Act One: A Replica, Gazing

I’ll let you decide, Nao. Will you live as yourself? Or will you come back inside me?

I tried to answer right away.

“Sunao, I………”

“Nao.”

My lips kept moving, but no further sound emerged.

Aki had cut me off, and not just by calling my name—he’d grabbed my arm.

“Aki?”

I spun around. When I saw how pale he was, it all came back to me—this was the school trip. We were in Kyoto, on the bank by the Togetsu Bridge. Belatedly, I realized I’d made a huge mistake.

“…Sorry, Aki,” I whispered, still stunned.

His brow furrowed, as well it could. I’d been so caught up in the moment, I’d lost track of everything but Sunao.

And that wasn’t all: Aki likely knew how I was planning to answer. He was the only one who could, since he was a replica, too.

A cold wind ruffled the downy hairs on my cheeks, and I felt the warmth drain from my body. I slowly turned my gaze from Aki to face Sunao again.

“Sorry, Sunao. Right now…”

The words stuck in my throat and wouldn’t come out. I must have looked miserable, but Sunao shook her head like it didn’t matter. It was as though she’d just woken from a dream.

We’d shared a heated moment, and Sunao took a deep breath of the cold air, pushing it all away for now. After a beat, she spoke in a deliberate, calm voice.

“Okay. It’s a big decision; take the time you need.”

But I couldn’t put this off for long. I caught her eye, trying to be strong. “I’ll have an answer for you before the end of the year.”

It was November 18. I had almost a month and a half left.

Was that a lot of time, or was it hardly any? I found my answer in the way Aki’s hand listlessly fell away from my arm. Neither he nor Sanada said a word. The cheery voices of the tourists around us felt worlds away, sweeping between our bodies like a cold wind, as if to emphasize how far apart we were.

Sunao slowly nodded. “Okay.”

“Enjoy the rest of your trip, Sunao.”

“…Mm-hmm.”

This trip was a once-in-a-lifetime occasion, and she was only halfway done. Satou and Yoshii were waiting for their squad to reassemble. I couldn’t stay here and force Sunao to keep them waiting.

I looked at her. Her thin lips hesitated, and I watched them like someone trying to see through a magician’s trick.

“Nao, vanish,” she said.

I only had one reason for staring at her like that: I didn’t want to meet Aki’s eyes before I was gone.

On Tuesday, December 14, Sunao left the house ten minutes earlier than usual.

It was the day of the sports festival. Students were changing in empty classrooms, gym locker rooms, and—if those were full—toilet stalls. Everyone had to get into athletic wear and gather in the gym before the start of first period.

Sunao called me out in a toilet stall in the empty annex. I emerged in the cramped, dimly lit space, and we faced each other across the toilet, our clothes and faces identical.

She’d already changed. She was wearing a gray tracksuit jacket with blue stripes down the side and black shorts. She’d have to take the jacket off during the events, but most girls kept it on the rest of the time.

“Sorry to summon you in a place like this.” She sighed, tugging at her sleeves and adjusting her shorts. Her pale, little kneecaps were staring at mine, close enough to touch.

It had been worth the trip here from the main building; all three stalls were empty. Anyone talking to themselves in the restroom would attract attention, so Sunao had taken precautions.

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m the one who wanted to watch.”

Sunao tucked her accessory case under her arm and opened the stall door with one elbow. We emerged to stand before the foggy mirror.

“Here,” she said, handing me a light blue scrunchie.

“Thanks.” I took it from her and, eyes on the mirror, put my hair half up.

Sunao held a black hair band between her lips, which she used to tie her long, straight, brown hair into a ponytail.

I always felt strange until I had my hair half-up, like the sensation against my back wasn’t right. Changing hairstyles made the two of us different—outwardly, at least. As we stood side by side, our mirror images no longer matched.

“Let’s head to class,” Sunao said. “Stay close to me.”

“Mm-hmm.”

With that, we left the restroom, mindful of prying eyes. In the hall, we looked right, left, then right again. I felt like I was in Mission: Impossible, but my task was a lot easier than anything Ethan Hunt did.

I hurried down the deserted hall behind Sunao. In the classroom, most of the other students were out of their seats, chatting.

Sunao threaded through the crowd to her desk at the back by the window. I stood behind her, keeping close like a particularly unreliable bodyguard.

In front of her, Yoshii was talking to a friend, but he turned around when he heard her seat pull back. He wore a red headband around his forehead and was hyping himself up for the festival.

Did he bring that from home? What a goofball.

“Aikawa! What up?”

“…Morning,” she said with a sigh, propping up her chin with one arm. It didn’t sound very welcoming, but Yoshii cackled and sat down backward in his chair, unoffended.

“So you’re doing dodgeball, right? I’m doing soccer, but I’ll be in the gym, rooting for you!”

The sports festival gave boys a choice of soccer or basketball and girls a choice between softball and dodgeball. Each event would be a single-elimination tournament pitting students from all years against each other.

Sunao had chosen dodgeball, while Satou was doing softball. Sanada had basketball, and Yoshii had picked soccer. Their squad from the school trip had zero overlap that day.

In fact, Satou had wanted to choose dodgeball, too, but it had proved popular, and she’d let someone else take her place. She was always acting as a class representative should, even when it came to things like this.

“Our game times overlap,” Sunao said, rolling her eyes at Yoshii.

I was faintly surprised to hear them chatting like this. After all, it was a totally normal classroom conversation. Sunao was now shooting the breeze with boys. A few months back, this would have been unimaginable.

Yoshii shot a group of his friends a mischievous glance, then gave Sunao a thumbs-up. “Don’t you worry; we’re gonna lose real quick.”

“You better not be planning to throw the match, Yoshii,” Satou said.

“Gah, Class Rep!”

Satou had been chatting at the front of the class when she heard Yoshii’s worrying proclamation.

All of a sudden, Yoshii’s eyes met mine, and I jumped. But he’d been glancing around evasively and simply happened to look my way.

“Yoshii, there are prizes for the festival this year. You need to give it your all. Sure, basketball’s our best bet, and nobody’s pinning their hopes on soccer, but—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Class Rep.”

“We will be playing our hearts out, I swear!”

Yoshii and his friend both rubbed their hands obsequiously.

Those two might not be motivated, but Class 2-1 had really come together over the haunted house, and the other students were pretty fired up for the sports festival. They’d just finished the last big exam of the academic year, and the festival would serve as the perfect distraction. What’s more, they had Satou—who was good at all things athletic—and Sanada, the basketball team’s former ace, among their ranks.

Everyone was excited about the prizes, too. For each of the four events, the members of the winning class received a voucher for one free baked good from the school shop. A modest prize, perhaps, but one everyone could appreciate.

There’d been no prizes the year before—at best, a winning class’s homeroom teacher might have secretly bought everyone a soda. But for this year alone, that changed—and we all knew why.

At the after-party for the Seiryou Festival, the grand prize winners were supposed to get up on stage and pull from a box of prizes, but that hadn’t happened. And so, the funds had been diverted to the sports festival.

Everyone knew that, but no one said a word about it. Instead, they threw themselves into preparing for the tournaments to chase away the sadness and loneliness still left from that tragedy.

Time healed all wounds. If everything stayed just as vivid as the moment it happened, life would be nothing but suffering. It would be hard to laugh about anything. Sunao’s memories were like that, too.

Yoshii was back to chatting with the boys, so Satou knelt down to keep from drawing attention. She had her tracksuit jacket tied around her waist, and the sleeves touched the floor.

“Is Nao here?” she asked.

“Right behind me,” Sunao said, not shifting her gaze.

Satou nodded and turned. “Good morning, Nao.”

She was looking the wrong way, but I appreciated the thought.

“Good morning, Satou,” I replied.

We’d done a few experiments after the school trip. Both Sunao and I could be around her parents without them noticing, even when I spoke or made noises. But I could still touch the silent walls. I could open closed doors on my own and even pick up items from the coffee table like pens or the remote control.

Satou had theorized that when the original was around, the replica moved to a different “plane,” but that plane was probably still connected to the original’s. These “planes” were stacked one above the other, so certain portions had to be overlapping. The replica, then, was always floating close by, free to move between the two planes.

It was just that other people couldn’t perceive that.

If I touched something, Sunao’s parents could no longer see it clearly. It grew vague. I could put my hand on her shoulder, and Sunao’s mother wouldn’t react.

I had tried changing the TV channel while her mother had been in the middle of her favorite romance drama, and she’d glared at Sunao’s dad, accusing him of sitting on the remote again. Framed for a crime he hadn’t committed, he’d simply made a face and apologized. Maybe if I’d kept it up, they’d have suspected a poltergeist, but I wasn’t there to scare them.

If the scrunchie I had on now was floating in space, it would have caused an uproar, but nobody paid attention to it. Perhaps they could see it, but their brains, convinced it couldn’t be real, had hidden it from them.

“Listen up! It’s fine to cheer on your friends, just don’t forget about your own matches, okay?”

I blinked and looked up to find our teacher at the podium. We were supposed to have a short homeroom before the festival got underway.

I shook my head. I couldn’t let myself get lost in thought. Sunao did not enjoy sports, and I was here to watch out for her. I had to stay focused on my primary objective.

Aki was standing between Sanada’s seat and the lockers, hands in his pockets, seeming lost. When did he get here?

There were thirty-eight heads lined up in uneven rows in the rectangular classroom. If I went around tapping them like drums, I bet it would sound delightful. Nobody knew there were two extra people in the room. We were like ghosts, invisible. I felt like I could do anything. But I couldn’t, and I didn’t want to.

For a moment, Aki and I stared at each other. I wasn’t sure if he was thinking the same thing. In time, we both looked away, facing ahead.

It wasn’t like we’d had a fight, but ever since that day, a gulf had opened up between us. I didn’t have a shovel, and I couldn’t fill it in.

“Be careful,” the teacher continued. “Try not to get hurt. Listen to the other teachers and sports reps.”

Sports representatives were students on the health and sports committee. They took charge during gym classes and other athletic events, and the sports festival was their time to shine.

Everyone droned an acknowledgement, and the teacher shrugged and called for Satou. Bolting upright, she marched to the podium, then swiveled her head, surveying the class. Her eyes were gleaming.

“Ahem! Our official goal is to win all four events, obtaining four free baked good vouchers for everyone! There are no limits on what you can exchange them for, so pick something pricy! We have a list here of everything the store sells.”

At this, Ootsuka—the class vice president and a member of the Fine Arts Club—stood up. He unrolled a poster and stuck it to the board with magnets for everyone to see.

The class began to stir—mostly the boys. Every baked good was drawn in color, arranged by price. They’d done an unnecessarily good job on the art, and it was making me hungry.

“The school shop’s wares are all affordable, but if you start at the top here, you’ll see the bacon potato dog and the mentaiko baguette are each 180 yen, the whipped cream melon bun is 170, and the soft-boiled egg curry roll is 160. As you can see, there are a lot of items in the 140- to 160-yen bracket. And don’t forget about the legendary BBLLTTT sandwich—they only make three a day, and it goes for a shocking four digits!”

“Enough baked goods! Let’s talk strategy!” Yoshii said, on point for once. Everyone laughed.

We hadn’t gotten much time to practice, and I had the feeling Satou wasn’t seriously aiming for victory. She just wanted to motivate us to try our best while having fun.

Regardless, we split into groups and began to talk strategy.

Each of the four teams had a leader who took charge, reviewing the strategies they’d come up with ahead of time.

Eventually, Satou got our attention again and wrapped things up.

“Let’s show everyone else what we’re capable of, then enjoy the baked goods of victory! Hip hip hooray! Onward to the gym!” She raised a fist high and led the way.

Everyone shuffled after her. Sunao’s chair wobbled as she stood up.

Don’t bump anyone, she mouthed.

“Okay, I’ll be careful.”

Other people couldn’t perceive me, but it still hurt if they ran into me. They could easily knock me on my butt. That was what Sunao was worried about.

To avoid confusing people, I would be sticking to Sunao’s side that day; Aki was doing the same with Sanada. Once we were both in the hall, Sunao started walking, while I lagged a bit behind.

Outside the gym, everyone changed from slippers into gym shoes, and all the students—nearly six hundred of them—lined up in rows. Most of them were in gym uniforms or tracksuits, but some classes wore colored T-shirts over their gym uniforms. The faculty were all dressed casually, too.

The festival began at nine AM on the dot. The student council president took the stage to kick things off. He stood before the podium mic, clearly still unused to things like this. He spoke about how we’d been blessed with nice weather and thanked the sports committee and student volunteers for their hard work.

He and I were both second-years, but I didn’t remember the new president’s name. I felt bad about it, but I was probably far from the only one.

Next, the sports reps ran over the rules for each of the games.

The highlight of the assembly was the unveiling of the tournament brackets. These were projected onto a big screen, and there was a glittering crown at the top of each.

There were five classes in each year and three years total. That made for an odd number, so one team in each of the four sports received a bye in the first round. The lucky four were chosen at random and did not include Class 2-1. All of our teams would need to win four times.

Our dodgeball team would play in the second match. They were up against Ricchan’s Class 1-5. You might think we’d have an easy time against a bunch of first-years, but several people, including Satou, groaned.

“Class 1-5’s a favorite to win!”

“Yikes, that’s a rough first draw.”

After that, the sports reps and teachers led groups of students off to various event spaces in the gym or on the grounds outside. Basketball and dodgeball were indoors, and soccer and softball were on the field.

Every year someone got hurt or sick, so they made us all stretch. The gym wasn’t that big, but Sunao waved her arms around, following the rep’s lead. I did the same over by a big wooden panel carved with the lyrics to the school song. It would be dull to just stand and watch.

We would be using both indoor courts for the festival. The one by the entrance was for basketball, while the one in back was for dodgeball matches. There was a green net set up between them, so we didn’t need to fear any stray balls. Students not currently participating milled about freely, and the sports reps darted around busily between them.

One rep dashed up to the mic with a piece of paper in hand and squeaked, “Dodgeball first match, Class 1-3 vs. Class 3-5! Basketball first match, 1-4 vs. 3-2… Sorry, 3-3! Players, to the courts, please. If your team is not in either of the first two matches, please move to the second floor. Oh, right. Basketball players, put your bibs on.”

The first match got underway a little before the scheduled ten o’clock start time.

I fretted a lot about where to stand, but I elected to stay on the first floor over the second-floor cheering area. I had to be careful not to bump into anyone, but I could also act swiftly if anything happened to Sunao.

I looked for Aki and found him at the edge of the packed second-story seating area. He was watching the first basketball match.

The gym floor was covered in colored tape, and I sat down with my knees up, head swiveling between the two games. Both were between first- and third-years, so I barely knew anyone playing.

A two-year difference in high school meant less than it did in elementary school, but it was still significant—the third-year teams were pulling ahead on both courts. The first-years were putting up a commendable fight, but their upperclassmen kept steadily increasing their lead.

The black-lined basketball made quite a racket as it slammed into the floor of the gym. It joined in a chorus with the sound of the white rubber dodgeball crashing into bodies before falling away. Teammates yelled, and the crowd cheered and clapped. Someone whistled, first briefly, then on a more sustained note. All kinds of noises flew back and forth across the gym, echoing and blurring together. I couldn’t make out a word of what anyone was saying.

Someone blew their whistle again, ending a match. Each had lasted only twelve minutes. A quick tally of those still on the dodgeball court made it clear that Class 3-5 was the winner, but there was no time to celebrate their victory as they were quickly rushed off the court. There were only three minutes before the second match was supposed to start.

Each of the four sports would have fifteen matches total—including the third-place playoff. To finish on time, transitions had to be smooth.

Groups who’d been watching the first match got up and dusted off their shorts; Sunao was among them. I watched her take off her tracksuit jacket.

“…Sunao,” I said, getting up. I had intended to wish her luck.

But Sunao didn’t hear me. She was running onto the court, her ponytail waving.

Both teams assembled and assumed their positions on the court. A whistle blew, and the second match began.

I buried my chin in the collar of my jacket, my eyes fixed on Sunao.

I was left on the sidelines as the game got underway. You’d think the older team would start to pull ahead like in the previous matches, but Class 1-5 was dominating us.

That was because they had a superstar. She was at least five foot seven, broad shouldered, sturdy—even the way she threw the ball was different.

The first-years’ strategy was pretty basic: Get the ball, give it to their ace, have her get someone out, then rinse and repeat. The simplicity of it made the strategy hard to counter. Even if their opponent was lucky enough to get the ball and score a hit, two more on their team would be sent to the sidelines before they got the ball back.

The girls of Class 2-1 were shrieking and running around their side of the court.

“Who throws like that?! All it takes is one hit!”

“Satou said she won the prefectural dodgeball tournament in grade school.”

“They have those?!”

“Well, yeah. Why not?”

It was pandemonium. As if shooting fish in a barrel or taking candy from a baby, they steadily eliminated one person after another until barely anyone was left.

Sunao had so far survived the one-sided slaughter. Balls came at her from all sides, and she just barely dodged. Her heaving shoulders proved the effort was beginning to catch up with her.

“Hang in there, Sunao…”

My whisper was lost in the bustle of the gym. I swallowed hard, unable to take my eyes off her.

Hang in there, Sunao. Don’t let them win.

The ball hit another girl in Class 2-1 on the shoulder, then went flying surprisingly high.

For a second, time froze.

A round, black shadow spun and fell toward Sunao.

She thrust out her hands, hyper focused.

And then she caught the ball. She’d managed to snag it before it bounced, saving her teammate.

“Amazing!” I yelled, delighted.

Various classmates shouted, “Nice!” Tickled, Sunao tossed the ball to one of her teammates on the sidelines. Her feat had calmed our classmates’ nerves. However good the other side was, there was only one ball; everyone just needed to cover one another. That save had reminded them of the basics.

But then I heard a whoosh! Something sliced through the air, and before I knew it, the ball was almost on top of me.

I was too shocked to make a sound. I just knew that one second from now, a fully inflated ball was going to hit me in the face.

I closed my eyes on reflex—and as I did, there was a slapping sound.

Eyes clenched tightly shut, I couldn’t even tremble. But the blow I was expecting never came.

How odd, I thought. I carefully opened one eye and saw a familiar face staring back at me.

“………Aki?”

I’d ducked down, and he was leaning over me protectively.

I heard the ball bounce and roll away. Aki had one hand on the wall, a slight grimace on his face.

Belatedly, I realized what had happened. His arms and back had saved me from the impact.

“Did it hit something just now?” someone on the sidelines muttered.

“You’re seeing things,” a classmate replied, brushing it off.

Everyone looked relieved that no one had been hurt.

The game got back underway without incident, leaving the two of us behind, frozen to the spot.

How awful. That ball had totally slammed into Aki.

Why didn’t they see him? How had no one noticed? Nobody had done anything wrong, but I was full of accusations.

But blaming others would be pointless and would only make me feel worse. I alone knew the truth, so I called out his name in our dusty little corner of the gym. I spoke gently, as if to keep the truth, and him, from disappearing.

“Aki.”

“…Yeah?”

His bangs were shorter now, and his eyes were dark as night. I caught a whiff of his sweat. His face was close enough to touch, and I wanted to touch it. But I stifled the impulse.

“Thanks for taking the hit,” I said, my voice shaking.

Aki pulled away, rubbing the back of his neck as he averted his gaze. “Sure.”

“That must hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

Aki’s thin lips started to mouth something else, but I missed it—because right then, everyone around us gasped. I turned toward the sound.

“Sunao!” I shrieked. She was face down on the hard floor.

A frozen hush settled over the gym. The face of Class 1-5’s ace had been flushed with excitement, but now she was deathly pale.

That alone made it clear. She’d thrown a ball, and Sunao had fallen trying to dodge it.

“Sunao…!” I ran over to her, careful not to bump anyone on the way.

Sunao got up without any assistance, then looked not at me, but at her own chest. A red line ran down from her nostrils, as if splitting her beautiful face in two.

A nosebleed. Her nose was bleeding.

No one said a word. They were all staring, eyes wide. I was in a daze, too. It was such a catastrophe that even the basketball game had stopped. The only people still moving were those students who hadn’t yet worked out what was happening.

Sunao balled up a fist and rubbed her face. She was trying to keep the blood from dripping off her chin. The gesture was so casual, it reminded me of a cat washing itself.

Blood dripped onto her clothes, and she momentarily winced. Then she looked up and declared, “I’m fine.” Her eyes were on the girl who’d thrown the ball.

Her voice was a signal, and time once again began to move. A third-year sports rep came running over and handed Sunao a towel. She hesitated but decided it was better than getting blood on the floor. She held the towel to her face, then left the gym with the other student’s help.

Moving to follow, I glanced back. Ricchan had been taken out early in the match, and she was staring after Sunao, worried.

That was all I needed to see. I left the gym at a run, well aware they were headed to the nurse’s office.

“…Okay, nothing’s broken. Good.” The nurse’s words, echoing through the room with its characteristic smell of disinfectant, came as a huge relief. “Pinch your nose, and keep your head down.”

Sunao did as she was told, and the bleeding soon stopped.

“Your nose is fine, but you look awful. Go wash your hands and face over there.”

Armed with a new towel, Sunao left the stool she’d been sitting on and went to wash herself off in the sink. The blood on her nose and chin wiped away easily, but it took a while to get it off her cat paws.

“Nurse, help!”

As the water ran, the door burst open, and several students piled in. A first-year had started feeling sick during the softball match.

“I’ll be right there. If anyone needs anything, tell them I’m out on the field.”

With that, the nurse hustled out. Clearly, she was having a busy day.

Sunao dried off her face, then turned to the lost-looking sports rep.

“I’m okay now,” she said.

She sounded somewhat curt, but the rep had a mountain of work to do. They had to serve as referees and scorekeepers, and they generally kept the whole show running. The girl seemed genuinely grateful that Sunao had given her the okay to head back.

“You’re sure? Then sorry, I’d better go.”

“Thanks for helping.” Sunao bowed, then the rep nodded and left.

Alone in the nurse’s office, Sunao settled down on the bed and began kicking her feet.

“Was that rude?” she asked. I thought she was talking to herself at first, but she was looking at me.

“That was fine,” I said. “She seemed relieved.”

“Good. Can’t believe I fell flat on my face. Really embarrassed myself.”

She certainly looked frustrated.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Well, no, but…” She sounded a bit miffed.

I hung my head. “I couldn’t do anything.”

I’d come to the festival out of concern for her. I really had. But when her nose started bleeding, I’d been helpless. In hindsight, what had I even thought I could do for her? I was basically invisible.

“I didn’t expect you to dive in front of a ball for me. Even if you’re the athletic one, some things are just impossible.”

“Still…”

When I wouldn’t let it go, Sunao flashed me a grin.

“I just had a great idea,” she said.

“…Yeah?”

The look on her face made my instincts scream, Stop her! Sadly, before I could clap my hands over her mouth, she said the words: a magic spell, faster than the wave of a wand.

“Nao, vanish.”

Aughhhh!

A second later, Sunao called me back out. It happened so fast I was able to catch the scrunchie before it hit the floor.

She was sitting there, grinning. This was clearly her “great idea”: sharing her pain with me.

“It’s nothing,” she said, as if she’d just handed me an unwelcome gift.

“O-ow… Well, I guess you’re right, it doesn’t hurt all that much.”

My nose felt a little odd, but that was all. Still, it wasn’t pleasant. My nose had been totally fine a moment ago, and now I’d just had a nosebleed.

“That was mean, Sunao. Why’d you do that?”

She shrugged. “You’re my replica, so I thought you should share my suffering.”

Little kids hurt themselves all the time. Small scrapes and sometimes far worse. Sunao had never broken any bones, but she’d jammed her thumb, skinned her knees, and gotten bumps on her head.

When she called for me after these injuries, I got updated to have them, too. But I’d done my best to hide this, acting like I didn’t feel the pain. I thought she’d worry about me otherwise. I didn’t want her to call for me until after she’d healed up.

That made me wonder about something. Headaches and stomachaches weren’t visible to others. They might leave you on the verge of tears, but no matter how hard you tried to explain, no one else could really understand.

Perhaps little Sunao had actually wanted someone to share her pain. Maybe she’d wanted me to say, It really does hurt. This is awful! It was the opposite of her scheme to share the cream puff and double the fun. If we could share the pain, then it would only hurt half as much. So, when I’d lied and said it didn’t hurt at all, maybe Sunao had been deeply disappointed.

If this was her reaction, then maybe I shouldn’t be mad at her—but my emotions weren’t so easily controlled.

“Augh, you’re so mean! Awful! Horrible! Urgh…” I put a hand to my nose. I’d felt something warm trickling down the inside of it. Staggering, I held out a hand. “Sunao, tissue! Tissue!”

“Your fault for yelling.”

“Just gimme one!”

Sunao heaved herself up and grabbed a couple of tissues from the box. I snatched them from her, not daring to move a step. I quickly clapped the tissues to my nose—just barely in time…

“…Mm?”

…but not a drop of blood spilled out. Baffled, I turned to the mirror over the sink.

Hands trembling, I moved the tissues away. Nothing happened. I had only imagined the feeling of blood.

