A Near Miss

The fluorescent hum of the hallway was a low thrum against Hana’s nerves. Each locker door that clanked shut, each hurried footstep, felt amplified, a percussive soundtrack to her growing dread. It was late, the usual after-school chatter long since faded, replaced by the hollow echo of her own breathing. Kenji’s locker. It was a long shot, born more of desperation than any concrete plan, but it was all she had.

Akase’s ghost seemed to hover just beyond her peripheral vision, a silent, spectral cheerleader urging her forward. *You can do this, Hana.* The memory of Akase’s bright laugh, the way she’d always believed in Hana, was a constant, aching reminder of why she was here. Akase deserved justice, and Hana was going to find it, even if it meant breaking a few rules.

Kenji’s locker, number 317, was tucked away in a quieter section of the corridor, near the seldom-used art supply closets. Hana had observed Kenji’s routine. She was meticulous, almost unnervingly so, about locking it the moment she left. Hana had memorized the combination, a trick learned from watching Kenji absentmindedly dial it in during a shared history class. It was a small detail, insignificant to most, but to Hana, every detail about Kenji was under a microscope.