The Returnee’s Quiet Journey Through High School – A Roshidere Fanfic

I walked slowly, heading back to the place I reluctantly called home, my thoughts still lingering on the conversation I’d had with Dr. Kuromine.

What a bother, I thought, trying to push it from my mind. I don’t need to deal with this right now.

The street lamps flickered on as dusk gave way to night, casting long, wavering shadows across the pavement. The quiet streets were empty, the only sounds coming from the distant hum of cars and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. As I neared my house, the familiar sense of loneliness and emptiness began to settle in—a feeling I’d grown all too accustomed to.

Once inside, I changed into my nightwear and slumped onto the bed, the springs creaking under the weight of my exhaustion. The rhythmic buzz of cicadas filled the night air, their persistent rattling a backdrop to the quiet stillness of the room.

I pulled out my phone, the dim light of the screen cutting through the darkness. A message awaited me, one I had already read but couldn’t ignore.

It was from Seiren Private Academy.

Message from Seiren Private Academy:

I sighed, tossing the phone onto the bed beside me. The message replayed in my mind, the words echoing like a drumbeat that I couldn’t shake off. There was no avoiding it.

Reaching toward the small desk by the window, I picked up the small journal I hadn’t touched in months. The leather-bound book was worn, edges frayed from years of use, and flipping through the pages, I could see entries from times long past—words that felt like echoes of a different version of myself.

I picked up a pen, pausing as I let the weight of the day settle over me. The usual sense of dread hung over me like a cloud, but tonight, I chose to write it out. It was a habit I had fallen into, writing things down when they became too heavy to carry.

I opened to a blank page, the paper cool under my fingers, and started jotting down whatever came to mind. The ink flowed easily, and with every word, I felt the tension inside me ease just a little. My handwriting was messy, the sentences disjointed, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t writing for clarity or purpose. I was writing to breathe, to let my thoughts unravel in some form that made sense only to me.

It’s funny, I thought, as I filled the page with ramblings, how something as simple as this could bring a sense of release. No judgment, no pressure—just the act of getting it out.

The words kept coming, spilling out until the page was full. I stared at it for a moment, feeling a strange sense of calm wash over me. Tomorrow would be what it would be. For tonight, I had this—just me, my thoughts, and the quiet of the night around me.

I placed the journal back on the desk, feeling a little lighter than before. My mind still buzzed with the thought of the meeting, of what they would ask and how I’d answer. But I knew I had prepared. I had considered every possibility. What I wasn’t prepared for, however, was how I felt.

There was no denying it—this strange tug of conflict inside me. Did I really want to go back? Or was it the weight of expectation pulling me in? These thoughts lingered, but I knew I wouldn’t find the answer tonight.

I lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as the cicadas continued their song outside, their rhythm soothing in its constancy. Tomorrow was going to be a drag, but for now, I allowed myself the brief respite of not having to think about it anymore.

As sleep began to pull at the edges of my consciousness, I couldn’t help but wonder—what would come of these thirty days I had proposed?

“Thirty days... we’ll see,” I muttered, finally letting the weight of sleep take over.