“Nothing?!”

“Ah-ha-ha-ha!”

I’d embarrassed myself, and Sunao was laughing so hard, there were tears in her eyes. I didn’t detect a drop of malice, however, and that got me laughing, too.

How long had it been since Sunao and I laughed together? My mind went back to before we cared who was the original and who was the replica, when we were just together.

As I laughed, I almost started crying. I was just so happy.

“The old Sunao would never,” I said, feigning a pout. I thought that would make her laugh even harder and give me an empty apology.

“…Yeah. Nice kids don’t do things like this.”

But I’d thought wrong. Sunao’s face suddenly went grim, and she roughly wiped away her tears.

“Sorry. There was no reason to do that to you. I was being selfish.”

The mood had turned cold. It was like our moment of shared laughter had never happened.

“…It doesn’t actually bother me,” I said, but that was all I could come up with.

I wanted to argue. She’d done nothing wrong. But no matter what I said, I felt certain she’d chew it over and turn it into something else. And that made me scared to speak.

Sunao was trying really hard, and this sports festival was part of that. I’d seen her throw herself into the dodgeball game, keep her body moving, and position herself. That was how she’d caught that ball and stayed in the game until her injury.

I hadn’t realized it, but Sunao wasn’t bad at studying or at sports. I, her replica, had just been a lot more enthusiastic about those things. At first, that had been the only difference. For both pursuits, it came down to strength of will. Both the process and the result depended on it. If you shackled your abilities, telling yourself you couldn’t do something, then neither your head nor your body would do what you wanted.

That was true of studying, of sports, and of relating to other people. Right now, Sunao was busy untying the ropes she’d put around herself. But sometimes her hard work hurt to watch. It felt like she was trying too hard, and it was crushing her.

Sunao was trying to replicate the kindness she’d lost by tracing the outlines of her old self, and I could tell it was really hard. Every time she faced someone else, she was racking her brain, trying to find words that wouldn’t hurt them.

Even nice people were mean sometimes. It was fine to joke around, to goof off, or to take out your bad mood on someone else. Everyone did things like that. Nobody alive was nice every second of every day. We all made mistakes and then thought, I should have done this, or If I’d only done that… We all accumulated regrets. I’d read a lot of books and learned that this cycle repeated until we died. That was life.

But because Sunao had lost her kindness, she held herself to a much higher standard. She wanted to eliminate the gray areas, to treat everything like a dialogue option in a video game where she could simply pick the one right answer. Anything else was unacceptable.

That scared me. To me, Sunao seemed really fragile.

When she was moving forward and motivated, that was one thing. But when failures started to pile up or something big went wrong, I was always terrified she’d get tired of dealing with people again—that she’d become scared to get to close.

Then I’d think, if only I could give back the kindness I’d taken from her…

Unaware of my thoughts, Sunao looked up and changed the subject.

“Come to think of it,” she said, “did you get hurt earlier?”

I soon worked out what she meant. She’d seen the ball fly my way.

I didn’t want to see the expression on her face, so I turned toward the mirror and began fixing my hair. “Nope. Aki stepped in.”

“Oh, good. It would suck if we both got taken out by throws from the same girl.”

“True… She’s something else.”

I hadn’t been paying that much attention, but it sounded like the ball that had almost hit me had also come from the former prefectural champion. No one else could have hurled it with such lethal force.

“Was Aki with you the whole time?” she asked.

I started to nod but stopped.

…No, he wasn’t.

Aki had been watching the basketball match from the second floor, but he couldn’t have teleported down to me. He must have been heading my way for another reason. Then, before he could speak, the ball had come flying, and he’d jumped in the way.

He’d tried to shake off the awkward moment and tell me what he wanted to say, but then Sunao fell down, and I wound up leaving him in the gym.

I had to get back and talk to him, yet my legs weren’t obeying me. It was as if they were stitched to the floor, refusing to budge.

“Nao? What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t answer and cleared my throat instead. “Sunao, let me cast a spell on you.”

She gave me an odd look, so I moved closer and patted her head.

“Pain, pain, go away,” I said, repeating the words and stroking her hair.

Go away, pain. If you get lonesome, then leave Sunao, and come to me. I’ll shoulder it all.

When she was little, I’d used that magic all the time. When she’d fought with her mother, when she’d messed up while vaulting and gotten a bruise, when her big eyes had been full of tears, and she’d needed me to comfort her.

It’ll be okay. Don’t worry about a thing.

The heat of my hand reassured her.

“…This is super embarrassing.”

Sunao was glaring up at me. Maybe she didn’t remember. I was a little embarrassed myself.

“And aren’t you supposed to rub the place it hurts?” she asked.

“You want me to rub your nose?”

“Absolutely not.” She guarded her nose with both hands, muffling her voice, and turned away.

“Did it work? Does it hurt less?”

“Uh…” Sunao crooked her head. It seemed my spell hadn’t been very effective. “A bit.”

A bit, huh?

She hopped to her feet and stretched. She caught me watching.

“No point sitting here,” she said. “I’m gonna go cheer for our other teams.”

“Softball?”

“Yeah. That and basketball.”

We left the nurse’s office and headed down the hall.

The gym had been hot and sweaty, but the corridors smelled of winter chill. In the distance, I heard balls bouncing and cheers from the field. I was curious about the outdoor sports, too, but Sunao was headed to the gym first.

The match had already ended, and new classes were on the court. A few of Sunao’s teammates spotted her and came running over, yelling, “Aikawa!” It was the three girls from the haunted house prop team.

“Sorry, we didn’t even help!”

“Is your nose okay? Here’s your jacket.”

“We lost the match…”

They hung their heads.

“My nose is fine,” Sunao said. “Please forget any of that happened. It was totally mortifying.”

She took her tracksuit jacket and put it back on, her face a little flushed. Based on her frown, I could tell she was genuinely embarrassed.

All three of the girls shook their heads.

“It’s nothing to ashamed of! Hot girls are still hot even when their noses bleed.”

“True! It was the prettiest nosebleed ever!”

“Most people don’t bleed that beautifully.”

“That is not even remotely reassuring,” Sunao said, and all three girls giggled.

At that, the girl on the right seemed to make up her mind and said, “We’re headed to the grounds. Wanna come with?”

This was the first time they’d ever invited Sunao without Satou around to bridge the gap. She hesitated a second but then shook her head.

“I’m gonna check out the basketball game first.”

“Ah. Our class is in the match after the next one. Round six.”

She thanked them, then headed outside to climb up the stairs to the second floor. She found Sanada right away. He was sitting with the basketball team.

“Sanada.”

She had to call his name twice before he noticed. He took his leave, slipping past the other students.

“Aikawa, is your nose okay?”

Sunao’s frown deepened. “Yeah. How are you?”

He scratched his cheek awkwardly. He perfectly resembled Aki, sounded the same, and even used the same gestures. But sometimes he looked totally different—especially when he was talking to Sunao.

“I’ll be starting. I can only play for five minutes, though.”

“Are you nervous?”

“…Yeah, a bit.”

Sanada’s face was way too stiff for someone who was only a “bit” nervous. His entire upper body looked tense. And that came as no surprise. He hadn’t played basketball at school in six whole months. I was sure his heart was racing.

Sunao stared up at him. “Well, it doesn’t matter if we lose.”

“…That’s not true.”

“I mean, it’s just the sports festival. My team already lost.” She shrugged. “Just think of it as rehab. Nobody’s gonna be on your case if we don’t win.”

Sanada’s jaw dropped. This was probably not what he’d expected or even hoped for. It was the total opposite of the encouragement everyone else had been giving him. He’d wrung out every last drop of courage he had to get back on the basketball court—but maybe this was what he’d really wanted to hear, deep down.

That thought made my lips purse. Sanada had lost his courage. Maybe, just like Sunao, he was tracing the silhouette of his past self, trying to act like he was supposed to. Had he forced himself to pick basketball just because he thought that was what his old self would have done, back before his injury in May? If so, then…

But it wasn’t my place to speak. He wouldn’t hear me anyway. I didn’t really know Sanada, and I had no right to butt in.

“Thanks. I’ll do my best,” he said.

“You don’t need to.”

“But I want to.”

Sanada went back to his seat, looking a bit less tense.

Sunao watched him go, then sat down some distance away. From here, she could see the games currently in progress.

I sat down next to her. I wondered where Aki had gone. I didn’t see him anywhere. I’d figured he would be with Sanada.

Sunao’s shoulders slumped. “Was I being cold?” she whispered. “Was my phrasing okay?”

It took me a moment to work out what she meant. “Not at all. Sanada looked relieved.”

“…You think so?”

Sunao looked more relieved than Sanada had. I felt out of breath, like I’d swallowed a hunk of lead.

Recently, Sunao had started checking with me all the time. Had she done that right? Was she acting like herself? I’d stolen her kindness, so my seal of approval was a comfort to her.

Eventually, the fourth round ended, and the teams swapped out. The voice over the loudspeaker was much easier to make out than before. Sanada’s group moved downstairs, red bibs in hand.

The matches went smoothly, and it was time for the sixth round. Sanada’s team was up against a group of third-years. Sanada was tall, and it was easy to pick him out on the court.

At the start of the match, his movements were anything but smooth. He missed an easy pass, then didn’t hear a teammate calling.

Things started to change at the two-minute mark.

A teammate nabbed a rebound and tossed it to Sanada. It was like that flipped a switch in him. I heard his soles squeak, and he moved faster than anyone else. The sound of the basketball was loud as he dribbled, like the gym floor was answering his call.

Their opponents raced to defend, but they couldn’t catch him. Hands reached out wildly, catching only air. He never even let them touch the ball.

Sanada made it down the court, and his left foot propelled him into the air.

The ball gently slipped through the hoop—that was how soft the layup was.

The moment he’d jumped, I’d seen the future.

A roar went up. At the center of it, Sanada grinned bashfully. He’d landed the shot, and it was like he’d suddenly remembered how to breathe.

“…He really is good at basketball,” Sunao whispered, half-dazed.

She’d let a friend rope her into trying out for the basketball club’s team manager. It had been way harder than she’d expected, and she’d bowed out. Even after she gave up, she’d watched them practice several times. But that didn’t mean she actually liked basketball or took it seriously.

The other team wasn’t about to let Sanada dominate the court, however. They soon subbed in a former basketball player of their own. He couldn’t stop Sanada, though. Whether offense or defense, Sanada was heads above everyone else.

This was his show. His body swept across the court, taking to the action like a fish to water. I thought his drive would last forever—but five minutes in, a whistle blew, and the dream ended.

There was a rule that basketball team members could only play for five minutes. Sanada left the court, and another student took his place.

The crowd in the stands had been watching avidly, and they let out cries of disappointment.

Class 2-1 managed to defend the lead Sanada had left them with and won the game. They’d be playing again in a later match.

The crowd applauded, and Sanada’s teammates threw their arms around him. The sports reps were mindful of the clock, but even they decided not to rush the moment. This was the first time Sanada had played since the one-on-one match with Hayase, and it had everyone finally convinced that he was back in business.

“Think he’ll join the team again?” I asked.

“Maybe.”

Sunao wasn’t being evasive. He hadn’t said anything to her. I knew that already, so I didn’t ask again.

Hayase was long gone, and the other third-years had retired after the summer inter-high prelims, so even his minions weren’t a threat anymore.

“Let’s check out the field next,” she said.

The match must have convinced Sunao that Sanada was doing fine. She got up and walked off, and I scrambled to follow.

On the ground, the soccer and softball matches were in progress.

We had to stay until the ceremony at the end of the festival, even if we were already done with our matches. Sunao stopped by the shoe lockers, passing a stream of students coming back from the field toward the gym.

She’d already had to change from her gym shoes into her slippers, and now she changed from those into her outdoor sneakers.

I glanced down at my own feet and took in my spotless white gym shoes.

I dithered a few seconds.

“Well, nobody’s looking,” I muttered.

I stepped outside wearing the wrong shoes. My heart was racing, like I was up to no good. It was kind of fun. The sky was every bit as blue as the student council president had promised.

The soccer game was using up the whole field, and spectators were scattered all around it. But Sunao didn’t join them. Instead, she made a loop of the field and headed for the softball game on the far side.

The mood was far more awkward than that in the gym. Most girls had only played the game a few times in gym class and didn’t really know the rules. Everyone was nervous, unsure if they were doing the right thing. Even I didn’t know anything but what we’d covered in class.

Only the girls on the softball team were showing any real enthusiasm, and they were serving as pitchers on every team. Classes without one had been forced to borrow them from somewhere else. You had to have someone who could throw a ball or you couldn’t even call it a game.

We’d timed our visit right, and Class 2-1 was on the field, up against our neighbors in Class 2-2. This was already our team’s second match. Our opponents had been the seeded class, and the event was now on its eighth round.

Festival rules dictated that teams had to change sides after three outs, and if neither scored, the winner was decided by how many bases they’d advanced. It was a rather unique setup.

I glanced at the dingy scoreboard and saw that the other class had yet to score, but had made it to third base. Our class had only made it to first. Victory was still a long way away.

We were already at two outs and in big trouble—and that was when Satou stepped up to bat. She alone seemed to be having a blast. Her confident grin made it clear that she was immune to pressure.

“I’ve got this!” she said. “Kendo and softball have a lot in common!”

True to her word, she was wielding the ancient bat just like a shinai. The crowd wasn’t sure if that kind of stance was allowed, but Satou didn’t seem to care.

She leaned in, eyes focused straight ahead.

The pitcher spun her arms for a windmill toss. Satou held off until the last second, then made a swift, beautiful swing—and the core of the bat caught the ball.

There was a sound like something bursting. The ball hadn’t actually burst—it had just flown into right field, easily crossing the home run line.

“Look at that!” Satou roared, like she’d lit up a firework. No one objected. The crowd cheered.

“A home run,” Sunao said. “Wait… Is that what they call it in softball?”

“Yeah, it is.” I nodded.

The pitcher watched the ball soar through the air, grimacing. I was pretty sure she was on the softball team. Maybe she’d been going easy on her, but it must have stung to let a girl from the kendo club score.

“Satou!”

A group of younger girls were squealing in the stands. Satou waved to them as she rounded the bases. She’d mentioned having a lot of fans among the underclassmen.

She spotted Sunao as she rounded the next base, grinned, and waved at her. Sunao waved back, then turned away. Her cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk’s.

“How vexing,” she said.

“Huh?” I blinked at her, not sure what she meant.

“Sanada and Satou are both natural athletes,” Sunao said, sounding like a sulky child.

She was happy her friends were stealing the show, but it had also reminded her about how she’d fared in her own match.

I thought this was adorable and almost smiled, but I forced myself to nod gravely instead.

“They are,” I agreed.

“Right?”

My answer seemed to satisfy her.

After that, she began searching the crowds of spectators. They were a lot more spaced out than the audience in the gym. There were more girls at the softball game, and more boys at the soccer match.

“Looking for the prop team girls?”

They’d said they were headed this way. Sunao nodded, and I searched myself, but I didn’t see them.

“Too many people, I guess…and it’s almost lunch.”

Sunao rubbed her stomach, clearly ready for a break. All this walking had worn her out.

On the way back to the classroom, I squinted up at the clock high on the school building’s facade.

“There’s still an hour till noon,” I said.

“A whole hour?”

“Ah!” someone cried out, stopping us.

Sunao looked annoyed but didn’t ignore them. After a pause, she turned to find Yoshii acting like a friendly dog. The way he was kicking a soccer ball as he approached only amplified the impression. Ruff, ruff!

“Aikawa, you came to cheer for me?! Thank you!”

“I’m here for the softball team.”

“You’ve made my day!”

Yoshii totally ignored her withering response. That said, he was still in the middle of a game, and Mochizuki came over with a sliding kick that stole the ball from him.

Class 2-1’s soccer team was playing Mochizuki’s Class 3-2. The soccer division was falling a bit behind timewise—this was only their seventh round.

Yoshii looked shocked by how easily he’d lost the ball.

“Head in the game, Yoshii!” a teammate shouted.

“Huh? That wasn’t fair! I call foul!” he said.

“Nothing foul about it. C’mon!” Mochizuki brushed Yoshii off and ran away, calling to his teammates.

He was on the small side for a third-year, but he was quick on his feet. Their teamwork let them slip through our useless defense with ease, and he raced down the field and lightly tapped the ball into the goal near the right post.

“Wow, amazing!” I said, clapping. They might be our opponents, but it was a great shot.

Their moves were so snappy. Maybe Mochizuki had been a soccer kid long before he got into theater.

Then we heard a long whistle. Class 2-1 was eliminated in their first match. I looked at the board and saw the score was 4-0—a crushing defeat.

“Damn! It’s the second Agony of Doha…!”

“Sorry, everyone! I know you wanted those baked good vouchers, but I guess it wasn’t in the cards!”

Yoshii and the others were on their backs, covering their faces, wallowing in despair. They were acting like the match had come down to the wire, when it had actually been a rout.

The crowd was laughing, but it wasn’t as funny for their classmates. Still, Sunao looked oddly pleased.

“I’m glad Yoshii’s still Yoshii.”

His antics seemed to have healed the blow to her self-esteem.

I offered him a silent thank-you, then crooked my head. Mochizuki had been celebrating his team’s victory, but now he was glancing our way.

He held out his fist and winked. It seemed he’d noticed me—a familiar face—in the midst of his joy. It was oddly childish of him.

The only problem was, he hadn’t winked at me, but at Sunao. He worked that out a moment later and stuck out his tongue, clearly meaning, Whoops.

“What was that?” Sunao asked, baffled. She’d never even met him.

The girls around us were all in a tizzy. “Did he wink at me?” “No, he was looking at me!” “Our eyes met!” “Mochizuki…!” The mood was heating up.

Good thing we were in with the crowd; nobody realized his gesture had been aimed at Sunao. Mochizuki had girls asking him out after every event like this, but it was his own fault. One of the girls around us would probably have a go later today.

Meanwhile, Yoshii was still on his case. “What was that, Mr. Student Council Member? Flirting with your juniors?”

“I’m no longer with the council, and I wasn’t flirting.”

He looked annoyed, but Yoshii wasn’t about to let it drop.

Sunao watched them for a moment, then muttered, “Yoshii’s such an idiot.”

I couldn’t argue, so I said nothing.

“…If only I could be that cavalier,” she said.

A gust of wind mussed her hair. The pale skin of her nape vanished like a mirage, and the breeze swept away the envy in her whisper. I decided not to ask or voice any other thoughts on the subject.

The school had wet the ground a bit with the sprinklers, but a cloud of dust still kicked up in one corner. A little puff of smoke, too small to be a sandstorm. Only I had my eyes locked on it.

When I breathed in, I smelled something metallic and scrunched up my nose.

I couldn’t help but think if Sunao had been more upbeat, if she’d been less kindhearted…then maybe she never would have made a replica at all.

Act Two: A Replica, Inviting

The next day was Wednesday, December 15.

I would be the one going to school that day. We’d asked Sunao and Sanada to arrange a day for Aki and I to meet before winter vacation.

As I made to leave, Sunao, also in uniform, called after me.

“Is your nose okay?” she asked gingerly.

“It’s fine.” I grinned and tapped the bridge.

Maybe she thought I was teasing her. Her cheeks puffed up, and she looked very cute.

I was more worried about her, but I felt the same pains she did, and my nose was fine. I didn’t see any physical changes either, so I figured there was no problem.

She held out her phone, and I took it. The grumpy set to her lips was gone.

“Have a good day,” she said.

“I will, Sunao.”

I left Sunao’s room and headed down the stairs, stopping in the bathroom to put my hair half-up. Then I rolled the bike out the front door.

“Ugh, it’s freezing!”

I winced, shivering. The air had a fresh bite to it that I hadn’t felt the day before. My hair had been neatly combed, but that was instantly undone. That said, if the weather app was telling the truth, it would get as high as twenty degrees Celsius today.

I looked up at the clear winter sky and took a deep breath. Cold air filled my lungs, making them throb. It felt like I was remaking myself from the inside out. I could hardly believe that it was only December. Winter was just getting started.

…Okay, I told myself. I had on a black duffle coat, and after adding a pair of khaki gloves, I was finally ready to set out. I summoned the courage to plant my butt on the bike’s freezing seat and began pedaling hard.

“Aughhh!”

No sooner had I shot forward than my foot slipped off the pedal.

I quickly hit the brakes to avoid a fall, but my heart was racing. Had it been too long since I rode a bike? If I’d forgotten how, that would be no joke.

I looked around to see if anyone had witnessed my blunder, and my eyes met those of a Yorkshire terrier. This dog was clearly older than its elderly owner, and it snorted at me. I couldn’t tell if it was mocking or encouraging me. Under its button-eyed gaze, I set out once again, exercising the utmost caution.

I soon recovered my stride and became one with the bicycle. We worked together, not letting the wind blowing in our faces best us, forging ever onward.

Neither wind nor rain would stop us. The tufts of grass sprouting from the cracks in the asphalt waved at us, cheering us on. A plastic bag shouted as it blew past and disappeared into the distance.

Perhaps it was time for a scarf. I’d have to suggest that to Sunao.

I rode on, my cold ears listening to the wheels whir.

I stopped the bike in the parking lot, then took off my coat and gloves.

We weren’t allowed to wear coats, scarves, or gloves inside the school building. Large space heaters were set up in each classroom, but the air-conditioning units stayed firmly off, as usual. A lot of the girls were extra sensitive to the cold, and every year, they would protest this state of affairs.

With my coat folded in my arms, I went up the stairs and opened the back door to the classroom. Remembering the day before, I felt a little nervous.

No one had seen me; I’d gone completely undetected. And yet, when I opened the door, it was like none of that had ever happened. Several heads swiveled my way the moment I stepped into the classroom.

“Good morning,” I said, closing the door behind me.

Because so many people were in the room, it was warmer than the hall. However, leaving the door open too long would swiftly earn you dirty looks. The seat at the back by the door—the coldest part of the room—was empty. Aki wasn’t here yet.

We’d gone the whole year without any seating changes. There’d been several requests, but our homeroom teacher was too busy and never got around to it.

On my way to Sunao’s seat by the window, I took in the sights. Girls huddled together to stave off the cold, and boys sneezed. Yoshii got shocked by static electricity and yelped. In old Japanese, December was called the month of scrambling priests, but most of the students around me were hunkered down and shivering rather than running around.

Soon after I took my seat, I began to hear other students discussing their plans for the upcoming break. Some would be singing karaoke or holding Christmas parties at home. A fair number were planning to devote themselves to cram school or sports practice.

The school trip had resulted in several new couples, and Class 2-1 was no exception, but none of them dared to plan dates in the classroom, lest the other students tease them.

Arguably, the winter of one’s second year in high school was the time when a class was least unified. Some people were desperate to make as many memories as possible, while others had their eyes firmly set on entering college or joining the workforce. A few with energy to spare did both, and some didn’t seem engaged in either—at least not publicly.

What was Sunao focused on? In my mind’s eye, I saw her concentrating hard on her studies, not letting herself be distracted.

When fourth period ended and lunch break began, Satou approached me. “Nao, let’s eat together.”

“Can we?” I replied enthusiastically.

“I asked first!” Satou laughed out loud and shifted her desk closer to mine.

I checked Sunao’s memories and saw that the two girls had been eating together since last month. The prop team members sometimes joined them. Sunao had been as shy as a mouse at first, but she was gradually starting to speak more.

These days, she almost never visited other classrooms, and those friends never sought her out, either. Only now did I realize that she had never really enjoyed spending time with them. Her memories with Satou were far more vivid. It felt like the two of them were real friends.

“How’s your nose? …I bet you’re sick of people asking you that.” She smiled, and I returned a wry grin.

Satou usually brought a two-layered lunch box, but today she had a couple of reusable plastic containers packed full of sandwiches.

“Having sandwiches today, Satou?”

“Yep. The cold woke me up early, so I made them myself.”

“You did? Wow.”

She smiled, pleased.

Satou was thin, but she’d brought twelve sandwiches of various kinds. As expected of a Kendo Club member. Athletic types like her had to eat a proper lunch, or they’d run out of energy before practice ended.

“The bread is from the store, though. All I did was spread on some butter or jam and slice up the cucumbers and ham. It’s pretty basic.”

“They look good.”

“Want one?”

“Are you sure?”

I traded some tofu burger for an egg salad sandwich. She’d seasoned the eggs with salt and pepper, and she hadn’t skimped on the filling. It was even better than I’d imagined.

“What a shame. I wanted a free baked good voucher!” Satou cried, eyebrows furrowed. Each time she bit into her sandwich, strawberry jam oozed out the other side. “I think that’s why I felt like making sandwiches.”

No wonder.

Our class was having a baked good renaissance. Quite a few people had grabbed things from the convenience store or the school shop. Desks were covered in butter rolls, croissants, focaccia, and yakisoba rolls. The room smelled of wheat—a clear response to losing out on the festival prize.

After Sunao had left the dodgeball game, her teammates had fought valiantly against the prefectural champion but had come up short. And Class 1-5, which had been a favorite to win, lost the finals. The team of third-years they’d been up against had a player who’d gone all the way to the national competition for dodgeball. Sunao, who’d been cheering for the team that had defeated her, had wound up disappointed.

