Chapter 1 — Transfer Girl

The morning air of Saint Elora Girls’ Academy smelled faintly of salt and blooming wisteria. Beyond the iron gates, waves crashed distantly against the cliffs, the sound swallowed by the chatter of students in neatly pressed uniforms.

When Mizuki Sera entered Class 2-A, the classroom fell silent — not because she was beautiful, but because she looked like she didn’t belong. Her pale skin glowed almost blue under the light, her black hair tied loosely, strands brushing the corners of her lips whenever she breathed.

“Everyone, this is Sera Mizuki. She’s transferred here from—”

The teacher’s voice faded into the hum of whispers.

Girls leaned toward each other, exchanging quiet comments about how pretty the new girl was. Mizuki only smiled faintly, her fingers clenching the hem of her skirt like she was holding onto something invisible.

“Akane Himari, you’ll help her get settled,” the teacher said.

Himari Akane, class representative, stood from her seat. Her smile was practiced — the kind adults adored, teachers praised, and friends envied.

She gestured to the empty desk beside hers. “You can sit here, Sera-san.”

Mizuki bowed slightly. “Thank you, Akane-san.”

Her voice was softer than expected — almost apologetic, like she wasn’t sure she had the right to speak.

---

During the break, the other girls swarmed around Mizuki, asking questions.

“Where are you from?”

“Why transfer in the middle of the term?”

“Are you living in the dorms?”

Mizuki smiled politely at every question, offering answers that sounded like half-truths. She was “from another prefecture,” she said, and “yes, the dorms are nice,” and “no, it’s nothing serious.”

But her eyes never met theirs.

Himari watched quietly from her seat.

There was something strange in the way Mizuki smiled — a slight delay, a tension in the corners of her lips, like she was forcing her face into the right shape.

When the bell rang, Himari stood and said, “Come on, I’ll show you around the school.”

---

They walked through the corridors together — the sound of their shoes echoing softly against the polished floors.

Mizuki listened more than she spoke, nodding when Himari explained where the library was, where the art club met, where the sea was visible from the third-floor windows.

When they reached the courtyard, Mizuki stopped. Her gaze lingered on the wisteria tree near the fence — the petals swaying gently in the breeze.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

“It blooms the longest,” Himari said. “Even when the others wilt.”

Mizuki smiled, this time a little more naturally.

“I’d like to draw it someday,” she said.

“You draw?”

“Sometimes,” Mizuki replied, brushing her hair back.

That’s when Himari noticed it — a thin, almost healed scar across Mizuki’s wrist.

It wasn’t deep, but it was deliberate.

Their eyes met for a brief, electric second.

Mizuki’s smile didn’t falter.

Neither did Himari’s.

---

At lunch, Mizuki sat alone by the window. Himari noticed and joined her.

“Everyone’s curious about you,” Himari said, unpacking her bento.

Mizuki tilted her head. “Curious?”

“You’re different,” Himari replied, picking up her chopsticks. “In a good way.”

Mizuki let out a soft laugh — a sound so fragile it almost didn’t exist.

“I’m not very interesting, Akane-san.”

“I don’t believe that,” Himari said.

Something unspoken passed between them — a quiet recognition of loneliness, mirrored in each other’s smiles.

When lunch ended, Himari returned to her seat, but her thoughts lingered.

Why did Mizuki’s eyes look like they were always searching for something?

Why did her smile make Himari’s heart ache?

---

That evening, the sea breeze swept through the open dorm windows. The lamps buzzed faintly, casting trembling shadows on the walls.

Mizuki sat on her bed with a sketchbook open across her knees.

Pencils scattered beside her, eraser dust littered the pages.

She drew Himari’s face from memory — her hair, her eyes, the faint curve of her lips. Over and over again, until every page seemed to breathe with her image.

Outside, the waves kept striking the cliffs.

Mizuki whispered the name softly, almost reverently.

“Himari…”

Once.

Twice.

Again and again.

Her pencil pressed deeper with each repetition until the paper tore beneath her hand.

Still, she smiled.

---

Meanwhile, in her quiet dorm room across the hall, Himari sat by the window, writing in her diary. The wisteria tree below swayed in the moonlight, its petals glowing faintly purple.

> “Her eyes look like someone who’s forgotten how to hope,”

she wrote.

“I wonder if I could teach her.”

Himari closed the diary and smiled to herself — unaware that, at that very moment, someone was whispering her name in the dark, over and over, like a prayer.