Chapter 4 : Standing on a Thin Thread
In the corner of the classroom, with the questionnaire still clutched in my hand, I found something that felt like the truth, or at least something too big to ignore.
“Hanabira Academy.”
The name didn't change even though I stared at it for a long time. The letters remained in place, neatly printed in black ink, as if indifferent to the chaos in my head. My chest pulsed faintly beneath the bandage, not because of the usual heat, but because of another pressure that was harder to explain.
Was Natsume Koharu there?
The question popped into my head without warning. Then, like a door that opened too quickly, other questions followed.
What if I never existed in that story?
I swallowed hard. My throat felt dry.
If this world truly followed the plot of the novel I read, even if only partially, then where was my place? I never heard the name Natsume Koharu in the early pages of that novel. Not once. There was only Kazehaya Kaito, his new school, and the first meetings that felt light and... normal.
Does that mean I was never included? That my existence here is just something outside the script? Does Natsume Koharu not exist?
Or maybe I appear later. The novel is long, at least judging by the number of chapters. I never read it to the end. I stopped at the beginning, before the story really got going. Before Kaito met all the girls on the cover. Even before the minor conflicts began.
I don't know.
And that ignorance felt like a hole slowly widening beneath my feet.
If Kazehaya Kaito really existed.
If Hanabira Academy really existed.
If the story went on without me—
Then what was I?
“Natsume-san?”
I jolted awake.
“Wahhh—!”
My scream burst out, too loud for the classroom that had been filled with the sound of paper and whispers. Several heads turned immediately.
“Ah—you startled me,” my homeroom teacher's voice sounded, slightly surprised. Her hand was still on my shoulder; apparently she was the one who touched me just now. “What's wrong, Natsume-san? Why did you suddenly scream?”
“I'm... sorry,” I said quickly. My voice sounded higher than usual.
“What's wrong with her? Suddenly shouting.”
“Maybe her black dragon woke up again, hahaha.”
A few small laughs were heard. I lowered my head, my fingers clenching the edge of the questionnaire until the paper crumpled.
I was too focused. So focused that I didn't notice my homeroom teacher standing behind me and calling my name several times.
“It's okay, it's okay,” said my homeroom teacher, lifting her hand from my shoulder.
“Don't bother her.”
She looked at me for a moment, then continued in a softer tone, “Well, Natsume-san. Why do you look so... tense?”
I hesitated. The words I wanted to say felt strange even in my own head.
“I...” I took a short breath. “Hanabira. Hanabira Academy... does it really exist?”
The room was silent for a moment. Then a few whispers emerged, mixed with small, stifled laughter.
“What do you mean?” my homeroom teacher frowned, not angrily, but more in confusion. “Of course it exists. Why would you think that school doesn't exist?”
She paused for a moment, then added, “It's a very famous elite school, in my opinion. Many of its students go on to prestigious universities. Why? Are you interested in going there?”
I nodded. The movement was small, almost imperceptible, but I knew I did it.
“Look, she wants to go to Hanabira.”
“There's no way she can get in, she's one of the dumbest in the class.”
“Oh yeah, that's true. Ahahaha.”
My head drooped even lower. Those words didn't surprise me, but they still felt like additional pressure on my chest.
My homeroom teacher sighed and looked around the class. “Stop it. Fill out your questionnaires. It's good to have a goal. Don't make fun of her.”
“Okay,” someone replied lazily.
She turned back to me. “It's just a preliminary survey. Don't worry too much about it. Just fill it out first.”
“Okay,” I replied softly.
My hand moved slowly, writing the answers carefully. Each stroke felt like an irreversible decision.
If this world is indeed part of the novel's story, then Hanabira might be the only clue that can prove it. Maybe there really is a way to return to my world.
And if I'm wrong, at least I'm wrong for trying.
My homeroom teacher glanced at me from the side before walking away. Her gaze wasn't accusatory, but it wasn't certain either.
*
After that day, not much changed. Before I knew it, a week had passed.