Sadly, our basketball team also lost in the semifinals, but Sanada ended up scoring thirty-one points, including several three-pointers. All in all, he’d helped out his team a ton.

Meanwhile, our softball team came in second. They’d done the best of the four. Needless to say, Yoshii’s soccer team had lost their very first match.

All those losses had left us without a single store voucher. The sports festival was over, only a memory now, and we had no baked goods to show for it.

“Your home run was pretty awesome,” I said.

“Thanks. Aikawa’s nosebleed had us all in awe, too.”

“Let’s never mention that again.”

Once we’d run out of things to say about the festival, we moved on to standard lunchtime topics. We had a lot to say about baked goods and sandwich fillings. When was the best time to eat the crust? Was rice better than bread? There was a warmth to these frivolous topics, as comfortable as a nice, hot bath. Maybe if I’d stayed soaking in that hot spring of words, lunch would have ended on a nice, amiable note. But instead, I took a sip of tea from my thermos and changed the subject.

“Satou, did Sunao really tell you everything?”

She looked surprised, and for a second, she seemed unsure how to answer. “Yeah… But I don’t think it’s my place to butt in.”

It was our problem now—Sunao’s and mine. Satou was right about that. Sunao was patiently waiting for my answer precisely because she didn’t want anyone else to interfere.

I felt differently, but that didn’t mean I was looking for advice on my decision.

“I want to hear what you think, Satou.”

We were in the corner of the classroom, and anything we said would be drowned out by the hubbub around us. Either that, or everyone else would just assume we were talking about the storyline of some manga.

Sunao’s voice echoed in my ears.

I’ll let you decide, Nao. Will you live as yourself? Or will you come back inside me?

A month had passed since then. A whole month already. I could recall her face clearly, but her tone kept changing in my memories. Depending on my mood, her words might be choked with tears, wavering with hesitation, or tinged with anger.

“If Sunao and I became one again…how do you think it would turn out?”

What would happen if I chose to end things and let Sunao reabsorb me? I wanted to know everything about what that would mean.

“If the original and replica fuse, you mean? To be honest, I’m really curious about that.”

Satou didn’t use our names. I figured she was trying to be considerate. She put her empty plastic containers away and started using her fingers to count.

“In broad strokes…I’m talking about personality, memories, and finally…perception.”

I ran over those one at a time in my mind.

“I’m certain fusing will result in a change of personality,” she continued. “I’m less sure if it would be dramatic or more of a gradual shift.”

“…Okay.”

I had no arguments there. If Sunao recovered the kindness she’d lost, that would obviously have an effect on her internally.

“The question of memories seems pretty straightforward. The replica acted for the original, doing everything they didn’t want to do. In other words, the two of them experienced different things. How will that double life be recombined into a single experience?”

Thus far, I’d received Sunao’s memories, but she had none of mine. But it was possible that fusion would do the reverse.

“And finally, perception. The original and the replica have different personalities and experiences. They think differently and have different takes on things. But once they merge together, then perhaps…”

Satou trailed off, like she didn’t want to say more.

“Thank you. That was really helpful.” I bobbed my head, meaning every word.

Satou took the hint: This discussion was over. She swallowed the rest of what she’d been about to say and flashed me a grin.

“To tell you the truth, I have a lot more experiments I’d like to try,” she said. “I want to figure out the exact conditions that allow someone to observe the original and the replica at the same time. Based on President Moririn’s experience, it seems like distance is a big factor. We could try putting up partitions, or having the original and replica start a video call in the presence of someone else, or seeing what happens if one of them shows up on a live TV broadcast.”

“Should we hit up Cenova?”

Every weekday in the evening, the local news delivered the weather report over a live feed of the crowds streaming past Cenova. It might not be what the TV station intended, but we could use it for our tests if need be.

“Nah, let’s not.” Satou shook her head. “I know you don’t really want to.”

I’d thought I’d managed to hide my hesitation, but Satou had sharp eyes. I denied it, but my voice was as soft as the buzzing of a mosquito.

I didn’t want to know anything more. Proving I wasn’t human had only hurt me. I’d suffered through the whole process. I knew Mom couldn’t see me, but moving a pen around in front of her, writing notes, waving my hands in front of her eyes, calling out to her… Each time I tried something new, it felt like another nail being driven into my body. Eventually, I wouldn’t be able to move at all.

“Honestly, part of me still wonders if I did the right thing,” Satou said, looking gloomy. “You can put a positive spin on it, call it intellectual curiosity or scientific inquiry, but it’s pretty brutal. It’s like a reporter pointing a mic at the victims of some incident, demanding their help uncovering the truth. I’m over on this side, where it’s safe, and I can say whatever I want.”

“But it’s thanks to you that we’ve figured any of this out.”

It was true that Satou was the reason our frozen time had started moving again. Ryou’s disappearance had been the trigger. That led to Satou and Mochizuki figuring things out and providing hints that neither Aki nor I had seen coming.

My heart ached. I couldn’t help but wonder how things would have been if Ryou were still around. She was a replica just like me, and she’d devoted herself to her original. Yet she’d still planned to go back to her parents’ home. What would she have made of the truth? What would she have chosen to do? What advice would she have given me?

“Learning new things can be scary,” Satou murmured.

She was right. But it wasn’t just scary.

There was a lot I hadn’t known. All that time I’d simply gone through the motions, filling in for Sunao and being dismissed once I got home. But in April, I’d reunited with Ricchan. Then I’d met Aki in June and started making all sorts of new discoveries. I’d read about sadness, melancholy, and love, but for the first time, those feelings were mine. I had something that belonged to me.

As I put away my empty lunch box, Satou asked, “Headed to the library?”

“No, I already went during break time. I thought I’d check out the photo gallery.”

This week, an empty classroom was filled with sample photos of the school trip.

The Seiryou Festival, school trip, and sports festival had come and gone, and this was a pocket of downtime. You could even say that choosing photos was a kind of mini attraction—the final event of the year.

They’d passed out order forms in homeroom two days ago, due back at the end of the week. You were supposed to write down how many of each photo you wanted, and the school would order prints of them for you.

A lot of the best photos would wind up in the yearbook anyway, so many students never swung by the gallery at all, but Sunao and Satou had paid it a visit on the very first day. Sunao had made her choices quickly, but I knew Satou was still undecided. That was why I already knew what she was going to say.

“Oh… Mind if I tag along?” she asked.

“Of course not.”

Figuring I should invite Aki as well, I turned toward his desk, but there was no sign of him. Maybe he was in the restroom.

“Looking for your boyfriend?”

I tried to deny it but quickly realized there was no point. “Yeah, but it’s fine. Let’s go.”

We left the classroom, passing a few students in the hall as we made our way to the gallery. We hadn’t heard much of the PA broadcast during lunch due to our classmates’ chatter, but it seemed they were playing a selection of familiar Christmas songs.

Listening to the jingling bells, we stepped into the gallery. The desks and chairs had been moved to one side, and the walls were covered in photos hanging on placards and arranged clockwise around the room.

Several other students glanced our way—including someone else from Class 2-1.

Satou called out to him. “Oh, Yoshii!”

“Hurp!”

Hurp? Was that a gorilla noise?

Scratching the back of his head, Yoshii came over. “What a coinkydink! Whatcha doing here, ladies?”

“What else? Looking at the photos.”

“Oh? Gosh, you don’t say.” Yoshii’s eyes swam. “Well, take your time!” he said, his shoulder-length hair streaming behind him as he sailed off to the far side of the room.

Satou was making a face like she’d run into a real-life gorilla, but she soon put him out of her mind. She wanted to start in the middle, so we split up, and I started at the beginning of the gallery.

One, two, three. The photos were each numbered in black marker. There were so many faces looking back at me.

My eyes kept picking out classmates. Satou playing cards on the Shinkansen. Sanada yawning. Yoshii making faces like a total goofball. The girl next to Sunao sharing some Pocky with her.

Everyone must have been thrilled to see these. Friends throwing up peace signs. Surprising sides to people you barely knew. Gleaming smiles from people you were nursing a secret crush on. Moments frozen in time, possessed of a magical allure.

As I made the rounds like I was visiting an art museum, Satou beckoned me over.

“Look at this one!” she said, pointing.

I followed her finger and found a photo from the second day of the trip. It was Sunao wearing a kimono.

That was definitely Arashiyama in the background. It was the middle of the day, so only a few hours before they’d called me and Aki. She was on a path lined with bamboo, hooking her hair behind one ear as she turned around. I took in her naturally long eyelashes, her big eyes, and her shapely nose. Her lips were slightly parted, and you could almost see her breath.

The dappled sunlight streaming through the bamboo leaves made Sunao look astonishingly lovely. It was as if all that light was there simply to celebrate her existence. This photograph was far more beautiful than the moment had been in Sunao’s mind.

“This was taken when Aikawa turned around to say something to me,” Satou boasted. “The cameraman just happened to be there at the right moment.”

Sunao hadn’t been aware of the camera. It was an unguarded moment, and that was what had brought out her appeal.

“Isn’t she gorgeous? She could be a movie star.”

I caught several nearby boys nodding in agreement. I started to do the same but caught myself. Satou knew I wasn’t Sunao Aikawa, but Yoshii and these other boys didn’t. It would be odd for me to agree with her out loud.

Oblivious, Satou leaned in and whispered, “Just between you and me, as of yesterday, forty percent of the second-year boys have bought a print of this one. Half of them got multiple copies. Plenty of people in other years did, too.”

“What’s your source?”

“I pried the intel from a teacher.”

I’d long known Satou was perceptive, but it was clear she had more going for her than just her own powers of observation. She was a force to be reckoned with.

“But I don’t think Aikawa will like that, so let’s keep it on the down-low.” She put a finger to her lips, and I nodded.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

She might not be angry, but she’d certainly be confused. I figured she’d say something like, What the heck? I don’t get it.

Near the photo of Sunao was a shot of the whole squad. I also found a picture of Sunao and Satou busily making dango and one of Yoshii and Sanada browsing souvenirs. Not many students had rented kimonos on the trip, so the four of them really stood out.

“Renting kimonos was your idea, right, Satou?”

“Technically, Yoshii said it first. We said no, but then it occurred to me that it would be a good way to catch the crowd’s eyes.”

She was referring to the experiment at Togetsu Bridge to see if people could see an original and their replica together.

Kimonos would indeed make a group more noticeable than school uniforms. It seemed Satou had used Yoshii’s suggestion for her own purposes.

“And it was our school trip. I figured it couldn’t hurt to use special clothing to up the fun factor.”

The photos proved that Satou’s gambit had paid off. The memories were a month old, but they were still clear in my mind. Sunao might not be smiling in any of the photos, but she’d clearly enjoyed herself.

Satou and I kept talking as we moved along the wall. I caught a very intent look on her face.

“You’re really into this,” I said.

She was studying each photo much more closely than anyone else.

“I bet I’ll be back again tomorrow, and the next day, too,” she said before I could even ask. “I just can’t shake the feeling that my replica will show up in here somewhere.”

My eyes nearly popped out. If you saw a photograph of yourself somewhere you hadn’t been…then that would prove there was another one of you.

“I know it’s impossible. I can never see my replica again. But every time I get a chance like this…well, I can’t stop myself.”

Her replica had gone off to parts unknown, but maybe—just maybe, she’d tagged along on the school trip. Satou knew well there was almost no chance of that. But she just couldn’t shake the idea that her replica might still be out there somewhere.

Should I tell her that I hoped she’d find something? Or would it be better to say the opposite? I wound up voicing none of the things that came to mind and wordlessly moving away from her.

Yoshii was still hanging around, arms folded, gazing at the photos from a distance. His eyes weren’t moving much. He seemed to be focusing entirely on one spot.

It was rare for Yoshii to be this quiet, so I went over and spoke to him.

“Which ones are you after?”

Yoshii jolted and, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, he scrunched up his order form and vigorously shook his head.

“Oh, um… Well, I’m afraid that’s a trade secret.”

I guess he doesn’t want to share. Puzzled, I turned toward the photos, trying to figure out which one he’d been looking at. But Yoshii read my mind and quickly stepped in front of me. His slippers squeaked on the floor.

Isn’t that a little much? I thought. But maybe I had been a little too nosy.

“Sorry, it’s none of my business,” I said.

Yoshii might seem like an open book, but even he had secrets. When I apologized, he finally smiled.

“Nothing to feel bad about. Which photos did you buy, Aikawa?”

“Me?”

I started to answer, then hesitated. I wasn’t sure I was allowed to share what Sunao had chosen. I could remember what she’d seen and done but I didn’t know how she felt about it.

“Mostly group shots, I guess?” I managed, settling for something vague yet boring.

“Fascinating,” Yoshii said like an academic who’d just read an intriguing dissertation.

In fact, Sunao had only bought group shots of Class 2-1 and the photos she was in. Her mother had given her some funds for that purpose, and she’d followed her instructions to the letter, though she’d skipped the ones where she was in the corner with her eyes half-shut.

Just then, I realized something.

Sunao hadn’t purchased Photo 380, the one Satou had gushed about.

“You got 380, though, right? The solo shot?” Yoshii asked, as if he knew what I was thinking.

There was no way she’d missed it. I knew Sunao had stopped in front of that photo. Maybe Satou and her classmates had lavished too much praise on it, and she’d started feeling embarrassed.

“Actually, I forgot.”

I wasn’t about to act like I knew how Sunao felt, so I settled for an awkward fib, and Yoshii pointed at his own face.

“Then I could pick one up for you. I haven’t ordered yet.”

That balled up order form was still in his hand, and I glanced at it. He began flattening it out on his chest.

“Um, are you sure?”

“No prob! It’s just one extra.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

I’d have to let Sunao know later. I didn’t want a repeat of the fan incident. If Yoshii suddenly demanded money from her, Sunao might think he was trying to mug her.

The warning bell rang, signaling the end of lunch break. Satou spun around. She had made it to Photo 700.

“We’ve got PE!” she said. “We’d better hustle.”

Oh, right.

Everyone in Class 2-1 rushed off; they must have overheard.

I turned back to the gallery one last time as everyone filed out, and I asked a classmate about a certain boy who wasn’t here.

“Do you know where Aki—I mean, Sanada got off to?”

Yoshii skidded to a halt. “Uh, he should be in the gym. The basketball team invited him.”

“Ah,” I murmured. Then I forced myself to leave the room before I wound up frozen in place.

After school that day, I gathered my coat and bookbag. Casting a sidelong glance at the boy across the room, I saw he was putting his books in his rucksack. Still in my corner of the classroom, I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to seem weird. I had to act like I always did, like nothing had happened. I chanted this like a mantra to myself.

“Aki, let’s hit the clubroom.”

Still seated, he glanced up at me. His dark brown eyes, beneath his striking brows, reflected my face back to me. My smile looked strained. I was terrible at faking it.

“Okay.”

I’d half expected him to say no, so I was relieved.

On the way out the door together, I kept playing nervously with my hair. Then, as we made our way to the annex, I asked softly, “So you played basketball at lunch?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

The question just slipped out of me. Had it sounded like an accusation? I wondered nervously.

Aki’s stride was a good deal wider than normal, forcing me to speed up.

His lips moved, but he didn’t look at me. “Well, remember the sports festival? The guys around me just kind of asked, so…”

It was like playing catch with a deflated ball—there was no bounce to the conversation. I strained my ears, but no further answer came.

“Ah,” I said, noticeably late. My voice didn’t reach the ceiling, much less Aki, who was walking a bit too far ahead of me. It felt like the sounds simply scattered around us in the hall.

It had always felt like I had a million things to talk about with Aki, so many that I always wished the hall would keep going forever. I wanted to hire a skilled carpenter to remodel the whole school so it looped around and around forever.

But today all I felt was awkwardness. Every word that came to mind was timid, and they fought each other to stay at the back of my throat.

I saw his pointy Adam’s apple jerk, as if he was swallowing something. I could tell it wasn’t just me; he was in the same fix.

That flipped a switch inside me.

“…I hate this,” I said, coming to a stop. Aki turned back and frowned at me. I grabbed my shoulder strap with trembling fingers. “I hate it, Aki. Look at me.”

I didn’t want this. I wanted to talk like we always did. To joke around and laugh together. To discuss the books we’d read, catching each other’s gaze.

I didn’t want to waste a single second.

“Even if it’s just for right now…”

I told myself not to cry. But despite my instructions, tears were welling up. I bit my lip to stop them, and a tense voice descended from above.

“It’s my fault.”

“…Mm?”

“I said we should go to Kyoto.”

His tone was filled with remorse. When I looked up, his head was down.

We’d been in Fujinomiya when Sunao had called. When she’d asked if they could summon us to Kyoto, I’d said, “I don’t wanna go.” In hindsight, I’d had a feeling we were about to go through something decisive. But Aki hadn’t even hesitated. He’d declared that he was going to Kyoto, and that had ended up pushing me to do the same.

I’d thought Aki was mad at me, but it wasn’t that. Now I knew what was bothering him: He’d been regretting his words all this time. I shook my head.

It wasn’t his fault or anyone else’s.

Even if I had refused to go, we’d have worked out the truth about replicas eventually. No matter how hard we would’ve tried to avoid it, that day would have come.

Besides, I knew it was better for us to know, and I was sure Aki felt the same. As long as he cared about Sanada, that wouldn’t change.

Just then, we heard the clatter of footsteps headed our way.

The covered walkway between the school’s main building and the annex had pretty decent foot traffic right after school let out. Students passed, heading for the faculty office or the library. Two first-year girls ran by, bathed in the setting sun. They saw us facing each other and kept glancing over as they went.

Aki shouldered his rucksack again, still gloomy. But before he could turn his back again, I spoke up.

“Let’s make up.”

“…Huh?”

“We’re making up. I mean, you’re not really mad at me, are you, Aki?”

He blinked, like this was the last thing he’d expected. “No, why would I be?”

“Yet things have been so awkward between us.” I was sure he knew that. His eyes swam as I took a step toward him, closing the distance between us. “See? You’re not even meeting my eyes.”

“I didn’t mean…”

I took another step. And another. “Then we’re making up, right?”

Aki scratched his cheek. He always did that when someone put him on the spot. He must have had no idea what to do with himself.

“Right?” I insisted.

He buckled under my relentless assault, surrendering. “Sure… Okay, let’s make up.”

“Really?”

That was what I wanted to hear. I leaned in like I was ready to pounce, then caught myself.

This covered walkway meant a lot to me. Aki had tried to kiss me here during the Seiryou Festival. He’d misjudged the distance and wound up smooching my nose, totally blowing his second attempt.

Did he remember that? Unable to resist, I grabbed the white shirt in front of me.

“What?” he said, reeling.

I almost said I wanted to kiss him but stopped when I felt the heat rising in my cheeks. My pulse was racing. Last time, it had been dark and the mood had been right. Our feelings had been heightened by the festival, and it had been much easier to say things that now sounded mortifying.

This time was completely different. It was still bright out, there were other students around, and even if we’d managed to fill in the gulf between us, we hadn’t yet overcome the awkwardness.

Belatedly, I got mad at him. That had been the chance of a lifetime, so how had he missed my lips? You fool. Aki, you incorrigible nitwit. I slowly let go of his shirt, squeezing out something more manageable.

“Hold my hand.” I added a reason before he could ask for one. “To prove we’ve made up.”

He couldn’t refuse a request like that.

I saw Aki’s lips wriggle around a bit, but eventually, he held out a hand.

“Mm.”

I blinked, looking down at it.

Strictly speaking, he was only holding out his pinky.

“…One finger?”

“This is just the first step.”

Perhaps it was too soon for us to be holding hands.

I quietly hooked my finger around his. We’d made up—at least one pinky’s worth.

Aki set out again, his stride narrower than before, so I could easily keep up with him.

It was a pinky promise without a promise. To be honest, it didn’t feel very sturdy. If either of us relaxed, it would fall apart.

But the skin between Aki’s first and second joints was warmer than any heater, softer than any teddy bear—and it made me feel secure.

“Why are you smirking?” he asked, trying to sound curt, as we descended the stairs. That just made me smile even more.

“I think I finally understand how Kandata must have felt.”

“From ‘The Spider’s Thread’?”

“Yeah, the one by Ryunosuke Akutagawa.”

“The Spider’s Thread” was a short story ostensibly for children, but even I could sympathize with its main character. It’s about a criminal named Kandata who is sent to Hell, but since he once spared the life of a spider, the Buddha lowers a spider’s thread down from Paradise. However, when the other sinners see this, they grab the thread and begin climbing up too, one after the other.

Kandata raised his voice, yelling, “Hey, sinners! This spider’s thread belongs to me! Who said you could climb it? Get off! Get down!”

All this time, the spider’s thread had held fast. But when he yelled, the thread snapped—right above Kandata’s grip.

Light filtered through the windows, bathing our clasped fingers in its glow. It really was like the spider’s thread that glittered before Kandata’s eyes.

If anyone else tried to reach out and grab this finger, I’d yell, too. It belonged to me, and I wasn’t going to share it with anyone.

I wanted to talk more, but we were already outside the clubroom.

Aki casually let go of my finger, but I felt that was right for the moment. The pang of loneliness I felt at the loss of contact was just what I needed, I told myself.

We opened the door with both hands—only to jump back in surprise.

Ricchan was standing there, grinning from ear to ear.

“I got through the first round!” she shouted the moment she saw us.

I blinked at her. The first round of what? It took me three full seconds to process her words. But once I finally realized what she meant, I blurted out, “Really? You did?”

“I did! I checked the results online at lunch! It’s verified!”

Back in mid-September, Ricchan had written a novel and submitted it to a contest for new writers. I remembered her saying the first-round results would be announced in December.

“Wow! Congrats, Ricchan,” I said, clasping her shoulders and jumping up and down. How could I not be excited about news this huge?

“Thank you! I’ve never cleared the first round before, so I’m super pumped!”

She clearly meant that. Ricchan was jumping with me, her smile broader than ever.

“Nice. First the book report, and now this. You’re something else,” Aki said, putting his things down on the table. Unlike me, he’d been here several times over the last month.

I’d known about the other prize, too. Sunao had relayed what happened at the assembly a few days ago.

“The Shizuoka Prefecture Youth Book Report Contest. I’m a regular recipient,” Ricchan said, dramatically adjusting her glasses.

We were all excited but forced ourselves to sit down anyway. The room was quite chilly, so Ricchan and I both had our coats on our laps. The fan Aki had brought did some heavy lifting in summer, but right now it was asleep in one corner of the room. It would be months before it was back in the spotlight.

“Still, it’s just the first round,” Ricchan said, clearly warning herself not to celebrate too soon.

“But it is the first round, Ricchan. You can’t reach the second if you don’t pass the first.”

“And a bird in the hand is worth two in the… No, I guess that doesn’t work here.”

“These judges have an eye for quality. They’ve earned my respect,” I said in my most regal tones.

“Nao, you sound like a king.”

News this spectacular would make anyone into a king.

“How many people make it to the second round?” I asked.

“Er, well… This many,” she said gesturing to a paper.

She’d taken notes during lunch of how many submissions there were and how many had made it through the first round. Aki and I both gasped. With no knowledge of how these contests worked, I didn’t know what was typical, but it was clear that even the first round was quite competitive.

I knew how good Ricchan’s novel was. I’d like to believe it was only natural for something of such quality to pass the first round, but the numbers before me proved just how many people had poured their heart and soul into their work.

“We’ve gotta celebrate,” I said.

“It’s only the first round.”

“But you still made it to the first round!” I was fidgeting so much that Ricchan started laughing.

“Well, if I do win a prize, then please throw me a huge party.”

She’d said the words so casually, and I wished I could nod. But I couldn’t—and before that created an awkward silence, I cleared my throat.

“Ahem. Time for a surprise interview with acclaimed author Ricchan!”

I’d forced my brain into high gear and come out with a likely sounding follow-up. I grabbed a ballpoint pen and aimed it at her chin in lieu of a mic.

Ricchan played along. “Oh? Eh-heh-heh, you’ve really put me on the spot!”

“Miss Ricchan, please tell us how it feels to make it through the first round.”

“For starters, I’m relieved. But I know I’ve still got a long way to go.”

“True. The second round, third round, fourth round, fifth round, sixth round, seventh round—”

“Too many!”

I laughed like I always did. The smile on my face was normal, or at least a close approximation.

“Have you always dreamed of being a novelist?” I asked.

Suruga Seiryou High wasn’t exactly a prep school, but it did have fairly high standards. A solid 60 percent of graduates went on to universities or junior colleges; 30 percent went directly into the workforce, and 10 percent chose some other path in life. But I’d never heard of one of our graduates becoming an author before.

Ricchan folded her arms and frowned. “Hngh, I’m not sure. I’d love to get published, but writing alone may not be enough to make a living. Fortunately, my parents aren’t too opposed to the idea. We’re currently discussing what kind of college I should attend, and what to choose as my major.”

