"Tell Ayaka-san the chocolate chip ones are burned on the bottom," Renjiro says, his voice a flat monotone. "I smelled them by the ovens earlier. They probably taste like ash. The sugar cookies are the only safe bet."
Mako blinks down at him. "Really?"
In truth, he did not smell anything. He just knows Ayaka hates bitter food.
"Yes. Go tell her. Quickly."
Mako jumps up, her ponytail whipping around. "You're always a lifesaver, Renji!"
She runs back down the stairs, her footsteps fading away. Silence returns to the stairwell.
Renjiro finally reaches up, cracks the tab on the canned coffee, and takes a sip.
He solves a mystery, not to win, but to stop the noise. Mako acts as his filter to the world, bringing the problems right to his feet so he can squash them before they ruin his day.
---
Then comes the graduation ceremony.
Spring arrives with an annoying burst of heat. Pink cherry blossoms drift through the warm air, sticking to the freshly swept walkways
Parents crowd the main courtyard, holding cameras and dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs. The noise is a chaotic wall of overlapping chatter, laughter, and fake crying.
Renjiro hates it.
He slips away the moment the principal finishes his overly long, boring speech. Walking through the gaps in the crowd, he moves with a heavy, rhythmic drag. His shoulders slouch. His eyes stay half-closed. He looks completely detached from the emotional weight of the day, wandering off like a ghost looking for a graveyard.
He finds his spot.
Behind the old athletic storage shed, a patch of overgrown grass borders the outer brick wall of the school grounds. Nobody comes back here. The shadows are long and cool.
Renjiro collapses against the corrugated metal siding of the shed. He slides down until his pants hit the dirt. A long, slow breath escapes his lips.
Finally.
He reaches into the inner pocket of his uniform jacket. His fingers brush against a thick, premium-quality envelope. He pulls it out, staring at the wax seal and the bold, official print on the front.
He received this recommendation letter a month ago. He researched the place immediately. It is an elite, government-funded institution.
It boasts a one hundred percent employment and college entry rate. But Renjiro does not care about his future career. He cares about the fine print on page four of the brochure:
Students are required to live in dormitories on the school premises. Contact with the outside world is strictly forbidden for three years.
An isolated school. An island of concrete and rules where nobody from his past can reach him.
Better yet, the school provides a monthly allowance so parents do not need to send money for support.
Renjiro runs the math in his head.
He can buy the most expensive, ergonomic, memory-foam pillows on the market. He can order premium delivery food straight to his dorm room every night. He will never have to cook, clean, or carry groceries again. He can spend three entire years lying perfectly still in a climate-controlled room, funded entirely by the government.
And the absolute best part?
Mako can never follow him there. Only those with a letter of recommendation can enter.
A small, isolated school where Mako is not there. That sounds exactly like silence.
Renjiro stares at the envelope. The corners of his mouth twitch. The muscles in his face feel strange, stretching in a way they haven't in years.
He is smiling.
A genuine smile breaks across his face. He actually likes this feeling. The future dormitory looks like an empty, white room with a very soft mattress. It is perfect.
Crunch.
A shoe steps on a dry twig just near the edge of the shed.