My days followed almost the same pattern. I went to school. I sat down. I listened to the lessons without really absorbing everything. I took my medicine in the bathroom during break time. I returned to class and closed my eyes, pretending to sleep until the bell rang again.
I hadn't gone to the cafeteria since then.
I knew what would happen if I tried. The smell, the taste, and the pressure were still too close in my memory. I didn't want to feel that again.
Sometimes, Nishimura and her friends came to bother me.
But today was a little different.
When the second class ended and there was a break between classes, a student from another class came to the door and called my name.
“Natsume Koharu-san. You're wanted in the counseling room.”
That voice made the whole class turn their heads.
My chest tightened.
The counseling room.
I stood up stiffly and left the classroom under stares that felt heavier than usual. The school hallway felt long. My footsteps sounded loud.
The counseling room was located at the end of a quieter corridor. The wooden door was closed tightly.
I paused for a moment before knocking, calming my breathing.
“Come in,” a voice called from inside.
As I slowly opened the door, the cold air from the room's air conditioner immediately touched my skin. It was different from the hallway outside.
Inside the room, the school counselor sat behind a desk, with several folders neatly arranged beside him. His face was neutral, professional. He glanced at me, then smiled slightly.
“Natsume-san, right?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Please have a seat.”
I sat down in the chair in front of him, my back stiff. My hands rested on my lap, clenched together. The temperature of the room made my body tense up without me realizing it.
“I received a report from your homeroom teacher,” he said as he opened one of the folders. “She said that you looked quite serious when filling out the high school destination questionnaire. Specifically, about Hanabira Academy.”
“Uh... yes.”
He nodded slowly. “It's a good school. Quite a few students are interested in going there.”
I waited. There was a short pause before he continued.
“However,” he said, his voice remaining calm, “based on the records we have, your current grades are quite... challenging.”
The word sounded softer than I expected, but its meaning was clear.
“If things stay this way,” he continued, “it will be difficult for you to compete. Especially in some of the core subjects.”
I looked down. My fingertips felt cold.
If I didn't improve, I wouldn't have a chance.
He didn't say those words, but I heard them clearly.
My body began to tremble. I tried to speak, but my voice caught in my throat.
“I... I,” I gasped. “If I improve my grades... is it possible?”
He didn't answer right away. He looked at me for a moment, assessing something I couldn't see.
“Technically,” he said finally, “it's possible.”
The word felt like fresh air rushing in too fast.
“However,” he continued, “it requires consistent effort. And time. If you're really considering it, you should start focusing on improving your grades from now on.”
I nodded quickly.
“I will... I will try.”
He wrote something down on the paper in front of him. Then, in a more cautious tone, he asked, “Are there any particular obstacles you're facing? For example, the learning environment at home?”
The question made my chest tighten again.
“I...” My words stopped. “I just...”
He didn't force me to continue.
“If there's anything that makes it difficult for you to study,” he said softly, “you can talk about it here. We're here to help.”
I swallowed.
The word “help” sounded too big. Too warm for something I didn't know how to explain. My chest felt a little tight.
My hands moved slightly on my lap, squeezing the hem of my uniform.
I didn't speak right away.
A few seconds passed in silence, until I finally opened my mouth with a voice smaller than I had planned.
“If... someone doesn't have many options,” I said slowly, as if choosing my footing on fragile ground, “is there... any help?”
He raised his gaze. Not surprised, but more like realizing the new direction of the conversation.
“What do you mean?”
I took a short breath.
“A scholarship,” I said finally. “If... the grades are high enough.”
The room fell silent again. I could hear the clock ticking softly.
The guidance counselor didn’t answer right away. He leaned back slightly in his chair, then said in a calm tone, “There are several avenues of help, yes. But usually that’s not something decided at the beginning.”
He paused for a moment, making sure I was still listening.
“Usually we look at academic consistency first. Is there any real improvement? From there, we can consider the next steps.”
I nodded, even though my head felt increasingly full.
“So,” he continued, this time more gently, “it’s better for you to focus on one thing first. Improving your grades. The rest can follow.”
