The Package

The school backpack looked like an artifact from another life. Hina Yamada, fourteen years old, stood in the middle of her room, staring at the backpack's zipper as if it were the lock on a bomb. Everything was there: new notebooks, a pencil case with pens that had never been used, the math book her mother had bought. Tomorrow would be her first day back at Nakamura Junior High in almost two years.

Two years.

She was cured. The doctors used that word. "Cured." It was a clean, definitive word, like a stamp on a document. But she didn't feel cured. She felt... hollow.

Two years trapped between the white walls of a hospital and the beige walls of her room. Two years watching the world pass by on a cell phone screen, watching her old friends' stories and only being able to talk via text messages. They went to festivals, complained about tests, took photos. They had lived.

And her? She had survived.

There was a cost for this survival. A cost her parents never discussed at the dinner table. There was a heavy silence in the house, an empty chair that belonged to her older brother. Haruto.

Haruto was in Tokyo. Trapped in a hospital, in a much deeper silence. A coma.

It was his money that had saved her. Money that he, a postal carrier, shouldn't have had. He sent it home in large sums, saying it was from "side jobs" and "investments." Her parents, desperate over the medical bills, hadn't asked many questions. They only started asking questions when the Tokyo police called.

Hina shook her head, trying to push away the image of her brother's pale face in the hospital bed. Don't think about it.

Tomorrow was about school. About being normal.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair, which had fallen out during the most aggressive treatments, had grown back, now thicker and a little darker. She was taller, but she looked terribly thin in her new school uniform. She looked like a stranger wearing her own clothes.

Who am I going to be there? she thought, panic rising in her throat.

Kaito, the quiet boy who drew incredible robots in the margins of his notebook... would he still talk to her? Mei, who always shared her lunch... would she still remember her?

And Ren...

Hina's stomach tightened. Ren Ishida. He was the most popular boy in the class. Before everything, he used to mess up her hair and call her "Hina-chan." The last time she saw him at the supermarket, a month ago, he just stared at her with pity before turning to his basketball team friends. That look made her want to disappear.

"Hina! Dinner's ready!" Her mother's voice came up the stairs, sounding tired.

"Coming!"

She zipped up the backpack with a grim finality. It was done. There was no escape. Tomorrow, she would go back to being a normal person, whether she wanted to or not.

As she walked down the stairs, the doorbell rang.

"Can you get that, dear?" her mother called from the kitchen.

Hina opened the door. A delivery driver—ironically —was standing there, holding a clipboard and a small cardboard package.

"Yamada Hina?" he asked, bored.

"That's me."

"Sign here."

She scribbled her name and took the package. It was light. The return address was from a self-storage facility in Setagaya, Tokyo. Near where Haruto lived. A chill ran down her arms.

"Who was it?" her mother asked as she entered the kitchen.

"I don't know. It's for me."

"Open it after dinner. The miso soup will get cold."

Hina sat down, but her hunger had vanished. She placed the package next to her chair, unable to take her eyes off it. Dinner was the usual silence. Her father read the news on his tablet. Her mother picked at her food. Haruto's silence was louder than any conversation.

As soon as she was excused, Hina ran to her room and locked the door. She sat on her bed, the package in her lap. Her hands were shaking. Carefully, she tore the tape.

Inside, there were only two things, nestled in bubble wrap. The first was a small black leather notebook, the kind Haruto used to use for jotting down ideas. The second was a ring.

It wasn't a pretty ring. It was made of a worn, almost pewter-colored silver, and the band was thick. It was covered in strange symbols, fluid characters that seemed to writhe and change under the light of her lamp. It looked ancient.

Hina picked it up. It was heavy. Surprisingly warm to the touch. She dropped it back in the box as if it had burned her.

She picked up the notebook. A single folded piece of paper fell out from inside. It wasn't a page from the notebook; it was a sheet of letterhead from a cheap Tokyo hotel, and the handwriting was rushed, but unmistakably Haruto's.

She unfolded it.

Hina,

If you're reading this, it's because something went very wrong with me, and the lawyers followed my instructions. I can't explain everything in a letter. But I need you to do one thing for me. The ring in this box. It's the most important thing I own. It's... special. I need you to take care of it for me. Take care of it until I can come back. I don't know what's going to happen. That's why I'm sending it to you. It's the only place I know it will be safe. Please, Hina. Keep it safe.

There are rules, and you must follow them. No one can know about this ring. No one. Don't tell Mom or Dad. Never lend it out. Don't let anyone else use it. This is our secret. The notebook that's with it might... help. But be careful.

I trust you more than anyone in the world. Please, take care of it for me.

Stay safe, little sister. I love you. – Haru

Tears streamed down Hina's face. The letter explained nothing. What went wrong? What was this ring? And why would he send it to her?

Take care of it for me.

It was the last thing her brother had asked of her. She couldn't fail.

She wiped her eyes and looked at the ring. "Special," he'd said. She looked at the other item. The notebook might... help.

With trembling hands, Hina opened the small leather notebook. It wasn't a diary. It was... a log. Haruto's handwriting was methodical, almost scientific.

Hina flipped through the first few pages.

April 15. Test: Self-Use (Good Luck). Subject: Me. Wish: "I wanted to find money." Result: Nothing. The ring stayed cold. Tried again. Nothing. It seems it doesn't work on myself.

