At 3:45 p.m., the same final bell chime reaches Class 2-A.
Closing homeroom ends.
Bags open and conversations rise as students prepare for club practice, part-time jobs, and the freedom of Friday afternoon.
The desk beside Sayuri is empty.
Its surface is clean, and the chair beneath it sits perfectly aligned.
During cleaning, Sayuri wiped the desk and straightened its chair without being asked.
No one commented.
While the rest of the class disperses, Sayuri stays at her desk.
Her notebook lies open to a page of immaculate handwriting.
Every date occupies the correct margin, and every formula follows the mathematics teacher’s example.
She cannot remember writing any of it.
Three words fill the space beneath the final equation:
“All of them.”
Ryosuke had said them beside Aina’s infirmary bed while holding the black notebook he refused to open.
Sayuri closes her own notebook with a sharp snap.
The student in front of her glances back.
She offers a brief bow of apology and packs in her usual order: textbook, notebook, pencil case, lunch box.
Her hand pauses over the folded scrap in the front pocket.
I am processing information with my eyes closed.
Aina’s excuse from English Communication that morning.
It is not important.
Sayuri keeps it anyway.
Aina’s desk has been empty since lunch.
The infirmary is only two floors below, but throughout the afternoon, it has felt much farther away.
The nurse sent Sayuri back to class shortly after Aina fell asleep.
Sayuri shoulders her bag and enters the crowded hallway.
Students stream toward the gymnasium and the covered passage leading to the club facilities.
A bowstring sounds beyond the courtyard.
Twang.
Thunk.
Sayuri slows near the covered passage.
The prefectural qualifiers will not begin until May, followed by regionals in June.
The Inter-High Championships are not until August.
Months remain, but Sayuri measures preparation in individual practices—and she has never willingly missed a Friday session.
Another bowstring sounds from the dojo.
Twang.
She turns away from it and heads toward the infirmary.
✦ ✦ ✦
The infirmary door opens before Sayuri can knock.
Aina stands on the other side with her blazer folded over one arm.
Sleep has flattened her crimson hair against one cheek.
The shadows beneath her eyes remain, but she appears steadier than she did at noon.
The nurse looks up from her desk.
“Good.
Your escort is here.”
“I don’t need an escort,” Aina says.
“You walked into the coat stand when you woke up.”
“It was beside the bed.”
“It has been beside the bed all year.”
Aina begins putting on her blazer.
Sayuri takes the collar from her and holds it open.
“Arm.”
“I can dress myself.”
“Your recent encounter with the coat stand suggests otherwise.”
Aina gives her a tired look but slides her arm into the second sleeve.
“You should have stayed under the blanket,” Sayuri says, straightening the blazer across her shoulders.
“For how long?”
“Until Monday.”
“That seems excessive.”
“You returned to school after dark because of a dream.”
The nurse lowers her attention to her paperwork with sudden professional interest.
Aina’s faint amusement disappears.
The remark lands harder than Sayuri intended.
She adjusts Aina’s collar, although it does not need adjusting.
The nurse holds out an infirmary slip.
“Give this to your homeroom teacher on Monday.
No club activity today, and no training this weekend unless the dizziness is completely gone.”
Aina accepts it with both hands.
“Thank you.”
“Eat something light, drink plenty of water, and sleep longer than three hours.” The nurse turns to Sayuri.
“Make sure she gets home safely.”
“I will.”
“Neither of you intends to ask me what I want, do you?” Aina murmurs.
“You would give the wrong answer,” Sayuri replies.
The nurse returns to her paperwork, though the curve of her mouth remains visible.
The girls bow and leave.
The door closes behind them, muting the quiet sounds of the infirmary.
For several steps, neither speaks.
The west-wing corridor outside the infirmary is crowded with students heading toward the athletic fields and club facilities.
Rather than follow them toward the sports exit, Sayuri leads Aina in the opposite direction, toward the central entrance.
Afternoon light stretches across the wooden floor.
Sayuri keeps her pace measured, accounting for the slight drag in Aina’s steps without mentioning it.
“The top-ranked student in our year defeated by one night without sleep,” Sayuri says.
“The rest of the school’s academic standing may survive the weekend.”
Aina manages a tired laugh.
“I’m not dying, Sayuri.
It was dizziness.”
“One afternoon of dizziness becomes missed homework.
