Morning draped itself gently over the town of Hiratsuka, spilling warm sunlight across cracked sidewalks and rustling trees. Spring clung to the air, carrying the scent of damp earth and blooming cherry blossoms. Everything felt still, peaceful — like the world was caught mid-exhale.
Itsuki Kurobane walked alone down the familiar street to school, earbuds tucked in, hands buried in his pockets. The quiet hum of lo-fi beats played in his ears, just loud enough to keep the world distant, just soft enough to let his mind drift.
"Same streets. Same sky. Same faces."
"Just survive another day. Then I can be free again — my room, my music, my world."
He stepped into the crosswalk, already picturing the shows he'd rewatch that night—
And suddenly—
His foot hit something.
He stumbled forward, caught himself just in time.
"The hell…"
Looking down, he saw it.
A book.
It lay in the center of the crosswalk — perfectly still, unnaturally clean.
Black leather. No title. No torn pages. It looked almost new… like it had just been placed there.
Itsuki crouched slowly, drawn in by something he couldn't name. He reached out.
What he didn't see — what he never even felt — was what happened behind him.
The air shimmered. Just slightly. A subtle ripple, as if the space behind his back had cracked for a brief moment.
From that distortion, a hand emerged.
Pale gray. Thin. Trembling.
It hovered silently just behind his neck.
Creeping closer. Closer.
Then—
"ITSUKI!"
The voice snapped him out of it like a slap to the face.
He jerked up and spun around.
Across the street stood Haruto Shinomiya, waving a hand and panting dramatically.
"Dude, what are you doing? Trying to get reincarnated by truck or something?"
Itsuki blinked, disoriented. He turned back—
The book was gone.
No sign of it. Nothing on the road. Just painted lines and fallen petals.
"Wasn't it… right there?"
"Bro?" Haruto said again. "You good?"
"Y-yeah. I just tripped. Thought I saw something."
"Yeah. You saw the ground," Haruto laughed. "Let's go before your brain fully restarts."
Itsuki forced a laugh, brushing the moment off. But something deep inside his chest felt… tight.
Like he had narrowly missed something.
Something important.
The rest of the school day blurred by in textbook pages and sleepy lectures.
Haruto's endless chatter filled the spaces around him, like always — a buffer between Itsuki and the thoughts he didn't want to hear.
But even with Haruto's noise, even with the classroom buzzing… Itsuki's eyes always found her.
Noa Kanzaki.
Quiet. Thoughtful. Always by the window. She had that calm, unreadable presence — the kind that didn't need to say anything to be felt. Like a secret the world refused to let go of.
She looked up once and met his gaze.
Smiled — small, barely there.
That one moment erased everything else.
Yeah, he thought. She's the only reason I even try.
That evening, Itsuki shut himself in his room.
The door closed with a soft click, and the outside world faded instantly. His sanctuary: anime episodes queued, console on standby, speakers humming low.
For a while, everything was normal.
But at 7:03 p.m., that illusion cracked.
He turned in his chair to grab a snack—
And froze.
There, on his desk, where nothing had been minutes ago—
Was the book.
Kuro no Tomo.
The Friend in Black.
The cover, now slightly embossed with silver characters, gleamed under the desk lamp. It hadn't been there before. He never picked it up. He never brought it home.
But it was here.
Waiting.
He stepped toward it, unease bubbling in his gut.
He opened the first page.
"To the one who reads this — you are not alone."
"Use this book only when silence begins to scream."
"To those forgotten by the world, I offer companionship."
"But every friendship has its price."
— Kyōran no Yūsha
(The Hero of Madness)
Itsuki stared at the words, breath shallow.
What is this supposed to be? A prank? Some creepy marketing thing?
But no one had been in his room.
He was certain.
The book was real.
Too real.
That night, even under his warm blanket, even with soft music in his ears…
Itsuki didn't sleep easily.
And far off in the darkness of his room,
the book sat perfectly still.
Like it was watching.
Waiting for him to open it again.
To Be Continued...