Mao: The Quite One

The final bell of the year rang through the halls like a soft exhale.

No announcements. No last-minute drama.

Just lockers closing, footsteps echoing, voices rising in a chorus of laughter and farewells.

The school was closing for the long holiday.

And for the first time in years, Mao Kisaragi walked out of those gates without a weight on his shoulders.

No rumors trailing him.

No stares of judgment.

No whisper of doubt in his own heart.

He had done it.

Number one.

Best Student of the Year.

Academic Leader.

But more than that—he had earned respect.

Real respect.

Not for pretending to be someone he wasn't, not for chasing empty praise, but for rising, failing, and rising again.

---

Arisa waited by the school gates. Her usual easy smirk softened into something warmer.

"You're smiling," she said, bumping his shoulder.

Mao chuckled. "Yeah. I think I earned it this time."

"You did."

They didn't talk much as they walked.

They didn't need to.

Sometimes, peace doesn't come from grand gestures—but from stillness after the storm.

---

Home was quiet when Mao arrived.

The light slanted through his bedroom window just right, golden and soft. He set down his bag, his award still packed carefully inside.

No buzzing messages. No missed calls.

For once, the silence felt earned, not empty.

He sat at his desk, looking over old notes, sketching plans for the future in the back of his planner.

He wasn't sure what the next year would bring.

But this time, he wasn't afraid.

And for now, that was enough.