Working at a cake shop, becoming a florist, playing soccer—those kinds of childhood dreams had pleased the adults around us, but as reality set in, plans had to change. And yet high school kids were still too young to give up on their dreams.

What could we do? What did we like? What did we want to do? What would we be allowed to do? For most kids, the deadline for questions like that would arrive long before the answer did.

“For now, I like writing, so I’m gonna keep at it,” Ricchan said, flashing us an indomitable grin.

Tightening my grip on the pen, I offered encouragement. “You have my support! Hang in there!”

“Thank you very much!” Ricchan bowed, and the interview ended.

Aki had been quiet, but now he spoke up. “In the meantime, maybe you should work on your GPA.”

“Urk! That again? I deftly avoided any failing grades!” Ricchan blew him a raspberry.

“Does ‘by the skin of your teeth’ count as deft?” Aki asked.

End of term exams had been held in late November, and Surusei set the failing mark at half the average score. Ricchan was a humanities type to the core, and her math and science grades were disastrous, but she’d miraculously avoided a failing grade. She’d passed several tests by a single point, so it really had been close.

Sunao had taken the exams herself. Like during the practice exam, she’d fought hard. English—her worst subject—had been a bit dicey, but her scores in most subjects had been around the average. If she kept up her efforts, she’d probably score even better on next year’s finals.

“Maybe the Literature Club will have new members next year,” I said. Spring felt so far away.

“Oh… Yeah, I’ll be a second-year,” Ricchan said, blinking. She clearly wasn’t ready to be an upperclassman.

Spring, with its new life, would turn to summer heat, only to calm in the fall and be wrapped in a fantastic blanket of white in the winter. That cycle would go around and around like the hands on a clock. Tick-tock. Marching ever onward until it was a new year again.

Personally, I thought this relentless procession could stand to take a break now and then. Siddown, have a cuppa, eat some cake. Take a nap. Who would complain?

But my feelings would never still that workaholic second hand’s progress. Even as we sat in our chairs in the clubroom, it was tick-tick-ticking away.

“Maybe the reception to Tale of the Bamboo Cutter, New Adaptation will be so good we’ll get like, twenty applicants!” I exclaimed.

“That would totally disrupt the balance of power,” Aki said.

“I’m not sure we’re ready to be one of the big players,” Ricchan muttered, but I could tell she was delighted.

It was hard to picture our clubroom packed, but I was sure they’d all be singing Ricchan’s praises in no time.

“Oh, was Sunao’s nose okay?”

I nodded right away. Satou and several other classmates had asked the same thing.

“It’s fine. There was just a lot of blood.”

“It was a nasty fall. I got pretty scared. I considered running after her, but the game was still in progress…”

Yeah, I knew. I’d been there. I started to say so, then my lips thought better of it.

I’d gone to the sports festival to watch over Sunao, but I’d had another reason, too: I’d been looking for other replicas.

But just like at Togetsu Bridge, no one else saw me or Aki, including Ricchan.

Aki had already filled her in on the new info, that no one else could perceive the original and their replica at the same time, and that replicas stole an emotion from their original at the moment of their creation.

Perhaps part of me had hoped Ricchan would be an exception. If anyone could still see me, I’d felt it would be her. But she’d never once glanced my way during that dodgeball game. And as we left the gym, she’d looked only at Sunao. That was my answer.

“I see. Thanks. I’ll let Sunao know.” I smiled like I hadn’t known. “Well, we’d better start this club meeting,” I said, acting like the president for once.

As players on the baseball team yelled outside on the field, Ricchan took out her manuscript. Aki and I each took out a book.

Aki was reading a combined copy of “Sansho the Steward” and “The Boat on the Takase River.” Apparently, he was still a bit of an Ogai buff. He was keeping the annotation section open with one finger, and I completely understood. Ogai’s style was ornate, and his sentences could be impenetrable. It was quite common for one of his books to have a few dozen pages of annotations.

When I read translations of foreign books, I tended to keep a finger stuck on the list of characters. Mystery novels sometimes also had pictures of the main house’s layout, so I had to scramble for something else to use as another bookmark. Some books came with a ribbon, but when you were using a library copy, such things had often long since snapped off.

Turning to Ricchan, I saw her busily filling the lines of her paper with writing. A story was forming, one letter at a time. I didn’t know what it was called, but Ricchan probably hadn’t even named it yet.

At last, I opened my own book.

I’d borrowed a short story collection that included Kenji Miyazawa’s “Yamanashi.” It was full of other delights, including “Ozbel and the Elephant” and “The Life of Budori Gusuko.”

“Yamanashi” had been in our textbook in elementary school. It was closer to a poem than a children’s story but too prosaic to qualify as poetry. I’d assumed it was about Yamanashi prefecture, the one right by ours, but it was actually about a deciduous tree in the Rosaceae family.

I remembered that class well. We’d split into small groups to try to work out what kuramubon were. Bubbles? Larva? Plankton? Opinions flew, but all the while, I couldn’t stop wondering what expression they made as they laughed. The sound they made wasn’t puka-puka but kapu-kapu. Were the kuramubon embarrassed? How had the timid crab brothers felt as they watched those bashful kuramubon disappear?

Reading “Yamanashi” made moisture well up in the cracks of my heart, and sometimes even made me want to cry. Each time a different passage would set me off. It might be where the elder brother crab says, “I don’t know,” or the very first line after the title: “Two blue slides show the bottom of a little valley stream.” Despite the waterworks, the story kept drawing me back in. It was a strange sensation.

The three of us let out quiet breaths as we concentrated. The sound of Ricchan’s pencil scribbling and the turning of pages filled the room. The walls looked yellow in the sunlight. I could hear the sound of flutes from somewhere, clear as the winter sky, even though the window was closed. They were playing “All I Want for Christmas Is You.”

A bird’s shadow flitted across the curtains, brushing the row of frog ornaments on the windowsill. Someone must have said something funny, because a burst of laughter went up somewhere in the distance.

Time flowed across the old clubroom table. This was our time, and no one was allowed to interfere. It plodded on, so delicate that one poke might pop it.

As five fifty PM approached, Ricchan looked up from her manuscript. The sun had long since set, and it was dark outside. Sports practice hours changed with the seasons, but it was the same in the Literature Club all year round. It made you really notice how short the days were in winter. In July, the skies had still been bright at this time.

“Mm, we’d better get going,” she said, stretching her arms with her fingers laced together.

I heard her spine pop. It was shockingly loud. It seemed like she’d made good progress—the whole inside of her hand was black as soot.

I snapped my book closed without bothering to use a bookmark. This relaxed moment was perfect for making my proposal.

“Hey, what do you say the three of us do something over winter vacation?”

The resounding reply came instantly, even before my next heartbeat.

“I’m in!” Ricchan leaned over the table, eyes gleaming. “Where to?”

“Um, we talked about it before, so I was thinking Hamanako Palpal.”

“C’mon, c’mon, Palpal!” Ricchan sang, imitating the commercial jingle. Everyone in Shizuoka knew it. “So Palpal’s the main event?”

“What do you mean?”

“I was just wondering if you were trying to finally fish for oysters in Lake Hamana.”

“Are we getting ‘Oysters, Blouses, and Ritsuko’ back together?”

“Oh right, your comedy act,” Aki said with a chuckle, remembering.

His laugh perked me right up. “Are you in, Aki?”

“Sure,” he said, shoulders still shaking. “What day? Think it’ll be packed over vacation?”

“Nope,” Ricchan said, absolutely certain. “Palpal is never packed.”

That was actually concerning…but as a general admissions visitor, I was happy to avoid the crowds. I had already picked a date as well.

“How about the twenty-fifth? Our last day is the twenty-fourth, so the day after that.”

“The twenty-fifth would be Christmas.”

A Saturday during winter vacation, and a holiday—that sure sounded like a recipe for crowds. We’d have to hope Ricchan was right.

None of us had other plans, so the twenty-fifth it was.

Hamamatsu was in the west of Shizuoka Prefecture. Lake Hamana lay between it and Kosai, and the Hamanako Palpal amusement park was on the shore of the lake. We checked train and bus schedules and picked a time to meet.

I’d never been to an amusement park, though I’d seen them in Sunao’s memories and in manga. They were full of rides, mascot characters, and cheery music—a place of dreams, cut off from reality.

“But, hmm, the twenty-fifth…” Ricchan cupped her chin. “Nao, I’ve got an idea, so I’ll be in touch with you through Sunao tonight.”

“Oh? Um, okay.”

I nodded, not sure what she meant. Then realized I was still holding my book.

“Ack! I need to return this to the library. Can I go?”

“Go ahead,” Ricchan said, saluting. “I’ll lock up.”

I took her at her word and swung by the library. As I returned the book, I made small talk with the librarian.

After that, I met up with the others as they left the faculty office, and we headed to the entrance together. The parking lot was mostly empty. Sunao’s turquoise bike was hunkered down, looking cold.

This close to the equinox, evenings got very dark, and I had to light my way with the bike’s flickery headlight.

Once outside the gates, we usually waved before heading our separate ways. I rode the bike, Aki took the bus and train, and Ricchan, who lived the closest, went home on foot. But today, I couldn’t quite bring myself to say goodbye. Ricchan must have felt the same way.

“Wanna hit up the store?” she suggested. “I’m really in the mood for some meat buns.”

I quickly jumped on this idea. There was just one problem.

“Aren’t there rules against buying food on the way home?” I asked.

“Rules don’t matter as long as you’re not caught.”

Ricchan was being unusually mischievous today. Aki and I glanced at each other and assumed conspiratorial grins.

“You have a point.”

There was a twenty-four-hour convenience store right near Surusei taking reservations for Christmas cakes and chicken. Supplies are limited, so act now. The place was full of exhortations to make the most of the holidays, laid out under bright lights.

I left the bike in the lot and followed the others inside.

The place was fairly crowed. There were people standing at the racks, browsing the magazines, children buying Pokémon cards, kids in other schools’ uniforms, and older couples buying premade meals.

One woman was scowling at the hot snacks with her arms folded. I glanced past her at the register and my eyes went wide. I could see a familiar yellow product piled high on a nearby table.

“They’ve got Cocco!”

Mihomi’s Cocco were a Shizuoka specialty—a fluffy yellow cake filled with milk cream. I had never imagined they’d be at the store right by our school.

“Unusual. Maybe it’s a limited time offering for the holidays.”

“Right. I bet these make good end-of-the-year gifts.”

I scoped out the register again. In the steamer were more Cocco— No, those were different types of meat buns. Ricchan had said the word, and now I was set on having one.

“As a reward for passing the first round of judging, your upperclassman will treat you to a meat bun.”

Ricchan squeaked, and her face told me the noise had been a happy one.

“Thank you! Nothing better than a meat bun someone else is paying for,” she said, grinning.

“I’ll get you something later,” Aki said from behind us.

“Seriously? Any baked good will do!”

“Is your class having a baked good craze, too?”

As they talked, I placed my order.

The cashier handed me the plump buns in their wrapping paper, and I felt the warmth seep into my fingers. It felt like I’d found a stalwart ally.

There was no eat-in corner, so we stepped outside and lined up in front of the store. We sidled along, three shadows, to avoid bumping into people getting out of their cars.

A phrase from “Yamanashi” floated back into my mind.

The three crabs chased after the bobbing pear.

Walking sideways, their three shadows following along, as if six creatures were chasing after the pear’s round silhouette.

…Oh, there it is again.

I felt a pinch in my nose, but it wasn’t a nosebleed. I pretended not to notice as I took out the contents of my wrapper, puffed up like the round pear in the story.

I’d gone with pizza. Aki had picked pork, and Ricchan had chosen the default flavor.

A gust of wind blew through as if to urge us to hurry up.

We bit into our food, steam and all.

“Ow!”

I’d burned the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t let that stop me. The bite of the tomato sauce and the gooey cheese filled my mouth.

“Mm, that’s good.”

“Really good.”

Ricchan and Aki looked equally blissed out.

As we chewed, bright lights swept across us, cars pulling in and out. Our three shadows stood there in the parking lot, clutching their dark meat buns, stretching and shrinking with the moving light.

Peeling off the damp base paper, I savored every bite. I took my time, and yet in mere minutes, the pizza bun was gone.

We all finished around the same time and put our hands together.

“Thanks for the food.”

It wasn’t yet cold enough to see our breath. How nice it would be if tomorrow and the day after were like today. I bit my lip so that no one else could hear me make that wish.

Act Three: A Replica, Riding

December 25 arrived, and with it, our winter vacation.

I made one last check to ensure I wasn’t forgetting anything, then left the house at eight AM on the dot.

White puffs of air escaped my lips. It was seven degrees Celsius that morning. There weren’t many people around, just a stray tabby atop a wall, watching me from a distance.

I made the ten-minute walk to Mochimune Station and bought a ticket from the machine, then I passed through the gates. As I walked over the ad-lined footbridge above the tracks, I looked up and saw low white clouds streaming across a pale blue sky. No Mount Fuji today.

For past excursions, I’d taken the train on the other platform, but now I took the one going in the opposite direction.

It would take an hour to reach Hamamatsu Station and another forty-five minutes to take the bus from there—a two-hour journey in each direction. I would have left the house earlier, but we’d timed this journey so that we would arrive when Palpal opened.

Since we all had different starting stations, I had to wait for Ricchan to arrive from Shizuoka Station and join her on the train. Eventually, the announcement echoed over the platform, and a gray train with an orange stripe pulled in.

The doors opened. Not many people boarded, and even fewer got off. Just like she’d promised, Ricchan was on the last car.

“Good morning, Ricchan,” I said, quickly boarding the train.

“Nao, good morning. It’s a beautiful day!”

She was wrapped up in a knit tunic, snug from the neck down, and a pair of baggy pants. Atop her head was an adorable green knit cap which suited her perfectly.

But next to her was someone I hadn’t expected. He was sipping tea from a plastic bottle, and raised one hand when he saw me gaping.

“Yo.”

“Mochizuki!”

Why is he here? I wondered, feeling a blast of déjà vu. This had happened once before.

Before I got an answer, the doors closed and the bell rang, signaling the train’s departure. The car began to rock, and we moved out.

I quickly grabbed a strap. Ricchan had a hand to her chest, eyes staring into the distance.

“Think about it, Nao. Your precious underclassman, Ritsuko, at an amusement park…with an established couple.”

I could tell this was some kind of pop quiz, so I voiced Ricchan’s feelings as I imagined them.

“Gosh, amusement parks are such fun!”

“Whoosh,” she said. It seemed something had gone over my head. “I mean, I’m gonna have fun. But that’s beside the point.”

I tried again to picture things from Ricchan’s point of view. Yeah, okay… Maybe she has a point. An odd-numbered group could pose a problem at theme parks.

Lots of rides seated two at a time, so one person in such a group ended up alone. Ricchan was considerate and would likely insist she take the odd seat out.

“So Mochizuki’s a seat filler.”

“That’s gotta be the rudest way to put it,” he said, protesting.

“That was certainly a factor,” Ricchan said.

“Hey!”

“But I also thought it would be fun to hang out with Mochizuki. I barely saw him at school last month, after all.”

When he heard that, he started to look guilty.

“And I didn’t get to join in the pillow fight.”

Even I began to feel bad.

Mochizuki couldn’t bring himself to go to school after Suzumi died, so instead he’d gone to Fujinomiya, where Ryou had grown up. Aki and I had bumped into him there, and he’d introduced us to Ryou’s surrogate parents, Taeko and Yutaka.

Then when Sunao had called, Aki and I made a sudden trip to Kyoto without really saying goodbye. I’d spoken with the elderly couple on the phone one more time when they were arranging to send us our things.

Taeko must have picked up on something, because she’d offered to let us live with them again. She’d repeated the invite in gentle, relaxed tones, and I’d listened, burning the words into my memory.

After that, we’d talked about Mochizuki. “He says he’s back at school now. He called the other day,” Taeko had said, sounding pleased. I figured his time in Fujinomiya must have helped him sort things out.

“Sorry, Ricchan.”

“…My bad, Hironaka.”

We were both hanging our heads, but Ricchan grinned, shaking it off.

“What’s done is done! Forgive and forget. Nao invited me to Palpal, after all, and since Mochizuki already got accepted into college, he took me up on the offer to join in the fun.”

“Well, I still have rehearsals for the play next year,” he said.

That wasn’t an argument; it was simply a statement of fact. A little after the new year, third-year students were no longer required to attend classes. That meant we’d have even less opportunities to see him. Our trip today would help make up for that, so I was delighted to have him along.

As the conversation petered out, I glanced around the train. The morning sun, almost blindingly bright, streamed through the windows. I had to blink into the light several times before I could make out the ocean.

Soon enough, the train plunged into a tunnel. It grew dark as night, and noises echoed off the tunnel walls. Then, not long after the tunnel, I saw Yaizu Station up ahead.

The doors opened with a hiss, and we found Aki blinking at us.

“Yo.”

“Huh? Mochizuki?”

It felt like a repeat of a few minutes earlier. Ricchan and I glanced at each other and giggled.

There weren’t many open seats, so we split up—me with Ricchan, and Aki with Mochizuki.

Several passengers, who were probably taking trips over the break, had a lot of luggage with them. Buried in coats, jackets, and scarves, most people were focused on their phones. A few had brought books to read; I approved.

Mindful of the crowd around us, Ricchan kept her voice low. “Nao, are you prepared?”

“I am,” I said, grinning. “You?”

“You betcha.”

We shared a sinister chuckle.

“But you’re empty-handed.” Ricchan looked around but didn’t see a bag.

“Don’t worry, it’s in my coat pocket.”

I patted it, and it made a noise like hard things grinding together. Today I had on a fluffy white teddy coat, a khaki A-line dress, and boots.

“Whew. I was worried you’d forgotten!”

“I would never,” I said, rolling my eyes.

After that, we talked idly about how many people got off at Fujieda Station, how the stop names for Mishima and Shimada did or didn’t look similar, how sad it was that the Fujiya cake shop in Mishima Station had closed, and so on and so forth—all topics we would never have talked about at school.

Cars and trains seemed so amazing to me. They could take me places I’d never reach on my own. And, along the way, they showed me magical stretches of scenery and pulled out all kinds of words that usually lay sleeping at the bottom of my mind.

It was impossible to grow bored, but I did grow sleepy. The heater at my feet was really doing a number on me. Sunao had woken up extra early that day, leaving me less rested than usual.

I listened to the clacking of the conductor’s leather shoes as he made his way down the car, and the clatter of the train as it rocked from side to side. Both rhythms gently lulled me into sleep’s embrace.

When our train stopped at Kikugawa Station, I rubbed my eyes and glanced at Ricchan. She was checking her phone.

“Let’s nap a bit,” she said. “We’re still thirty minutes from Hamamatsu.”

“Aw.”

“Better than getting sleepy after we arrive.”

That would be a waste.

“…Mm, okay. But just for a little while.”

I turned toward the others and found Aki and Mochizuki already asleep. Then I closed my eyes, letting the comfortable vibrations carry me away.

I never fully fell asleep, just drifted in and out until we reached the end of the line at Hamamatsu.

A wave of people swept us off the train and toward the exit. On the way down the stairs before the ticket gates, Aki spoke to me.

“Nao, do you have your ticket?”

“Of course I do!”

I waved it next to my face. It had a little piercing opened in it. Before Aki and the ticket could get lost in each other’s eyes, I fed it to the machine at the gate.

At that point, I frowned and started checking around. Had we gotten off at the wrong station? A chill ran down my spine. But that wasn’t possible—the JR Tokaido Main Line didn’t loop like the Yamanote Line did. And that meant…

“Do Hamamatsu and Shizuoka Stations just…look alike?” I asked.

“Now that you mention it…” Aki nodded.

If you looked closely, the details were different, but the placement of the ticket gates and the way the shops were lined up was very similar.

Shizuoka Prefecture had two cities that had received a formal designation from the government: Shizuoka City and Hamamatsu. Perhaps that was why their main stations appeared alike.

“They’re as similar as blacksaddle filefish and black saddled tobies,” he said.

“Maybe so.” I chuckled, wondering if those fish were still swimming around in the Matsuzakaya Aquarium. “Can you get through the station with your eyes closed?” I asked. It would be impossible for me, but Aki came through here every day.

“Let’s find out.”

“Really?” His rash decision took me by surprise. He tightly clenched his eyes shut just beyond the ticket gate, but I quickly grabbed his arm.

“Now I can’t try.”

“There are too many people!” As I awkwardly led him along, Mochizuki called after us.

“Lovebirds, the bus terminal’s at the north exit, not the south.”

We awkwardly came to a stop, then swung around.

There was a big Christmas tree in the station covered in red ribbons and stars. It was so red that you’d never know it had once been green. A group of tourists were taking pictures in front of it, throwing up peace signs.

Outside the north exit, we found a mosaiculture—art made from a bunch of plants—featuring Hamamatsu’s mascot, Ieyasu-kun. He had a snowman in one hand, making for an adorable Christmas-themed look.

From there, we went down the stairs under the arcade, then up a long escalator. The bus stop that would take us to Palpal was on the top floor of a shockingly huge circular bus terminal.

We still had time before our bus—the one bound for the Kanzanji Hot Spring—arrived, but the benches were cold, so we hunkered down in a waiting room instead.

“Ack!” cried Ricchan. “That’s right, the Entetsu Bus doesn’t take IC cards.”

“Oh? Not even TOICA?”

“Or Suica?”

“Nope. It doesn’t take TOICA, Suica, PASMO, Kitaca, Hayakaken, or LuLuCa. So you’ll need to have cash ready! It’s 660 yen each way.”

Shizuoka City natives relied on LuLuCa cards, but Hamamatsu spurned them.

Heeding Ricchan’s warning, I checked my coin collection. I had enough for the way there and wouldn’t need to make change on board.

“Anyone got some extra ten-yen coins? I can swap for a hundred.”

“Oh, I’ve got some.”

Even after we’d taken the time to trade coins, the bus still hadn’t arrived. Maybe the roads were busy; it was running late.

“By the way, Mochizuki, what will you be majoring in?” Ricchan asked, making small talk.

“Education,” he said.

I made a surprised noise. Aki and Ricchan did, too. Mochizuki was so dedicated to theater that this answer caught us all off guard.

“You want to be a teacher?” I asked.

“No, not necessarily.”

Another round of surprise. None of us could think of another reason to major in education.

Mochizuki crossed his legs, leaned back in the waiting room chair, and raised a brow at us. Then he turned his gaze to the horizon.

“…An upperclassman in the drama club who helped me a bunch during my first year ended up joining a theater troupe after graduating. He said almost everyone there had part-time jobs or did temp work as well. Making a living from acting is easier said than done.”

This was less an explanation for us than something he was telling himself.

“So I’m gonna keep acting, but I’ll also get a teaching license. It’ll be insurance for my future. Helped convince my parents, too. Still, I’m their only son—apparently, they can’t rest easy unless I’m working an office job for some corporation.” He shrugged, as if remembering the conversation. “And people who major in education go into all sorts of jobs. Some work at banks or restaurants, or even sell insurance…”

“Huh… I never would have imagined,” Ricchan murmured.

“Yeah.”

Had those people really wanted those normal jobs? None of us could say. Perhaps, like Mochizuki, they had only gotten their teaching license as a backup plan. Or maybe they’d always wanted to be a teacher and had fought hard to achieve their dream.

“It’s all so difficult. Figuring out what you wanna be, trying to get there, keeping at it.”

The sun passed behind a cloud and a shadow fell over the waiting room. His voice seemed to dominate the room, sinking into our skin.

“I don’t think anyone’s wrong for charging in, heedless of the consequences, either. Grown-ups might call that youthful folly or dismiss it as unrealistic. They might scoff at us for it. But personally, I don’t want to find myself all grown-up, thinking, It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

That was why Mochizuki had made up his mind. He wasn’t going to fuel himself with vague passions or ambitions. No, he’d carefully thought everything through and made his own choice. That way, he had no one to blame but himself.

“If Mori could see me now, I bet she’d shake her head.”

He and Suzumi must have discussed their dreams together as two high school seniors with infinite possibilities before them, as friends who’d known each other their whole lives, and as two people drawn to each other.

“But I may make a surprisingly good teacher,” he said, concluding with a joke.

Aki and I glanced at each other.

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Aki said.

“I know you’d make a good teacher,” I insisted. “You taught us to act!”

“Can I ask a question, Mr. Mochizuki?”

“Don’t call me that!” he shot back.

He sounded very much like a teacher. But I still hoped he’d become an actor. I wanted to sit in the audience and watch him standing under the spotlight. That night in Fujinomiya, when he’d smiled and said he wouldn’t run from anything—I’d felt sure he would achieve his dream.

As we talked, a bus pulled into the first stop. Our bus. Silver with a green stripe—I’d never seen that design before.

Maybe the topic had embarrassed him; Mochizuki was the first one on his feet. Aki went after him, and Ricchan and I followed, smiling at each other.

“Where should we sit?”

“Back row?”

“Yeah, all four of us together.”

We took the tiny tickets we were offered and put them in our pockets. Mochizuki headed to the back of the bus and sat all the way to the left. Aki sat down next to him, then Ricchan, then me. We all set our things in our laps or to our side.

