Monday morning arrived without ceremony. But something was off.
Makoto noticed it the second Saiki walked into the classroom.
He didn't look angry. Or sad. Just… closed. Like a door quietly shutting behind glass.
Makoto tilted his head. "Hey."
Saiki gave a short nod in return, eyes flicking toward him for barely half a second.
Makoto blinked. "...You okay?"
"Fine," Saiki said. Textbook open. Gaze steady on the page.
Makoto sat down beside him, trying to shake the sudden chill.
Maybe he was imagining things. Maybe Saiki was just tired. Or annoyed with Nendou, who had already tripped twice and spilled curry bread across Hairo's desk.
But even during lunch, Saiki kept some invisible line drawn.
He didn't lean toward him when Makoto cracked jokes. Didn't scowl in that tiny, secret way when Makoto teased him. Didn't touch his tray when Makoto offered him the better piece of rolled omelet.
Even when Makoto offered his rarest move — a deadpan "I like your face today," complete with fluttering lashes — Saiki just blinked once and said, "That's nice."
Makoto froze.
"That's… nice?"
"Mn." Saiki ate his coffee jelly without inflection.
Makoto nearly dropped his chopsticks.
Something was wrong.
After school, Makoto cornered him outside the gates.
"You're mad at me."
"No."
"You're something at me."
Saiki sighed. "I'm just thinking."
Makoto crossed his arms. "Did I do something?"
Pause. Too long of a pause.
Makoto leaned in, eyes narrowing. "Saiki."
"You didn't do anything," Saiki finally said. "I'm just… figuring something out."
Which meant, in Makoto-to-Saiki translation: "You did something. I don't know how to talk about it. And it's eating me alive."
Makoto opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, quietly:
"If this is about the press conference—"
"It's not."
"Then what?"
Silence again.
Makoto stared at him, heart thudding. Something heavy coiled in his stomach, dread crawling up his spine.
It wasn't that Saiki was cold. It was that he wasn't even trying to pretend to be warm.
Like he was stepping back from something. Like he was already halfway out the door.
"Did I screw up?" Makoto asked, voice smaller than he meant. "Be honest."
Saiki didn't answer.
Makoto sank onto a bench, voice low and trembling.
"System… is it my fault? Is Saiki pulling away because of me?"
There was a brief pause before the system responded, calm but straightforward.
System: He's been pulling away, yes. But your affection levels? They haven't decreased. Not even a little.
Makoto swallowed hard, memories flooding back — the long nights in his old world when he was sick and utterly alone, no one there to reach out. The ache in his chest tightened.
"Feels like I'm back there again… isolated."
He whispered, barely audible. "Did I do something wrong? Did I ruin it?"
The system was silent for a moment, then answered gently.
System: you haven't done anything wrong though
Makoto closed his eyes, fighting the lump in his throat.
"Why does it feel like I'm losing him anyway?"
System: Because people pull away sometimes, even when they care. But that doesn't mean it's over.
Makoto's fingers trembled as he stared at the floor. The weight of uncertainty pressed down on him heavier than ever.
"I don't know if I can do this," he whispered, voice cracking. "Back in my old world, when I was sick… Wen Li was the only one who ever checked on me. Everyone else just left me alone. I felt invisible. Like I didn't matter."
The memory stabbed deep — lonely hospital rooms, quiet visits from Wen Li that were a rare comfort, but not enough to fill the silence. He had thought those feelings were behind him. But now…
"Now, I'm scared it's happening again. I'm scared Saiki is slipping away because of me."
A soft beep echoed in his head.
System: You're not invisible here. And you matter. To him, and to me.
Makoto closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath.
"Do you think he even understands how I feel? Or am I just confusing him?"
System: You two don't even know each other fully yet. There are secrets on both sides. You're afraid to tell him everything, and he's holding his own cards close.
Makoto nodded, biting his lip.
"Is it because I haven't been fully honest with him?" he whispered to himself. "Am I even allowed to tell Saiki about the system? Would he understand? Or would it just push him further away?"
A faint chime sounded — the system's presence flickered into his awareness.
System: You can't tell him everything. That's off-limits.
Makoto frowned, biting his lip. "So what am I supposed to say? How do I explain any of this?"
System: You can tell him this much — that you're not the original Makoto. That you're a version from an alternate universe. A soul piece, if you will.
His breath caught. "Wait... so I'm Makoto??? We were one person this whole time?"
System: Something like that. Vague enough to make sense but true enough to explain why you're different.
Makoto's fingers trembled as the pieces slowly fit together in his mind.
"Maybe that's why he's confused. Why he's pulling away. Because he doesn't know who I really am."
System: Exactly. But you can rebuild that trust. One step at a time.
He swallowed hard and nodded to himself, feeling a fragile determination flicker inside.
"I'll be honest — but only as much as I'm allowed. No more hiding. No more secrets."
System: Smart move. You got this.
Makoto's gaze wandered skyward, picturing Saiki just past the clouds — the fragile thread holding his carefully rebuilt world together
Saiki stood on the rooftop, the cool evening breeze brushing past him as he watched Makoto sitting alone on the bench below. The city lights flickered dimly in the distance, but all Saiki could see was the trembling figure hunched over, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.
He didn't move. He couldn't move.
Makoto's silent pain cut through him more sharply than any psychic insight ever could.
From up here, Saiki wanted to reach out, to pull him close and tell him it would be alright. But the words got stuck inside his chest, tangled with his own fears — fears of crossing invisible lines, of shattering whatever fragile trust they had.
He had always been the observer, the one who knew things others didn't. His psychic powers had made him invincible in ways — able to see through lies, to control situations, to anticipate every move. He'd never felt helpless before.
But now, faced with Makoto's pain and the walls between them, Saiki felt powerless in a way that scared him.
Makoto's thoughts floated faintly in his mind, but they weren't the usual bright, teasing sparks. Instead, they were heavy, weighed down by sadness and confusion — a stark contrast to the playful Makoto Saiki knew.
Saiki's heart tightened as he watched Makoto wipe away tears, his breath shallow and uneven.
He wanted to shout, to promise that he was there. That he wasn't going anywhere.
But instead, he stayed rooted to the rooftop, helpless and silent — watching the boy he cared for break apart, wondering how to bridge the growing distance before it became too wide to cross.
Should he finally tell Makoto the truth? Reveal his psychic abilities — something he had kept buried for so long — hoping it might bring them closer, help Makoto understand him better?
Or should he wait for Makoto to confess first? To trust him enough to share the secret of this so called system, to open that hidden part of himself?
Saiki didn't know which was the right choice. All he knew was that every moment they stayed apart felt like a wound growing deeper.
And he hated feeling so helpless.