I nodded again. It was a reflexive movement.
“We can also contact your guardian,” he said, glancing at the notes in front of him. “To discuss future plans more thoroughly.”
“Don’t,” I said too quickly.
The word slipped out before I could stop it.
He blinked, slightly surprised. “Why?”
I lowered my gaze. The words felt heavy on my tongue.
“She’s… very busy,” I replied softly. “I can… I can tell her myself later.”
He didn’t respond immediately. His gaze lingered on me for a few seconds longer than before, as if weighing whether to ask further.
But eventually, he nodded.
“Alright,” he said briefly. “Then we’ll start from here.” He closed the folder in front of him.
“Keep going. Don’t lose motivation.”
I stood up and gave a small bow.
“Thank you.”
As I left the counseling room, the school hallway felt quieter than before.
My footsteps echoed softly, and my head was filled with Hanabira, that story, and myself.
If I took a wrong step, I didn’t know what would be left for me.
Was it possible for me to return to my original world?
Or at least, to understand why I was here.
I walked back to the classroom with one thought looping endlessly in my mind.
This might be the only path.
And I didn’t want to know what would happen if I failed.
*
At first, I only sat and stared at the books I borrowed from the library.
My eyes moved from page to page, but my mind didn’t feel like it was moving at all. Even with the help of Akio’s memories, I could understand the content and knew what was written. Yet every time I closed the book, I had no idea where to continue.
For almost a month, I studied like that.
I opened a different book each day, trying to recall what I had learned, trying to arrange things on my own. But everything felt chaotic. There was too much to catch up on, and I couldn’t tell what was truly important.
In the end, I realized one thing that made my chest feel heavy.
I didn’t know where to start.
That realization made me restless. If I kept going like this, nothing would change. I couldn’t expect to enter Hanabira Academy just by reading without direction.
*
Eventually, I gathered the courage to ask my homeroom teacher.
After class ended, I caught up to my homeroom teacher as she was about to leave the classroom.
“Sensei,” I called from behind, a little louder than I intended.
She stopped and turned around, looking surprised.
“Eh? What is it, Natsume-san?”
“I want to ask something,” I said. My hands clenched without me noticing. “About… what I need to study to get into Hanabira Academy.”
Her expression changed.
She looked at me for a few seconds, as if deciding whether I was serious.
“…I didn’t expect you to ask that,” she said at last. “I’m glad you’re trying.”
She didn’t answer my question right away. Instead, she told me to follow her to the staff room.
*
The atmosphere in the staff room felt different from the classroom.
Several teachers sat at their desks. Some were reading papers, others were speaking quietly with colleagues. The sound of pens scratching against paper was clearly audible. When I entered, a few pairs of eyes glanced in my direction before returning to their work.
My homeroom teacher sat down and pointed to the chair in front of her.
“Sit.”
I sat down with my back stiff. My hands rested on my lap, fingers clenched together.
“So,” she said while opening a small notebook, “you want to ask about what you need to study to enter Hanabira Academy.”
“Yes,” I replied softly.
She didn’t speak right away. Her eyes moved to the book I was carrying, then to my hands, then back to my face.
“Have you started studying?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“About… a month,” I answered after thinking for a moment.
She nodded slowly and wrote something down.
“How do you study?”
That question made me pause.
“I read textbooks,” I said. “I try to review what has already been taught. But… I don’t know which part I should start with.”
She stopped writing.
“Do you understand the content?”
“Yes. But it feels like it’s not connected.”
She looked at me longer this time and flipped through several pages of her notes.
“Your grades aren’t high yet,” she said.
She paused for a moment, staring at the numbers longer than before.
“…but some parts are not quite the same as before.”
I was surprised and unconsciously raised my head.
“Some of your daily tests are a little better than before,” she continued. “Not drastically, but it’s noticeable. You also submit your assignments on time more often.”
I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t expect her to notice that much.
“That’s why I’m a little surprised,” she said honestly.
“You never talk much in class, but suddenly you asked about Hanabira.”
