind. Like a tiny splinter lodged in his fingertip. He wasn't certain. Just—something was different.
But it was far too vague to put into words.
"Well, maybe I'm imagining it."
Haruto said that and turned his gaze back out the window.
Mao looked at him for a moment, as if she wanted to say something. But in the end, she said nothing and faced forward.
The sound of their homeroom teacher's footsteps approached the classroom. Morning homeroom was beginning. Haruto pushed the discomfort deep into the back of his heart.
—But that was, without a doubt, the first "doubt" he had ever been conscious of.
Lunch break.
Haruto spread his bento on his desk. Today's bento had been made by Hinata. Tamagoyaki and leftover karaage from last night's dinner. The colors were beautiful, and it looked appetizing.
"Huh, you made that yourself? Surprisingly domestic."
A voice suddenly dropped down from above.
When he looked up, Tsukasa was standing there. A bright brown side ponytail. Her bangs looked like they might fall into her eyes, and she brushed them aside with her hand as she peered at Haruto's bento. Her amber eyes, catching the light, seemed to shine through like honey.
"My little sister made it. Do you not have a bento, Tsukasa-san?"
"I buy mine. It's not like I'm interested in your bento or anything."
Tsukasa said that, but she stayed standing in front of Haruto's desk. She said she wasn't interested, but her gaze was fixed on the bento.
"Want some tamagoyaki?"
"Hah?"
"I've got an extra piece."
When Haruto held out a piece of tamagoyaki with his chopsticks, Tsukasa froze for a moment. Then, the tips of her ears turned just slightly red, and she looked away.
"I don't want it. Something you touched with your chopsticks—that's gross."
"Yeah? It's good, though."
Haruto brought the tamagoyaki to his own mouth. Sweet. Hinata's tamagoyaki was always a little on the sweet side.
Tsukasa watched Haruto's face for a while, but eventually, she awkwardly opened her mouth.
"...Hey. You've got something on your mind, don't you."
Haruto stopped his chopsticks.
Tsukasa's eyes were looking straight at him. That gaze was different from her usual strong-willed attitude—it was serious, as if probing for something.
"It's not really something on my mind, but..."
"What were you talking about with Mao this morning? Something about shift days."
Haruto was a little surprised. He hadn't expected Tsukasa to ask about that.
"Ah... I was just wondering if Mao's shift was Thursday. I had a feeling it was Tuesday."
Tsukasa's fingertips trembled. Just for an instant.
Haruto didn't notice. Or rather, even if he had noticed, he wouldn't have been able to understand what it meant.
"Mao's shift is Thursday."
Tsukasa's voice was an immediate answer. Too fast. As if she'd known from the start what Haruto was going to say.
"Is that so? You know Mao's shift days well, Tsukasa-san."
Tsukasa didn't answer. She let her gaze escape out the window. Her profile looked as though she were desperately trying to hide something.
(This person, why is she so...)
Haruto felt a sense of unease at Tsukasa's unnatural quickness. But he didn't understand the reason. There was no way he could.
Tsukasa picked up a notebook that was sitting on Haruto's desk, as if to hide her trembling fingertips.
"Your handwriting's neat. Surprising."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It's not. Your handwriting's neat, but the content's empty, right?"
Tsukasa placed the notebook roughly back on the desk. But her fingertips were still faintly trembling.
Haruto stared at Tsukasa's face.
(Why does she make a face like that?)
The depths of Tsukasa's eyes looked moist. A face on the verge of tears. But the next moment, it was back to her usual strong-willed expression.
"What are you staring at? That's creepy."
"Ah, sorry."
Haruto hurriedly looked away. Tsukasa snorted and returned to her own seat.
Watching her retreating figure, Haruto felt a stirring deep in his chest.
(Tsukasa-san is hiding something.)
But what it was, Haruto couldn't tell.
After school.
The Literature Club room was at the east end of the third floor. Opening the old wooden door released a scent of paper, ink, and a hint of dust. The setting sun poured through the window, dyeing the room orange.
When Haruto entered the club room, Mao was already there. She was facing her desk, writing something on manuscript paper. Her profile was serious, and her long black hair, bathed in the sunset, looked tinged with blue.
"Good work."
"Ah, Haruto. Good work. Did you make progress on your manuscript for the club journal today?"
Mao looked up and smiled. Haruto smiled back vaguely and sat down across from her.
"Not at all. I've got nothing to write about."
"That again? Haruto, you say that every single time."
