Culpa
The student council room had never felt this quiet. Even the clack of her pen against the clipboard was too loud. The rustle of papers too sharp. Even the hum of the overhead lights, usually unnoticed, buzzed in her ears like a persistent insect. The world without an excentric person had simply left her behind, trapped in the suffocating stillness of Yuushin's absence.
She sat at the head of the table, in the chair he always occupied, the one he'd slouch in, one leg kicked over the other, grinning as if the whole concept of responsibility was a joke. Now, the seat felt too large, too rigid beneath her.
Her fingers tightened around the pen. She hadn't realized she was holding it so hard until the plastic moulded under the pressure. Koemi hadn't spoken much since that morning. Her twin tails, always meticulously tied, were now just an afterthought strands slipping loose, brushing against her neck. Her glasses, slightly fogged from her shallow, warm breath blurring the edges of the rim that she hadn't noticed.
A voice cut through the silence, "This is the second day the and we still have no information about the President."
Koemi didn't look up.
"Vice President, don't take this the wrong way, but… you two were always together. You must've known where he went."
A beat followed by murmurs.
Didn't he act weird before he vanished?
They were arguing the day before the ceremony, weren't they?
She's hiding something.
Koemi's hands clenched against the table's edge, her nails digging into the polished wood. She could feel their eyes on her. Her lips parted before she could stop them. "Don't."
"You're not even denying it—"
"I said don't."
She stood. The chair screeched behind her.
"I didn't do anything. I don't know where he is! If I did, I'd be there right now, not here pretending," Her breath hitched, her eyes hollowed as if they were about to pop out. "Pretending I'm capable of… this! I need Yuushin, I want him, I want to by his side…." Without thinking she slammed the ballpoint pen into the desk, tears flowing like blood, as if the impact hit a nerve, "Where the hell you are!!"
Silence. Absolute.
Her throat burned. She blinked rapidly, forcing back the sting behind her eyes. Then she turned, grabbed her bag, and left without another word.
The school corridors blurred past her.
She didn't remember walking. Didn't remember pushing through the gates. The world outside was too bright, too loud, cicadas screaming in the trees, the distant laughter of students who hadn't lost anything.
Soon the five-minute walk had turned to a 15-minute ride. She tried to retrace the steps that Yuushin would have taken, but it was of no hope. Her family estate loomed ahead, its wooden gates weathered by generations. The family crest, a Inmyeonjo carved into the heavy beams, The humanoid face watched her as she stepped inside while the avian torso grabbed her soul as she passed by. The engawa creaked underfoot. The house smelled of tatami and aged wood, of incense from the family altar, of the green tea her mother always left brewing.
"You're home, Koemi."
Her mother stood in the hallway, still in her apron, hands dusted with flour. Her face was lined with worry, but her voice was gentle.
Koemi forced a smile. "Yes. Sorry. Council ran late."
Her voice was thin, unconvincing. She kept her eyes lowered, afraid that if she met her mother's gaze, the fragile dam inside her would shatter.
Her mother hesitated, then placed a warm hand on her shoulder. Koemi flinched the touch was too much, too real but she nodded stiffly and hurried upstairs
Her room was dark.
The shoji screens filtered the dying sunlight into pale orange streaks, painting the floor in fading brushstrokes. She didn't turn on the lamp. Didn't change out of her uniform. She simply stood there, staring at the empty space where Yuushin had once sprawled across her floor, grinning as he stole her notes, as he teased her for being too serious, as he—
Her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the tatami, her bag slipping from her shoulder. For a long moment, she didn't move. Didn't breathe. Then, slowly, she curled onto her side, pressing her forehead against the cool, woven reeds.
The tears came silently.
No sobs. No gasps. Just a slow, relentless spill of heat down her cheeks, soaking into the fabric of her sleeve.
She didn't wipe them away.
By the time the sun had fully set, the tears had dried.
When she finally rose, her limbs were stiff, her eyes swollen. She washed her face in the hallway basin, the water icy against her skin.