Prologue: Living is Not Breathing.

- SECTION I -
The red scarf flutters in the wind...

The sky is grey and the air is cold. Little white snowflakes are floating down to me from the clouds. They hit my clothes and melt and all at once they stop existing and I'm fine with that. I'm walking on the white ground and there's a crumbling sensation at my feet which I quite enjoy as I make my stride.

I am walking to school diligently, as I do every morning. Kishibaru private school. Because my father had to have me settle for an education at a (relatively) low price without the lowliness of a public school. But more on my father later, when it matters.

I don't speak to anyone who doesn't speak to me. I don't look at anyone weirdly. I don't listen in to conversations that don't involve me. I do nothing and I pretend to be nothing, because who cares about what some rich kid with frizzy black hair has to say? Just stick to the pattern and you'll be okay was my motto for every single day.

Leave house at 7:30 AM. Arrive at Kishibaru at 8:00. Read up on past lessons for the next thirty minutes before class starts and do what is expected untill 5:00. When I will arrive home at 5:30, I'll then study until dinner at 7:00 and then study again until 10:00. After that, I do whatever I want before midnight, when I sleep. Simple, easy pattern.

It's what's helped my grades stay up as well as they have. It's what's kept me safe from bullies for the last few years. Though every now and again I'd run into young men my age yet looking much older, brushing past my shoulders and eyeing me like my existence was a mistake to them. If not that, then I'd see other young men my age being accosted.

There was a boy I knew of once; he was a few months younger than I. His name was Yuji Kiriyama; he didn't have many friends during his time here because he was the quiet sort. His skin was pale, his back was arched, his arms and legs were bony. Unable to speak in front of large crowds, he would often sulk and slink away from the public eye. Though he did seem intelligent, according to his grades, he had not the fortitude to really socialize or make a name for himself, during the little time he spent in Kishibaru.

Each week, I'd see him handing over his money to the men who were my age yet looked older; each week, I would see him handing over his notes and helping others with certain subjects yet not getting any real gratitude for his altruism—just little nods, little thank yous that would be forgotten immediately after they've been spoken. Every week I'd see a new bruise on his neck, around his eyes, on his forearms from somewhere; he would never say anything about them, not even to the very few actual noble souls who would dare ask.

I don't see him anymore. Heard he'd gone back to Kyoto or Gifu or wherever he'd come from.

You may be asking why I did nothing. Simply put: it didn't matter if I ever even did anything to speak to him.

After all, what can I say? Who am I to intrude into his life or anybody's? Nobody cares about me. Nobody wants to hear my words. I'm just another student. I have no influence over how people will view others or how others act or react. People do as people please. The whims of the world cannot change just because someone says or does something different.

At this time I believe in such things. At this time, I am fine with the way the world turns.

The bomb will drop soon.

The school day comes and the school day goes and nothing in the schedule is different. The world still turns the same way. Since there is a quiz on plants taking place next week, I head over to the library and grab as many books as i can on the subject. Had pages packed with notes, yes. Even had a recorder on during class. Still, couldn't hurt to want to know more.

But the books I borrow can't fit in my bag, so I have to carry them all the way to the front of my school and wait for my driver to pick me up. Predictably, I trip and fall down the stairs; such is what happens. So I stay in the middle of an empty hallway, on the third floor of my school. And I fix my things, I scold myself, biting my lip, asking how father would react if he were to see me this way, all that miserable stuff; and then I hear footsteps.

So much for nobody noticing me.

I give a weak sigh as I continue on arranging my books. It doesn't matter, whoever's walking toward me. It doesn't matter who's wearing the shoes tapping along the ground; it doesn't matter who is picking up one of my books and handing over to me; it doesn't matter who this person is because in the end, after they give me back my book we won't ever see each other again because such is the nature of the world.

"Here."

I now see her for the very first time.

She has blazing green eyes, large and round like a child's; raven black hair drifts over face and flows from her head all the way down to her shoulders, each strand of hair aglow with orange from the sunlight peering through the windows. She is as tall as I am. Her skin is white, almost like that of alabaster. Though she looks as young as I am, there is something in her eyes that tells me she's seen more than what people our age should be allowed to see. Still, she has something of a demure smile and I can't ignore how the peach freckles peppering her cheeks complement her eyes and her smile and the blackness of her hair perfectly.

A Kishibaru blazer meant for female students is wrapped around her waist, its arms knotted on her belly button. Wearing a black skirt, white socks, brown loafers, and a white polo shirt, she smiles a demure smile at me as she hands me my Science book. The moment I know I won't ever forget her smile is the moment my eyes drift away from her lips and to the blood red scarf wrapped around her neck and draped over her shoulders.

