I Was Reincarnated As a Man who Steals The Protagonist’s Childhood Friend

Akira POV:

“Are you sure we should leave those two?” Hibiki’s voice broke the silence, her brow furrowed in concern. The streetlights cast a soft glow around us as we walked away from the station, her question lingered between us.

“What do you mean?” I replied, pretending not to understand, though I knew exactly what she was referring to.

She let out a soft sigh. “I mean, Takeshi and Hoshino. Isn’t it… you know… a bit awkward between them?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, more to mask my unease than out of genuine amusement. “Awkward? Maybe. But that’s their business.”

Hibiki slowed her pace, her footsteps falling softly against the pavement. “It didn’t seem that simple tonight. Takeshi’s changed, hasn’t he?”

I turned to look at her, and for a moment, the memory of our first encounter with Takeshi flooded back.

Spring comes, and the club recruitment fair was always a bustling affair. Students milled about, voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony as clubs displayed their banners, handed out flyers, and tried to capture the attention of prospective new members. For me, Akira, and my fellow Photography Club members, it was an important day. We needed new recruits to keep the club alive.

“Akira-kun, make sure the banner is straight!” Hibiki called, struggling to balance a stack of photo albums. I nodded, tugging on the corner of the cloth until it hung evenly. Our display table boasted a collection of our best works: snapshots of cherry blossoms caught mid-fall, students lost in laughter, and sunsets that painted the sky in hues of crimson and gold. I took a moment to admire our handiwork before the crowd swallowed us once more.

“Excuse me, are you accepting new members?” asked a timid first-year, her eyes wide as she took in the photos.

“Yes! Absolutely!” Hibiki replied with enthusiasm. “Just write your personal information in this form here—”

A sudden hush fell over the corridor, so abrupt it was as if someone had flipped a switch. The vibrant energy of the fair shifted, and I noticed people whispering, their eyes darting nervously toward a single figure making his way through the crowd.

“Is that…?”

“Ueno Takeshi. I heard he got into a fight last week. Broke a guy’s nose.”

I tried to dismiss the rumors. I’d heard them too—a problematic student with a reputation for trouble, for violence. But what struck me as odd was how still and quiet he was as he walked, as if he carried a storm within him that was barely contained. His blond hair caught the light, making him look almost ethereal in the sea of dark-haired students.

“Takeshi?” Hibiki whispered, clutching her camera a little tighter. “Is he…?”

“Probably not here for us,” I murmured back, though I wasn’t entirely sure. My heart beat a little faster as he approached, his eyes scanning each booth with what I assumed was indifference. But as he drew closer, I saw something else—an intense, almost hungry curiosity that he seemed desperate to hide.

He stopped in front of our booth. Hibiki went rigid beside me, and I felt my palms grow clammy.

“Photography Club?” His voice was lower than I expected, rough around the edges, as if it hadn’t been used in a while.

I forced a smile. “That’s right. Are… you interested in joining?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out, his hand hovering over one of our pictures—a cherry blossom tree captured at its peak, every petal frozen mid-air by the camera’s lens. His fingers trembled for just a fraction of a second before he pulled back.

“Yes. Let me join.” He replied with a determination in his voice.

I blinked, stunned. Hibiki opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, unable to form a response. Takeshi leaned down, grabbing the pen and scrawling his name on the sheet in bold, jagged letters. Ueno Takeshi.

“Welcome to the club.” I managed to say, trying to sound steady. “We, um, usually meet after school in the Photography clubroom. Feel free to come by.”

He nodded once, curtly, before turning and walking away. The crowd parted for him like water, and the whispers picked up again.

“That was… unexpected.” Hibiki said once he was out of earshot. She released the breath she’d been holding. “Do you think he’ll actually show up?”

“Who knows,” I said, watching his retreating form. “But I think there’s more to him than people say.”

The next few days confirmed it. Takeshi showed up to every club meeting, punctual to a fault. At first, he kept his distance, rarely speaking unless spoken to. But over time, I caught glimpses of the person beneath the hardened exterior. He had a meticulous eye for detail and a surprising appreciation for capturing moments on film. It was during one of those rare moments that I saw him smile—not the smirk he wore as armor, but a genuine smile that softened his entire face.

But the rumors didn’t stop. No matter how much time Takeshi spent with us, the rest of the school clung to their preconceptions. “Stay away from him,” they’d say. “He’s dangerous.” And for the most part, Takeshi ignored it. He had a way of tuning out the world, focusing only on what was directly in front of him. I admired that.

The memory faded, leaving me standing under the glow of a streetlamp. Hibiki’s voice pulled me back to the present. “Akira, are you listening?”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sorry. Just… thinking.”

“You’re worried too, aren’t you? Those two.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to worry it. I’m sure he knows what to do.” I assure Hibiki.

Hibiki’s eyes softened. “I hope he does.”

We continued walking on in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts, the past casting long shadows over the road ahead.