There's nothing special about being invisible.
I've been doing it for three years now—sitting in the back corner of the classroom, eating lunch on the roof, walking home alone while everyone else clusters into their friend groups. It's not that I'm bullied or hated. I'm just... not noticed. And honestly? That's fine with me.
Less complicated that way.
"Yuuki, stop spacing out and pass these back."
I blink. Yamada's holding out a stack of worksheets, looking mildly annoyed. He's not a friend exactly, but he sits next to me, so we have that weird proximity-based acquaintance thing going on.
"Yeah, sorry."
I take the papers and pass them to the empty desk behind me. The classroom buzzes with the usual noise—conversations about weekend plans, complaints about the upcoming exams, someone's phone buzzing with notifications they're trying to hide from Sensei.
March 14th. Just another Thursday. Two months until graduation, then I'm free.
My gaze drifts, like it always does, to the cluster of desks by the windows where the sun hits just right. That's where the "popular" kids sit—the ones who seem to glide through high school like they're in a different reality than the rest of us.
Akari Mori is laughing at something her friend said. Her voice carries across the room, bright and clear. She's always like that—the center of attention without even trying. Student council member, top of the class, the kind of person teachers love and students gravitate toward.
We've been in the same class for two years. We've never spoken.
Why would we? We exist in completely different worlds.
She glances up, and for a fraction of a second, her eyes sweep past me. Through me, really. Then back to her friends, the moment already forgotten.
Yeah. Invisible.
Lunch is curry bread from the convenience store and a carton of milk, eaten alone on the roof while I read manga on my phone. The spring air is warm, cherry blossoms drifting past like snow. It's actually kind of nice up here—quiet, away from the cafeteria chaos.
My phone buzzes. A message from Mom.
Mom: Working late tonight. Leftovers in the fridge. Love you.
Me: Okay...
Standard. Dad's always traveling for work, Mom pulls long shifts at the hospital. I'm used to it. The apartment is mine most evenings—quiet, solitary, exactly how I like it.
Or how I've convinced myself I like it.
I finish my bread and lean back against the fence, closing my eyes. The sun is warm on my face. Somewhere below, I can hear voices, laughter, the sounds of people living lives more interesting than mine.
Two more months.
Then maybe things will be different. College, new city, fresh start. Maybe I'll actually talk to people. Make friends. Be someone other than "that quiet kid in the back."
Maybe.
The rest of the day passes in the usual blur. History class (boring), math (confusing), literature (tolerable). I take notes, answer when called on, exist in the background static of classroom life.
When the final bell rings, I pack up slowly, waiting for the initial rush to clear out. No point fighting the crowd. I've got nowhere to be.
The hallway is chaos—students flooding toward club activities, toward the station, toward wherever people with actual social lives go. I slip through them like a ghost, unnoticed, unremarkable.
Outside, the sky is starting to turn orange. The walk home takes about twenty minutes if I go the main road, fifteen if I cut through the side streets. I usually take the side streets—fewer people.
I'm halfway home, passing by the small park near the shopping district, when I hear it.
A voice. Her voice.
"—can't believe Sensei assigned that much homework on a Thursday!"
I glance over. Akari Mori is walking with two of her friends, all three of them in animated conversation. They're on the other side of the street, heading the same direction I am but completely in their own world.
I look away. Not my business.
But then her friends peel off at the next intersection, waving goodbye, and suddenly Akari is alone on the sidewalk, scrolling through her phone as she walks.
Still not my business.
I'm about ten meters behind her, keeping my distance, when I notice the car.
It's coming too fast for a residential street—way too fast. The driver's looking down, probably at their phone, not paying attention. And there's a sharp curve ahead, right where Akari is about to cross at the crosswalk.
My brain does the math in half a second.
The car isn't slowing down. The driver hasn't seen her. She's not looking up from her phone. She's stepping into the crosswalk.
Everything goes quiet.
Not literally—there's still noise, traffic, wind—but in my head, everything narrows down to a single point: she's going to die.
I don't think.
My legs move before my brain catches up. I'm running, sprinting, my backpack bouncing against my shoulders. The distance closes—ten meters, five, three—
"MOVE!"