"Hey, what happened to you?" she asks me, hand still carrying my notebook. "Am I that ugly?"

"N-no!" I yelp out, the lump in my throat growing ever bigger by the second, "Not at all! It's just...well, you surprised me, that's all."

She has an incredulous sort of expression on her face as she furrows her brows, "I surprised you?"

I blink at her, wondering what she'd have thought my reaction to someone suddenly emerging from out of nowhere in the middle of an empty hall would've been. "Is that so hard to believe?"

She shrugs, somewhat trying to look casual, "No. Not really. But I'm glad to finally surprise someone in the good way."

"I...don't—"

"Never mind," she quickly says, grabbing about two of the five books lying around the floor, "where do you live? I'll help you take these home."

She must be joking. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah. Sure," she says, as if it's the easiest thing in the world to help someone she's never even met before carry their books all the way back to a house they've never even been to before.

"No, don't. It's fine," I tell her, "I have a driver outside, so—"

She just cuts in, "Then I'll help you take these to the driver."

All the while I grasp for a reason as to why she would possibly do something like this so suddenly, "N-no, come on. You shouldn't do that—"

"Why not?" she asks, again as though doing this is all routine for her.

"Because I was the guy who borrowed these books and it doesn't feel right if someone else just—"

"I'm offering to help you here."

I look at her warily, unknowing what else I could say to her other than "Thank you for your concern, but I can handle this—"

She then drops the books, drops them right to my feet. And my eyes tear themselves away from the red of her scarf and move to the white of her teeth, her lips forming a coy smile. All at once the beauty fades away and all I feel is annoyed.

I ask her, "Why would you—?"

"You don't need my help," she smirks, arms folding.

I take in a very deep breath. Don't get mad, I tell myself. Getting mad will get you nothing. I kneel to the ground and start to pick up my books. But then she punts one of them, sending it three feet away from me.

"Oops," she smirks again.

"...Why did you do that?" I seethe, trying to keep my composure as best as possible.

"You said you didn't need my help," she says again, maintaining her smirk.

I sigh, "You could have handed it over to me."

"Yeah. I could have."

I stand up and head over to get my book, but I stop in my tracks; there is a hand on my shoulder.

"Dude," the girl snorts, chuckling somewhat. "You could just tell me to give it back to you."

"...but...you kicked it away from me."

"You could've yelled in my face, y'know. Made me pick it up, or something."

For some reason, her face contorts, like she expected me to have done such a thing.

"I'm not that kind of person," I tell her simply.

"Are you kidding me? You're letting someone like me push you around?"

I don't like how she's addressed me, but I don't really bring it up. Don't want to talk about Dad, or the corporation; not at the moment. So I settle on asking, "How do you know about me?"

She blinks, surprised somewhat, "Everybody knows who you are. Don't you hear the way people talk about you?"

I blink back at her and heave out a small breath, "I...don't really pay attention to those kinds of things."

"Well, you should. It's interesting, hearing the things people say about you..."

I think of asking her about the things that people say. But then I remember I shouldn't care, and instead a more interesting question pops to mind. "You're...not intimidated?"

"Should I be?"

I blink at her, "It wouldn't exactly be surprising if you were intimidated."

"Well, I'm not," she says, her chest puffing out as she puts her hands on her hips. "That's for the weak."

"...the weak, huh...?"

"Yeah," she gives me a leery smile, as though she knows of my insecurities in those matters. Then, she picks up my book and hands it over to me.

"Thank you," I said, after managing to pile all the books into a tower of literature (as I like to call it) again.

"You sure you'll be alright on your own?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

I walk about a meter or so before all my books fall from my hands again. The girl suddenly bursts into laughter and it quickly gets to the point I fear she'll die if she doesn't get any actual breathing in. I glare at her for a bit as she tries to compose herself. And then I begin picking up my books again, deciding not to care if she dies due to lack of oxygen.

"Oh, come on...," The girl stomps over to me, kneels down, and grabs about half the books before standing up to face me. "I'll carry these books, you carry the others."

I sigh again.

"Stop sighing. Just because you're rich doesn't give you the right to be so annoyed."

"Shut up," I grunt, deciding to let myself be visibly annoyed for once.

You may have caught on at this point that I'm not your ordinary student. Though my day-by-day pattern seems to indicate that. I'm the son of a businessman. Soichiro Kanzaki leads the Kanzaki Corporation, which specializes in electronics, gadgets, even toy manufacturing. It's spread out nationally, all over Japan. Reaching even places like Tokyo and competing with the likes of the Kirijo Group in terms of trending.

