CHAPTER 1
The studio was silent, as always, until the door burst open with a bang loud enough to shake the pen from Yuna’s hand.
“Yuna!” Aiko’s voice sliced through the stillness, bold and unforgiving.
Yuna didn’t flinch. Her attention stayed fixed on the paper in front of her — a nearly finished panel where the heroine of her manga, looked up at hero under a rain-drenched sky. The fine nib of her pen moved steadily; each stroke deliberate. Her traditional tools were spread around her in an organized chaos — sheets of draft paper, pencils worn down to stubs, an open inkwell half full. She sat cross-legged on the chair in a loose crop top and faded jeans, her hair pulled into a bun, though soft side bangs still framed her pale forehead like loose threads of thought.
Aiko dropped her bag on the couch with a heavy thud and crossed her arms. “Are you seriously releasing a manga about your own life?” she asked, voice laced with disbelief. “Even after everything? You gave up on him years ago. You're not happy with how that story ended in real life, so now you’re rewriting it with a happy ending? For you or for him?”
Yuna didn’t reply. Her hand didn’t even pause. Aiko’s words floated in the air like smoke, curling but not landing.
Frustrated, Aiko stepped closer, her tone rising. “This isn’t just a story, Yuna. This is your heart on paper. And you’re giving him a place in it again, after all this time?”
Still no answer. Just a quiet breath. Then Yuna calmly reached for her earbuds, plugged them in, and let the music drown out everything else. Whatever storm Aiko brought in with her, it couldn’t touch the quiet between her ears.
“Hell with it,” Aiko snapped. She turned on her heel, stormed out, and slammed the door behind her, leaving the room in silence again — save for the muffled beat of Yuna’s playlist and the scratching of pencil on paper.
Yuna kept drawing. One panel, then the next. Takumi’s smile. Hinata’s tears. The story flowed like water, like memory. Time slipped sideways. Her body ached from sitting too long, but her hand wouldn’t stop.
Eventually, without meaning to, she rested her head on her folded arms on the desk. The paper beneath her smelled of ink and effort. Her breathing slowed. Sleep crept in, soft as dusk.
She didn’t notice the shift.
The noise came first — voices, dozens of them, overlapping in chatter and laughter. It wasn’t the kind of noise she ever heard in her quiet art studio. It was brighter, more alive. Her brows furrowed as her senses stirred.
When her eyes opened, the world had changed.
She was no longer in her studio, but slumped over a school desk in a classroom full of students. Sunlight filtered through tall windows. Desks scratched against the floor as people moved around her. Her first thought was: This isn’t real. Her second: Why does it feel like it is?
She sat up quickly, her chair screeching beneath her. Her clothes weren’t hers — she wore a crisp white school blouse and a pleated navy skirt. Her long black hair hung free, falling straight over her shoulders, soft against her skin. Bangs tickled her forehead.
She looked around in a daze. Students chatted, laughing in groups. A few tossed glances her way, but no one seemed to notice her confusion. She turned toward the front of the room, where a tall man — the teacher, apparently — walked in with a stack of papers under one arm.
As he set them down, something flickered in the air above the blackboard. Transparent, glowing slightly.
Yuna’s heart pounded.
Roll call began.
“Takumi?” the teacher called.
Her head whipped around instinctively. There — a few rows behind — sat a boy with tousled dark hair and an easy, careless smile. Her breath caught. It was him. Ren. Or not quite Ren — softer, smoother, just enough like the real boy she once loved to make her chest hurt.
“Present,” Takumi said.
Yuna blinked, stunned.
“Hinata?”
A hand tapped her shoulder. “Hey, you, okay? Teachers called you three times.”
She turned. A girl beside her gave her a confused look.
Yuna glanced down. A polished nameplate on the desk read: Hinata Asano.
“I… I’m here,” she said faintly.
The teacher marked her name and moved on. She sat frozen in place. Hinata… Takumi… What is this?
Then, like pages flipping too fast, the world jumped forward.