By the time the bus pulled out, almost every seat was filled. An announcement played, and the bus pulled out as little lights flashed on the ceiling, warning us to watch our steps.

“Okay, now I can sleep,” Mochizuki said, as if he’d just finished some big task.

“Hey, didn’t you already nap on the train?” Aki jabbed.

“Yeah, and? You did, too.”

“Oh, Nao!” Ricchan exclaimed. “Look, we can see the castle keep!”

“Wow, you’re right. Is that Hamamatsu Castle?”

“Yep. Also known as Shusse Castle.”

While the boys bickered, Ricchan and I stared up and to the right at the castle.

Not many other passengers were talking, but a group of junior high school girls near the front were laughing cheerily.

“Once we get to Palpal, what do you want for lunch?”

“Already? Isn’t it too early for that?”

“The reindeer latte’s adorable.”

“Oh, wow. I’ll have to try one!”

Their banter lasted the minute or so we were stopped at a light. As I half listened to their conversation, I felt relief wash over me. I always got nervous when riding a bus for the first time, but knowing there was another group going to the same place as we were eased my mind.

People got off at every stop, and the bus drove on.

Sunlight warmed the back of my head. I heard someone snoring and looked to find that Mochizuki, true to his word, had nodded off again. He’d been talking only a minute ago! Ricchan had been doing her dailies on some phone game, but now she was sound asleep, too. Stuck between them, Aki was gazing out the left window. I studied his profile.

A soft announcement played. Next stop, Flower Park. Once there, we’d be two stops from the zoo. The stops, named simply for the closest attraction, reminded me of something.

“…The field trip before summer vacation.”

The one I’d wanted to go on but couldn’t.

The second-years had gone to Hamamatsu Flower Park and the Hamamatsu City Zoo. I thought of the golden lion tamarin, the boat ride on Lake Hamana, and those fresh-caught oysters. We’d talked about it in the clubroom, schedule in hand.

Aki and I hadn’t been dating yet. We hadn’t even known we were both replicas. I’d been nervous, he’d been curt, and every time we’d accidentally touched, we’d stiffened up. Not even six months had passed since then. It was hard to believe.

“Wanna go to the Flower Park?” Aki asked over Ricchan’s sleepy head. He was looking past me at the expanse of parking lot out the window. If I’d nodded, he might well have pressed the button to stop.

But I shook my head and smiled. “Nope. You took me to the Nihondaira Zoo instead.”

In the past, I might have envied Sunao and wanted to go. I would have loved the idea of swinging by the Kanzanji Hot Spring, too, where she still hadn’t been. But not anymore. Now I wanted to go to Hamanako Palpal with Ricchan. I’d been looking forward to this for so long that I’d completely forgotten about that field trip and how close by it had been.

“I’m having fun, here and now.” Our eyes met, and I smiled. I meant every word.

Just then, someone else pressed the stop button. Then the bus came to a halt by the zoo and the junior high school girls got up.

Shocked, we exchanged glances. We’d both assumed they were going to Palpal with us, but apparently they planned to enjoy the zoo first.

“Can we give the apes a Christmas present?”

“What kind of present do you give an ape? I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

“Guinea pigs are so cute!”

“I wanna pet one!”

Oblivious to our consternation, they got off, chattering the whole time. They hadn’t done anything wrong, of course, and we soon burst out laughing.

“All that chatter about Palpal!”

“I bet we’ll see them again this afternoon.”

“Can you give presents to the apes?”

“I have no idea.”

We laughed so hard, it woke up Ricchan and Mochizuki. They blinked, spotting the empty seats up front.

“Wait, where are the reindeer latte girls?”

“Did they get off at the wrong stop?”

They fretted so much that we started laughing harder, unable to stop. I put both hands over my mouth, quivering.

“Look! Outside!” Aki said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“…Oh, the ocean!” I cried, staring out the right-hand window.

“That’s Lake Hamana,” Mochizuki said.

Ricchan quickly jumped in with some trivia. “Geographically, it’s a lake, but according to the Fishery Act, it’s the ocean.”

“What a troublesome lake.”

“Incidentally, the River Act classifies it as a river.”

“Is this some kind of running gag?”

Say what you will—this was the real lake, not a photo or some image on a TV screen. It was blue, dazzling, and totally beautiful.

And at long last, we reached Hamanako Palpal.

We thanked the driver, then dropped our fare and worn-out tickets in the collection box. The bus headed off toward Kanzanji Hot Spring, leaving us behind.

“We’re here!”

The first thing everyone did was stop to stretch. Looking around, I saw all sorts of colorful buildings. The amusement park vibe was already coming through.

The Ferris wheel at the back really caught the eye—that, and the boarding area for the Kanzanji Ropeway. Even from here, we could see a thick rope stretching out across the lake.

“That’s right, they’ve got a ropeway,” I said, voicing my thoughts.

“I want to ride it, too!” Ricchan exclaimed. “We’ll have to go later.”

Chattering, we headed toward the entrance.

Most people had driven here; the families in front of us hadn’t been on the bus. An excited little girl fell over, and a young father picked her up.

Next, my eye caught the light blue rails of a roller coaster. They really popped against the darker blue of the sky, and that was all it took to get me excited.

I wanted to enjoy every last bit of this place. I had to see all the attractions and stamp out every possible regret.

“Palpal’s pretty big,” I said.

“I wonder how many Tokyo Domes could fit inside the grounds,” Ricchan said.

“How big is Tokyo Dome?”

“Pretty sure it’s one Tokyo Dome large.”

Ricchan giggled deviously as we passed some whimsical statues that would have been at home in a fairy tale. Then she turned back to face me.

“Oh, right, Mochizuki and I will take the hint and split off in due time. From that point on, you two can do the couple thing.”

Mochizuki said nothing, so this must have been prearranged.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to tell us that in advance,” Aki said, but Ricchan just gave him a warm smile.

“If I didn’t tell you, I bet the two of you would head straight for the front desk and have them look for us like lost children.”

I could totally see myself blind with panic, begging the park’s administrators to help find Ricchan. It was a good thing she’d warned us.

Ricchan led us not to the crowded ticket counters, but straight to the entrance gate. She’d purchased admissions and a one-day free pass for each of us online. We’d have to pay her back later.

“This is Shizuoka Prefecture Thanks Day,” she explained, “so the free passes were only 3000 yen each, twenty-five percent off.”

“Thank you, Palpal!”

“Thanks, Palpaaal!”

As we voiced our gratitude for the park’s generosity, a woman at the gate wearing a headband smiled and said, “Next!”

Ricchan showed her the virtual tickets and her student ID on our behalf, and the woman handed us blue wristbands. I put mine on, leaving only a finger’s slack so that it wouldn’t slip off. The paper was probably synthetic; I gave it a tug, and it didn’t budge.

“Let’s pick up a map,” I suggested.

There was a pile of them by the entrance, all folded into thirds. I picked one up for the group. According to it, we were currently on the first floor of a two-story building called the “Center House.” There were several attractions right here, and it connected to the gift shops and restaurants. At the center, in place of a welcome board, was a welcome tree.

“Why don’t we ride the ropeway first?” Ricchan suggested.

No one disagreed, and personally, I quite liked the idea.

We took the escalator to the second floor, then moved halfway around the circular passage. As we did, we passed the entrance to a restaurant with their menu posted outside. Everything looked delicious.

Across a short bridge, we found the boarding area for the ropeway. It was advertised as the only one in Japan that went across a lake, and our passes let us ride it for free. The far end was at the peak of a mountain called Okusayama.

The boarding platform was only a short walk away. It operated at ten-minute intervals, so we hopped right onto a waiting gondola.

The interior was all pink, and it was pretty spacious. There were four benches, each seating two, with lots of legroom. Christmas wreathes festooned the roof.

Each time someone climbed in, the gondola would rock, but it wasn’t particularly scary. Once seventeen people had boarded, the door was locked, and with a rumble, the gondola took off.

A park employee with a mic offered light explanations as we went. According to her, the ropeway began operating in 1960 and stretched for 723 meters. The ride took around four minutes, at a speed of roughly eighteen kilometers per hour. Listening to her with one ear, I peered out the glass and took in the view.

There were several little boys on board with us, and they were plastered to the windows, yelling and pointing out islands in the lake. The tour guide’s speech was apparently not enough to entertain them. Meanwhile, she gently pointed out the location of Kanzanji, the temple which had given this area its name.

As we gazed at the gleaming waters of Lake Hamana, another gondola, this one green, came sliding our way as it made the return descent. We all waved as we passed each other.

“Lake Hamana was supposedly formed from the left handprint of a legendary giant named Daidarabotchi. It’s positioned almost at the center of Japan with a circumference of around 114 kilometers. It’s the third largest lake in the area, after Lake Biwa and Lake Kasumigaura. By area, however, it’s only the tenth largest.”

Hearing these huge numbers made the lake seem even bigger. Were we really at the center of Japan right now?

“Daidarabotchi? Nice.”

“Are you a Daidarabotchi fan, Ricchan?”

“Nao, what kind of nerd doesn’t love yokai? Of course I’m a fan.”

I’d have to take her word for it.

“Daidarabotchi is a yokai famed for creating countless lakes and mountains. Some say he created not only Lake Hamana, but also Mount Fuji.”

“Then Shizuoka owes him a tremendous debt.”

Most of our most famous natural landmarks were Daidarabotchi’s handiwork. He was a true craftsman.

Rocking from side to side, the gondola slowed to a halt. The four-minute ride was over before we knew it, and we were at the peak of Okusayama.

One by one, we disembarked. Once outside, I looked up. The building to our left was the Hamanako Orgel Museum, which showcased a collection of music boxes. On the top floor was an observation deck. Supposedly, you could make a custom music box at the museum, but we’d decided to focus on the park’s rides.

We followed the other passengers inside and found a gift shop on the first floor. Aside from famous Shizuoka snacks, they had an array of music boxes, some porcelain, some clockwork.

“Okay, up the stairs!”

“No, no, let’s be civilized. They have an elevator,” Ricchan said, trying to keep Mochizuki from charging ahead.

But there was a huge line in front of the elevators, full of elderly couples and children. Ricchan groaned loudly and finally settled on the stairs.

Mochizuki proved to be the fastest of the four of us. He went up the steps like they were nothing. Ricchan was livid.

“Why?! Neither of us are in sports!” she cried.

“Drama club is basically an athletic team.”

I found that pretty convincing. For that brief interval before the Seiryou Festival, he’d had us in gym clothes doing laps, stretches, and projecting from the diaphragm. The memory made me grin.

Ricchan was soon out of breath, but we cheered her on. There were Lake Hamana trivia questions on each landing, and we answered those as we made our way up. Soon, we’d reached the observation deck.

My eyes were immediately drawn to the carillon at the center. The woman in the gondola had talked about these, too—supposedly, they were the instrument that had laid the groundwork for today’s music boxes.

That said…

“It’s freezing up here!”

Without anything to stop them, the winds had stolen every drop of warmth from the deck. Each gust made me shiver, and I clung to Ricchan’s arm.

“You’re right about that,” she said, her glasses fogging over. Her teeth were chattering. Even Mochizuki was hunched over.

The view of the massive lake, however, was fantastic. Scattered clouds raced by overhead while the water glistened below. But when we were all shivering so intensely, it was kind of hard to appreciate it.

“Nao, are you sure you wanna be hugging me?”

“Hnnnngh.” I made a strange noise through my nose.

I knew what she was getting at. Gondolas and observation decks were like consecrated ground for couples.

“But…that would be way too embarrassing…,” I managed.

Aki and I had been out together before, and I’d never really paid attention to who was looking. But today was different—probably because Ricchan and Mochizuki were with us.

Not that I was complaining about their company. It just made it harder to figure out how close Aki and I should be.

I was finally realizing why Ricchan had invited Mochizuki along. If we’d come here as a group of three, it wouldn’t have been Ricchan who was left out. My shame would have gotten the better of me, and I’d have clung to her instead, leaving Aki in the cold.

“If you haven’t noticed, Aki’s been shooting us baleful glares for a while now. I bet he wants to flirt with you like crazy, no matter who’s watching.”

“Oh? You think?”

I turned around expectantly and found Aki and Mochizuki poking each other. They were really getting along, and it made me kind of jealous.

“He is not,” I said, flicking her adorable egg-like forehead. “And more importantly, it’s freezing up here!”

“You’re right about that.”

Our conversation settled on that single conclusion. As we clung to each other for warmth, my nose was as red as Rudolph’s.

It would be dangerous to linger, I thought. But just then, the sound of bells interrupted us. Startled, I turned toward the music. It was exactly eleven o’clock, and the hourly carillon performance had begun.

A group of toddlers began hopping up and down in time with the bells, the hems of their coats flapping. Everyone stopped in their tracks, the four of us included, and we all listened to the beautiful music.

The bells emitted a slow, gentle melody, with an undercurrent of sadness. Eighteen of them, ringing out a plaintive song. It felt like even Lake Hamano was perking up its ears to hear them play.

The beautiful music was enough to push the cold from our minds for a little while, and when it was finished, a quiet hush filled the area.

The crowd dispersed, going over to look at the lake or leaving the deck. I straightened my hair as I watched them.

“That was lovely.”

“Yeah.”

“What song was that?”

“‘The Bluebells of Scotland,’” Mochizuki said, to our amazement.

“How do you know that?”

“As expected of the Drama Club.”

“Good job, Drama Club!”

“I hate to bust your bubble, but it’s written on the sign.”

Mochizuki pointed to a sign listing the December carillon repertoire. It played a different song at every hour.

“Oh, look! The ‘Ode to Joy’ from Beethoven’s Ninth! The one from Eva!” Ricchan shouted, pointing at the song for noon.

But the cold was too much for us, so we hopped on the next gondola and made our way back to Palpal proper.

On the way back to Center House, Ricchan whispered, “Are you ready, Nao?” Her glasses gleamed in the sun.

“Of course,” I said, nodding gravely. I was not about to chicken out now.

“Aki, Mochizuki, would you mind waiting here?” Ricchan said.

“Mm? Restroom?” Mochizuki asked.

“We’ll be right back!” she replied, ignoring his question. Then she grabbed my hand and walked off toward the nearby toilets. We each slipped into a stall and were back out a minute later.

“Thanks for waiting!”

The boys heard us coming, turned, then stared in surprise.

I stifled my shame and copied Ricchan, posing with my arms outspread.

“Merry Christmas!” we chorused, loud enough to shake off our embarrassment. Even so, my voice must have barely been above a whisper. I heard Ricchan’s echo through the room on its own.

“What’s this about?” Aki managed, stunned.

“It’s Christmas!” Ricchan said proudly. “Why not dress up?!”

I was starting to shrivel behind her.

She was in a goofy reindeer costume, but I wasn’t just wearing a Santa hat with a pompom. I was in a Santa-themed miniskirt, with my shoulders and legs bare. The extra skin on display made this way worse than the Seiryou Festival maid outfit. I’d thought I was prepared, but mortification was beginning to overwhelm me.

“Oh, that explains why you were both so bundled up,” Mochizuki said, clapping his hands together.

Ricchan had proposed the idea last weekend. She’d met up with me at Shizuoka Station, and we’d gone shopping. When I’d suggested we plan our trip for the twenty-fifth, her first impulse had been to dress for the holiday.

We’d headed straight for the Don Quijote in Ryougaechou, a few minutes’ walk from the station’s north exit. That was where Yoshii had acquired the maid costume—they had everything.

We’d taken our time choosing our outfits. I doubted many people could say the first ensemble they’d ever bought with their own money was a Santa costume.

Ricchan had checked ahead of time and confirmed that the park allowed costumes, as long as you didn’t bother anyone else while taking pictures.

I’d changed into my costume at home, then covered up with extra layers. It was like wearing a swimsuit under your clothes. Mochizuki was right; that was indeed why our clothes had seemed so bulky.

“Hmm, not bad. Looks good,” he said, short and simple.

It was at times like this that I remembered Mochizuki was one year older than us. His juniors had suddenly turned up dressed as Santa and a reindeer, and he hadn’t so much as batted an eye. Perhaps it was thanks to his experience in the Drama Club.

“But isn’t that skirt a bit short?” he asked. “I thought girls were sensitive to the cold.”

“You are not our mom,” Ricchan scoffed.

That just baffled him. “I don’t see you wearing a Santa skirt, Hironaka.”

“Of course not. I’d be cold!”

I almost yelped. She’d been so insistent that I wear the miniskirt.

“In fact, that outfit looks even warmer than what you were wearing before.”

“You can tell? The inside is lined with fleece,” she said, practically sounding like a salesperson. I was immediately envious.

“Santa!”

“Reindeer!”

“Cute!”

A group of first or second graders saw us and came running over. They must have thought we were part of some show. I jumped, startled, and Ricchan stepped out in front of me.

Using big, exaggerated motions, she said, “Sorry, this silly Santa was in a hurry and totally forgot to bring presents for you.”

“Aww!”

“Santa sucks!”

That stung, but I had bigger fish to fry. Ricchan had bought me a moment to collect myself, and I needed to take advantage of it.

“Aki!” I said, stepping forward like a general from the Warring States period.

“Y-yeah?” he said, eyes swimming.

Honestly, this was a pretty shaky start. But I’d bet hard on this Santa costume. Ricchan may have suggested it first, but I’d made the final call.

“What do you think?” I asked.

If I could have struck a saucy pose, it would have been perfect. But sadly, I had none in my repertoire. I settled for scooting in close and peering up at him.

Well? Well? I smiled and tilted my head.

Aki quickly glanced away, but I could see sweat beading on his forehead.

“What’s wrong Aki? Get a good look.”

“…!”

He staggered, then turned his back to me. His face and ears were now beet red, and I saw those perfect lips part. I waited expectantly, forgetting to breathe or blink.

“Weren’t there other types of Santa outfit?” he croaked.

The comment hit me like a meteor to the side of the head.

“Yeah, with a skirt that short, you’ll catch a cold,” Mom agreed— I mean, Mochizuki agreed. But I wasn’t interested in his opinion.

“…There were,” I said quietly. “A whole bunch of them.”

Some had capes over the shoulders, or long skirts, or even pants. There’d been a lot of variety. But I’d chosen one of the sexier ones. It wasn’t the type of outfit I usually went for, but I had my reasons.

“I thought this one would make you happy,” I said.

“Huh?”

“I thought you’d like this one best, Aki.”

I staggered away and leaned against the wall for support. I’d gotten all fired up for nothing. All I’d done was make him squirm. He probably thought I’d gone crazy because it was Christmas.

A cry cut through the stagnant air. “You don’t get it!”

Who was that? I jumped and turned around to find a little girl, standing firmly, feet apart. She was one of the kids who’d been pestering reindeer Ricchan.

“You don’t get it at all! It’s a boyfriend’s job to tell his girlfriend how cute she is!”

“Exactly! She’s probably really embarrassed, but she did her best! You have to praise her!”

Other little girls were chiming in with Ricchan among them.

Meanwhile, the boys had frozen up at the back, all equally bewildered. Aki had much the same reaction to the crowd of angry little girls. No matter how old you were, girls were always more mature.

“Aki, you heard ’em. Time to man up,” Mochizuki said. That was the final blow.

Aki’s brow furrowed, and he joined me on the wall. I didn’t budge, but my heart was beating like crazy, far outpacing the carillon melody. I strained my ears to hear him.

“You look really cute.”

My head came up. “You mean that?”

“I do.”

“One more time.”

“You’re so cute it was blinding me…so I had to look away.”

He held a fist over his mouth, as if pleading to be let off the hook. The little girls squealed, holding hands and jumping.

“You’re a total lech, Aki,” Mochizuki jeered, earning a scowl.

“But it does look cold,” Aki continued, “so you’d better wear a jacket.”

“Okay!” I said, grinning.

He shot me a dubious expression, but I was now sure this ordeal had been worth the embarrassment. And I was pleased to hear him call me cute not once, but twice!

“Let’s grab a photo before you layer up!” Ricchan said, taking out her phone.

Since there was a Christmas tree nearby, this was the place for it. A passing park worker took the photo. All four of us stood by the tree. Ricchan promised to have the photo printed later.

“Let’s put it up in the clubroom,” I said.

“Uh,” Aki sounded less than sure. “Really?”

“No?” I asked, teasing him. We’d had this conversation before.

“I’m not against it, just…,” Aki said, smiling. He’d caught on.

The photo of us yelling, “A red panda!” was still up in the clubroom, at the corner of the bookcase. It was turned around though, showing off to the wall.

With the picture taken, I took off my hat and put my teddy coat on over the costume. Ricchan and I put the rest of our clothes in the same coin locker, and I had her hold onto the key.

By this time, the children had lost interest and run off. They were probably back with their families, headed for rides or restaurants.

Ricchan was still full reindeer, and quite eager.

“Now that we’re done with all that, shall we hit up a ride?”

We spread out the map between us. Lake Hamanako took up more of the page than the park itself, and the left side was filled with the Palpal official hotel and a hot spring resort.

Focusing on the park proper, my gaze went straight to the blue spiral to the lower left. It was the roller coaster I’d seen on our way in: the megacoaster called “4D” in the park’s Entrance Zone. Ricchan was staring at the same thing.

“Are you all down for thrill rides?” she asked.

“I think so!” I said.

Aki was surprised. “Nao, you’re not afraid of roller coasters?”

“I’ve never been on one, but I think I can handle it.”

Sunao had been to Disneyland with her friends, and she’d ridden Big Thunder Mountain. In other words, my inner ears ought to be up to the task.

“They have a haunted house geared toward little kids,” he suggested.

“We’re not going there.” I shot him a pointed glare. “Not ever.”

“Okay, okay.”

That was no joke. I was staunchly opposed. Whether they were designed for kids or adults, haunted houses were way too scary.

Palpal was primarily intended for families with kids in tow, so they didn’t have a lot of really intense rides. Very few even had a height restriction. The name and size suggested this megacoaster was Palpal’s main source of thrills.

Back in the circular corridor, we went the opposite way and headed for the Entrance Zone. This area had a blue theme, and much of it was occupied by the coaster’s tracks.

The boarding area for 4D was right in front of us. A few people were lined up on the stairs, but it looked like we’d be able to get on the very next train.

The coaster itself whooshed past us overhead. It was going very fast, and the passengers’ screams hit us in a wave a little later.

“There it goes.”

“Yep.”

“Looks even faster than ever.”

“I think it’s probably the same speed as always.”

It had better be.

Eventually, the coaster came back to the boarding zone. The passengers gathered their things and disembarked, discussing the ride.

We showed our free passes and climbed aboard. We could choose which seats we wanted. Ricchan took off her glasses and got in the front row with Mochizuki. Aki and I sat right behind them.

“Megacoaster 4D, moving out!”

A buzzer sounded at our backs, and the coaster rolled away. The ride started with a slow, agonizing climb…

Feeling the clacks echo through my body, I swallowed hard. I tensed my grip on the safety bars, sweating, then stole a glance at Aki. His lips were drawn tight. It seemed he was just as nervous.

“Scared, Aki?” I asked.

“I didn’t think it would be like this.”

Neither of us had been to an amusement park before.

“Maybe we should close our eyes.”

“Uh, won’t that just make it even scarier?”

“I already can’t see a thing!” Ricchan wailed from the front seat. Removing her glasses had knocked her out of commission. “Are you still next to me, Mochizuki?”

“Is your vision that bad?” he asked.

As we talked, the coaster crested the hill.

“Eeek!” “Augh!” “Aiiieee!” “Whoa!”

From that point on, we went up and down, upside-down, and around and around.

By the time we made it back to the boarding zone, my hair was in my eyes, and I couldn’t see a thing.

“My legs are shaking!” Giggling, I clutched the railing on the way down the stairs and turned back to the others. “Let’s go again!”

No one disagreed—clearly, we all had the stomach for thrill rides. We were back on the coaster in no time.

An hour later, Mochizuki glanced at his phone.

“It’s almost noon,” he said.

Palpal closed at four thirty PM, which was rather early for an amusement park. We’d planned to eat lunch a little before noon and then make the most of the afternoon.

We turned back toward the Center House with Palpal’s main restaurant, Nomnom Cafeteria. There were several other places to eat, but this one had the most extensive menu.

It was fairly packed, but there were several four-tops open, and we claimed one near the windows. This earned us a wonderful view of Lake Hamana.

There was a pen and an order form on the table. We were meant to fill it out, take it to the register, and pay in advance. The four of us spread out the menu and poured over it together.

“I’m going for the set with ramen and a mini whitebait bowl,” Aki said.

“Then I’ll have the medium-heat pork loin katsu curry rice.” It seemed Mochizuki had decided, too.

The boys were ready to order before they’d even read the full menu, but Ricchan and I struggled mightily. The boys put their orders on the sheet as we deliberated.

“Why’d you go with curry?” I asked Mochizuki.

“It’s hard to mess up, no matter where you are.” The answer was very Mochizuki. He laughed and glanced at Aki. “Ramen, on the other hand, can be a roll of the dice.”

“I have faith in Palpal,” Aki said, no doubt in his eyes.

