Chapter 18 – Form Change: Normal

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I woke up from my evening nap, my mouth feeling dry as a desert. The room was dim, and my head felt heavy, like I'd been out drinking all night instead of just catching some sleep. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I smacked my lips, trying to work up some saliva. No luck.

Of course, I was out of Lifeguard.

Dammit.

I dragged myself out of bed, running a hand through my messy hair. Water would've done the job, sure, but it felt too plain, too unsatisfying. What I really craved was that fizzy, sugary kick of Lifeguard.

It was either that or suffer through the dryness gnawing at my throat.

So, I threw on a hoodie and headed out, shoving my hands into my pockets as I walked down the street toward the convenience store. The streetlights flickered above, casting long, eerie shadows that stretched across the pavement.

And that's when I saw her.

“…Ah.”

“Great.”

Different words, same sentiment. Mahiro.

She stood there, looking just as surprised to see me as I was to see her.

Only this time, she wasn't the Mahiro from earlier. No, something was different.

Her hair — back to its original black. The warm, sun-kissed brown she'd dyed it was gone.

What, was she trying to erase everything from the past few months?

Did a new hair color mean a new Mahiro?

I scowled, looking away. Not like it mattered to me anymore. I should've just kept walking. Should've ignored her and pretended she was just another passerby.

But then she opened her mouth.

“…Hey, Yuuya. About Temari…”

“Don't.”

Her lips snapped shut. Her eyes dropped to the ground, and the silence between us stretched, thick and uncomfortable. That wasn't what I meant to say.

I clenched my jaw, trying to rein in the frustration building in my chest. She probably already knew what happened with Temari anyway. No point in explaining.

I needed a distraction, anything to shift the focus away from that sore spot. My gaze dropped to her hair again. Yeah, that'd work. Obvious as anything, but whatever.

“…You dyed it back?”

“Oh… yeah. Did it today.”

“You just lightened it not too long ago. What, sudden change of heart?”

She bit her lip, her shoulders slumping as she played with a loose strand of hair.

“…I don't have to care about his preferences anymore.”

“…I see.”

Right. Hashizume. They broke up. Big shocker. The guy was a jerk. Still, seeing her like this — looking like the Mahiro I used to know — it did something to me.

But why? Why was I still looking at her like that?

I stuffed my hands deeper into my pockets, fingers curling into fists. I tried to focus on the store ahead, the flashing neon sign, the warm glow from inside. Anything but her.

But she kept talking.

“…S-So… what do you think, Yuuya?”

“Huh?”

“I mean… from your perspective, which do you prefer? Black or brown?”

What the actual f**k?

“Do whatever you want. And seriously, why are you even asking me that? You dumped me, remember? What the hell does my opinion matter?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked away, fingers twisting in her hair.

“O-Oh… sorry.”

“Besides, stop worrying about what other people think and figure it out for yourself. No matter how you dress, you're still you. You've got the freedom to choose.”

She flinched. Hard. Her eyes widened, like I'd just struck a nerve. And maybe I had — with my words. But what else did she expect?

I stepped around her, not bothering to wait for a response. The automatic doors slid open, and I walked inside, the cold air blasting me in the face. Shelves of snacks and drinks lined the aisles, but my mind was somewhere else.

Talking to her felt like digging up old wounds, prying them open and letting them bleed all over again.

Our childhood friendship was dead and buried.

Maybe it was time to stop pretending there was anything left to salvage.

I grabbed a can of Lifeguard, cracked it open, and took a long, slow drink. The sweetness fizzed against my tongue, and the dryness in my throat finally started to fade.

Maybe it was time to say f**k it and seduce Chihiro-san.

Upgrade from childhood friend to daddy.

***

A few days later, Mahiro's sudden change in appearance became a hot topic around school. It was like these people lived for pointless gossip, clinging to any scrap of drama like starving rats on a sinking ship.

“Hey, Nakanishi~”

Some extra—Mob C, maybe D—slithered up to me with the kind of fake familiarity that made my skin crawl.

“You think Yoshikawa went back to black 'cause she broke up with Hashizume?”

“Don't know.”

Didn't even glance at him. Not worth the effort. Hell, I'd rather stare at concrete.

But he kept going. Of course he did. Parasites don't stop until they're smacked. He leaned closer, all hot breath and body heat. Felt like a humidifier was breathing down my neck.

“C'mon, man. She looked good with brown hair, sure, but black just hits different, y'know? Feels more like her. You're her childhood friend, so you get it, right?”

“Not really.”

That gave him pause. Then he smirked, like he'd just yanked the wings off a fly and thought he was clever.

“Ohh, right. You got dumped, huh? Must be complicated, yeah? Hahahaha!”

He threw his head back like that made it funnier. Like volume equaled comedy.

I didn't move. Kept my eyes forward, jaw tight, teeth grinding so hard I could feel the pressure in my skull.

“How the f**k do you even know that?”

“Rumors spread fast, man!” He slapped my back again, his sweaty palm sticking to my uniform. “High schoolers in the prime of their youth and all that! Don't worry, you're not alone—tons of guys have been in your shoes!”

Great. Just what I needed. Degree Celsius Man slapping my back like he was slapping some meat on a grill, radiating body heat like a goddamn furnace.

But even with all that noise, my eyes drifted to the announcement board across the hall.

Soccer Club: Indefinite Suspension.

Figures.

Hashizume and his buddies got caught doing something stupid. Probably involved booze, weed, or some girl's panties. Whatever. But the bigger question was how the hell Mahiro slipped through the net.

She'd been right there with them, parading around like some black-haired saint after the break-up, trying to reclaim her ‘pure' image. But no amount of hair dye could change the fact that a stretched-out pussy didn't just snap back to virgin-tight.

Might as well aim for sainthood at this point.

Like an ear piercing—once it's been punctured, you either keep something in it or it rots. Maybe before her hole rotted out, she could shove some soybeans up there and ferment herself a pussy natto.

……

Geez, what the f**k was wrong with me?

I rubbed my temples, shaking off the stupid thought. But still, the sight of her prancing around like some untouchable maiden was enough to set my teeth on edge.

And even as the hallway buzzed with whispers about Mahiro and Hashizume, none of it answered the real question.

How the hell did she not get caught up in the mess?

That part was still a mystery.