She was outside now — running laps around the schoolyard, wind whipping through her hair. Her legs burned, her breath came fast, and she barely had time to think before her eyes found him again: Takumi, across the track, laughing with a group of boys. Girls stood on the sidelines, whispering, giggling.
She turned away sharply.
What is this…? What’s happening?
Her thoughts spun, the same names repeating in her head.
Hinata. Takumi.
Am I… inside the manga?
And just like that, another cut. The scenery shifted.
She now sat on the edge of a neatly made bed in a room she didn’t recognize — cute posters on the wall, a schoolbag slumped over a chair. Afternoon light filtered in through gauzy curtains.
She rose slowly, approaching the full-length mirror in the corner.
The girl who stared back wasn’t quite her.
She was Hinata.
Wide eyes. A soft mouth. A slightly sad, wondering expression. Everything like the character Yuna had drawn — countless times — over years of heartbreak and longing.
She reached up, touched her own face.
A whisper escaped her lips.
“This… is my manga.”
CHAPTER 2
The sky was painted in soft orange hues as Takumi walked home with his friends, laughter trailing behind them like a breeze. He twirled a football under one arm, bouncing it against his hip. They’d just wrapped up an intense after-school match, but the energy was still buzzing in their veins.
“Later, Takumi!” one of them called out, waving as they broke off toward their own streets.
“Yeah, see you!” Takumi waved back, easy smile on his face.
His house stood at the corner of the neighborhood — modest, but warm-looking, with potted plants by the door and a wind chime that tinkled softly. As he approached, he noticed his mother speaking to someone near the gate. A woman he didn’t recognize, standing just outside the house next door.
“Ah, Takumi, come here,” his mother called.
He stepped forward, still spinning the ball lazily in his hands.
“This is Mrs. Fujihara — our new neighbor. They just moved in today.”
The woman smiled warmly and gave a polite bow. “Nice to meet you, Takumi-kun.”
Just then, the neighbor turned toward the door behind her. “Sakura! Come greet our neighbors!”
A few seconds later, a girl stepped out — straight black hair, neat uniform, confident posture. She bowed gently. “Good evening.”
The world rippled.
The classroom buzzed with its usual chatter as students from Class 2-B settled into their seats. The homeroom teacher stepped in, followed closely by a new girl.
Takumi watched as the homeroom teacher stepped into class, followed by a new girl.
“We have a transfer student joining us,” the teacher announced. “Please introduce yourself.”
The girl stepped forward; her tone composed. “I’m Sakura Fujihara. I just moved here yesterday. I hope we can get along.”
The teacher scanned the room. “Fujihara-San, take the empty seat—second row.”
Sakura walked gracefully; her bag tucked neatly at her side. As she sat, she glanced over her shoulder — her eyes meeting Takumi’s. A smile passed between them, small and familiar.
Hinata stood outside the classroom door, still catching her breath from running. She knocked once, then slid the door open.
“You’re late, Asano-san,” the teacher said flatly.
“Sorry,” Hinata said, panting slightly. “I overslept.”
He sighed. “It’s your first tardy, so I’ll overlook it. But next time—”
Hinata’s words faded as her eyes drifted to the second row. Sakura was sitting in her seat.
Wait… that’s not right. Sakura wasn’t supposed to sit there. I wasn’t supposed to be late.
The teacher pointed across the room. “Take the last seat, middle row. Beside Takumi.”
She hesitated. “O-Okay.”
As she moved toward the seat, her thoughts swirled in confusion.
In my story, Sakura sits next to Takumi. And I… I was always on time. Why is everything shifting?
She sat down slowly. The chair squeaked. Her bag hit the floor.
Then, a quiet voice in her head whispered:
Aren’t you happy?
Class began, but Hinata’s focus was lost.
Days passed like pages turning on their own.
One late afternoon, Hinata walked home with her sketchpad tucked under her arm, her clothes casual — a soft tee and shorts dusted with pencil marks. She had picked up extra supplies from store nearby. Her mind wandered until she caught sight of two familiar figures walking toward her from the opposite side of the road.
Sakura and Takumi.
