The gates hadn't even creaked open yet, but you were already there.
6:00 a.m., like clockwork.
Same bench across the street. Same vending machine green tea.
Shorts, short sleeves, because the early fall breeze was honest, and besides, cold had always felt more like clarity than discomfort.
You had your headphones on, half-lost in a karaoke track.
Today, it was something emotional with a metalcore bridge, Japanese vocals, probably from some anime OP. You didn't remember the show, but you remembered the scream:
"Even if I'm broken, I'll rise again!"
You didn't sing loud. Just enough to feel it echo inside your ribs.
It didn't matter that no one was here. It never did. That's why it mattered.
At 6:25 a.m., a familiar scraping sound tugged at your focus: the gate latch lifting.
Mr. Tadokoro stood in his usual tracksuit jacket and work boots, holding a thermos like it was a relic.
"You trying to beat the sun to school now?"
he said, voice like gravel and caffeine.
You pulled your headphones down around your neck and stood, casually folding your sheet of lyrics back into your bag.
"I like the quiet. The air feels cleaner before everyone starts pretending."
He eyed you.
"You always talk like that?"
"Only when I'm awake."
He grunted, holding the gate open.
"You're always here before the birds," he muttered.
You stepped through, nodding.
"Maybe I am one."
"Then you're a crow, kid. A sarcastic one."
You smiled, faint but warm.
Then tilted your head just enough.
"I tend to think myself more like a phoenix. But who am I to say?"
That made him stop in place.
Just for a beat.
He shook his head.
"Weird bird either way."
You didn't correct him.
Some metaphors are best left in the air.