She closed her notebook.
“I can’t say it’s easy,” she said. “Hanabira isn’t a school you can get into without preparation. But if you really want to go there, we need to know where you stand right now.”
She began to ask me questions one by one.
Which subjects made me want to stop studying the most.
Which parts felt the most difficult.
Whether I had trouble memorizing, understanding, or even starting.
I answered everything as honestly as possible. Sometimes my answers were cut off mid-sentence, sometimes they were too short, but she didn’t interrupt me.
After that, she began to explain.
She mentioned the core subjects I needed to strengthen. She gave me an order, not a long list. She told me which ones I should leave for now and which ones I should hold on to.
“I didn’t expect you to get this far,” she said in the middle of her explanation. “To be honest, I thought you were just filling out the questionnaire. I think it was a good thing that I told the guidance counselor back then.”
My chest tightened when I heard that.
“But now,” she continued, “I can see that you’re taking it seriously.”
I looked down.
After the explanation ended, I took a breath and spoke.
“Thank you, Sensei.”
She nodded, then her gaze dropped to the bandage.
Her look wasn’t sharp, nor was it hurried.
“Natsume-san,” she said, her tone more careful now.
“Is your body still hurting?”
I didn’t answer right away.
“It’s been almost two months since you returned to school,” she continued. “But you’re still wearing a bandage.”
I stayed silent.
I lowered my head for a moment.
“My Black Dragon Fire Seal isn’t completely stable yet,” I said. “That’s why I still have to wear a bandage.”
“……”
My homeroom teacher fell silent.
She looked at me for a few seconds, then shifted her gaze to the desk. Her lips parted slightly, then closed again, as if weighing what to say.
“I just want to make sure you’re not wearing the bandage because you’re injured, right?”
I shook my head.
“…I see,” she said. There was no surprise in her voice, and no mockery either.
She nodded slightly, as if placing me into something familiar.
She leaned back in her chair.
“Natsume-san, sometimes people your age have their own ways of explaining things that feel uncomfortable in their body or mind.”
She didn’t look at me directly as she continued, only crossing her arms and nodding lightly.
“Things like that usually fade on their own, with time.”
“As long as it doesn’t interfere with your studies and you can still learn, I think it’s fine,” she said, as if reaching a safe conclusion.
She stood up and straightened the papers on her desk.
“If you feel dizzy or tired, just tell me. Don’t push yourself,” she said with a faint smile.
“For now, just focus on studying, alright?”
I only nodded.
*
Little by little, the results of my studying began to show.
Some of my daily test scores were better than before. Not high. Not outstanding. But enough to make the numbers move upward, even if only by a few points. Teachers began returning my test papers with slightly longer pauses, as if confirming that the name written in the upper corner truly belonged to me.
I tried to keep them neatly stored.
I never threw them away right away.
Several months passed like that before I realized something I could no longer delay.
I couldn’t hide this forever.
If I wanted to enter Hanabira Academy, I had to tell her.
I chose a time when she came home earlier than usual on a Friday.
My mother was sitting in the living room, playing with her phone while the television stayed on without really being watched. I stood a few steps away from her, too far to speak quietly, too close to retreat without being noticed.
My head felt hot, even though the medicine I had taken a few hours earlier should still have been working.
“Mom,” I called softly.
She didn’t turn around right away.
I waited. A few seconds felt long. When she finally glanced in my direction, her gaze was flat neither questioning nor curious. Just waiting.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
I tried again.
“I... have started studying more seriously.”
She remained silent.
I looked down. The words I had thought about over and over suddenly felt very difficult to say all at once.
“There’s a school...” I said slowly. “That I want to go to.”
Her gaze changed. Just a little, but enough to make my stomach tighten.
“What school?”
Her tone was flat. It wasn’t a question, more like an order.
I took a short breath.
“Hanabira Academy.”
Silence.
The television was still on, but the sound seemed to fade away. I could hear my own heartbeat, too loud in my ears.
Her gaze wasn’t angry. It was calm. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she was weighing something she didn’t like.