They were talking, laughing — an easy rhythm between them that felt both real and staged. As they passed by, Hinata instinctively turned her face, heart dipped in something bitter and unspoken.
But then Sakura’s voice cut through.
“Hinata!”
She stopped and turned, blinking.
Sakura jogged a step closer. “I heard you’re an artist. I’m the vice president of the art club. You should join. We could really use someone like you.”
Hinata blinked.
Another cut. The scenery shifted.
The art club was more crowded than Hinata expected. Students painted, sketched, and worked in quiet concentration. She found herself seated near a window, shading the folds of a fabric study while Sakura walked from easel to easel, checking on members.
When the bell rang, the club wrapped up. As everyone packed up, Sakura turned to her.
“Lunch?”
“Eh?”
“Come on. I’ll buy.”
Before Hinata could say yes or no, Sakura had already grabbed her by the arm and led her to the canteen.
They found a corner table. Sakura sat opposite her, pulling out her bento. Hinata opened her own, still dazed.
A shadow passed over the table.
Takumi stood nearby, waving casually. “Yo.”
Sakura gestured. “Sit here!”
But Takumi ignored the spot beside her and instead dropped into the chair beside Hinata, glancing at her box.
Without asking, he picked up a bite from her lunch with his chopsticks and popped it in his mouth.
“Oi!” Hinata stared.
He grinned, chewing. “Tasty.”
She furrowed her brows. “You can’t just—!”
“What?” he said with a smirk. “You always look like you’re hiding good food.”
Sakura blinked, watching the scene. Her smile didn’t fade — but it didn’t grow either.
In a blink. The surroundings change.
That night, Hinata lay on her bed in her room — soft sheets, manga posters, and a faint breeze through the window. Her sketchpad sat closed beside her.
None of this is how I wrote it, she thought.
In my manga — in my past — I never even spoke to him like this. He barely knew I existed. But now he’s sitting beside me, eating from my lunchbox.
She rolled over, eyes wide in the dark.
What is going to happen next?
CHAPTER 3
The morning sun streamed through the bedroom window, casting golden bars across the floor. Takumi stood in front of the mirror, his fingers fumbling slightly with the knot of his school tie. He tugged at the collar with mild irritation, then tried again.
“Takumi! You’re going to be late again!” his mother’s voice rang up the stairs.
“Coming!” he shouted back, grabbing his bag and flinging the door open. He skipped the last two steps, landed with a thud, caught the toast from the counter with one hand, and jogged out the door.
As he turned the corner, biting into the bread, a familiar voice called from behind.
“Wait up!”
Sakura came running, her long ponytail swinging with each step. She slowed as she caught up to him, brushing her hair behind her ears.
“You never wait.”
“You never start on time,” Takumi shot back with a smirk.
They matched pace without trying, the morning air cool and buzzing with chatter from students heading to school. But before they could finish their usual back-and-forth, Takumi’s eyes caught movement ahead.
Hinata was walking slowly, her steps uneven, one hand pressed lightly against her chest as she coughed. Her shoulders slumped. Her eyes looked glassy and tired.
Takumi’s pace slowed.
Beside him, Sakura frowned. “Hinata? Are you okay?”
Hinata blinked and tried to wave it off. “It’s just a small fever.”
Sakura reached out without hesitation, her palm pressing gently to Hinata’s forehead. Her eyes widened. “You’re burning up. You should be home!”
Hinata looked away. I didn’t write this. Why am I even sick? Why am I annoyed?
But she said, “Tomorrow’s the school festival… I had work to finish. I couldn’t skip.”
Without a word, Takumi stepped forward and grabbed her bag from her shoulder, slinging it over his own. Hinata blinked at him.
“You didn’t have to—”
He just started walking.
Sakura gently took Hinata’s hand, leading her forward. “Let’s just get through the day.”
The scene flickered.
The world shifted.
The festival had begun.
Colorful streamers fluttered between the school buildings. Stalls lined the walkways, manned by students in aprons and face paint, selling everything from yakisoba to handmade charms. The music of a student band echoed from the stage.