Ricchan and I were still going back and forth over the menu, but the tables around us were getting orders delivered, and the tantalizing scents whet our appetites.

We were both torn between the two plate lunches. The main dishes looked good, and they came with a side of roasted vegetables and a serving of ratatouille. I was especially pleased to see they came with dessert.

“What do you think?” I asked. “Should we pig out?”

“I am pretty hungry,” Ricchan agreed.

We’d already tackled Palpal’s most taxing thrill ride. A full stomach wouldn’t come back to haunt us.

In the end, I settled on the beef stew platter, and Ricchan took the creamed crab pasta plate. We agreed to split the main dishes.

As we wrote down our orders, Ricchan asked, “Did everyone get a Christmasy meal last night?”

It was traditional to eat chicken and Christmas cake on Christmas Eve.

“Nah, not me,” Aki said. “My family isn’t too into holidays.”

“Mine’s the other way around. My mom always bakes a cake,” Mochizuki said. He showed us a picture of one so lavishly decorated, it could rival a store’s display case.

“I had some!” I exclaimed. “Sunao brought up a slice of cake for me.”

She’d never done that before, not for Christmas or for birthdays. If the me from six months ago could hear what I’d been up to, she’d never believe it. My relationship with Sunao had changed so much, and now I was at an amusement park of my own free will.

“Oh! Was it good?” Ricchan asked.

“Very!”

It had been shortcake with a big strawberry on top and loads of whipped cream. I’d been so excited! That white fluffy topping, the flavor of happiness, had melted on my tongue.

Once we’d written our orders, Aki got up.

“Hironaka, Mochizuki, you two wait here. We’ll take care of this.”

I had no reason to argue, so I stood up, too. In line at the register, Aki noticed me looking at him and belatedly explained, “I don’t like the idea of leaving you by yourself or alone with Hironaka.”

“Why not?”

“Other men will try to talk to you.”

He seemed very certain, but I wasn’t so sure.

“You mean…you think they’ll hit on me?”

“Exactly.”

Only now did I realize he’d been against me wearing the Santa costume for reasons other than the cold. Embarrassed, I made a show of pouting.

“Well, I bet girls would try to talk to you, too.”

“Me? I doubt it.”

I gaped at him. Was he really that unaware of how cool he was?

“I’d hit on you,” I said.

“How?”

He’d put me on the spot. I’d gotten carried away and blurted out the words, but the truth was, I’d never hit on anyone before, and no one had ever hit on me, either.

Sunao had regularly experienced guys trying to pick her up in town, of course, but she always dismissed them out of hand. Those memories weren’t terribly clear, but I quickly ran through them. She didn’t remember any of the guys’ faces, but most of those guys said stuff like, “Are you in high school? You’re really cute. Wanna grab a bite together?” Maybe I could try something similar…

“Are you in high school? You’re pretty cool. Wanna grab a bite to eat together?”

Aki doubled over laughing.

“How rude!”

“You sound like a low-level AI assistant!”

I could tell that was not a compliment. I puffed out my cheeks at him. “If I put my mind to it, I can mack with the best of them.”

“Uh-huh, okay. Then why don’t you give it another go?”

Shoot, I fell right into his trap.

It was too late to back out now. I glanced at the register, hoping we’d run out of time, but the line still stretched out in front of us. Our turn wasn’t coming up anytime soon.

Help, Ricchan! I thought, looking back, but there was a pillar between us and the table. I was out of options.

“Um,” I said, squeezing out something. “Er… I guess I’d say something like, You’re awfully handsome…then invite you out to dinner?”

“While looking that embarrassed?”

“Huh?”

“When you hit on someone, you’ve gotta make eye contact.” Aki was being merciless today.

At that, I threw caution to the wind. I was gonna hit on him so hard, he’d have to blush. Then he’d be the blushing beauty.

“You’re so handsome!”

“Thanks.”

“You’re very cool!”

“Not really, Grandma Ham.”

My wooden flirting was just making him smirk. Aggravated, I put up my dukes and jabbed him in the ribs.

“Ow.”

“I bet that hurts!”

“Next!” the cashier called, catching us mid-goof.

We hastily moved to the register.

In the end, all the food was delicious.

Act Four: A Replica, Smiling

In the afternoon, the wind died down and the temperature began to rise. It was still chilly in the shade, but out in the gentle sunlight, I could feel my body warming up. I was deeply grateful that the weather was so clear.

We hit up the restrooms, then headed for the areas we hadn’t yet seen.

First up was a large wooden attraction over ten meters tall: the 3D maze, Get Ooout. More of an activity than a ride, it involved exploring a trick-filled puzzle maze, searching for the goal. There were three stamps to collect inside, and a bell to ring on the fifth floor once you reached the top.

There were two paths through the maze, both of equal difficulty.

When Ricchan heard that, her eyes met mine. “I’m teaming with Mochizuki. Let’s race to see who gets out first!”

“You’re on, Ricchan!”

If this was a race, I was in it to win it. I could feel myself getting fired up.

We got our stamp cards at the entrance and wrote our start times in pencil, as instructed. Early on, we made good progress and saw the others several times, but we soon got stuck.

“Aki, there’s no way through!” I cried.

“This way’s blocked, too.”

“Where the heck do we get the stamps?”

“Hmm, I think this way looks likely.”

“Th-the door won’t open? Why?!”

“Another dead end!”

They didn’t call this a maze for nothing. The whole thing was filled with little tricks. After a lot of work, we finally made it to the third floor. That was when we heard a bell—someone had made it to the goal.

Startled, I looked up—and our eyes met. That was Ricchan, on the fifth floor!

She held out a fist and winked. It was the same gesture Mochizuki had made at the sports festival. She hadn’t even been there. The first-years must have been buzzing about it.

He came up behind her, red-faced, and smacked the back of her head with a satisfying crack.

“Ow!”

And with that, they vanished from view, leaving Aki and me astounded.

“They got there way too fast.”

Ricchan was very observant, and Mochizuki was methodical; perhaps they’d simply found the shortest route. But even then, they’d been quick. We were only halfway done!

“You think there’s a secret shortcut?”

“Probably not… Or is there?”

We’d lost the race, so there was no need to rush. We spent our time searching for the stamp stations, then steadily worked our way through the maze.

“Goal!”

At last, we collected all the stamps and rang the bell on the fifth floor, feeling accomplished. Now we just had to head down the nearby stairs. The whole thing had taken us exactly twenty minutes. The others had taken closer to twelve.

“Where’d they go?” asked Aki.

“The restrooms, maybe?”

We waited a minute, but then worked it out.

“She did warn us.”

“Yup.”

There was no need to go to the front desk. Aki and I regrouped and started making the rounds together.

We forgot about the map and simply wandered, stopping at every attraction our eyes landed on. Armed with free passes, nothing was off limits to us.

We rode the Jungle Mouse, the log flume, the swing ride, and then we tried the target-shooting game. The merry-go-round was two stories tall, and I spent forever picking a horse. We ate sugary churros and drank the lauded reindeer latte, and that gave us enough energy for more rides.

It was hard to believe that we could have so much fun on an improvised date. I was laughing and smiling the whole time. I almost made myself sick giggling.

The go-carts had the longest lines. Could any other theme park say the same? Aki took the driver’s side and barely touched the brakes, putting the pedal to the metal. I wouldn’t have called him a good driver, though. He bumped nearly every curve, flinging us both forward.

“I should get a driver’s license,” he said. “Cars are so convenient.”

“Your technique isn’t very reassuring.”

He took my teasing in stride. “I’ll give you a ride a year after I get my license.”

“Why a year?”

“First I need to get confident enough to use the highways.”

That shut me up, and I coughed awkwardly. “…Well, first you’d better learn how to drive a go-cart.”

“I feel like these are a lot harder than real cars.” Aki made excuses as he continued to struggle.

A replica probably couldn’t get a license. Still, I wanted Aki to drive me around. I wanted to sit in the passenger seat and see how much he’d improved.

By the time we’d seen most of the park, I was feeling nicely tuckered out. Palpal had been built on the site of Horie Castle and had lots of slopes, which meant extra exertion.

We gave the map one final check, then headed up a hill to the Ferris wheel. That was one area we still hadn’t explored.

It was almost three thirty PM. Soon, we’d have to wake from this dream.

We passed families with shopping bags full of gifts, all chatting about which rides they’d liked best. I was sorely tempted to agree with them out loud.

Just then, something cold hit my cheek.

The weather report had promised it wouldn’t rain, but when I glanced overhead, I saw something flitting through the air above.

My face lit up, and I jumped for joy.

“Aki! Snow!” I said, pointing.

“Looks like a little flurry.”

The flakes were fluttering around in an aerial dance. I held out both hands and watched the cold white crystals.

The characters that made up the word flurry were “wind” and “flower.” Whoever came up with that must have had flowers blooming in their heart.

“It’s so pretty.”

The snow wasn’t sticking at all, but I felt confident this counted as a White Christmas. This gift from the sky was just that lovely.

“There’s one stuck to you,” Aki said, trying to remove a flake from my nose.

But I was pretty sure it melted faster than he could touch it. My body temperature had skyrocketed when I realized how far he’d leaned in.

Aki’s finger stopped. Our faces were close enough that we could count each other’s lashes.

I squirmed, my face red, and said, “Sh-should we get on the Ferris wheel?”

“…Yeah, let’s do that.” His wandering finger found mine and held it tight.

Palpal’s Ferris wheel took eleven minutes to make one circuit. Its colorfully painted gondolas were evenly spaced around a flowery center.

The young man on duty welcomed us, and we stepped into a gondola. Then the door locked behind us, and we steadily began to rise, leaving the ground and the commotion of the park behind.

The flurry had stopped, and the blue sky grew closer. In an hour or so, the sun would set.

“Aki, can I borrow your phone?”

“Why?” he asked, taking it out.

“It’s a great view, and I want a picture.”

I pulled up the camera and aimed it at the scene outside. I was careful to remain seated—I didn’t want to rock the gondola.

“Check it out! There’s our first ever roller coaster.”

“And the maze is over there.”

Scraps of the day lay glittering below, and we pointed them out in turn. Over there, and over there. Look, do you see? We were as excited as a couple of kindergarteners. Though neither of us had ever gone to kindergarten, of course.

“Maybe we can find Ricchan from here,” I said, but I wasn’t actually searching for her. If I managed to spot her by accident, that would be enough.

I smiled, my fingers against the cold glass. “…I might like this ride best of all.”

“I’m a fan, too.”

Lots of people cap off a day at the park with a Ferris wheel ride, and I could understand why.

The rides we’d ridden, the paths we’d walked, the shops we’d perused—all the good times came back as vivid as the moment they’d happened. Down below, the dream still lived, spinning like a merry-go-round, or like this Ferris wheel.

“I think they’re nice because you ride them last.”

It sounded like Aki was agreeing with me…but I couldn’t help hearing the gloom in his voice. I quit taking pictures and turned to face him. He was on the seat across from mine, his gaze as sharp as a knife.

It took me several seconds to realize he was nervous.

“Nao, I have to ask you something.”

“What?” I said, as if I didn’t know.

He sighed. “Why’d you return an unfinished book to the library?”

Gauche the Cellist, the short story collection containing “Yamanashi.” I hadn’t yet finished all the stories in it.

“Why’d you only buy a one-way ticket today?” he continued.

We’d bought round-trip tickets to the Nihondaira Zoo, but today I’d only bought one for the trip out.

“And why’d you take a picture with my phone?”

Back at the zoo, I hadn’t taken any pictures of the red pandas at all. I’d said it was enough to burn their image into my retinas.

I was sure Aki had picked up on even more signs—for example, my lack of luggage and the way I’d used the last of my funds on the churros and reindeer latte.

I wasn’t going to pretend I had done those things on a whim. I knew he wasn’t that stupid.

“You know me too well, Aki.”

“How could I not? It’s you, Nao.”

“…And I know you too, Aki.”

My cheek was pressed against the gondola window. Even as I watched, the ground grew farther away, and the screams from the roller coaster faded.

“You’ve been scared to meet my eyes ever since the school trip,” I said. “You almost never smile any more. That’s why I was glad to see you laugh today, here with me. I couldn’t bring myself to cozy up with you at first, but the Santa outfit was the right call—as mortifying as it was.”

I laughed at the memory, but Aki’s mask didn’t crack. Before the chill could settle at the bottom of the gondola, I sat up and changed the subject.

“What are you gonna do next, Aki?”

Not the most specific question, but he knew what I meant.

“Shuuya’s not ready to talk about it. We’ve barely spoken since he got back from Kyoto. I think going to school is about all he can handle.”

“Oh. Right.”

That made sense. Sanada was still sending Aki to school occasionally. Unlike Sunao, he still needed his replica.

Sunao didn’t.

“…What about you, Nao?”

“I…”

I caught his gaze before my nerves wavered. I’d swallowed these words back then, when he’d grabbed my arm, but I was ready to say them now.

“I’m going back inside her.”

There were stories like this everywhere. The main character merged with their fake and lived happily ever after. That was their best-case scenario. I knew that, even though I’d stopped Aki when he’d been ready to do the same.

We sat on opposite sides of the gondola, the silence so cold that it was scary.

Then, as we neared the top of the circuit, Aki’s voice cut through the hush. “You’re choosing Aikawa over me.”

Emotionless, he spoke in a flat whisper. The light was behind him, casting his face in shadow. I wanted to reach out and stop him before it got too dark to see, even knowing full well I didn’t deserve to.

“Remember what you said, Nao?”

A low, emotionless voice reached my ears. If he’d attacked me or scorned me, it would have been so much easier to breathe.

“That I was brought here to meet you?”

A pain shot through my chest, like a stake to the heart. I bit my lip so hard, it drew blood.

I’d never forgotten, not for one second. The memory was just as vivid as when it happened. It wasn’t just that moment, either. It was all the time I’d spent with Aki. And yet, I…

“Sorry. I’m choosing Sunao.”

“…Why?”

“I just can’t go on acting as if I’ve done nothing…knowing I stole her kindness.”

I tried to smile but it wound up warped at the edges. I felt my muscles stiffening, still unsure if I was putting on a good face or beginning to cry. Aki was watching me, his breath freezing over.

“Aki… Sunao always looks like she’s in pain. She’s constantly checking with me. Did she say the right thing? Did she act too hostile? I…can’t bear to watch.” My voice kept breaking, but I forced the words out. “She won’t get better. She’ll just fall to pieces…”

If we didn’t do something, make some fundamental change, Sunao would keep checking with me forever. And seeing her like that made me want to fall to my knees and beg her forgiveness.

I’d said I hadn’t taken anything from her. I’d accused her of playing the victim. I couldn’t believe how insensitive I’d been. I was so mad at myself.

Sunao… How did you really feel when I said those things?

What emotions were you hiding every time you called me Nao?

I could feel heat behind my eyes, yet the back of my neck was shockingly cold. My body was being pulled in all directions, and I couldn’t breathe right. I grabbed a handful of my shirt front.

“Sunao’s emotions are in here—in me. Her kindness, her warmth. All those things matter. I know that now. So I have to give them back. I can’t keep holding onto them. I can’t steal them and run off with you to live happily ever after.”

Aki’s cheeks quivered like he was about to burst into tears. He didn’t have to say anything. I knew he felt the same way I did. He saw the work Sanada was doing and worried about him, more afraid than anyone that the pressure would get the best of him.

Aki was holding onto something, too: the courage that Sanada had relinquished when he could no longer go to school.

“Then just say the word. Like you did before.”

Aki’s shoulders were shaking. I hated that I couldn’t sit at his side and hold him.

“Ask me to turn to foam with you. To vanish together. I’ll do it.”

“No. I won’t. I can’t.”

I couldn’t grant his wish.

“Sanada still needs you, Aki. I don’t think it’s right for us to rush him, no matter what we want.”

Aki had said it himself. Sunao and Sanada were moving at different speeds. Sanada had only just gotten back on his feet and taken a few faltering steps. I couldn’t shove him forward.

“Then what should I do?” he asked, like a man on the verge of death.

I balled up my fists in my lap and looked down. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

But there was no sorrow in my voice. No one was forcing me. I wasn’t lamenting my position or suffering at the mercy of fate.

“I don’t know what’s right for you, but I’m pretty sure this is right for me.”

This was all my own free will. And the boy across from me was why I’d made up my mind.

I made a point of smiling. Perhaps I couldn’t manage a kapu-kapu laugh like the kuramubon. Still…

“I owe you so much, Aki. I was empty before I met you. I had nothing. You gave me meaning.”

“Stop. I don’t wanna hear it.” He shook his head weakly, but I wasn’t about to stop.

This was my last chance, my final say. I wanted to smile, to tell him everything, to lay out all my emotions for him.

The gondola was still rising, as if trying to get somewhere no one could reach it. If only Aki and I could go off with it and never come back. How nice that would be.

But eventually, we’d have to come back down. The Ferris wheel was just like the roller coaster and the merry-go-round. An amusement park might be a land of dreams, but just like a real dream, the rides lasted only so long.

So I had to say this right, and I had to say it now.

“Aki. Thank you for falling in love with me. And for coming with me to the zoo, the festival, the movie theater, the aquarium, the school festival, the hot spring, the ranch, and the amusement park. Thank you for pulling me out of the ocean. And most of all—thank you for being my boyfriend.”

I didn’t need to take in any more scenery. All I had to do was trace each memory with my lips, and warmth spread through my chest.

I’d thought replicas were only meant to fill in for their originals. Yet Aki had shown me so much more: sights, sounds, and experiences that must have been so commonplace for regular humans but that filled the gaping void in my heart.

You made me who I am.

The first and last person to shape me.

“I love you, Aki.”

Once again, I was at a loss. How could I convey these feelings without regrets or hesitation? Without scaring him? How could I say it?

“I will always, always love you, Aki. More than anyone else.”

I settled for speaking from the heart, without embellishment.

“Today and every day leading up to it has been so precious to me. Like a dream come true. I was happy every moment I was with you, and even when we were apart. I was so happy I could almost cry. You gave me all of that. That’s why I’m fine.”

Mimicking his catchphrase put a genuine smile on my face, but Aki wasn’t having it.

“None of that’s true,” he said, sounding hurt.

His face had scrunched up some time ago, and now tears were dropping off his chin. He let them fall.

“Spring, summer, fall, winter—they’re all different,” he croaked. “The zoo in summer isn’t like the zoo in winter. The weather, the time, how the red pandas are feeling, who you’re with—that stuff changes everything.”

It was really hard to make out his words, but I strained my ears. I didn’t want to miss a single syllable.

“No matter how many times we go, we’ll never see it all. Don’t act like a single trip is all you need. Don’t say you’re happy or satisfied. Don’t act like it’s all over.”

We reached the crest of the Ferris wheel, and the world shook.

The gondola swayed—because I’d jumped to my feet.

Suddenly, my lips were on Aki’s.

I’d never touched them before. They were soft, wet, and tasted like the sea.

Aki had a point. If he hadn’t been crying, this kiss would have tasted very different. The feel of his lips, their temperature and smell—a totally unique experience.

I’d have liked to experience it all.

“…Why?”

The word slipped out of the corner of his mouth as a whisper, almost a sigh. It brushed my cheek and faded away.

“It’s our last chance.”

Even if it was only once, I wanted my lips on his, to kiss as a couple should—not on the nose but on the mouth—even though I knew I was being selfish.

I took a step back, my smile strained. I was still holding onto Aki’s phone, and I tapped the screen.

No matter how much my fingers shook, the number was already on the screen, and all I had to do was dial it.

The person I’d called picked up before the first ring ended. Before she could say a word, I voiced my demand.

“Vanish me.”

Aki worked out who was on the phone, and his face twisted up.

“Do it now!” I said, my voice growing shrill.

I heard him croak out a protest. “Don’t. Please.”

He reached toward me.

“Nao, vanish.”

Sunao’s voice pulled me out of the gondola before his hand could touch me.

The next thing I knew, I was in Sunao’s room.

“………!”

My eyes were wide, and my shoulders were heaving. It felt like I’d just run a marathon. My knees buckled, and I crumpled to the floor.

My emotions couldn’t catch up to reality. The heater was on, but the core of my body was too chilly to let in any of the warmth.

I heard the sound of a pencil scratching against paper.

Looking up, I found Sunao hunched over a workbook at her desk. I could tell she was only acting calm on the outside. She must have sensed something serious was going on from my voice over the phone.

“I already took the Santa costume off,” she said, glancing my way.

She was wearing just the khaki dress. She’d even taken the scrunchie out of her hair.

Once my breathing calmed down, I replied, “I know. Thanks, Sunao.”

When Sunao called for me, I always appeared dressed exactly like her from head to toe. So this morning, she’d put the Santa costume on under her dress, tied her hair up in the scrunchie, and put boots on her feet.

Anything that went in my pockets or that I carried around wasn’t considered part of her and didn’t get copied. That was why I’d only brought bills and coins with me to Hamamatsu.

I’d used all those up, so the only thing I’d left behind in that gondola was Aki’s phone.

I’d stuffed my clothes in with Ricchan’s in the coin locker, but those would have vanished along with me. She had the locker key, so that wasn’t a concern, either.

With Sunao’s help, I’d managed to leave no traces behind.

The phone on her desk vibrated. It felt like an accusation.

I stood up and checked the screen. I was right; it was from Aki.

I reached past Sunao and hit the red button, rejecting the call. He called right back. I felt bad about it, but I had to shut the phone down. Once it was silent, I handed it back to her.

“You’re sure?”

“…Yeah.”

I nodded, but the truth was, I wasn’t sure at all. Had that been the right way to say goodbye? I told myself there wasn’t anything else I could do and sighed.

Then I took a deep breath and said, “Sorry for making you wait. I decided I’m going back inside you.”

I was sure she’d been expecting my answer today, and that she’d already guessed what it would be.

Her pencil stopped. The wheels of her chair turned. When I saw her face, it wasn’t surprise, but concern in her yes.

“…That’s really what you want?”

I nodded right away, then settled down on the thick winter rug. I held my hands out to her, ready for an embrace.

“Anytime.”

“This is so awkward,” she said, dithering. But then she got up and knelt down before me. She took a breath, steeling herself. “Well, here goes.”

Sunao wrapped her arms around my neck. It didn’t feel right at first, and we fidgeted. I felt her breath on the side of my neck.

“You’re so warm, Sunao.”

“…Am I? But we’re the same temperature.”

That was likely true. The unbearable chill of that gondola was gone now.

Her body was so thin it felt fragile. I was borrowing that same body, but I hadn’t really noticed until I embraced her. I put my hands around her back, as if supporting her, and felt something off.

“Sunao?”

She was trembling.

“Sorry. I know this shouldn’t be scary.”

I didn’t have to ask to know what was scaring her.

Satou had talked about this. Some sort of change would take place when the two of us merged. Our personalities, memories, and perceptions—if this altered even one of those things, she wouldn’t be the same Sunao. And if that happened, where would this Sunao go? Just speculating about it must have been terrifying.

“It’ll be okay, Sunao,” I said, giving her back an encouraging pat. “Your life is going to be full of fun.”

“…Is that some kind of prophecy?”

“No. I’m no fortune teller. It’s more like…a wish.”

I didn’t believe in God, so I knew he wouldn’t grant my wish. Orihime and Santa were equally unlikely to step up. And yet, all I could do was pray.

I wanted Sunao to be the happiest person in the world.

“I’m sure there will be hard things, too. But you’ll be okay, Sunao. You’ve got Satou and Ricchan. And Mom and Dad at home. You’re not alone.”

Her lake-water-blue eyes would take in so many fresh experiences. But I couldn’t be there with her.

What a shame. I watched my fingers fade out, then my wrists, arms, and shoulders. My body went limp.

The same thing had happened near Togetsu Bridge. If we kept hugging, I’d soon be gone. Like foam between the waves, I’d be washed back inside her.

This should have happened long ago.

Replicas were only meant to grant a single wish. Just one in a lifetime. When the original was trapped between their ideals and reality, their wish manifested—and was then reabsorbed. That was how it was supposed to be.

The reason I could only vaguely recall Sunao’s memories was because I was a disposable tool. Replicas weren’t designed to be used over and over like a convenient stand-in.

My body grew heavy and my mind sleepy. My words slowed down.

“It’s okay now, Sunao. You don’t have to pretend you like Pocky instead of Pretz anymore.”

Her trembling got stronger.

My consciousness grew dull, like I was sinking into a dream, and my tongue stopped working right. I leaned against Sunao, hoping she would understand.

“You don’t have to force yourself to say shitabero instead of shitabera.”

I remembered talking about the different words for tongue with Aki while we ate our shaved ice at the festival. I’d thought it so strange at the time. Language was built on habit and wasn’t easy to change. Sunao was such a momma’s girl—the only reason she’d started copying her dad and saying shitabero was because she’d made a conscious effort.

I was sure she’d changed herself in countless other ways too, trying to make herself distinct to fill the hollow inside her. Poor girl.

I could only pray this act would release her from one of those shackles.

“And…”

I felt like I was forgetting something. I tried to think what, but my mind wasn’t working. It was like my thoughts were wrapped up in a thin cocoon as I began to melt away.