I slam into her from the side, arms wrapping around her waist, throwing both of us out of the crosswalk. We hit the sidewalk hard, rolling, and I hear her gasp of shock—
And then I hear the car.
Not the engine. Not the tires.
The impact.
Pain.
That's all there is at first. Pain so total, so consuming, that it erases everything else. My body doesn't feel like my body anymore—it feels like something shattered, broken, wrong in ways that shouldn't be possible.
I'm on the ground. The pavement is rough against my cheek. There's a ringing in my ears, high-pitched and constant.
Someone is screaming.
"Oh my god—someone call an ambulance! CALL AN AMBULANCE!"
"—not moving, he's not moving—"
"—so much blood—"
Hands on my shoulder, gentle, shaking. A voice, closer now, panicked and breathless.
"Hey—hey, can you hear me? Please, please be okay—"
I try to turn my head. My body doesn't respond right. Everything is sluggish, disconnected. But I manage, somehow, to shift just enough to see her.
Akari Mori is kneeling beside me, her face pale, her hands hovering over me like she wants to help but doesn't know how. Her eyes are wide, terrified. There are tears streaming down her cheeks.
"You—you saved me," she whispers. "Why did you—I don't even know you—"
I want to answer. Want to say something profound, something meaningful. But all that comes out is a wet cough, and I taste copper.
"Don't talk!" She grabs my hand, squeezes it desperately. Her hand is warm. Shaking. "Just—just hold on, okay? Help is coming. You're going to be fine. You have to be fine."
I'm not going to be fine.
I know that. Somewhere beneath the pain, beneath the shock, I know. My body is shutting down. I can feel it—the cold creeping in from my fingers and toes, the way my vision is narrowing at the edges.
But her hand is warm.
And she's looking at me—really looking at me—for the first time ever.
"What's your name?" she asks, her voice breaking. "Please, tell me your name."
"Yuuki," I manage. It comes out as barely a whisper. "Tanaka... Yuuki."
"Yuuki." She says it like a prayer. "Okay. Okay, Yuuki, just—just stay with me, okay? Don't close your eyes. Please don't close your eyes."
But they're so heavy.
Everything is heavy.
The ringing in my ears is getting louder, drowning out the sirens, the voices, everything except her.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, though I'm not sure why. Sorry for dying? Sorry for bleeding on the sidewalk? Sorry that she has to watch this?
"Don't—" Her voice cracks. "Don't apologize. You saved my life. You—"
But I don't hear the rest.
The darkness is patient. It doesn't rush. It just slowly, gently, pulls me under.
The last thing I feel is her hand in mine.
The last thing I think is: At least she's okay.
And then—
Nothing.
Not nothing.
Something.
Awareness, but wrong. Distorted. Like trying to see through frosted glass.
Am I dead?
Is this what death feels like?
There's no pain anymore. No body. Just... drifting. Floating in space that isn't space, time that isn't time.
And then—a pull. Sharp and sudden, like a fish hook in my chest, yanking me back toward—
I wake up gasping.
My hands fly to my chest, searching for the damage that should be there. Broken ribs. Collapsed lung. The feeling of my body being wrong.
Nothing.
I'm in my bed. My room. The morning light streams through the window, painting everything in soft gold.
My alarm is beeping.
6:30 AM.
I stare at the ceiling, my heart pounding so hard it hurts. What the hell was that? A dream? A nightmare? It felt so real—the pain, the blood, Akari's voice—
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
A message from Mom.
Mom: Working late tonight. Leftovers in the fridge. Love you.
I stare at the message.
That's... the same message. From yesterday. Word for word.
My hands are shaking as I check the date.
March 14th.
But that's—that's impossible. It was March 14th yesterday. I went to school, came home, walked past the park, saved Akari from the car, died on the pavement—
Died.
I died.
Didn't I?
I throw off the covers, stumbling to the mirror. My reflection stares back—pale, wide-eyed, but whole. No injuries. No blood. Just me, Tanaka Yuuki, very much alive on the morning of March 14th.
A day I already lived.
A day that ended with me dying.
"What the hell..." I whisper to my reflection.
My reflection doesn't answer.
But deep in my gut, in some primal part of my brain that knows things the conscious mind doesn't, I understand:
Something is very, very wrong.