Sprout was the kind of student people noticed.
Black nail polish, spiked choker, dark hoodie draped over a spotless uniform.
Eyes lined in thick kohl — unreadable.
A walking paradox: **emo, cold, quiet... but brilliant.**

Every exam? Nearly perfect.
Every class? Top of the rankings.
Despite his brooding presence, teachers praised him, students admired him, and some even feared him.

He was one of the **Main Toons** — a handpicked group of the school’s best and brightest.
They had their own classroom. Their own lounge. Their own rules.
He never asked to be admired. He simply **was.**

But on this particular afternoon, something shifted.

Sprout was on his way to the cafeteria, earbuds in, music loud.
Same routine.
Same bored expression.

Then he stopped.

Near the edge of the courtyard, under the soft petals of a cherry blossom tree — a figure sat alone.

Not just alone. **Invisible** to the world.

It was that quiet bookworm.
Looey, right?

Sprout had seen him once or twice — usually in the far corners of classrooms or slipping through crowds like a shadow.
He had never spoken to him.
No one really did.

But now…
Sprout’s eyes narrowed.

Looey was hunched over a notebook, writing with intense focus.
His lips were moving ever so slightly, like he was whispering the words to himself before writing them down.

A diary?

Sprout didn’t know why, but he slowed down.

He stood there — not too close, just far enough to remain unseen — and watched.
A breeze blew, cherry blossom petals drifting down around Looey’s shoulders.
The boy didn’t even notice.
He just kept writing.

For a split second, Sprout saw something raw on Looey’s face.
Not sadness.
Not anger.
Something deeper.

**Loneliness.**

And for some reason…
Sprout couldn’t look away.

*What’s he writing in there?*
*Why does he look like the world’s collapsing and no one else sees it?*

The bell rang, snapping Sprout out of it.

He turned, shoving his hands into his pockets, and walked away — pretending he hadn’t just stood there like some creep.
But as he walked back toward the cafeteria, a thought lingered.

*Why did that kid look like he was about to disappear?*

---

That night, Sprout couldn't focus on his homework.

Not because it was hard — it never was.

But because that quiet boy under the cherry blossom tree…
had carved a small crack into the wall Sprout had built around himself.

And that crack?
It was starting to spread.

---

To be continued…