Sunao leaned in and rubbed her check against mine. Then she whispered something.

“ ”

But I was so close to disappearing, I couldn’t even feel the tickle of her skin against mine.

And then my mind was swallowed up by nothing.

Intermission: Life Without Her

A clatter struck his ears.

The phone had fallen to the floor of the gondola—out of empty air.

At least it hadn’t broken. There were no cracks beneath the protective film. For a long moment, Aki just stared vacantly at it and the object next to it. Then his eyes shot wide.

He couldn’t afford to waste a second. Maybe there was still time. Hands shaking, he scooped up both items and redialed the number on the phone.

He held it to his ear, appalled by how loud his heart was beating.

Fighting off nausea, he waited. The ringing quickly stopped, but no voice came on the line.

Aki frowned and looked at the screen. The call had been rejected. But he had to keep betting on this faint hope. He tapped the screen again…

It didn’t go through. He’d known it wouldn’t. But he had to rely on this tiny machine. Considering the physical distance between them, he couldn’t think of any other way to stop Nao.

“The number you have dialed is powered off or out of range…”

His third attempt ended with an emotionless, automated voice. The sound of rejection.

The lock on the gondola clicked. The door swung open, and the man who’d let them in with a smile eleven minutes ago looked baffled.

That was only natural, of course. Aki was hardly in the mood, but he almost laughed. Anyone would be shocked if they’d seated a couple on a Ferris wheel only to find a single boy when it descended.

Before that baffled expression could turn into a question, the next passenger stepped up.

Aki took that moment to slip away. He felt the man’s eyes on his back but kept his own gaze straight ahead.

Forcing his listless feet forward, he walked quickly, not sure where he was headed but refusing to let himself stop.

He regretted ever lending Nao his phone, but that wouldn’t have fixed things. Even at Togetsu Bridge, all he could do was grab her arm. And a few minutes ago, he’d only managed to vent his feelings at her.

But Aki had no words that could stop her. Deep inside, he agreed with her choice.

He didn’t want her to disappear. He wanted her with him, laughing. Today, tomorrow, and beyond. They’d promised to see the fireworks together next year.

But at the same time, he himself wanted nothing more than Shuuya’s happiness. He wanted him back at school, playing basketball like he used to. What had happened to him wasn’t fair—and he deserved to be surrounded by good people, enjoying himself.

And that mess of emotions left Aki here, all alone.

He wondered if this was how Shuuya had felt when he first summoned a replica. But no matter how hard things got, a replica could never do the same.

A terrifying, viscous darkness began to descend over the wonderland around him.

“Aki!”

He looked up and saw Shun running around the pirate ship, waving at him. Ritsuko trailed along behind.

“…Aki,” she said, frowning, clearly conscious of the empty space beside him.

She had a very full paper bag in her hand—the brand-new reindeer costume.

“Her clothes… Nao’s Santa outfit was gone. I had the key, so she couldn’t have opened it herself. And yet…”

The four of them had come here together. Ritsuko knew full well Nao wouldn’t leave alone without telling anyone. She was the kind of girl who could find the little joys in things no one else noticed. She would have looked forward to sharing memories on the way home.

The tear tracks on Aki’s face must have clued the others in, but he owed them an explanation, and he stumbled through a version of what had happened on the Ferris wheel.

As he talked, Ritsuko’s eyes filled with tears. Shun let out a breath too small to call a sigh.

The loudspeakers announced that the park would soon close. The three of them were the only ones not headed for the exit. It was time for the dream to end. Throwing a tantrum wouldn’t wind back the clock.

“What’s that, Aki?”

The question made him open the fist that he’d been clenching tight enough to make his nails break his skin.

“Oh,” Shun said when he saw what lay within. “No use standing around. Let’s head home.”

Aki nodded, but it probably looked more like he’d just lowered his head.

Lake Hamana had been so beautiful earlier, but now its vibrant colors seemed hazy and faded. As he stared at it, Aki forgot how to walk. Ritsuko must have been the same. She’d stopped in her tracks.

Shun looked at them and sighed. “You’re taking this way too hard. It’s not the end of the world.”

“…But…”

“It’s not like she’s dead.”

He’d been overly harsh, but he’d successfully cut off Ritsuko’s protests. Aki’s words stuck in his throat.

Shun had a point. Nao wasn’t dead. But if she’d fused with her original, could they really say she was still alive?

Aki could feel his anger rising, along with an urge to lash out. He was on the verge of abandoning reason and yelling something he’d definitely regret.

Picking up on that, Shun kept talking, not batting an eye.

“She’s not dead, like Mori.”

Aki and Ritsuko both froze.

Shun wasn’t speaking from anger or indifference. He was using his own pain to help his grief-stricken juniors take the first step toward recovery.

The wind from Lake Hamana ruffled Shun’s hair. His eyebrows relaxed from their determined slant into an unusually soft angle.

“Nothing’s settled yet. Nothing’s over.”

His hopeful words had no basis, and yet there was a strength and a kindness to them that resonated deep in Aki’s frozen heart, in a way he couldn’t ignore.

“Don’t despair and throw in the towel,” Shun continued. “I’m not saying to put on a smile, but keep facing forward, okay?”

All this encouragement was coming from a boy who’d just lost the girl he loved.

Aki clenched his eyes shut—and Shun slapped him on the back.

“…That hurt,” said Aki.

“You look terrible. She’d laugh if she could see you now.” Shun grinned. “C’mon. Hironaka, you too.”

She sniffed loudly. “Mochizuki… I’m sure glad I brought you along.”

“Good. You’re finally realizing how great I am.”

“…It’s truuue!”

Ritsuko pulled out a cloth and started wiping the tears off her glasses. She was pressing a bit too forcefully, and Aki was worried she’d scratch them, but he didn’t say anything. He could tell this was her way of fighting off further waterworks.

Their group, now short one member, didn’t say a word on the way home, but the silence wasn’t overbearing. They were all simply absorbed in their own thoughts.

They split up with only the barest goodbyes. When Aki got home, he went straight to Shuuya’s room. Shuuya was in bed asleep but heard Aki coming in and slowly sat up.

“Welcome home.”

“…Hey.”

Shuuya scratched his stomach and yawned. He’d been back at school for a month, but once vacation had started, the fatigue had caught up with him.

Aki didn’t want to bother him in this state, but he spoke anyway. “Shuuya, we need to talk.”

“What about?”

Aki sat down on the chair and, as he explained the events of the day, Shuuya’s expression changed.

He seemed a bit out of it—but that was probably because his mind was spinning, too. He was thinking about Sunao, the girl who had a replica just like he did, and the choices her replica had made.

“Shuuya,” Aki said, before the silence deepened. “When you’ve made up your mind, let me know. I’ll be waiting.”

Sunao had given Nao a choice, but Aki might not have one. Shuuya might well order him to disappear. And if he meant it, Aki didn’t think he’d be capable of refusing.

He’d been ready for that since the moment he’d come into the world. It was Nao who’d changed his mind.

The gravity of Aki’s tone made Shuuya furrow his bushy brows.

“Okay. Sorry it’s taken me so long.”

“No need to apologize.” Aki chuckled.

“Right.” Shuuya scratched his cheek. “I suppose ‘thank you’ would be better.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about that either.”

“Ha-ha.”

That got a laugh and helped Aki relax a bit.

Nao’s choice, her goodbye, and that last kiss—going through that had nearly broken him.

And yet here he was with Shuuya. Shun, Ritsuko, and Shuuya himself had all helped him get here.

“Shuuya, let me attend the opening ceremony after winter vacation. You don’t have to call me out until then, unless you need me.”

“Got it.”

Shuuya nodded, not prying any further.

The day of the ceremony was bright and sunny. It felt almost spiteful.

The year had changed, and vacation was over, but to Aki, no time had passed since December 25. Shuuya hadn’t called for him since that day, presumably because he hadn’t needed to attend school.

What’s more, he’d had no contact with her. Technically, Shuuya had sent her a few messages, but he’d received no replies. He’d given up and spent his time with friends from the basketball team instead.

That was why Aki still didn’t have an answer.

His feet felt unsteady as he took the train and bus to school. At the entrance, he traded his sneakers for slippers. He was basically on autopilot.

But when he went to open the classroom door, his hand was shaking. Cold sweat was coming out of every pore on his body.

…I’m terrified.

He didn’t want to open the door, to face the facts, to know the answer.

But there were other students in the hall, and Aki couldn’t keep standing there. He ended up pulling open the door before he was ready.

And there was no sign of her within.

No bookbag at her desk, either. She wasn’t here yet. Mad at himself for feeling relieved, he stepped inside.

It was the first day back from break, and yellowish light bathed the classroom as aimless greetings flew back and forth like shuttlecocks. “Happy new year.” “Long time no see.” “It’s so cold.”

Feeling unsettled, Aki made a quick exit. Out in the hall, he cranked open the faucet and splashed water on his face. It was icy cold, and that helped calm his nerves.

Drying his face with a sports towel, he heard footsteps from the stairs. Footsteps all sounded alike, yet he could feel his pulse quicken.

He turned toward the sound—and saw her coming up the stairs.

The first thing that came into view was her hair, spilling over her shoulders. Then her long lashes and pale irises. Her shapely nose and pink lips. Her long limbs and balanced figure. She was the kind of beauty who could make anyone turn to look.

She saw Aki gaping at her, and she smiled.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice as soft as her expression.

He’d known at first glance. That dictionary definition of a gentle smile was neither Nao’s nor Sunao’s.

Reality was staring him in the face. Nao was no more.

But as his legs began to stiffen, he remembered what Shun had said: Keep facing forward. Nothing’s over.

…He’s right, Aki thought. We still have so much to say, so many places to go. That’s why I chose to come to school instead of running away from the truth.

That’s why I can’t look away. I have to keep watching this girl with her face.

Aki made a conscious effort to breathe. He couldn’t yet manage a smile, but he balled his hands into fists.

She was still waiting for a response, so he turned to face her.

“Good morning.”

Act Five: A Replica, Walking

“…Huh?”

At first, I didn’t know what was happening.

I’d gone back inside Sunao. I was no longer supposed to exist. All sensations had faded out—and yet here I was, back in the flesh.

Still crouched down, I began silently patting myself. Arms, hips, legs, cheeks, hair—none of them felt different. My body was the same one I borrowed from Sunao.

There were oddities, though. I was wearing a school uniform, but not the one from Surusei. In addition, my hair, body, and clothes were colorless. Everything around me was in black-and-white like an old movie, suggesting this was not the real world.

“What happened…?”

I put my hand to my throat. My voice still worked.

I wasn’t in Sunao’s room. This was clearly a school corridor. But I didn’t recognize it at all—even the ceiling seemed the wrong height.

Where was I? What was happening to me?

…And where was Sunao?

I stood up, perplexed, then flinched.

I’d heard footsteps down the hall, coming my way.

There were a number of classrooms around me—I considered hiding in one but didn’t have the time. The footsteps were rounding the corner.

When I saw who it was, my eyes went wide. I forgot to blink.

I knew her.

I’d thought I would never see her again. Not after she vanished on that stage in the gym, with everyone watching.

This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening. I must be dreaming.

But I knew that pretty smile, that perfect posture…and despite my disbelief, I called her name.

“Ryou?”

She stopped a meter away from me, a mischievous look in her eyes.

It was all I could do to stay on my feet.

With a theatrical tone, she said:

“Welcome to the Replica Kingdom.”

It took me a long time to respond.

My feet started moving before my head had fully processed what she meant. I just had to know if this smiling girl was real. If she was truly standing before me.

“………Ryou?”

I reached out, fingers quivering, and she wrapped her hands round mine. Her palms were warm with life, and tears welled up in my eyes.

Perhaps tears of joy came not from the backs of the eyes but from the bottom of the heart. Her slender fingers brushed aside my flowing tears.

“It’s been a while, Nao.”

“Ryou… Is it really you?”

“Yep, it’s me.”

Her smile certainly held the same warmth as before.

When I kept crying, Ryou gently patted my shoulder. That only made me cry harder, but she waited patiently for me to stop.

Once I finally settled down, I looked her over again. She was wearing the same uniform I was.

“Ryou, what’s the Replica Kingdom?” I asked. “And these uniforms…”

“Let me give you the quick version. This is a place for replicas who have finished their work.”

I gaped at her, and she shrugged.

“I’ll tell you everything, just come with me.” She took my hand, pulling me along like she was showing a transfer student around, giving me a tour of the school. “We call it a kingdom, but it’s just a high school. We all help each other out and try to enjoy ourselves. Naturally, all the students are replicas. I don’t think the teachers are, but…I’m fuzzy on the details.”

It was hard to tell in black-and-white, but the sky was bright, so it was probably midday. I’d assumed the school was deserted, but as we moved along, I saw lots of students around. They all smiled, backing up what Ryou had said.

It was a school, so there was only so much to see. No amusement park attractions or anything like that. If you wanted a workout, you could hit the gym, the schoolyard, or the pool. The dorms provided meals in the morning and evening, and the school store had baked goods for sale during lunch. Ryou’s tour was so smooth and efficient I wound up mostly just nodding along.

Aki and I had once discussed the possibility of a replica kingdom—a land where lots of replicas lived together in harmony. But I wasn’t sure what to make of being here now, in a place I’d only idly imagined. Who could have imagined this many replicas had been born and finished their work in secret?

I’d grown very quiet, and Ryou stopped in her tracks. “Can you tell me your story, Nao?”

“…Huh?”

“Not just the reason you came here—everything I don’t know about you.”

All this time, I’d been wishing for a chance to tell her.

We sat down on a bench in the garden. Then, gazing at the gray grass, I began to speak.

I started with the day I was made and told her everything until the moment I went back inside Sunao.

Sometimes the words flowed out of me, and sometimes I stumbled over them. I never stopped though. I had to keep talking, or who knew what might come bursting out of me.

I’d said goodbye to Aki only a few minutes ago. Those memories were too recent to talk about like something from the distant past. I kept my words whirring like the wheels of Sunao’s bike, ignoring the heat at the core of my mind.

When I was finally done, I wasn’t sure how much time had passed. My throat was dry. Ryou touched her left earring and nodded.

She’d been surprised when I mentioned Taeko and Yutaka. Then she’d nodded a bunch, her gaze extra gentle. She must have been worried about them.

But her responses to the rest of my story were subdued. Including the part about how replicas functioned. I peered into her beautiful face, but I couldn’t tell what she was feeling.

I wanted to hear more about Ryou—her relationship with Suzumi, her life in Fujinomiya, and everything she’d felt, explained in her own words.

But Ryou didn’t seem inclined to talk. Instead, she looked up at the colorless sky, then got to her feet.

“The sun’s going down,” she said. “Let me show you to the dorms.”

“The…dorms?”

“Replicas don’t have homes. There’s a dorm next to the school, and we all live there. I’m not the student council president like Suzumi was, but I am a residence manager—like my initials!”

She flashed me a grin, and I had to laugh. Ryou Mori, our residence manager.

“Everyone just calls me RM now.”

“Um, I think I’ll stick with Ryou, if that’s all right with you.”

“Go right ahead.” She walked off, and I followed.

“Um, Ryou,” I asked, growing curious. “Are Kozue Satou’s or Aloysia Jahn’s replicas here?”

If this was where replicas went when their work was done, perhaps they’d wound up here, too.

But Ryou shook her head, unsure. “I’m afraid it will be hard to find them based on their originals’ names. If they’re here, they’re probably called something different.”

“Really?”

“A lot of us change our names once we’re free from our originals.”

That shocked me, but I understood the reasoning behind it. Nao had once been Sunao’s nickname, and I’d stolen it from her. And in that case…

“Want to change yours, Nao?” Ryou said, one step ahead of me. “There’s an office on the first floor of the school. They’ll handle the paperwork. I can take you there.”

“Um, not right now,” I said, my voice quiet. “I can’t think of anything else.”

“Okay. That’s fine.”

I still hadn’t asked her about this world’s lack of color, but I didn’t want to keep peppering her with questions, so I decided to wait.

It didn’t take long for me to get used to life in the Replica Kingdom.

The biggest difference was that I was living in a dorm on school grounds and no longer rode a bike or took the train anywhere.

On weekdays, we had classes. On weekends, I’d get together with Ryou or new friends I’d made. We’d gather in one of our dorm rooms and hold study sessions or pajama parties, making the most of our regular high school lives.

It wasn’t listed anywhere in our student manuals, but there was an unwritten rule not to pry into another person’s past. Ryou’s question on the first day had been an exception—because we knew each other—and she hadn’t asked me anything else since then.

The Replica Kingdom was different from the real world in other ways, too.

First, there was the lack of color. It never rained or snowed, and the wind was always lukewarm. Birds never sang, and insects never buzzed. There were no seasons to speak of.

We couldn’t leave the school, either. Outside its towering walls was an impenetrable mist. None of us ever progressed to the next grade. There were regular exams, but no one asked about our futures.

Sometimes that got to me, but as I grew used to my new life, my doubts faded away. The differences were just details. If we stopped fussing over them, it was easy to enjoy ourselves.

Here, even I could have a normal, peaceful life. I didn’t have to defer to anyone. I could eat my fill, sleep in a bed, wake up, and go to school. I was myself every second of every minute of every day.

Fortunately, the library was well stocked. They never got in new books, but there was plenty to read. I went there every day after school.

I wasn’t in any clubs. There was no Literature Club. I could found one, but I didn’t think anyone else would join.

At the back of the library, where no one ever went, was a space for reading and studying. One day I found Ryou there, reading a book on her own.

I moved up behind her on tiptoes, intent on surprising her, playing Red Light, Green Light in my head. But only seconds after I began my advance, Ryou turned around.

I groaned, and she giggled.

“What are you reading?” I asked.

She showed me the book. It had a picture of a little boy on the cover. I couldn’t see any colors in this world, but I knew the image well—the boy was blond and wearing green clothes as he gazed at the far-off stars. It was Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince.

A sketchbook and some pencils lay on the table. Ryou was a great artist; perhaps she’d planned to draw a scene from the book. I was curious to see what she had come up with, but when I peered at the page, I saw that it was still blank.

“Wanna read with me, Nao?”

I’d read the book before, but it was delightful, and I never tired of it. I sat down next to Ryou, our shoulders touching.

She had it open to the famous conversation between the prince and the fox. The little prince was about to leave, and he was saying goodbye to the fox he’d tamed.

“Goodbye,” he said.

“Goodbye,” said the fox. “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

“What is essential is invisible to the eye,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.”

I started to read the next bit but yanked my eyes away.

The Little Prince is built from phrases, each like a small star. It’s a treasure box of a story, filled with tenderness and love, like a light guiding you along through the night.

Yet for the first time, I felt like it was gouging a wound into the softest parts of my heart.

“When I’m feeling worn out, I find myself craving The Little Prince. But when you’re feeling guilty, it can be awfully hard to read.” Ryou snapped the book shut. Seeing me at a loss for a reply, she changed the subject. “Nao, I heard you spurned another suitor?”

There wasn’t much in the way of fun here, so romantic rumors quickly made the rounds. It wasn’t always clear whether the stories were coming from third parties or the people involved.

It was pretty much the same as in the real world. We made friends and sometimes fought. You might catch another’s eye and get asked out. Life in the Replica Kingdom revolved around four things: studying, clubs, friendships, and romance.

To be honest, I didn’t really fit in—which is why I was always in the library.

“It wouldn’t hurt to try going on a date or two,” Ryou said.

But if I wasn’t sure I was interested, I didn’t want to string the other person along. And I couldn’t picture myself falling for this latest guy at all.

“I don’t even know him,” I said.

“That’s why I said try.” Ryou cupped her chin in her hand and winked at me. Of course, I was well aware she was famous for shooting down everyone who asked. She was too busy focusing on her art.

What was my excuse? I was free now, but what did I want to do?

“Nao, you don’t have worry about anyone else. This is our kingdom, a place for replicas alone.”

It felt like she’d read my mind.

“…I’m gonna find another book.” I stood up and moved away.

Despite getting up, I didn’t feel like reading. Maybe that was why all the shelves took on the appearance of towering, gnarled trees. I felt trapped in a forest with no exit.

Frightened, I turned back to find that Ryou had opened The Little Prince again. She was tracing the letters with her pale fingers.

“But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose.”

Her beautiful voice recited the line I’d read a moment before—the fox’s parting line.

It felt like an accusation. I ducked beneath the gnarled branches and fled the library.

The school for replicas had no field trips, internships, or big school trips. We couldn’t even leave the grounds.

Instead, we had sports and culture festivals. Today, there was a team sports competition.

The girls could choose volleyball or dodgeball. I wasn’t sure at first but ultimately went with dodgeball. Ryou made the same choice, and we joked about facing each other in the finals, though neither of us really thought our classes would last that long.

The whistle blew, and the third-year got the ball on the jump.

Before I knew it, someone was already out. I grabbed the ball on the rebound and threw it right back at the opposing team. The battle was fast and furious, and the audience was full of energy.

Eventually, only two players remained: me and Ryou. All our teammates were out, and it was now a duel.

Ryou had the ball and was clearly feeling competitive. She aimed at my feet, and I dodged with a short hop. I wasn’t about to fall on my face and get a nosebleed like a certain someone. I was good at this stuff. I’d climbed mountains for her, run marathons, and had even done a shuttle run.

“You’re nimble, Nao.”

“So are you!”

Ryou was light on her feet, dodging everything I threw at her. The players in the outfield were trying to pass the ball around and corner her, but she kept slipping through their net.

A ball flew toward her chest, and she caught it easily. I backed off, keeping a close eye on her.

We went back and forth for a while.

I was very focused. There were no prizes on the line, but I wanted to score a victory—the victory her class had let slip away.

“Getting bored, Nao?”

“Hmm?”

She’d surprised me with a question instead of a ball. I blinked.

“I’m not bored at all!” I exclaimed.

I was really into this. Didn’t it show on my face? Ryou clutched the ball to her chest and stroked her chin like she’d forgotten all about the game.

“Are you sure? You look totally out of it to me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I really didn’t. Was this psychological warfare? Was she trying to dampen my enthusiasm or distract me so she could get a shot in?

But if that was her plan, why was she holding the ball? She ought to pass it to someone in the outfield and have them hit me from my blind spot.

Ignoring the doubt in my eyes, she said, “I wonder how Sunao Aikawa and Aki are getting along.”

“…Huh?” I froze as if someone had poured cold water over my head.

It had been a very long time since I’d heard those names. I had no occasion to use them, since neither of those people were here.

I was now totally exposed, but Ryou didn’t throw the ball. If she did, it would pause our conversation, and she wasn’t going to give me that relief.

“Like Kozue Satou said, you going back inside Aikawa affects her personality, memories, and perceptions. ‘The original and the replica have different personalities and experiences. They think differently and have different takes on things. But once they merge together, then perhaps…’”

I heard a hiss as the blood drained from my head.

“…They wouldn’t…”

My mouth opened and closed. I didn’t even want to consider that. Ryou gave me a look of pity.

“Nao, you knew that was possible. If Aki senses you inside of her, he might…”

“Don’t!” I crouched down on the gym floor so forcefully that my sneakers squeaked.

“But you’re back inside her, so you can’t feel a thing. You don’t know what they’re up to, and that’s the real answer to all this.”

“…I feel sick! I’m going back early!” I yelled, but she wasn’t letting me off the hook just yet.

“How long do you plan on running? You fled reality, and you haven’t stopped. Why? Where are you even headed?”

Ryou threw the ball, and it bounced off my shoulders as I crouched. It didn’t hurt at all, then it fell to the floor and rolled away. I had no idea where it went.

“Stop running and face the facts. You’re responsible for everyone you’ve hurt.”

“I haven’t…”

…hurt anyone, I tried to argue. No one had been hurt because of me.

But Ryou kept talking, eyes downcast. “I feel sorry for Aki. He was on a Ferris wheel with the girl he loved, sharing their first kiss, and then she up and disappeared! I bet he’ll never want to go to an amusement park again.”

“…That’s not…”

“The same goes for Hironaka and Mochizuki. You soured their happy memories. I wonder if they smiled even once for the rest of winter vacation. I bet they spent the whole time fretting.”

“But I didn’t leave anything behind,” I insisted, not wanting to just sit there and take it.

I didn’t want to be accused of running or having done the wrong thing. I dug in my heels, and she scowled at me.

“Oh yeah? Well, if you really think that…” Ryou held up a hand, like an orchestra conductor or a wizard. “Nao, be in your uniform.”

The whole thing sounded absurd, but when I looked down, my gym clothes were gone, replaced by my old uniform from Suruga Seiryou High.

I gaped at Ryou as she came over and undid the bow at my chest.

She took the black-and-white ribbon and wound it pointedly around her left wrist. I frowned, puzzled—until I realized something.

The color of my ribbon was…

“Oh……”

Right.

I had left something behind: my Palpal free pass. The blue band on my wrist.

Sunao hadn’t been wearing one. It was tied around my left wrist while I was out. And it had remained behind, proof of my disappearance.