Hinata stood at the edge of it all, dressed in a loose white tee and a long denim skirt, her sleeves rolled halfway up. Her hair fell over her shoulders like soft ink strokes. Behind her, a group of girls chatted in low voices, their attention fixed across the crowd.
“Isn’t Takumi walking with Sakura every day now?”
“They’re definitely dating.”
Hinata’s heart tightened, the words slipping into her like threads of a truth she already knew. She spotted them a short distance ahead — Takumi and Sakura, laughing quietly near the ring toss booth.
But they live next door, she told herself. That’s why… right?
Then the dizziness hit.
The world tilted. The lights blurred. The sound faded into a long tunnel.
She felt her knees buckle.
Before she hit the ground, arms caught her.
The warmth of his chest. The rush of wind.
Takumi hoisted her onto his back and ran — through the crowd, past the stalls, until the sliding door of the nurse’s office shut behind him.
When Hinata woke, soft cotton sheets were tucked under her chin. Her head felt clearer, though her body still ached. She blinked and turned her head slightly.
Takumi was there, his head resting on the side of her bed, his hand loosely holding hers. His breathing was soft, steady.
At the door, Sakura appeared. “You’re awake,” she said gently, her smile calm.
The sound stirred Takumi. He blinked, lifted his head, and exhaled in relief. “You’re okay.”
“Why were you up all night working if you were sick?” Sakura asked, stepping closer.
Hinata looked between them, then away. “I didn’t want to let anyone down.”
Later as pages turn, they sat on a low bench in a quiet alleyway. Paper lanterns hung above their heads, swaying lightly.
Takumi was munching happily on a skewer of grilled mochi, feet swinging as he sat beside Sakura. Hinata sat across from them, sipping a warm drink.
Sakura glanced over and asked, “Feeling better?”
Hinata nodded. “Much.”
A group of Takumi’s friends passed by, spotted them, and whistled loudly.
“Yo, Takumi! Taking the ladies out for snacks?”
Takumi just waved them off, mouth full of food.
“Idiots,” he muttered.
Sakura watched them go, then turned with a smirk. “Have you heard the rumor?”
“What rumor?” Takumi asked, wiping his mouth.
“That we’re dating.”
He choked, then burst out laughing.
Sakura pouted, smacking his arm. “Why are you laughing?! It’s not that funny!”
Hinata stared at her food, stuffing a bite in her mouth.
This… never changed. Not in real life. Not in the manga.
Across the table, Takumi was still laughing, and Sakura was still sulking.
Hinata chewed slowly, trying not to feel anything.
The air shifted, the background changed and with it came midterm exams.
The classroom buzzed with tension. Pencils scratched furiously across paper. Time ticked loud and unforgiving.
When the bell rang, Takumi stretched his arms above his head and turned to Sakura.
“Take my bag. I’m heading to practice.”
“Oi!” she protested, catching it as he tossed it over her shoulder.
Hinata stood beside her, expression unreadable.
“Thanks, ladies!” he called out, waving as he ran off down the hallway.
As they walked down the corridor together, Sakura glanced sideways.
“Hey, Hinata… do you believe that rumor?”
Hinata blinked. “What rumor?”
Sakura looked straight ahead. “The one about me and Takumi. Do you think… he likes me?”
Hinata froze for a second. Then forced a soft laugh. “I don’t know.”
But inside, her thoughts whispered:
Of course, he does. He always has. In the past. In the manga. In this world too.
CHAPTER 4
The canteen was bursting with the usual midday noise — trays clattering, laughter, and the occasional shouted name from across the hall. Amid the chatter and crowded tables, Hinata sat alone, her lunchbox open in front of her.
She stirred the contents with her chopsticks, not hungry, not even trying to pretend.
Out on the school ground, Takumi was mid-play, sweat on his brow, his gym shirt clinging to his back. His teammates passed the ball around, their cheers echoing across the field.
“Oi, Takumi! Pass!”
