The walk home at 2:00 AM was a surreal experience. The city, usually a roar of traffic and ambition, had hushed into a heavy, humid silence. Rika walked three paces behind Rentaro, her legs feeling like lead pipes. The "7-Eleven" uniform vest was tucked into her bag, but the smell of fried oil and floor wax seemed to have clung to her skin.
Rentaro moved with a steady, practiced gait. He didn't look back, but he didn't speed up either. He kept a pace that allowed her to keep up without running.
"You're dragging your feet," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet night. "Lift your knees. You'll trip over the sidewalk if you keep shuffling."
"I am... merely observing the pavement's structural integrity," Rika managed to wheeze out.
"Right. And I’m the Prime Minister."
They reached "Sunrise Heights" and began the grueling climb to the third floor. The stairs groaned under their weight. When they finally reached the landing, the single flickering yellow bulb in the hallway cast long, distorted shadows of the two rivals against their respective doors.
Rika fumbled with her keys, her coordination shot. Rentaro was already at his door, but he didn't go inside. He stood there, watching her struggle with the lock.
"The door sticks," he said, stepping over. "Give me the key."
"I can manage, Hanamachi-kun," Rika insisted, her pride flaring up even through the exhaustion.
"You've been saying 'I can manage' since 8:00 AM, and so far, you've almost been bullied by a teenager and fainted over a bento. Just give me the key."
He didn't wait for her to agree. He gently but firmly took the key from her trembling fingers. His hand brushed hers—it was calloused and warm, a sharp contrast to the cold metal. With a practiced shoulder-shove and a sharp turn of the wrist, the door to Unit 302 clicked open.
The darkness of her apartment spilled out. It was a void, smelling of dust and loneliness.
"Here," he said, handing the key back.
"Thank you," she whispered, stepping inside. She reached for the light switch, but her hand paused. In the dim light from the hallway, Rentaro could see the interior of her room. There was no bed. Just a thin futon on the floor and that solitary, sad box of books.
The silence between them stretched, no longer sharp with rivalry, but heavy with the reality of their shared situation.
"Shinozaki," Rentaro started, his voice unusually soft. "Why didn't you just stay with your parents? Even if they're... how you said. It's better than living like a ghost."
Rika stood in the doorway, half-shrouded in shadow. "They didn't want a ghost, Hanamachi-kun. They wanted a trophy. And when they decided I wasn't shiny enough anymore, they put me in storage. I'd rather be a ghost in this 'dive' than a doll in their house."
Rentaro looked at her for a long moment. He recognized that look—the stubborn, desperate need to belong only to oneself. He’d seen it in the mirror every morning since he’d run away from his own past.
"Get some sleep," he finally said, turning toward his own door. "And don't study until at least 10:00 AM. Your brain is useless if it’s fried."
"Does that mean you're going to use the extra two hours to get ahead of me in the rankings?" Rika asked, a tiny, tired spark of the "Ice Queen" returning to her voice.
Rentaro paused at his threshold, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "I don't need a head start to beat you, Shinozaki. I just need you to be awake enough to realize you've lost."
The door to 301 closed with a soft click.
Rika leaned against her own door, listening to the muffled sounds of him moving around on the other side. A drawer opening. A faucet running. It was strange—for the first time since she’d left her family home, the silence of the room didn't feel quite so empty.
She crawled onto her futon, her body finally giving in to the weight of the day. As she drifted off, her last thought wasn't about chemistry or her parents. It was about the fact that the "Runner-Up" knew exactly how to open a stuck door.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwaMfJ1fRD0
and then Add to home screen.