“It’s impossible to leave no trace behind. You left wounds that will never heal. Nao…why’d you choose to vanish like that?”

Ryou had a point. I could have chosen any number of other ways to disappear. I didn’t have to make it so dramatic. There’d been no need for fountains of blood and heartrending pain, no need to carve myself into everyone’s memory.

I could have made like a dying cat and hidden myself away. A quiet, sad farewell would have been enough. There were any number of more peaceful solutions.

But I had a reason for doing it the way I did. Namely…

“I mean…”

“Mm.” Ryou’s voice was a gentle nudge, the opposite of her earlier vehemence.

I felt a sting behind my nose. “…I didn’t want them to forget me.” My real feelings—the ones I’d avoided—came spilling out with my tears to splatter on the gym floor. “I didn’t want anyone…to forget about me.”

Oh.

What a selfish thing to do.

“Ricchan found me. Mochizuki directed our play. I needed them both to remember me.” I didn’t even try to wipe my eyes. “I don’t want Aki getting any other girlfriends. I don’t want him dating anyone else, least of all Sunao. I don’t want him holding hands, hugging, or kissing anyone but me. I want to be Aki’s only girlfriend. His first and last.”

I couldn’t stand the thought of him with anyone else. No, never. Absolutely not.

“I really…,” I began, but couldn’t finish.

I’d decorated my actions with lots of excuses, like ornaments on a Christmas tree. I had thought I’d be fine as long as what I did sounded right, as long as the sentiment was lovely.

But I wasn’t fine at all. My heart had been screaming this whole time. I didn’t know what to do with myself, and so I’d kept running.

I was sobbing. Ryou knelt down and put her arms around me. Her warm body and pleasant smell wrapped me up—emotions and all.

“You’re so silly, Nao. How could you forget?” Her hand gently brushed my hair. I sat quietly and listened as she continued. “Remember what you told me when I was trying to be Suzumi? ‘Don’t act like you’re okay with that!’ and ‘Tell us who you really want to be with.’”

That’s right. It was finally coming back to me.

I’d spilled all my feelings in front of Ryou, then lost track of them. I’d done exactly what I’d told her not to do, pretending I was okay with things and telling myself it was all for Sunao’s sake.

“If you weren’t sure, you just had to say so,” Ryou continued. “Dirty tricks, selfish thoughts, hopeless messes—there’s nothing wrong with any of them. You know what we call all of that?” Then she whispered the answer in my ear.

My face wet with tears, I slowly raised my head and wiped my cheeks with the sleeve of my uniform. I couldn’t stay huddled up like this.

Ryou had chosen to be with the family who’d raised her. She’d suffered and hurt more than anyone—but in the end, she’d made the choice she knew she wouldn’t regret. I didn’t want her to be disgusted with me.

Once I was up, Ryou pointed at the gym doors. “Can you see that? Out in the middle of the field?”

We moved toward the open doors together.

I squinted and saw something dangling from the sky overhead. “…Is that…?”

“Yes. That’s the way back to the real world.”

I could see a single silver thread, descending from heaven. It was so fine, it swayed even without a breeze. Like a strand of spider’s silk, it stretched all the way into the upper atmosphere.

It led so far away, into another, unknown world. It was as if Ryou and I were two crabs, looking up from the bottom of the ocean.

And as that thought crossed my mind, my vision suddenly opened up, as if I’d exited a long tunnel.

I felt like I was falling into a sea of color. A big white fluffy cloud appeared in an infinite expanse of blue. Little birds took off from tree branches and bobbed on the breeze as it blew through a field of sunflowers. The flowers seemed to smile up at the sun with their bright round faces.

Cicada song tickled my ears as a bead of sweat ran down my brow. Color raced through the world, pushing back the fog of black-and-white. Soon, everything in sight was a vibrant hue.

It felt like the summer had come back and reached out its hand—the summer when I first met him.

I couldn’t believe how bright everything was. All those vivid colors were staring right back at me.

“So this world…wasn’t black-and-white,” I muttered.

“Oh, dear. Was that how it looked to you, Nao?” Ryou teased. Her hair was sleek and black, her cheeks rosy and hale. Every part of her was beautiful.

At long last, I realized the lack of color had all been in my mind.

My world had come to life when I’d found love. With Aki by my side, the sky was more beautiful. Rain was colder. My heartbeat sped up, as if pushing me along with its urgent music. Faster, faster!

I hope he feels the same way. Even my prayer felt like the singing of the stars.

“Perhaps the path back to reality looks different to you and me,” Ryou said. I followed her gaze. “Maybe, to you, it looks like an amusement park pass.”

“I hear they’re made of synthetic paper, and they’re very sturdy.”

“Or maybe it’s a red panda tail.”

“I’d feel bad tugging on it.”

“Or a spoon to eat shaved ice with.”

“In that case, I hope the shaved ice is melon, not lemon.”

We joked back and forth, as though playing a game of cat’s cradle, laughing all the while. But then, like the tide pulling out, the smile faded from my lips.

“Mm? What’s wrong?” asked Ryou.

“I don’t want to say goodbye to you.”

I wanted to see Aki. I had things to tell Sunao. I wondered how Ricchan and Mochizuki were doing. I was eager to hear updates about the novel contest and the play in February.

But going back to reality meant I’d never see Ryou again.

“I finally found you,” I said. “We got to talk and laugh together.”

“Of all the things to say. Jeez.” She glared at me, but her lips formed a smile. “My underclassman is such a sweetheart! You love me that much?”

“I do,” I said, not skipping a beat. “Can’t you come back with me?”

“Like a sinner chasing after Kandata?” Ryou shrugged, shaking her head. “There’d be no point. Suzumi’s no longer up there. If I grab the thread, it’ll snap. That’s the hand fate dealt me.”

And she didn’t want to waste my opportunity.

I must have looked unsatisfied, because she flashed a mischievous grin. “We’ll just have to meet again some other way.”

That sounded like a lie you’d tell a child. I bit my lip, saying nothing.

“I bet you didn’t notice, Nao, but the population of the Replica Kingdom is always in flux. There are people like you, who wind up back in the real world—and I’ve heard there are people who move on once their regrets have faded.”

That got my interest, and I looked up to find her blushing like a breathless maiden, hand over her heart.

“It won’t be long now,” she said. “I’m going to be reborn! And I’ll come find you, Nao.”

“Reborn?”

“Replicas are real. I bet there’s all sorts of other marvels we just don’t know about yet… Reincarnation doesn’t seem that far-fetched, if you think about it.”

“……”

“I’d like to see Suzumi again, too. And Mom, and Dad. So if you find a beautiful little girl with a flair for the arts, try calling her by my name.”

She made it sound so easy; I wanted to believe her.

When I said nothing, she stuck a finger in my face. “Don’t look so scared.”

“Ow!”

She flicked my forehead. I made a face, and she patted the red spot on my brow.

“You’re the one who found me, Nao. I bet you can do it again.”

I hesitated for a moment. Her voice had shaken at the end.

I got the feeling everyone was scared. Making the right decision was no easy task.

Even so, I was sure Ricchan would keep writing and Mochizuki would keep rehearsing. Ryou would see me off and leave on a journey of her own.

No one was sitting around, waiting for the future to come. They were forging ahead, ever onward. And I wanted to meet them with pride.

“I swear I’ll find you!” I called out.

Ryou’s hands gave my back a gentle push, and I stepped out of the gym. Ryou stayed just inside the door. I’d have to do the rest alone, I thought, bracing myself.

“Now, go,” she said. “I doubt you’ll get another chance.”

“…Yeah. And Ryou…”

“What?”

I didn’t turn back. “I’m…I’m also glad I met you.”

I’d returned the words she’d given me.

She didn’t answer. I heard only a choked breath, like she was holding something back.

I took a step forward, then another, and felt her presence fading behind me. I could no longer hear the ribbon on her wrist fluttering in the wind.

I’d wanted to say more, but that was like trying to empty a spring of water by scooping it up in my hands.

Someday, somewhere, we’d meet again. It might be an empty promise, but, clutching it to my heart, I reached out to that silver thread dangling from the sky.

Last Act: XXXX, Running

Sensing light on my lids, I slowly opened my eyes.

My vision was blurred, and I had to blink several times to clear it.

Across from me was a girl with the same face I had. She was sitting on the bed, and I was standing.

“You seem awfully out of it,” she said. She wasn’t mocking me, just stating her impression. The girl was…

“Sunao…”

“Long time no see.” The bed springs creaked as she stood up.

She was wearing a white shirt, a navy blazer, and a checked, pleated skirt—that familiar uniform everyone online agreed was cute.

I wasn’t sure what to talk about, so I said nothing. Sunao moved past me and opened the window.

“It’s graduation day,” she said indifferently.

The breeze lifted her bangs. It had been waiting impatiently for her to open the window so that it could play with her fine brown hair. The smells of spring wafted in past the fluttering curtains.

“Graduation?” I asked. “For the third-years?”

Sunao had absorbed me on December 25—Christmas. If this was March 1, then only a little over two months had passed.

But Sunao quickly corrected me.

“Nope. My graduation,” she said. “The ceremony was this morning, and I just got home.”

I blinked at her. That was the last thing I’d expected to hear. If Sunao had graduated, then over a year had passed in the real world.

Looking closely, I could tell her uniform was more faded than I remembered, her bookbag more beat up. The stationery supplies on her desk had mostly been replaced, and those that hadn’t now appeared aged—all signs of the passage of time.

Sunao herself was no different. Her appearance was mostly the same, but something in her quiet gaze seemed distinct from a year ago.

The word graduation finally sank in. Sunao had finished high school.

I started to offer her congratulations, like so many people must have already. But in the end, I couldn’t do it.

I was supposed to be part of her. Over a year had passed, and I’d failed to return her kindness.

“Sorry, Sunao, but I…”

“It’s fine.”

I had people I wanted to see and be with. That was why I’d come back of my own free will. I’d tried to tell her that, but she’d gently cut me off.

“What do you mean, ‘fine’?” I asked.

“It’s not your fault, Nao. It’s mine.”

“…Huh?”

“It’s my fault.”

Not knowing what she meant, I held my tongue, and Sunao tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“On that Christmas Day, with the snow flurries outside…your body faded into our embrace. You were almost completely inside me—but just before you disappeared, I told you to vanish.”

That jogged a hazy memory, and I frowned.

Come to think of it, Sunao had whispered something in my ear. I was practically unconscious at the time, and I hadn’t understood it.

…Now I did.

She’d said, Nao, vanish—the spell she always used to dismiss me.

That was why I wasn’t part of Sunao now. But things hadn’t worked like they usually did—I hadn’t been thrown into darkness, unable to perceive anything. I’d made it to the Replica Kingdom—likely because I’d been so close to disappearing for good that I could have wound up either way.

“And I’m the one who called you back, Nao. So you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

That clinched it. The path back to reality had opened because I wanted to return and because Sunao had called for me. Those two things had overlapped. I’d seen the thread because it had been dangling from Sunao’s hand.

…But why hadn’t Sunao absorbed me? And why had she called for me again?

I was starting to sweat all over.

What had gone through her mind? What thoughts had led her to this choice? I was scared even to ask. I still didn’t really understand her.

Unable to bear the silence, I licked my dry lips and forced them to move before I’d decided on a question.

“Um, Sunao…”

“I don’t need you anymore.” The sudden declaration petrified me. “I don’t need you, Nao. I want you out of the picture.”

Her words stung. I felt a shooting pain behind my nose, and tears rolled down my cheeks. “Sunao…”

Her rejections always cut me to the quick, exposing the most painful nerves and digging all the way to the root.

“Because…I stole your kindness?”

It made sense she’d hold that against me. Maybe this was her way of extracting vengeance. And in that case, I figured I should probably stand here and take it.

“No, that’s not why.” Sunao spoke like she was explaining things to a small child. “This is about the past year—the time I spent without you, Nao.”

“……”

“I had people fighting with me. They’d all lost something vital, too.”

A look into her memories soon told me who.

Sanada—still missing his courage—had rejoined the basketball team. He and Sunao had encouraged each other, gritted their teeth, stood their ground, and made it through high school.

“I was just copying what I used to do—but people still called that ‘nice.’”

Satou—who had lost her replica and was still nursing that absence—had been there for Sunao, too. She’d spent a lot of time with her, never mincing her words.

“And I had someone who still calls me a friend, even as I am now.”

Ricchan had been able to tell the two of us apart and called us by different names, but was still warm and friendly to both of us. After I disappeared, she’d thrown herself into club activities with the new first-years and had continued to work toward her dream.

“And there was a boy who said he loved me the way I am.” Sunao reached up and gently covered my ears with her hands.

My gaze wavered as I hesitated, but Sunao’s face relaxed into a smile. She seemed troubled, almost ready to cry, but her expression held a hint of stubbornness, too. There was something on which she would not yield.

“I’m not telling you his name, Nao.”

Her voice was soft, but at this distance, I could hear every word clearly. Sunao knew perfectly well this was a futile exercise.

My memories were updated the moment she called for me. I knew everything she’d been through over the last year and two months and everything she’d experienced. That was why she was telling me exactly how she felt.

With a sheepish grin, she removed her hands from my ears. My pale lips quivered as I listened to her voice.

“I don’t want to share what happens next with you or with anyone else. This is mine. These memories, this warmth—no matter how embarrassing—it belongs to him and to me.”

That hit me like a bolt of lightning, from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. Finally, I understood.

I’d felt exactly the same. I hadn’t wanted her to know anything about the time I spent with Aki.

It wasn’t just me. Sunao had things she didn’t want me knowing, too. Things she wanted to keep locked away. Then, every once in a while, she’d take them out for herself, examine them, and hold them close. Any high school girl would feel the same.

But Sunao had a replica. If she wanted to keep a secret, all she could do was close her eyes and cover her ears. See nothing, hear nothing, say nothing, shut herself down. That was the only way she could hide anything from me.

As long as I was around, Sunao was forced to disengage from life and from those around her.

“I think…this is my way of owning my choices,” she said. “I don’t want to keep living the way I was before, leaning on you, Nao. I want to live my own life—my way.”

“Stop.”

I knew just how strong her feelings were, but I still cut her off. I had to interrupt.

“No! I don’t want that!” I pleaded with her, as insistent as the little kid I’d been the morning she created me.

“Nao…” Sunao’s gaze dropped.

My eyes bored into her.

Don’t say these things, Sunao. Don’t push me away. You know better than anyone that you are me, and I am you. We’ve always been each other.

The torrent of emotions came faster than I could put them into words. They got stuck in my throat, and I lost track of what I’d managed to voice.

My head was overheating. It felt like my skull had split open. There must’ve been blood everywhere. My tears burst through the levees, and there was no stopping them. They flowed relentlessly down my chin.

I’d always thought this was what I wanted. These very words were what I’d been waiting so long to hear. I’d chosen to come back of my own free will just for this.

And yet the moment she said she wanted to get rid of me, the first thing that passed my lips was a childish plea.

“Don’t, Sunao. You made me. You did that!” I reached out a trembling hand and clutched her sleeve.

The days Sunao had lived without me had seeped into the very fabric of her uniform. It knew sides of her I didn’t. While I was gone, she’d been fine. She hadn’t needed me.

Sunao had somewhere to go, and she was leaving me behind. I was clinging to her, trying to hold her back, just like she’d once done to me. Back when I’d been her useful tool.

“You said you needed me. That’s why I came to you when you were little. Why I was born.”

“Yeah.” She nodded, her voice raspy.

My head was down. I couldn’t see her face. “Don’t let go. Not after all this. Don’t leave me behind by myself.”

The world around me began to blur as tears fell to the rug. The sobs were coming so hard that I couldn’t catch my breath around them.

As I desperately pleaded with her, Sunao’s hands gently touched my shoulders. “I really…can’t thank you enough, Nao.”

“…!”

“But…I’m okay now.”

I looked up, unable to believe my ears. Her eyes were wet, but she was smiling.

“Sometimes it’s still overwhelming,” she said. “It’s so hard I can’t pick myself up. I screw things up all the time. I can’t face the pressure and start wishing I was dead.”

“Then…!”

Then you still need a replica.

Before that cry could burst out of me, Sunao looked me right in the eye and said, “But I no longer hate myself.”

I gasped, and she wiped away my tears.

“I like Pocky and Pretz. I say shitabero or shitabera depending on my mood. I’m a bit of both—and I think that’s fine.”

I sniffed. The light in Sunao’s eyes was gentle.

“I’ve learned that kindness is something that naturally wells up inside you. You want someone to smile. You don’t want them to cry. It’s a warm, round feeling.” Her slender, heated fingers made it clear she didn’t want me to cry, either. “I was desperately tracing the old me. She would have done this, said that. That hasn’t changed. Maybe it never will. But do you think that makes me a fake, Nao?”

I wanted to say yes. Maybe if I did, she’d reconsider. It was a nasty little thought. I was her replica; I knew this new identity of Sunao’s wasn’t yet sturdy enough to stand up to such a comment. It would have been deeply unfair of me to use that against her.

But, despite what I thought, I couldn’t ever say that. I had her kindness—and I alone could not betray her.

I had to be honest.

“I don’t think that.”

How could I? I’d never thought she was fake—not once, not ever.

When I was pushed onto the tracks, Sunao had lent me her bed and comforted me.

At Togetsu Bridge, she’d offered me a choice and waited for my answer.

Back in grade school, she’d relinquished her kindness. Maybe some people would sneer and call her cold. But if I found one of them, I would fight back with all my might.

Sunao’s kindness was hers. Even a replica couldn’t steal all of it. A little bud remained, and it was steadily growing. Someday, it would blossom.

It wasn’t just me. Other people had seen it, too. Sunao had just said as much—the people around her all knew.

“You’re not fake, Sunao,” I said, my voice choked with tears.

She flashed me a toothy, childish grin—the brightest I’d ever seen her make. “Then I’m going to learn to love myself all the more.”

I felt like I’d always wanted to hear her say that.

Before I could start crying again, Sunao patted my shoulder. “Go on, Nao.”

“…Huh?”

“He’s waiting—the boy you want to see. I bet he’s at the beach.”

I gasped.

“He’s been waiting for over a year. Every time I see him, he’s sitting on the sand, staring out at the water like he expects someone to rise out of the waves. And I don’t need to tell you who.”

My whole body was shaking, and my eyes darted to the window.

I couldn’t see the ocean from here, but I could hear the surf on the wind. The waves were rolling in, and the seabirds were crying. He was still here; his time had never stopped moving.

Should I go? I’d left him behind. Did I have any right to see him now?

It didn’t take me long to come up with an answer.

This wasn’t about rights. I wanted to see him—as soon as I possibly could.

Sunao took something out of her drawer and put it on her wrist. I recognized it at once: It was a light blue scrunchie.

“Sit down. I’ll do your hair.”

I moved over to the chair by the vanity and took a seat.

Sunao stood behind me and ran a comb through my hair. I didn’t need to check that tall mirror to know we looked exactly alike.

Before I knew it, I’d called her name. “…Sunao.”

“Mm?”

“Um, Sunao…”

“Mm-hmm?”

I half closed my eyes and basked in the sensation of her styling my hair. It felt like she was rubbing my head. Her hands never paused, even when she spoke.

I was the replica of a girl named Sunao Aikawa.

At first, I just wanted to be useful to her. Wanted her to smile, to feel reassured—and I worked hard at that. But that had only pushed us further apart.

I began to unpack everything I’d left unsaid.

“You were like my little sister.”

“…Mm.” Sunao’s hands gathered up my hair.

“You were like my big sister, too.”

“…Mm.” The bundle of hair went through the scrunchie.

“And you were like my friend.”

“…Mm.” She adjusted the angle of the scrunchie over and over until it looked perfect.

“You were like my daughter.”

“…Mm.” Sunao let go of me. My hair was half-up now.

“And you were like my mom, too.” I rose to my feet.

“…Mm.” Sunao gave me a big hug. “I felt the same. I really did.”

We both started sobbing.

We weren’t standing for long; our knees buckled, and we sank into a crouch on the rug, crying with our faces pressed together. Between us, we could have made a lake even bigger than Hamana with our tears. And no matter how tightly we embraced, my body didn’t fade out—and that made me cry all the harder.

I was sad, hurting, suffering, alone. I couldn’t go back. No matter how much I wanted it, Sunao and I could never be one. We knew that now.

We wore ourselves out crying, only stopping when we were too exhausted to go on. When we saw how red our eyes had become, we had to laugh.

We were so tired, both physically and emotionally, it felt like our puffy eyes might close and we might drift right off to sleep. But, at last, I managed to pull away from Sunao and get to my feet. She did the same.

Smiling awkwardly, we both spoke.

“Goodbye, Nao.”

“Goodbye, Sunao.”

Those last words felt like saying I hate you, I love you, and Congratulations on your graduation all at once. But Goodbye was the most apt and the most beautiful way to put it.

After that, I flew out of the house.

I didn’t put on any shoes. After all, none of those shoes were mine. I’d never borrow them again.

Barefoot, I ran across the hard, warm pavement. I stepped on a pebble, and it hurt, but I didn’t let it faze me.

I was headed toward the ocean.

It was spring, but only in name; the sunlight pouring down was warm, but the breeze still carried a chill.

Loneliness threatened to overtake me, and I almost turned back—but I stopped myself. In the end, I didn’t even slow down.

As I ran, a wave of grief rose up inside me. I’d turned my back on the very person who put me in this beautiful world. I was dashing in the opposite direction, down the road, farther and farther away.

And at the same time, I was getting closer to the man I’d met here.

Blood rushed through my veins. My heart was pumping so hard that it hurt.

Faster and faster, I made my way to him. I couldn’t wait another minute, not another second. I couldn’t leave him all alone.

“Haah… Haah… Haah.”

I was out of breath, gasping; my lungs were about to burst.

But I was fine.

When I called his name inside my head, this desert became an ocean of joy. The sea breeze became a love song. Even my bare feet no longer hurt.

I kept my arms swinging and my legs moving. Something fluttered past my sweaty brow—a cherry blossom petal, dancing like a single snowflake from a flurry. Had it fallen from a nearby tree, or had it stuck to Sunao during her graduation ceremony and transferred itself to me?

That pink petal fluttered away behind me along with a single tear drop, as the world opened up before me. The horizon was almost blinding.

Still, I didn’t stop. I raced down a flight of stairs, craning my head to look up and down the beach.

Not many people came out here in the early spring, so I found him easily, despite my blurry vision.

Every cell in my body throbbed.

…There he is.

He’d waited for me.

I saw his black hair rustle in the brisk spring breeze, his silent back as he sat at the edge of the surf. I could see his strong arms peeking out of his white shirt—arms I’d touched.

His gaze was fixed dead ahead as I forged on, despite the pebbles threatening to trip me. I couldn’t fall down here. I thrust out one leg after another before I could lose my balance.

I stepped on some driftwood but kept moving, my awkward advance fueled by Ryou’s whispered words.

You know what we call all of that?

……Being human.

“Aki!” I screamed.

His shoulders jumped.

For several seconds, he didn’t move, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. But then, unable to wait and hoping against hope, he turned. His eyes went wide, and he mouthed something. A gust of wind snatched away his words before I could hear them, but I read his lips.

Took you long enough.

His face contorted as he began to sob. I must have looked the same.

“Yeah. I’m here, Aki!”

I ran and ran and ran some more.

I was no longer a replica.

And I was running straight into the arms of the first man I’d loved.

Afterword

Well, we’ve made it to Volume 4. I’d prepared a dozen anecdotes for this occasion, but I have only so many pages, so here’s just one.

Cover Gimmicks:

1. The four volumes are a set, showing the passing of time and the seasons. Examine the color of the sky and the sea and look at the girls’ uniforms. And, of course, the words summer, fall, and so on are in the ad copy.

2. Volume 1 contrasts with Volume 3. Sunao is trapped below the water in both. On Volume 1’s cover, her eyes are closed. See nothing, hear nothing, say nothing.

3. On Volume 2’s cover, Sunao has her back turned as she stands and leaves Nao behind. She’s moving on. To contrast with Princess Kaguya vanishing, Nao is like the little mermaid, left behind on the shore.

These covers could not have come to be without my editor’s ingenuity and raemz’s ability to bring our ideas to life. This volume’s cover shows Nao running toward her boyfriend with a smile, and I couldn’t be happier with it.

I wrote this story while paying a lot of attention to the details. There are still a lot of things no one has picked up on yet. Maybe I’ll have a chance to share those someday.

This brings Nao’s story to an end, at least for now, but the clock kept ticking while she slept. Who else could fill in that blank? And so, I’m now writing a story from her side. It may take a while, but look forward to it.

And now it’s time for some thanks. To my editor; to my illustrator, raemz; to the manga artist, Momose Hanada; to everyone at Dengeki Bunko; to those involved in publication; and to all my readers—thank you. I’m glad to have brought you this happy ending, and I hope it struck a chord.

Volume 1 was written in thirteen days for the twenty-ninth Dengeki Bunko contest. I never dreamed the story would last this long, but it was a pleasure to spend so much time with Nao and company.

I hope we will meet here again.

Harunadon, April 2024