The deafening ring of the school bell tore us from the stuffy air of the classroom. A collective sigh of relief went through the ranks of the eleventh graders. Chairs squeaked, backpacks were hastily packed, and a restless murmur of relief swelled. Done. The last exam was written, the spring break lay before us like a tempting promise, and the dreaded 12th grade seemed far away in this euphoric mood.

  I closed my eyes for a moment, literally inhaling the scent of freedom, mixed with the slightly musty smell of old textbooks. Around me, my classmates celebrated the end of the torment. Loud shouts, high-fives, and here and there, the first plans for the holidays were already being discussed.

  Shigeo, my best friend since elementary school, nudged me with a grin. "Finally! What are we doing first, Oka?" His eyes sparkled with irrepressible energy. Shigeo was the exact opposite of me – loud, impulsive, and always up for an adventure. Despite our differences, we were inseparable. "Sleep first," I muttered, shouldering my backpack. The tension of the last few weeks had also worn on my nerves, even if I hardly showed it outwardly. The expectations of my parents – Mother Naomi, the successful lawyer, and Father Takahiro, the respected prosecutor – always weighed a little on my shoulders. Top performance wasn't a question, but a matter of course. My younger brother Kiyoshi in the eighth grade would probably achieve similar things when the time came.

  Mase Emiko, my other close friend, approached us. Her brown eyes shone. "You guys rocked it again, didn't you? Especially you, Oka," she said with a slightly admiring tone. Emiko always envied me a little for my effortless way of getting good grades. But our friendship was deeper than mere envy. We shared many interests, even if she always lagged a bit behind in school matters. "It was okay," I evaded, as always when it came to my achievements. I didn't like being the center of attention. The admiration of others made me rather uncomfortable. Only Shigeo and Emiko really got close to me, knew the quiet, thoughtful side of me. "Okay? Typical Oka," laughed Shigeo, linking arms with both of us. "But now we celebrate! Karaoke, my friends! My turf is calling!" Emiko and I exchanged a look. Karaoke with Shigeo could be... intense. But the prospect of a relaxed evening with my two best friends was tempting. "Why not?" Emiko finally said. I nodded in agreement.

  So we set off, the freedom of the last school day behind us and the vague anticipation of the coming weeks in our hearts. It was supposed to be a carefree evening, a farewell to school stress and a welcome to the holidays. None of us suspected that this day would take a turn that would change everything.

  Shigeo's favorite karaoke bar was a bit off the beaten track, a slightly run-down establishment with worn-out sofas and an impressive selection of Japanese pop songs. The next few hours blurred into a whirlwind of off-key notes, enthusiastic sing-alongs, and the liberating feeling of having left school behind for a while. Even I slowly thawed, quietly singing along with the choruses and enjoying the exuberant atmosphere. Emiko actually had a few surprisingly good performances, while Shigeo exhausted himself in his usual mixture of fervor and off-key singing. We laughed, clinked our soft drinks, and fooled around as always. It was a perfect end to a strenuous school year.

  Time flew by. Sometime late at night, we decided to head home. The last subway was long gone, and the streets had become noticeably emptier. Shigeo lived in the opposite direction, and Emiko turned off on her way a little earlier. So I was eventually left alone on the wide avenue leading to my residential area. The cool March air felt pleasant after the stuffy karaoke room. I dug my headphones out of my bag and started a gentle melody. The muted sounds formed a pleasant contrast to the silence of the late night. My thoughts wandered, I thought about the upcoming holidays, about the plans I might make with Shigeo and Emiko, and very briefly, the vague question of what the future after 12th grade would bring flashed through my mind.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  The traffic light at the large intersection ahead of me turned green. I stepped onto the crosswalk, my gaze slightly lowered, absorbed in my music. The noise of the nightly traffic was a familiar sound. But then, suddenly, this routine was torn apart by an aggressive, roaring sound that approached menacingly. A rattling noise, not a normal engine sound, but rather the roar of a goaded beast, tore me from my musical world. Instinctively, I raised my head. Headlight beams blinded me, two glaring eyes coming towards me at insane speed. Two cars raced side by side down the street, far too fast, the engines whipping the silence. Illegal race, I recognized in a fraction of a second, adrenaline shot into my veins. Panic paralyzed me. I wanted to step back, but my feet seemed rooted to the asphalt. A scream, a high-pitched, desperate sound, cut through the deafening roar of the engines. A figure rushed towards me out of nowhere, trying to grab my arm, to pull me off the road. A girl. Her eyes were wide with terror. But it was too late. A deafening bang tore through the night. A piercing, all-consuming pain exploded in my body, a flash of unbearable intensity that extinguished every other sensation. The gentle melody in my headphones abruptly fell silent. And then... absolute darkness. Silence. Nothing.

  The pain was unimaginable, an all-pervading fire that took possession of my entire body. I lay on the hard asphalt, felt the cold rising from below and a warm, sticky flow that seemed to spread. I couldn't see anything but blurry darkness. But hear... I could hear. A soft whimper, very close. Was that the girl? What had happened to her? Was she hurt too? A vague memory of her panicked face flashed in my confused mind. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." whispered a trembling voice right next to me. A gentle hand groped for mine, seeking support. Was that her? The driver? Why was she still here? Sirens approached in the distance, an excited wail that slowly grew louder. Finally. The ambulance. How long had it taken? It felt like an eternity. The hand around mine tightened. "I'll stay with you," breathed the voice, sounding a little more composed now. Chaos descended upon me. Paramedics, voices talking over each other, bright light penetrating even through my closed eyelids. I felt myself being carefully lifted onto a stretcher. The hand did not leave my side. In the ambulance, on the way to the hospital, the hand remained. A silent promise in the darkness of my world of pain.

  In the hospital, the doctors diagnosed severe injuries. Broken bones, internal bleeding... the words swirled around me like menacing birds. Then the decision: an induced coma. Two weeks, to give my body rest, to switch off the pain. But even in deep sleep, I heard. Muffled, distorted, but I perceived voices. My mother cried, her voice more fragile than I had ever heard it. Father's deep voice tried to comfort her, but sounded unusually uncertain itself. "Our Nobuyuki... please get well soon." Kiyoshi's quiet voice, hesitant. "Big brother...?" And then there was her voice. Every evening. Quiet, almost whispering. She talked about her day at university, about lectures, about fellow students, about things I didn't know. Sometimes she hummed quiet melodies, trying out different music styles as if wondering what I might like. "Are you even listening to me?" she sometimes asked into the silence of the room. A sad question that faded into the darkness. She said she was infinitely sorry. That she was alone in this big city, her family far away in the countryside. And then, hesitantly, she told me about the illegal races. About the thrill, about the tight money she needed to make ends meet, about the feeling of liberation that speed gave her. Once I heard her talking to my parents. Her voice was full of remorse, although she apologized again and again, although strictly speaking it wasn't her fault – it had been the other driver who had lost control. My parents sounded cool, distant, but they let her be. Shigeo came often, chattering away as always, trying to lighten the mood, even though his voice sometimes trembled. Emiko was quieter, her hand often resting gently on mine. But Kasumi came every evening. Her voice became more familiar, her stories more personal. Slowly, I began to form a picture of her, of this strange girl whose fate was so terribly intertwined with mine. A quiet interest began to germinate in the darkness of my consciousness. Who was this Kasumi really? And what role would she play if I were to wake up one day?