So I'm rich. And while the house I and my father live in is rather small, I still have a driver, valuable pieces of furniture, exorbitantly large paintings hanging by the walls, the works. I don't really try to show off my wealth around others, but word gets around easily on who I am the son of, and so it becomes all the easier for people who don't know me to back off.

Which is fine. In fact, it's the more acceptable option. I'd rather have nobody talk to me than have someone talk to me only for them to somehow someway cause me trouble in the future.

You can imagine how I feel right now, with this girl who has caused me trouble. Breathing down my neck and decidedly not leaving me alone. We are outside the school gates. My driver, Yoshida, has parked his car right in front of us and has opened the door, gesturing for me to head inside the back seat. The sedan is black and it is boring and it doesn't look like anything a rich person should be driven in, but it is fine. All a car is, is just a means of transportation.

The air is cold and the sky is grey. The school grounds are largely empty, so it's just me and her and my driver out in the snow.

"Master Akira, I've been waiting for you."

Kouichi Yoshida is a man in his sixties who looks as though he's in his thirties. He's already got grey hair but he's managed to style it into something resembling silver. His eyes are aged and weary, but he has very well-defined cheekbones and his skin is still as white as it was the day he was born. He smiles at me as I and the girl at my side look at him, though he smiles with a little more excitement at the edges of his lips than usual.

"Sorry for keeping you, Yoshida. I ran into some trouble," I say to him.

"I'm sure," he smirks, turning to the aforementioned girl. "Who's this young lady?"

I blink, turning to the girl. "I've just realized I didn't ask you your name yet."

"You only got that now?" she chuckled, brow raised. "I was waiting for hours."

I give her a neutral expression, "We only met each other a few minutes ago."

She nods, "It felt like hours to me."

I sigh once more, "You're the strangest person I've ever met."

"Told you to stop sighing," she scoffed. "And by the way, the name's Kana. Kana Kohaku."

I blink at her again, more than a little eager to get in the car and leave her. "Nice to meet you, Kohaku-san."

But her attention quickly shifts away from me and to the elderly man before us both. "Anyway, you have a butler, too?"

I say to her, "Driver, not butler."

"Hmm. Neat," she says back, smiling coquettishly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Kohaku-san," Yoshida says, lowering his upper body before Kohaku raises her hand at him.

"Don't bow to me," she laughs with that wry smirk of hers that I can't help but loathe somewhat. "I don't need it. I'm not one o' you rich people."

"...Very well, then," Yoshida chuckles in amusement, moving and gesturing again to the open door. I head in the car, Kohaku handing me the rest of my books as I take my seat.

"Well, thank you very much for your help today, Kohaku-san," I say in an attempt to sound as formal and forgettable as possible, hoping it'd be enough to get her off my back. "I'll see you around—"

"Call me Kana."

...

I blink at her and I stammer and I blush kind of madly because this is the very first time a girl of any sort has told me to call her by her first name, but I make myself stop freaking out just in time for me to ask, "Y-your first name?"

"Yeah," she chuckles again, as I flail in my awkwardness. "Just call me Kana."

Again I flail because I'm nervous to my bones but I manage to come out again with, "Wh-why? Isn't that—?"

She shrugs, "Doesn't matter to me if we just met or if we've been friends for a billion years. Call me Kana. Calling me by my last name is too formal. Not used to it."

The way she says it all so casually shames me, and in my shame I can't help but mutter out a meek, "So...K-Kana, thanks for your help."

"...can I ask a favor of you?" she suddenly says. "I know it's on extremely short notice, but...could you help me study for the quiz we've got on this?"

I blink at her again. "You're...in the same class as I am?"

"You never noticed."

I shake my head, "S-sorry..."

It's her turn to sigh, now, "Look...I know we didn't really start off on the right foot. I've seen your scores. You do really well at quizzes...and I'm dumber than a bag of hammers. I really want to do better in schoolwork, but it's hard for me. Please...throughout the week, can you help me?"

"No," is my simple reply.

She blinks. "N-no?"

"You read the books incrementally. Day by day. You read the lessons at your own pace. Doing problems and exercises along the way. If you get them wrong, you go back to the lessons and try again till you get it right. It's simple. I don't see how I can help you out here."

"I've tried," she grunts. "Believe me, I've tried that. I've tried reviewing on my own time. I really do my best to study and make stuff work, but it never pans out. I'm just not good at it. Please. I'm begging you."

"If you can't make it, you can't make it. I'm sorry," I say to her. "I don't tutor people. It gets in the way of my schedule."