Then late assignments.
Eventually, you may fall to second place.”
“That would require at least three missed assignments.”
“You have already calculated it?”
“Of course.”
The familiar answer reassures Sayuri more than she intends to show.
“I’ll ask the nurse to excuse those assignments too,” Aina adds.
“She will refuse.”
“Then I suppose I’ll have to remain first.”
“That would be preferable.”
The flow of students thins as they leave the infirmary behind.
Ahead, the central entrance alcove comes into view, its rows of shoe lockers lining both walls.
Aina drifts closer to the corridor wall.
Sayuri slows with her.
Before they enter the alcove, she stops.
Aina travels another half step before turning back.
“What is it?”
“There is one part of last night that you still haven’t clarified.”
Aina’s hands tighten around the infirmary slip.
Sayuri begins with the question that matters most.
“Did anyone touch you inside the dojo?”
“No.”
“Did you see anyone clearly?”
“No.”
“Did you lose time?”
Aina rests one shoulder against the wall.
“I don’t know.”
The uncertainty is more dreadful than either answer.
Sayuri has spent the afternoon arranging further questions.
How long was Aina inside?
Did the door close behind her?
Did she hear a voice?
Did the figure follow her outside?
The paper buckles beneath Aina’s thumb.
Sayuri abandons the questions.
She takes the slip, smooths its damaged edge, and places it flat inside her school bag.
“That’s enough.”
Aina looks at her empty hands.
“You aren’t going to ask what happened?”
“Not here.”
“You were about to.”
“I changed my mind.”
“That was more than one question.”
“The first answer created additional requirements.”
Aina’s expression says otherwise.
“We are not pulling at missing pieces while you can barely stand,” Sayuri says.
“I can stand.”
“You challenged a coat stand and lost.”
“The nurse exaggerated.”
“She did not.”
A small smile breaks through Aina’s exhaustion.
“We can discuss the rest after you’ve slept,” Sayuri says.
“What if I still don’t remember?”
“Then you still don’t remember.” She closes her bag.
“I would rather have an incomplete answer than watch you collapse while trying to produce one.”
Sayuri resumes walking.
Aina waits beside the wall for a moment before following.
“You make that sound almost reasonable.”
“It is entirely reasonable.”
“And you aren’t worried at all?”
“Correct.”
Aina’s quiet laugh follows Sayuri into the central entrance alcove.
They stop before the rows of shoe lockers to change into their outdoor shoes.
From here, the route toward the dorms will take them east across school.
As they enter the alcove, Aina catches the sleeve of Sayuri’s blazer.
The touch stops her.
Sayuri turns and looks down at the small fold of navy fabric gathered between Aina’s fingertips.
“I’m sorry,” Aina says.
“For what?”
“For going back alone.” Aina keeps her attention near Sayuri’s collar.
“I knew it was a bad idea before I went.”
“Then why did you?”
The severity leaves Sayuri’s voice, but not the question.
“I thought seeing the dojo while I was awake would make the dream feel less real.”
“Did it?”
Aina looks toward the courtyard windows.
Her hold on Sayuri’s sleeve loosens.
“No.”
Fear enters the answer before Aina conceals it.
Sayuri places her hand over Aina’s through the fabric.
“Next time, call me.”
“Even if it’s late?”
“Especially if it’s late.”
“You’ll be angry.”
“Probably.”
“That is not comforting.” A fragile laugh leaves Aina, easing some of the strain from her posture.
“I can be angry and still answer the phone,” Sayuri says.
Aina turns her hand beneath Sayuri’s and presses back.
“All right.”
Neither lets go immediately.
The sounds of practice carry faintly across the courtyard.
Twang.
Thunk.
Aina notices the way Sayuri’s shoulders align at the sound.
“Go to the dojo.”
“No.”
“I’m going straight home.”
“Not alone.”
“Sayuri.”
“Aina.”
“You have never missed Friday practice.”
Sayuri releases her hand and opens her shoe locker.
“There is a first time for most things.”
“You hate first times when they affect your ranking.”
“I dislike avoidable setbacks.”
“That is a long way to say the same thing.”
Sayuri removes her outdoor loafers from the cubby.
“You are not a setback.” The answer comes without hesitation.
Aina has no reply.
Sayuri changes into her loafers and places her indoor shoes neatly inside the locker.