But before he could respond, a boy sprinted across the grass, breathless. “There’s a fight — in the canteen! Girls are screaming, it’s chaos!”
Everyone paused.
Takumi stared for a beat, then returned his gaze to the ball. He kicked it lazily toward a teammate.
Then, as if something tugged inside him, he murmured, “Hinata…”
Without a word, he turned and ran — cutting through the hallway, still in gym clothes, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum.
The crowd in the canteen had thickened, heads turning toward a corner table. Voices were sharp, spat like venom.
“…just desperate for attention.”
“She’s only visible because he noticed her.”
“Trying to be something she’s not.”
Takumi’s hand reached through the circle of students. Without hesitation, he grabbed Hinata’s wrist and pulled her from the crowd. The voices dimmed behind them. He didn’t stop until they reached the corridor outside, quiet except for their breathing.
She didn’t resist. But she wouldn’t meet his eyes either.
“What was that about?” he asked, voice low.
Hinata shook her head. “Nothing. Everything they said is true.”
He frowned.
“I’m just… here. I show up to class, I breathe, and sometimes that’s enough for people to hate you. Just because you — the school heartthrob — show pity to a nerd, it doesn’t mean I become pretty. Or your friend. Or anything.”
She still didn’t look at him. Her voice cracked. “It’s not your fault. But this isn’t anything.”
Then she turned and walked away, her head bowed, her voice brittle.
The world flickered.
Panels shifted.
One night, she stood in front of her mirror, brushing her hair out of her face. She held a dress against herself — something soft, maybe too soft. She shifted to the side, tried to see herself from another angle.
Then she froze.
The mirror didn’t lie.
She tossed the dress onto the floor and collapsed face-first into her bed, her pillow catching the quiet sob that escaped. Her fingers gripped the covers tightly.
Why does this repeat? Why can’t I stop it?
Sleep found her with tears still on her cheeks.
The scene turned again.
A class trip — the streets of Tokyo under an overcast sky. Old shops lined the road like ghosts of another time. The scent of street food mixed with cool spring air. Students buzzed in groups, snapping photos, laughing too loud.
Hinata walked alone, a small sling bag resting across her shoulder. Her steps were slow, measured, her eyes drinking in the past-like charm of the neighborhood.
“Takumi-kun!” Sakura’s voice called.
He turned, walking with his usual crew. He told them to go ahead and waited.
“What’s going on with Hinata?” Sakura asked, hands in her jacket pockets. “She’s been avoiding us.”
Takumi’s expression was unreadable. “I don’t know.”
Students giggled from nearby, whispering just loud enough: “He’s standing with Sakura again.”
“Are they dating?”
From a distance, Hinata turned the corner and caught sight of them. Her eyes locked with Takumi’s — just for a heartbeat — before she quickly looked away and walked on.
Later, high above the city, the group gathered on the observation deck of Tokyo Tower. It stretched endlessly below them — streets and buildings like tiles in a memory.
Hinata stood near the railing, arms resting on the red bars, eyes wide with quiet awe.
So many lives, she thought. So many stories. Mine’s just... smudged.
She turned — and bumped hard into someone.
“Sorry—” she began, stepping back.
But a hand gently caught hers.
She looked up.
Takumi.
All around, students began to turn, whispers rising.
But he didn’t move.
He pulled her closer, gently, until her forehead rested against his chest. His arms wrapped around her. Firm. Steady. Real.
Gasps spread like wildfire.
Across the room, Sakura stood by the railing. She smiled — soft and warm, her eyes shining not with jealousy, but something else.
Hinata was frozen.
Then Takumi whispered, low enough that only she could hear:
“I don’t want any misunderstandings between us.”
She looked up, stunned.
“I’ve always liked you. From the beginning. Before any of this.”
He glanced away, then met her gaze again, this time with everything laid bare.
“You’re calm. Like early morning sunlight. Like the first page of a book. You don’t chase people. You let them come to you.”
His voice trembled slightly. “Even before Sakura came, I noticed. The way you stared at your notes, or how your handwriting changes when you’re nervous… You were always there. I just wasn’t brave enough to say it.”