"You really can't help me...?" she asks. There's a desperation in her eyes now, something that I feel pained to see, but I press on.

"I can. It's just that I don't want to. People can help themselves."

"I've tried to help myself, and it doesn't work," she says.

"Then try harder," I say as I close the door, right in her face.

Yoshida pauses, squares his shoulders, and drives.

And then she walks away. Turning her back to me, to the car. The red scarf flutters in the wind as she walks down the street, and she disappears as she turns around the corner of the school and as Yoshida drives the car in the opposite direction.

Yoshida is usually reserved for when I go to places beyond my commuter's route. But I asked him to come because I didn't feel like commuting home today, and he had free time. The lights of the city go in a blur, different cars and different people passing us by. The streets are packed and the world is alive as it often is at night. But all that is on my mind is the next day, where I live out my life by my schedule again and continue this until I get out of high school and live what little else of my life I've got left. The snow is coming down hard and the sky is dark now because it is evening. The air conditioner is off because it is cold enough as it is.

It is fifteen minutes in and I am blowing my hands in an attempt to keep them warm, when Yoshida decides to take a dare.

"Young Master, a word."

"Hmm?"

"You could have just agreed to her request," he says. "To my knowledge, you don't partake in any extracurricular activities. It isn't as if she'd get in the way of anything; I doubt your father would disapprove, because you'd be studying hard yourself while helping her. Why reject her?"

I lean forward in my seat and clasp my hands together. "She can do it on her own. Everyone can. She says I'm smart, when really all I do is follow the advice Father gives me. I'm not naturally more intelligent than anybody else. I genuinely worked as best as I could to get the grades I have now. She doesn't need me to help herself out."

"Well, far be it from me to tell you what to do with your time, Master; but just a suggestion," says Yoshida. "If you'll not do it for her sake, then for yours," says Yoshida. "Youth is fleeting. It may do you good to find friends. You're growing quickly, Master. In the future, wherever your life will take you can only be decided by you, regardless of your status as heir to the company. I don't think you should undertake such a journey alone."

At this, I do not speak up again. I look out the window and lean my head against the door. I do not want to answer him. I am upset now, and I do not know why I am upset. So he and I continue the drive home in silence as my thoughts of the quiz tomorrow begin to fade and instead bitter things involving girls with red scarves take their place.

He's wrong. If anything, life's fleetingness makes a folly of making friends or starting relationships. Conversations begin and conversations end. People come and people go. Lives are born, lives are ended. Relationships are formed, relationships break apart. Like glass.

What's the point of relying on fragile things like that to help you make it through life? If your will is so easily breakable that a lack of any kind of relationship in your life will destroy you, then you've no business living. Nature is in and of itself, chaotic. There's no telling what will happen to you or anyone else. Therefore, it is imperative you live for yourself and yourself alone, ensure your own survival above anyone else's. The world doesn't care about you, so you shouldn't care about it and should only concern yourself with how you ought to live.

I do not know what is to come in the next few days, and I am unaware of how wrong I am to treat Kana Kohaku the way I do. I am unaware of how important she will become to me and for now I am comfortable in my seat. I am comfortable with the way the world turns, and I do not need some stranger who's too kind for her own good to mess that up for me.

So I say to myself.

The world is still a blur. The people still pass us by. The snowflakes dotting the windshields are still melting quickly.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This story was once a 12,000 word prologue for my fanfic/novelization of Persona 5. But I deleted the original story and I'm planning to do some refurbishing. Been playing Persona 5 and I have to say that it's quite amazing. Though what was even more amazing was that the headcanon I'd planned for my protagonist actually really gelled with the story.

However, I recognized that some parts could've been better written, especially considering how rushed the original prologue had been. I also wanted to change up some sequences and dropped a whole 'nother fic that was a side-story to this that I thought would serve a purpose but would only make things much longer than they'd have any right to be. Which is bad for me, and my college life.

So. I'm going to reupload the next few chapters of the prologue steadily. Now that I have a better grasp on the story itself, I feel it appropriate to take a more nuanced approach to the background of our protagonist. Who will be named Akira Kanzaki. Not Akira Kurusu. Because I predicted his name would be Akira Kanzaki and I'm more than happy with the fact that I'd managed to get his first name and the first letter of his surname correctly. I'm just petty like that.

Hope you guys like what I've got planned. 'Cause it's a real doozy.

Note: Removed age of Akira. Wanted to make timeframe of prologue relatively more ambiguous in relation to the story. Also removed timeframe, to help things stay more ambiguous in relation to the rest. Gonna do so for the rest of the chapters as well.