When she turns, Aina is still holding one shoe at her side.
The teasing has left her face, and color has reached the tips of her ears.
Sayuri takes the loafer and sets it on the bench beside her.
“Put your shoe on.”
“Right.”
Aina sits, suddenly interested in the floor.
Sayuri reaches into the front pocket of her school bag and removes a small memo pad.
“We need to stop at the dorms before I take you home.”
Aina looks up.
“Why?”
“I have to leave a note for my new roommate.”
“For what?”
Sayuri begins writing.
Before Aina can read the message, Sayuri tears the page from the pad, folds it once, and places it inside her school bag.
She will leave it in the suite when they reach the dorms.
Once both girls have changed into their outdoor loafers, they leave through the central entrance of the main school building.
Outside, Sayuri walks beside Aina along the paved path leading east.
The route follows the outer wall of the academic building before passing the dining hall.
Through its broad windows, rows of mostly empty tables sit beneath warm overhead lights.
They continue beyond the dining hall toward the girls’ dormitory.
Inside the dormitory entrance, Sayuri removes her outdoor loafers and retrieves her indoor slippers from their assigned shelf.
Aina waits on the lower entryway bench, where Dorm Mother can watch her from behind the lobby desk.
“Wait here,” Sayuri says.
“I’m not a lost package.”
“Packages are usually less argumentative.”
“How long?”
“Two minutes.”
Aina looks toward the stairwell.
“You live on the third floor.”
“Then I should begin.”
Sayuri takes the stairs two at a time.
Suite 307 stands near almost the end of the third-floor hallway.
She unlocks the door and steps inside.
The suite smells of clean linen and newly opened cardboard.
The shared living space is silent, and the second bedroom door remains closed.
“Hello?”
No answer.
Her roommate must still be out.
Sayuri enters the shared living space and places the folded note in the exact center of the dining table.
Beside the electric kettle, two ceramic mugs stand together: her plain blue one and a new floral cup belonging to the roommate she has yet to meet.
Sayuri registers the unexpected choice and saves the question for later.
Her bedroom door waits across the common room.
The sensible choice would be to pack sleep clothes, toiletries, and something to wear through Sunday.
She could complete the task quickly under ordinary circumstances.
Aina is waiting downstairs, still unsteady.
Sayuri turns away from her bedroom without opening it.
Clothes can be dealt with later.
She locks the suite behind her and returns downstairs.
✦ ✦ ✦
Aina rests against the dormitory lobby wall while Dorm Mother sorts papers behind the desk.
Students pass through the entrance on their way to clubs and weekend activities.
Their conversations blend with footsteps from the courtyard and the faint scrape of bare branches outside.
Aina closes her eyes.
She opens them again when rapid footsteps descend the stairs.
At the dormitory entrance, Sayuri exchanges her indoor slippers for her loafers and places the slippers neatly back on their shelf.
Sayuri returns exactly four minutes after leaving.
Aina raises one eyebrow.
“Two minutes?”
“There was a stairwell.”
“You knew about the stairwell.”
Sayuri stops beside the bench, apparently unwilling to defend herself.
“Are you rested enough to walk?”
“That is an obvious change of subject.”
“Then it worked.”
She offers her hand.
Aina accepts it and lets Sayuri draw her upright.
The room remains level beneath her feet.
“Any dizziness?” Sayuri asks.
“Less.”
“Less is not none.”
“It is mathematically closer.”
Dorm Mother looks up from her paperwork.
“Take care on the way home.”
“We will,” Sayuri answers.
They bow and leave the dormitory together.
Outside, Aina glances toward the covered path leading to the dojo.
“You aren’t going back for your equipment?”
“No.”
“What about your bow?
You normally take it home after Friday practice.”
“It can remain there for one weekend.”
Aina looks toward the case-less shoulder where Sayuri usually carries it.
“You hate disrupting your routine.”
Sayuri turns to her.
“It isn’t important right now.”
The certainty in her voice prevents Aina’s next objection.
“You are.”
Warmth rises beneath Aina’s cheeks.
She looks ahead before Sayuri can study the reaction too closely.
“I suppose that settles it.”
“It should.”
They follow the courtyard path toward the main gate.
Near the covered walkway, a second-year archer rounds the corner still in his school uniform, carrying a vending-machine drink.
“Vice-captain!” He slows when he sees them heading away from the dojo.