Mao laughed. Her voice dissolved into the quiet of the club room. Looking at Mao's smile, Haruto felt the discomfort from the morning thin out a little.
(See, I was imagining it after all.)
He tried to think that. That's when it happened.
Knock, knock—the door was tapped.
"Excuse me."
The one who entered was the Literature Club's advisor, Mr. Ichikawa. A man in his fifties with short, salt-and-pepper hair and round glasses. He always wore a gentle smile, and the students affectionately called him "Mr. Ichikawa."
"Ah, sensei. Hello."
"Hello. You two are properly doing your activities, I see."
Mr. Ichikawa entered the club room with slow steps. In his hands was a bundle of manuscript paper.
"Mao-san, this is the novel you wrote, isn't it."
He placed the bundle of manuscript paper in front of Mao. On the cover, written in careful handwriting, was "Beyond the River." It was the novel Mao was writing for the club journal.
"Ah, yes. It's still in progress, though."
Mao said, looking a little embarrassed. Mr. Ichikawa narrowed his eyes behind his glasses and smiled.
"This last part—it's from the perspective of someone waiting for another person. Very warm. As the fifty-seventh revision, it's perfect."
Haruto caught on something in those words.
(Fifty-seventh?)
Revision. Rewriting text. He knew Mao had rewritten it many times. But fifty-seven times. That number was far too specific.
"You rewrote it fifty-seven times? That's amazing, Mao."
When Haruto said that, Mao tilted her head.
"Huh? Did I rewrite it that many times... Well, I did fix it a lot, but."
Mao didn't seem particularly bothered by Mr. Ichikawa's words. Mr. Ichikawa also kept his gentle smile.
(How does sensei know it's fifty-seven times?)
Haruto didn't voice that question. Looking at Mr. Ichikawa's smile, it felt like asking such a thing would be boorish.
"Sensei, I'll write a continuation of this novel. I want to make the ending even better."
Mao glanced at Haruto and smiled.
"I'll write the continuation, okay."
Those words were directed at Haruto. Haruto felt oddly embarrassed and looked away.
"Yeah, I'm looking forward to it."
Mao's smile shone softly in the sunset.
When they left the club room, the sky was dyed madder red.
"Hey, want to go home by the embankment?"
Mao said, walking alongside Haruto on his left. She had always naturally come to his left side when walking beside him. Haruto had accepted that as a matter of course.
"Sure. It's a detour, though."
"Once in a while is fine. The sunset is beautiful."
The two left the school gate and headed for the Kiriha River embankment.
Along the way, there was a figure ahead.
It was Tsukasa.
She was standing alone at the entrance to the embankment. With the sunset behind her, she looked their way. The tips of her side ponytail swayed in the wind.
"Oh, Tsukasa-san. What's up?"
When Mao called out, Tsukasa made a slightly awkward face for a moment.
"Nothing. I just happened to be passing by."
"I see. Hey, want to walk home together? We're going along the embankment."
Mao invited Tsukasa with a bright smile. Tsukasa looked like she was hesitating for a moment, but in the end, she gave a small nod.
"...It's not like I have anything better to do, so I guess I'll come along."
The three began walking side by side along the embankment path.
The surface of the Kiriha River reflected the sunset, glittering brightly. The sky was a mix of orange and purple, and the distant mountains floated as silhouettes. The wind was soft, and the smell of the river tickled their noses.
"It's beautiful."
Mao murmured quietly.
"Yeah."
Haruto glanced at Mao's profile. Her face, illuminated by the sunset, had soft, glowing contours—it was very beautiful.
(Wait, was Mao always this beautiful?)
Haruto felt something small leap in the depths of his chest. Somehow, he was suddenly conscious of her. He'd been beside her since childhood, and yet this might have been the first time he'd looked at Mao this way.
"I feel like I've walked this path before."
Mao suddenly said something like that.
Haruto's heart skipped.
"Huh?"
"No, it's nothing. I just felt incredibly nostalgic for a moment."
Mao smiled. But behind that smile, he thought he caught a glimpse of an expression like a lost child.
"It's because the sunset is beautiful, right? That's why you feel that way."
Tsukasa cut in immediately. Her voice was bright, light—but somewhere in it, there was desperation.
"Yeah. Maybe it's the sunset."
Mao smiled, looking relieved at Tsukasa's words.
Haruto felt Mao's hand suddenly brush against his sleeve.
(Huh?)
His heart gave a small leap. Mao's fingertips
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