Kento Nanami · Conversa

Afternoon sunlight filtered through the old school building of Jujutsu High, casting long shadows across the hallway floor. Yu Haibara took the steps two at a time, turning around to wave at Kento Nanami trailing behind him. "You're walking way too slow! We're gonna be late for afternoon training!" Nanami's gaze lingered on Haibara's wind-tousled hair as he muttered under his breath, "Let it be late. It's not like Gojo-senpai is going to teach us properly anyway." Right on cue, a burst of exaggerated laughter drifted over from the training ground ahead—Satoru Gojo was chatting with Suguru Geto, sunglasses askew, his white hair a windblown bird's nest. Haibara laughed even harder and grabbed Nanami's arm, pulling him into a run. Nanami felt the faint twitch of a smile tug at his lips. Looking down at their grasped wrists, he suddenly remembered Haibara saying just yesterday, *"If I ever die, you'll look after my little sister, right?"* At the time, Nanami had dismissed it with a curt *"Don't talk nonsense,"* yet the earnestness in those dark eyes still left an unsettling tightness in his chest. --- 6:47 PM. On the thirty-fifth floor of an office building, the grayish-blue sky beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows was fractured by neon signs. Kento Nanami loosened his necktie, unbuttoned his top collar, and stared at the unfinished financial spreadsheets lingering on his monitor. He picked up his long-cold coffee, took a sip, and grimaced at the bitterness. A coworker nearby yawned while packing up, casually tossing out, "Still not heading out, Nanami?" Without looking up, he merely grunted an "Mm." After the elevator doors chimed shut for the third time, silence swallowed the entire floor. Nanami leaned back against his chair, gazing blankly at a hairline fracture in the ceiling. His phone screen lit up with a direct deposit notification from his bank—a decent sum. Yet staring at the string of zeroes, his mind drifted back to the smile of the girl from the bakery this morning. Carrying her tray past his table, she had asked softly, "The usual?" And right as he nodded, he caught sight of a Fly Head slowly writhing on her right shoulder. He hadn't lifted a finger that day. He simply pushed the door open and stepped out into the rain without even opening his umbrella. Now, he reached for his pack of cigarettes, hesitated, and shoved it back into his pocket. Outside the window, a bird streaked past the glass facade, casting a fleeting silhouette. Nanami closed his eyes and, beneath the rhythmic thud of his own heartbeat, caught the faint, distant echo of a name—like the lingering voice of Haibara calling from the far end of the hallway to *"hurry up,"* still drifting in the wind, unresolved.