“You aren’t coming to practice?”
“Not today.”
The answer makes him look between the two girls.
“Is everything all right?”
Sayuri glances at Aina.
“It will be.”
The club member accepts the answer.
“Tell Tanaka-san to rest.
We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I can hear you,” Aina says.
“Then rest!” he calls as he heads back toward the dojo.
Aina watches him leave.
“I appear to have lost authority over my own weekend.”
“You misplaced it when you returned to school after dark.”
“Can I earn it back?”
“We’ll review your behavior on Sunday.”
Aina tilts her head.
“You already included the weekend?”
Sayuri smooths one cuff.
“It seemed necessary.”
Beyond the gate, Aina slows at their usual parting place.
Sayuri continues walking.
Aina remains behind for two steps before following.
“Wait.
Aren’t you turning back?”
“No.”
“But the dorms are the other way.” She quickens her pace.
“Are you walking me all the way home?”
“Keep walking.”
“That is still not an answer.”
Sayuri looks back long enough to confirm that Aina is beside her.
“You heard the nurse.”
“She said to make sure I got home.”
“Yes.”
“She did not say you had to follow me through the front door.”
“That was implied.”
Aina catches up, a smile slipping past her exhaustion.
“You use that word whenever you add your own instructions.”
“They are usually necessary.”
Sayuri continues along the residential path without slowing.
Aina ducks behind her hair, though the smile refuses to disappear.
✦ ✦ ✦
The streets beyond Tokui High remain crowded with students for the first two blocks.
Bicycles pass in uneven lines, bells sounding above the chatter.
Members of the baseball club argue over which noodle shop to visit, and farther ahead, someone opens a canned drink with a crisp click.
The ordinary noise eases some of the pressure left by the infirmary.
Sayuri shortens her stride to match Aina’s.
Neither comments on the adjustment.
After several minutes, Aina glances at her.
“Ryosuke was worried about you.”
Sayuri’s next step falters.
“Why are we discussing him?”
“Because you stopped discussing the dojo.”
“That was not an invitation to choose another difficult subject.”
“You think Ryosuke is difficult?”
“That is not what I said.”
Aina’s faint smile gains strength.
“He was questioning me, but he kept checking whether you understood.”
“He was watching everyone.”
“Of course.” There is no teasing in the answer.
Sayuri centers the buckle on her school bag.
A few steps later, she adjusts it again.
“You should conserve your energy.”
“Changing the subject requires almost none.”
“Then use that energy to watch where you’re walking.”
“I am watching.”
Aina lowers her head, but not before Sayuri sees the smile.
They reach the curb as a delivery van turns the corner too quickly.
Its tires squeal against the asphalt.
Sayuri draws Aina half a step back by the wrist.
The van passes without coming close enough to strike them, but Sayuri does not release her immediately.
Aina looks down at the hold.
“You were saying?”
“The driver turned too fast.”
“I hadn’t entered the road.”
“You might have.”
“I was watching.”
“Not well enough.”
The pedestrian signal changes.
Its bright electronic melody follows them into the crossing.
Aina stops in the middle of the road.
Sayuri catches her wrist and guides her the remaining distance to the opposite curb.
Aina offers no resistance.
Her attention has gone somewhere beyond the evening traffic.
“Aina?”
“Rain,” she whispers.
Sayuri glances at the clear sky.
“It isn’t raining.”
“I know.” Aina presses her free hand to her temple.
“The road wasn’t paved.
There was a lantern swinging in the wind, and you—”
Her weight shifts unsteadily.
Sayuri keeps hold of her wrist and moves between her and the road.
“What did I do?”
“You pulled me behind you.” Aina looks down at Sayuri’s hand as though seeing another hand laid over it.
“You told me to stay there.”
The words open a crack in Sayuri’s mind.
Rain had struck her face beneath a lightless sky.
The packed earth of the narrow Kyoto road had dissolved into mud beneath her feet, and the flame inside a caged lantern swung wildly in the wind.
Her hand had been locked around the wrist of a girl concealed beneath a dark outer robe—a girl Sayuri somehow knew was Aina.
Sayuri had stepped in front of her.
“Stay behind me.”
The voice had been rough with exhaustion.
It had also been hers.
The present street returns before the fragment can deepen.
Sayuri remains on the curb with her hand around Aina’s wrist.
