Have you ever had that feeling that you're alive... but not really living?
Hi. It's strange to start like this, I know, but I think if I'm writing this, it's because I need to put into words something I can't say out loud.
My name is Mika Asakura, I'm 17 years old, I was born and still live in Kawagoe, a quiet little town in Saitama Prefecture, Japan. I'm currently in my second year of high school... although "studying" is a bit of a generous term for what I do at school, I go, I stay there, I come back... And that's it.
I was always told that I was a quiet child. No one ever used the terms "bright," "brilliant," or "full of life." It was just "quiet." Maybe I was like that from the beginning, a little... disconnected from the world.
My father's name was Tetsuya. When I was little, he would tell me stories about his days playing professional soccer. I remember his eyes shining when he talked about the fields, the training sessions, the goals, but a knee injury ended it all too soon. After that, he became an economist, and although he was talented, the passion was gone. He still smiled... but it was a more affectionate smile than a genuine one.
My mother, Haruka, was the opposite. Cheerful, lively, always humming J-pop songs while cooking. She was the kind of person who made even cloudy days bearable.
However, when I was 12, during a school volleyball practice, everything fell apart. They called me to the principal's office, and I found out that she had... passed away.
A chronic illness, something she and my father had hidden from me my whole life.
Since then, the house has been... empty. As if all the happiness had disappeared with her.
My father gradually began to lose his zest for life. And two years later, he was gone too. Suicide.
I was left alone.
Today, I live on the money my grandparents send me every month. I have enough food and clothes, and that's good, right?
I look at my parents and wonder: they had dreams, and yet they ended up broken.
So why dream?
The only time something inside me seems to... breathe... is when I'm watching anime or reading light novels.
It's stupid, I know. But those worlds full of magic, color, people fighting for something bigger than themselves seem so... alive.
Sometimes I wish the world was like anime, so utopian, so beautiful...
But that's just a fantasy of a girl who has given up on dreaming, isn't it?
— Oh no... it's 7:15...? Eeeh, I'm already late.
Most people, realizing they are about to miss their first class, would panic. They would rush, throw anything in their backpack, and stumble out the door.
But I just... sat there for a few more seconds.
It's normal for me not to care about schedules.
I sighed, dragged myself to the closet, and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Light dark circles, pale skin, silver eyes. My black hair was messy, ending sloppily at my shoulders; I never had the patience to let it grow.
The only thing I cared about was the blue hair clip, which was very discreet. My mother gave it to me as a gift on the last birthday we spent together. I never stopped wearing it, even if no one else noticed.
I picked up my school uniform and put it on with tremendous laziness.
A white turtleneck shirt with neatly ironed sleeves and a small blue bow tied in front. The pleated skirt, also white, went just above the knees, a pattern too traditional for such a modern school. The socks were black and went below the knees. The shoes were the same as always, a little worn around the edges.
Everything about me seemed to be on autopilot, even a tremendous sleepiness took over my body even though I had slept 10 hours yesterday.
I quietly descended the stairs of my apartment, the sound of my footsteps echoing through the empty hallways. I didn't eat anything, but I didn't need to.
Finally, another long day was beginning.
I locked the door behind me and walked down the steps of the building, pushing my bike with one hand, my shoes still making that muffled sound against the wet cement from the morning dew.
The city was already waking up. Kawagoe is like that... it wakes up too early.
The shops opened slowly, grandmothers swept the sidewalk with the same straw brooms they had used since before I was born, and people were already walking the streets as if they had been programmed to do so every day.
I got on my bike and started pedaling. The cold air hit my face, making my eyes water a little.
The wind made my uniform sway slightly, and the sky was that blue-gray shade that never decides between rain or sunshine.
It was a kind of... suspended weather, but I actually liked days like that.
On the way, I saw two girls from my school walking together, laughing at something on their cell phones.
I overheard them: they were talking about a boy in the third year, whether he had really confessed to one of them in the library.
"He's really cute, but he's not my type," said one, laughing.
The other replied something like, "I want a boyfriend who will go with me to the summer festival and buy me a candy apple."
That seemed so far away from me, to be honest.
Whenever I hear this kind of conversation, something inside me tightens up.
I don't judge. Really. Everyone has a right to their priorities.
But... what about me?
Will I ever, after college... if I go to one, find someone too?
Or even during? Would that be asking too much?
I look at myself and all I see is... mediocrity. I don't have an attractive body; in fact, I would say I'm average at best. My hair is dull, my skin is pale from lack of sun, and I'm sloppy about everything.
I forgot to put on moisturizer today, I forgot yesterday too, and the day before yesterday.
I don't even know what college I want to go to, or even have a concrete goal.
The only thing that sets me apart are these damn silver eyes.
Too flashy, the kind of thing that draws attention for the wrong reasons, as if my face were constantly saying, "Hey, look at me!" when all I wanted was the opposite.
The school gate appeared just ahead, with its gray arch covered in ivy and the faded blue sign that read "Kawagoe Integrated High School."