April 16. Test: Good Luck (Another person). Subject: K.I. (Coworker). Wish: "That he have luck in love." Result: K.I. got stuck in an elevator with the girl he likes... (Success). The ring grew warm. The rule is clear: it only works on others.

Hina's heart began to beat faster. She flipped through a few more pages, passing more "good luck" tests. Then, the handwriting changed. It became sharper, angrier.

April 20. Test: Bad Luck. Subject: Mr. Tanaka (Neighbor, 3B). Wish: "That he fall and break something." Result: Subject fell down the stairs. Fractured leg, concussion. (Success).

April 22. Test: Bad Luck. Subject: Koji Yamamoto (Executive). Wish: "That he lose something important." Result: Subject lost his EpiPen. Had anaphylactic shock. Almost died. Note: The power is very literal. I need to be careful with the wording. Or maybe not. He deserved it.

Hina dropped the notebook. She felt sick.

Her brother. The Haruto who used to tickle her.

He was... hurting people.

Fractured leg. Almost died.

This was the ring. This was what she was holding. And this, she realized with an icy horror, was what put her brother in a coma. He messed with something he shouldn't have, and it destroyed him.

It feeds on anger, she thought, the phrase echoing in her mind as if it were her own.

She looked at the ring in the box. It was poison. She should throw it in the river.

But...

Take care of it for me. I trust you.

Haruto's letter was desperate. He trusted her.

And then, another thought, dark and sharp, cut through her sadness. She thought of Ren Ishida. Of that look of pity. Of the way he laughed with his friends as she walked away, feeling small and pathetic.

A wave of heat, intense and sudden, rose in her chest. She thought: I wish he knew what it felt like to be humiliated. I wish he would fall in front of the whole school...

She looked at the notebook. Test: Bad Luck. Subject: Mr. Tanaka. Result: Success.

Hina gasped and recoiled from the box, her heart pounding. The heat in her chest vanished, replaced by an icy chill.

She almost did it. She almost wished ill on Ren.

She looked at the notebook again, flipping back to the first pages. Subject: K.I. Wish: "That he have luck in love." Result: Success.

The ring wasn't just poison. It depended on who used it.

Haruto had been consumed by anger. But his letter wasn't angry. It was scared. And it trusted her.

Hina looked at her school backpack. At the uniform hanging on the door. Tomorrow would be a nightmare of pitying looks, of whispers, of loneliness. She would be Ren's "ghost girl."

The ring was right there. Haruto's notebook proved she could change things.

What if she could? What if she could make returning to school not a nightmare, but... good? What if she could help people who, like her, were suffering?

Trembling, Hina picked up the ring.

I'm not you, Haru, she thought, a silent promise to her sleeping brother. I'm not going to break things.

She slid it onto her right index finger. It fit perfectly.

The strange symbols flashed for a second, like wet ink, before settling down. Hina looked at her hand. It just looked like an ugly, old ring.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. She didn't think about Ren. She thought about Kaito, the quiet boy who drew.

"I... I wish tomorrow would be a good day for Kaito," she whispered to the empty room.

The ring remained silent. Cold. Nothing happened.

Hina opened her eyes. Her room was the same. She was the same. Maybe the ring only worked with anger? Or maybe it only worked for Haruto?

She picked up the small black leather notebook. The notebook might... help.

She opened it again, flipping to the "Bad Luck" pages. She was afraid to read, but she had to understand. She saw the names "Tanaka" and "Yamamoto" and felt a chill. She saw that, after the "Yamamoto" entry, several pages had been torn out. Not torn out carefully, but ripped out in anger, leaving jagged edges behind. What had he done that was worse than almost killing a man?

Hina shuddered and went back to the beginning of the notebook, to the first pages, where Haruto's handwriting was still curious, not angry. She found what she was looking for. An entry from April 14, the day before the successful test with "K.I."

"April 14. Failure. Tried to wish for 'found money' from my apartment. Nothing. Tried to wish for the train to come faster. Nothing. The ring isn't a magic lamp. It doesn't read my thoughts from a distance. Is it just a useless piece of metal?"

"Later, April 15. Wait. The Tanaka case. He grabbed my arm. The ring got hot. The K.I. case (the coworker). I handed him the keychain. Touched his hand. The ring got hot. The touch. Physical contact must be the conductor. Next test: Touch someone with clear intent. Hypothesis B: What if the object I gave K.I. is the conductor? It was in my pocket for a day. Maybe the ring 'charges' things?"

Hina closed the notebook, her heart pounding. The touch. Or a "charged" object.

Her wish for Kaito... she'd done it in a vacuum. She had failed.

She looked at her backpack. Tomorrow she would see Kaito. Could she... touch him? The thought made her blush. Kaito barely spoke; if she touched him, he would probably run away.

That left "Hypothesis B." An object.

Hina looked at the clock. Almost ten at night. She needed an object, and she needed to keep it with her for 24 hours. She searched her desk, seeing an eraser, a pencil. No... it had to be something she could give him.

She remembered something. In her drawer, there was a small leather pencil case. It was simple, brown, but good quality. She had gotten it as a gift from her grandmother and never used it.

She picked it up. It was perfect.

Hina put the pencil case in her pajama pocket, pressing her hand against it. The ring on her finger was cold.

She lay down in bed, closing her eyes, her hand still in her pocket.

24 hours, she thought.

Tomorrow she would go to school without magic. She would have to face Ren, the loneliness, and the pitying stares... alone.

But the day after tomorrow...

The day after tomorrow would be different.