School had never felt welcoming, but today it felt actively hostile.

  Ethan sat in his desk, shoulders tense, hands folded far too tightly in his p, every nerve screaming as if his body itself was rejecting the shape it was forced to hold. The cssroom buzzed with low chatter, the scrape of chairs, the flick of notebook pages—but beneath it all, louder than anything else, was Eri.

  She wasn’t a voice exactly.

  She was pressure.

  A pull beneath his skin. A phantom sensation of ears twitching at every sharp sound, of tails curling and uncurling behind him even though there was nothing there. The neckce rested against his chest, hidden beneath his shirt, but it felt heavier than ever—like it was digging into him, anchoring him to a version of himself that felt more wrong by the minute.

  I shouldn’t be here, Eri thought, the feeling bleeding through so strongly it made Ethan’s stomach twist.This isn’t my pce. This isn’t my body.

  He squeezed his eyes shut for half a second, then opened them again, forcing himself to focus on the board at the front of the room. Numbers and words blurred together. The teacher’s voice washed over him without meaning.

  Every time someone ughed too loudly, his shoulders flinched.Every time a chair screeched, his fingers twitched.Every time he shifted in his seat, he felt the absence of weight behind him—an empty space where his tails should have been.

  The neckce pulsed.

  Not visibly. Not magically. But emotionally. Like it was responding to his distress, tightening its grip the more he resisted.

  Take it off, the Eri inside him urged.Just for a second. Please.

  Ethan swallowed hard and pressed his foot ft against the floor, grounding himself. I can’t. Not here. Not now.They’ll see. They’ll know.

  They should know, the other part of him shot back, fierce and aching. They deserve to know. Mom deserves to know. Yui deserves to know. Mira already knows—

  That thought cracked something open.

  Mira.

  The memory of her hands stroking Eri’s ears, her quiet presence, her unwavering acceptance—it surged up so strongly Ethan nearly gasped. His chest tightened, eyes burning as he stared at the desk in front of him.

  She didn’t recoil.She didn’t scream.She didn’t tell me I was wrong.

  The desire to tell the truth—to just say it, to rip the words out of his chest and throw them at the world—grew sharp and almost unbearable.

  He wanted to stand up in the middle of css and scream,I’m not Ethan. I’m Eri. This isn’t me.

  He wanted to go home, sm the door, look his mother in the eye, and finally say the words that had been cwing at his throat for years.He wanted Yui to know why he was always so distant.Why he flinched.Why he smiled wrong.

  Why he looked like her brother but never felt like one.

  His nails bit into his palms.

  Then—a small shift of movement beside him.

  Alex leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You okay?”

  Alex—the only one at school who knew. The only other person who’d seen Eri with her ears and tails and still stayed. The only other person who didn’t look at him like he was broken.

  Ethan hesitated, then shook his head once. Just barely.

  “No,” he whispered.

  Alex frowned, concern deepening. “You’re shaking.”

  Ethan hadn’t even noticed.

  His leg was bouncing uncontrolbly, hands trembling now as the pressure inside him continued to build. The neckce felt like it was burning through his shirt, a cold-hot sensation that made his breath come shallow.

  I can’t do this, Eri thought, panic threading through her longing. I can’t stay like this all day. I’m going to tear myself apart.

  “I want to tell them,” Ethan whispered suddenly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His voice cracked. “I want to tell my mom. I want to tell Yui. I want them to know so bad it hurts.”

  Alex didn’t interrupt. Didn’t dismiss it. Just listened.

  “I feel like I’m lying every second I exist,” Ethan continued, quieter now, eyes fixed on the desk. “Like… like I’m wearing a costume I can’t take off. And it’s getting tighter. I don’t know how much longer I can—”

  His breath hitched.

  The bell rang.

  The sound was sharp, piercing—and Ethan jerked so hard his chair scraped loudly against the floor. Heads turned. A few students stared. The teacher paused, eyebrow raised.

  “Ethan?” the teacher said. “You alright?”

  Every instinct screamed at him to curl in on himself, to ftten his ears—ears that weren’t there—to hide his tails—tails that didn’t exist.

  He nodded stiffly. “Y-Yeah. Sorry.”

  But Eri recoiled inside him, shaking.

  Too loud. Too many eyes. I hate this. I hate this. I hate—

  The hallway was worse.

  Bodies pressed too close. Voices overpped. Someone bumped into his shoulder, and for half a heartbeat Ethan almost spun around, furious, protective—feral.

  He tasted panic.

  Alex stayed close, walking just slightly to his side, a quiet anchor. “Hey,” he murmured. “Breathe. You’re not alone.”

  Ethan wanted to cry at that.

  By lunchtime, the neckce felt unbearable.

  It wasn’t just discomfort anymore—it was resistance. Like Eri was pushing against it from the inside, testing its limits. His skin felt wrong, too tight in some pces, too numb in others. He kept imagining fur brushing against his arms, ears flicking at the echoing cafeteria noise.

  He couldn’t eat.

  He just sat there, hunched over, fingers hooked in the fabric of his shirt right over the neckce.

  Break it, the thought no longer hesitant. Break it. Please. I don’t care anymore. I don’t care if they see. I don’t care if they hate me. I just want to be real.

  Ethan’s throat closed.

  “I can’t,” he whispered back to himself, barely audible. If I do… everything changes.

  Everything already has, his inner thoughts continued, fierce and aching. You’re just pretending it hasn’t.

  That was the worst part.

  By the time the final bell rang, Ethan was barely holding himself together. His movements were jerky, twitchy. His senses felt overstimuted, raw. The neckce felt like a shackle now, not just a disguise.

  As he walked out of the building, sunlight hit his face—and for a split second, he swore he felt warmth soak into fur that wasn’t there.

  He stumbled, catching himself on the railing.

  Alex grabbed his arm. “Hey. You’re going home, right?”

  Ethan nodded weakly.

  “Good,” Alex said quietly. “Whatever happens… you don’t have to do it alone.”

  Ethan watched him walk away, heart pounding.

  Home loomed ahead.

  His parents.Yui.Mira—who already knew, who would see through him immediately.

  The truth pressed against his ribs, desperate, furious, aching to be freed.

  And as he stepped toward the car, the neckce cold and heavy against his chest, one thought echoed louder than any other:

  If I don’t tell them soon… I don’t know if I’ll survive staying silent.