“Hanabira?” she repeated softly.
I nodded slightly. My hands were shaking, but I forced them to stay on the floor.
“That’s an expensive school. I’ve heard of it,” she said.
“It’s not a school you can mention casually.”
I opened my mouth to explain, but she raised her hand slightly. A small gesture, but enough to silence me.
“When did you start thinking about it?” she asked.
I hesitated for a few seconds.
“A few months ago,” I finally replied.
She laughed briefly. It wasn’t a happy laugh.
“A few months,” she repeated. “And you’re only telling me now.”
She stood up slowly. Her movements weren’t hurried, but that was exactly what made my chest tighten.
“So all this time,” she said, stepping closer, “you’ve been studying quietly. Keeping your grades to yourself. Managing everything on your own.”
I immediately bowed lower.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I was afraid. But I tried—”
“Afraid?” her voice cut me off.
Her tone rose slightly. Not yelling, but sharp.
“Afraid of me?” she asked. “Or afraid I wouldn’t allow it?”
I couldn’t answer.
“It’s the same thing,” she said coldly. “It means you don’t trust me.”
The words fell heavily.
Her hands clenched.
“You think you can decide something this big on your own?” she continued. “Using my house, my money, that medicine—”
Her foot moved.
The kick came suddenly, hitting my body before I could react. I fell to the side, the breath knocked out of me.
“You stupid girl,” she said, her voice now truly angry. “Is this how you repay everything I’ve done for you?”
I tried to return to a kneeling position, even as my vision began to blur. I grabbed her leg, begging.
“I just want to—”
The next kick hit my face. Pain exploded in my left eye. My vision blurred instantly, as if the world had tilted. I gasped, but my mouth kept moving.
“Please,” I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.
“Hanabira... I’ll study. I’ll—”
My breath caught.
“Please. Let me. Just Hanabira.”
Her anger didn’t continue immediately.
After that last kick, she stood still. Her breathing was heavy, but her face flattened again, as if something inside her had settled into a decision.
She looked down at me.
“Hanabira,” she said softly, repeating the name as if weighing it.
“Do you know how much money a school like that costs?”
I didn’t answer. I stayed bowed, enduring the throbbing pain in my left eye.
“You think I’ll just let you in?” she continued. “Without any guarantees?”
I shook my head slightly.
“I... I’ll try,” I said quickly. “I’ll study harder. My grades are starting to improve. I—”
She raised her hand. I immediately fell silent.
“Trying is cheap,” she said. “Anyone can say that.”
She walked to the table and opened the drawer, taking out the medicine bottle inside. The small bottle rattled softly in her hand.
“This,” she said, turning the bottle slowly, “is not something you’re supposed to get easily.”
She paused.
“I’ve kept giving it to you because you obeyed me and didn’t defy me,” she continued. “Because you knew your place.”
Her gaze fell on me.
“But now you’re hiding things from me,” she said flatly.
“In that case, the rules need to change.”
My chest tightened.
“Every grade you get,” she continued, “I’ll see it. Not just major exams. Daily quizzes. Assignments. Rankings.”
She paused, then looked at me again.
“If I see you stop improving,” she said, “I’ll stop this.”
The bottle lifted slightly in her hand.
I understood without explanation.
“And one more thing,” she said. “I won’t pay for everything.”
She placed the bottle on the table with a soft sound.
“If you want Hanabira, you’ll earn a scholarship. Partial or full. I don’t care how.”
I nodded quickly, even though my eye still throbbed.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll get it.”
She stared at me for a few seconds, then laughed briefly.
“Think of this as an investment,” she said. “If you succeed, I profit. If you fail—”
She didn’t finish the sentence.
I bowed even lower.
“I understand,” I said softly.
She turned away.
“Go back to your room,” she said curtly. “And don’t make me regret giving you this chance.”
I stood up, my body still trembling. My left eye was blurred, my steps unsteady, but I walked away without looking back.
Behind me, the television continued playing softly, as if nothing had happened.
