To Kill The Dead

The morning after a breakup always felt like shit.

Kanata Yukimura sat on the third-floor balcony of the old storage wing of Mishiro High, a spot where only he and the janitor bothered to visit. His legs hung over the ledge, swinging carelessly above the courtyard where the marching band used to practice.

Now? Nothing. Just wind, dust, and that hollow ache in his chest.

"You won't understand me."

Those were Serizawa's last words to him. She didn't cry. She didn't flinch. She just looked at him with those cold, tired eyes like she was already somewhere else.

And maybe she was.

Takeshi.

His best friend.

Kanata clenched the railing hard enough to whiten his knuckles. He could still remember the text he got the same night.

"Sorry, bro... it just happened."

Bullshit.