SHE SAT ALONE

一年後 (One year later)

She sat alone.

Only appeared during lunch. Showed up one day and after that, became a daily presence. 

No one knew who she was, because she never spoke. Never attended lectures. Never so much as looked up from her bowl of pork rice as she ungracefully devoured it. The most peculiar thing—she wore a sukeban uniform, complete with the ankle-length navy-blue skirt and faded red ribbon. Had she found it in an antique store?

I’d observe as passing students snickered, shirt collars pulled up over their noses.
“Who’s that?” they’d whisper. “Is she even a student here? What's she wearing?” 

Don’t look at me. She only happened to sit at the table in front of my favorite cafeteria spot.
My only complaint? She blocked the view of the camphor trees and cherry blossoms outside. They were perfect this time of spring.

So instead of the petals and grassy fields of the campus grounds, I found myself drawing her instead. Every day, I'd sketch the shape of her wild hair between bites of onigiri. 

In honesty, she was kind of mesmerizing. Her face wasn't anything spectacular. Well, it wasn’t delicate in the way magazine girls were, neither did she wear make up like the girls in my classes. But her eyes? Something about them felt ancient. A mysterious gaze. Paired with that uniform, she looked completely out of place. Like a lost time traveler, or a misplaced relic that didn't belong in this modern world. 

One hour each day. That was all I had. Beginning at noon, she filled the cafeteria with her strange, silent presence. Then at exactly 12:55 PM, she'd stand up and vanish. 

And I'd go to afternoon class.

Cultural Studies. Today's lesson—fall of the shogunate. 

"In 1868, a world ended, and Japan entered a new one," my professor said, as he paced aimlessly around the podium. "Shoguns were replaced by emperors, samurai by military men. Shinto shrines were replaced by school bells, and the gods gave way to timetables..." 

Students lazily followed along, jotting down notes. Some dozed off. 

"...But," the professor continued, "when you trade spirits for science, and rituals for routine, all in the span of a few years... What happens to the world we leave behind? What is lost in the process? That is what you'll be writing about for your paper this week. Class dismissed." 

I filed out of the lecture hall with the rest of the students, and began the walk back to the boy's dorm, messily writing down assignments into my planner as I did. 

Week of April 21–27, 2003

- GOLDEN WEEK 

That's right. Golden Week. Just one final stretch of sleep deprivation and then I can finally collapse in peace. 

[additional scene to be written here]

I turned the corner and reached the base of the dorm stairs—then froze in my tracks.

There she was. 

At the top of the outdoor stairwell was a familiar wild-haired girl, sukeban skirt twirling in the breeze. For a second, we just stood like that. Eyes locked, in silence. 

Those eyes... Amber. Mesmerizing. It made me shiver, yet still I couldn't look away. 

Then I saw something I was never meant to see. A wildness stirred within them. Something primal. It was neither human, nor animal. A monster. 

Then I noticed another thing. On the strange girl's arms were darkened splotches of purple and black. 

"Um... Hello. I think you're lost. This is the male dormatory," I managed to stutter. "Do you... Need help?"

No response. 

Instead, she leapt—sweeping right past me with inhuman speed, down the stairs and across the concrete. Gone again.