Aina’s face has lost what little color it regained.
“I saw part of it,” Sayuri says.
Aina raises her eyes.
“You did?”
“Only for a second.” Sayuri measures the details she can still hold.
“I was the one holding your wrist.”
Aina nods slowly.
“I was behind you.”
The same moment, seen from opposite sides.
The memory had seized Aina first; through their joined hands, Sayuri had followed.
A cyclist passes behind them.
Sayuri shifts between Aina and the flow of traffic.
“How much more did you see?”
“Only the road, the lantern, and you.” Aina’s attention begins slipping past the present street again.
Sayuri tightens her hold just enough to be felt.
“Don’t chase it.” Sayuri hears Ryosuke’s urgency in her own question and stops.
“That’s enough.”
“Sayuri—”
“Tell me what is here.”
Aina looks at her without understanding.
“Here.
Now.” Sayuri indicates the storefront at the corner.
“What color is the florist’s sign?”
Aina follows the gesture.
“Yellow.”
“The bicycle outside?”
“Blue.”
“What can you smell?”
Aina takes a moment.
“Curry.
From the restaurant down the block.”
“What can you hear?”
“The crossing signal.”
As if answering her, the electronic melody stutters and ends.
Evening traffic fills the silence it leaves behind.
Sayuri releases Aina’s wrist and turns her left hand palm-up.
“And this?”
Aina looks at the callus near the base of Sayuri’s thumb before placing her hand there.
“Warm,” she says.
Sayuri closes her hand around Aina’s.
The lingering scents of rain and lantern smoke recede.
“We are not chasing it.”
Aina presses back.
“You really changed your mind.”
“I can do that.”
“I know.
I simply don’t see it often.”
Sayuri lets the criticism pass.
They remain beside the florist while bicycles and pedestrians move around them.
Gradually, Aina’s breathing returns to an even rhythm and her attention settles on the present street.
Only then do they continue toward home.
Their hands separate before the next corner.
Neither mentions it.
✦ ✦ ✦
Several streets from Aina’s home, they pass a RAWSON.
Aina slows.
Through the front window, the refrigerated dessert case gleams beneath the store lights.
Her attention lingers on the pudding shelf half a second too long.
“You’re hungry,” Sayuri says.
“I’m not.”
“You were studying the pudding.”
“I looked through a window.”
“At the pudding.”
“There are many things inside a convenience store.”
“Name one.”
Aina searches the displays for a convincing answer.
“Melon bread.”
“That answer explains nothing.” Sayuri turns toward the entrance.
The automatic doors open with a cheerful two-tone chime, spilling fluorescent light across the pavement.
Aina follows with a quiet sigh that fails to hide her amusement.
Sayuri waits for her to cross the threshold before entering behind her.
The doors slide shut, sealing out the evening chill.
The store greets them with the comforting, familiar blend of hot coffee, steamed pork buns, and fresh disinfectant.
Behind the front counter, a clerk offers a practiced, melodic greeting without looking up from his task.
Sayuri takes a plastic basket near the entrance and hooks its handle over her forearm.
Aina heads directly toward the dessert case.
Sayuri says nothing.
She does not need to.
Aina studies the pudding shelf with the concentration she normally reserves for examinations.
She lifts one cup, reads the label, returns it, and selects another.
“You are comparing them,” Sayuri says.
“There are differences.”
“They are all pudding.”
“That is a category, not a conclusion.” Aina checks the price beneath the third row.
“This one has less sugar, but the serving is smaller, so the comparison is misleading.”
The explanation arrives more quickly than anything Aina has said since morning.
Sayuri lets her continue.
Numbers have restored a little precision to her voice.
After another moment, Aina chooses a custard pudding with a caramel layer and places it in the shopping basket.
“Decision reached,” Sayuri says.
“Through careful analysis.”
“You selected the first one you touched.”
“The intervening research confirmed my initial hypothesis.”
Sayuri adds a bottle of Pacari Sweat and a packet of plain rice porridge.
Aina looks into the basket.
“Those are not pudding.”
“Correct.”
“I have drinks and food at home.”
“You also claimed to be fine.”
“That was before the coat stand damaged my credibility.”
“Considerably.”
Aina laughs, and this time nothing in the sound seems forced.
The entrance chime sounds again behind them as they round the next aisle.