It sounded like a big city school, but in practice, it was just another place where teenagers pretended they knew what they were doing with their lives.
I leaned my bike against the bike rack, locked the chain, and walked across the courtyard.
The sound of laughter, footsteps, and voices mingled with the smell of chalk and waxed floors. Everyone had something to say, something to live for.
Me? I just wanted to go unnoticed.
Classes began.
Math.
History.
Biology.
Literature.
The hands of the clock seemed lazy. Each second dragged another along as if pulling chains. I wrote down what I needed, answered when called, and disappeared again.
At the end of the day, when the bell rang, most of the students were already rushing to clubs, arranging to meet at the station, or laughing at some inside joke.
I left slowly. My footsteps echoed emptily in the hallway until I found a corner on the school terrace, behind the boxes of sports equipment, my makeshift refuge.
There, I sat with my back against the wall and let the wind play with the ends of my hair. The sky was beginning to change color, that faded blue mixing with orange, like watercolor on rice paper.
That's when I heard footsteps.
"Mika Asakura?" The voice was soft, low, almost as if it didn't want to disturb me.
I turned my face and saw Yoshino-sensei, my philosophy teacher.
She had that kind of look that seemed to see through people, but never with judgment.
"Did you stay late today?"
I nodded slowly.
She sat down next to me, respecting the silence before speaking again.
"Have you decided what you want to do after you graduate?"
I took a deep breath.
For a moment, I considered making something up. A ready answer, like so many others I gave out there.
But not in front of her.
In front of Yoshino-sensei, the words came out raw.
"No..." I replied, staring at the horizon. "I have no idea."
She didn't say anything for a while. She just sat there beside me, watching the sky with me.
And for some reason, that shared silence hurt more than any scolding would have hurt.
"It's okay not to know right now," she said at last. "Just don't forget to look for it, even if it takes time."
I swallowed hard.
That was it.
Look for it.
But... look for what, if everything seems useless in the end?
I smiled, without showing my teeth. A sad smile, from someone who has become accustomed to the absence of color.
"I'll try."
That was all I could say.
She nodded lightly and stood up.
And then she left.
I walked slowly down the school stairs. The sky was already beginning to darken, tinged with washed-out shades of pink and gray. The shadows of the lampposts stretched across the ground, and the windows of the houses began to light up.
I took my bike from the bike rack and followed the same route as always. The wheels turned with that muffled, constant sound, the wind cut through the silence, and dry leaves scattered across the streets.
There was no rush; after all, there was nothing waiting for me at home.
When I arrived at the building, the janitor just nodded his head in that kind of automatic greeting. I got into the elevator with no one else around.
The door to my apartment opened with its familiar creak. I took off my shoes, left my backpack in the corner, and went straight to my room.
I closed the door behind me as if sealing off the outside world.
My sanctuary.
Or my cell.
It depends on the day.
I lay down on the bed without changing my clothes, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes. The room smelled the same as always: old books, cheap shampoo, and a forgotten hint of disinfectant.
I turned on the television.
Some anime was playing.
One of those stories I've seen three or four times, but still made me feel something.
Not because they were realistic, but precisely because they weren't.
The protagonist on the screen screamed, tears in her eyes, defending her friends with a power that came out of nowhere.
"Typical," I muttered.
But even so, I kept watching.
The blue light from the screen reflected in my silver eyes, making everything around me seem colder.
The television filled the room with lively voices and epic soundtracks.
It was comforting.
As if, for a few hours, I could forget that I am just Mika Asakura, 17 years old, aimless, without answers, with a life in shades of gray.
There, in my room, buried under thin blankets and the muffled sound of the dubbing, I existed. Even if only for a little while.
"Maybe tomorrow I'll try harder..." I whispered, to no one but myself.
But deep down, I knew it was a lie.
POV – Mika's Grandparents
It was nighttime, the television was on in the small living room, the volume turned up high to compensate for ears worn out by time. The evening news was on as usual: politics, traffic, a story about the unusual heat for the season.
Mika's grandmother knitted silently, while her grandfather leafed through an old newspaper that no longer needed to be read.
"Another urban tragedy shocked the city of Kawagoe this afternoon," said the anchor in a serious tone, the image changing to a street surrounded by police cars and smoke in the background.
An apartment located in the central region was consumed by flames after what appears to have been a short circuit in one of the electronic devices during the night.
The grandmother stopped knitting and looked up slightly. The grandfather adjusted his glasses and turned his face toward the TV.
"Firefighters say the fire spread quickly due to flammable materials in the environment. One of the residents was found dead at the scene, apparently still asleep at the time of the incident."
The silence in the room became heavy. They looked at each other, their chests tightening with a bad feeling that they couldn't yet name.
The image changed to a white sign with names listed below.
"The victim has been identified as Mika Asakura, 17, a high school student. She had been living alone in the apartment since her parents' death."
Grandmother dropped the ball of yarn on the floor.
Grandfather said nothing.
The TV continued to speak.