She stared; her breath caught in her throat.
Then came the final words, heavy with meaning:
“I like you, Yuna.”
CHAPTER 5
Takumi sat on the edge of his bed, fingers loosely interlaced, elbows resting on his knees. The moonlight from sky slipped through the blinds, casting quiet lines across the floor.
His mind wasn’t quiet.
She didn’t say anything. Just ran. Like it wasn’t real.
Was it too much? Or… did I break something by calling her Yuna.
I should have called her Hinata?
Across the city, under the fading stars, Hinata paced her room, barefoot on the wooden floor. She hadn’t slept. Her thoughts came in tangled loops.
Yuna. He said Yuna.
No one here knows my real name.
She dropped down at the edge of her bed, knees to her chest.
What is happening?
The world shimmered.
She blinked — and this time, her eyelids were heavy, the way they are when waking.
A buzzing sound — her phone ringing.
She squinted at the screen, barely reading it, and answered out of habit.
“Woke up?”
That voice.
Familiar.
She sat up straighter. The studio light was dim. Her desk — scattered with ink pens, coffee-stained napkins, sketch drafts — she left it.
The phone dropped from her hand.
She was back.
Her real world.
The dream was over.
She hung up silently and sat in stillness.
After locking the studio, she walked the familiar streets of Tokyo. The early morning air was crisp. Her apartment felt colder than usual.
She took a quick shower, tied her hair into a messy bun, and changed into a tee and shorts. Just as she reached for her coffee mug, the doorbell rang.
She opened the door.
And froze.
Standing there was Ren — same eyes, same quiet grin. Holding a bag, he stepped in casually.
“Why did you hang up on me?” he asked, walking in like he always belonged.
“Ren?” she whispered, not trusting her own voice.
He smiled. “Yes. And I brought breakfast. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
She stared.
He placed the food on her table, pulled out two chairs, and gently took her hand, guiding her to sit.
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t even know if she was awake.
They ate in silence, but not tension. Just… confusion on her side. Familiarity on his.
“I’ll drop you to your studio,” he said, brushing the crumbs from his lap.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
She gave up fighting it. She just wanted to understand.
The car ride was quiet. He hummed softly to a song on the radio. Her eyes never left his face.
They reached the studio.
He followed her in.
She sat in front of her drawing table. The final panel of her manga stared back at her — the confession, the Tokyo Tower, the moment he said her name.
Yuna.
Ren leaned on the desk beside her, watching her.
“You know,” he said finally, “it was really hard. Just to get you to see me.”
She turned, startled.
“What do you mean?”
He gave her a soft, unsure smile. “You don’t remember, do you?”
“Remember what?”
He looked away. “The manga wasn’t just your dream. It was mine too.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I came into the manga too. As Takumi. It wasn’t just your story. It became our world.”
She shook her head, not out of disbelief, but because it all started to make sense.
“In school,” he continued, “I was always there. Watching. Waiting. You were always drawing. Always inside your own world. And I… I wasn’t part of it.”
His voice caught slightly. “But in that story, I got to be someone. I got to stand beside you. Talk to you. Protect you. Laugh with you.”
His eyes met hers — soft, burning with something old and new all at once.
“It was like I finally got a chance to be noticed in your eyes.”
She said nothing for a moment. Then whispered, “Thanks to Sakura.”
He smiled. “Yeah. Thanks to her. She was perfect, you know? Pretty, confident, the one people said I belonged with.”
Yuna turned toward him, finally able to speak. “Her name in real life was Mei.”
He nodded.
“We were never dating,” he added quickly. “That was just talk. People see what they want. But I… I only ever looked at you.”
Tears gathered quietly in her eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“You never looked up from your sketches,” he said with a grin, brushing a loose hair from her forehead.
A moment passed.
Then she said softly, “I’m looking now.”
Outside, the world kept moving. But inside, it was still.
Yuna looked at Ren.
Ren looked at her.
And they smiled.
Nothing more needed to be said.
They had found each other.
And this time, it ended in peace.
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