Oh.

The final bell's ring echoed in the empty classroom, but I didn't move. My mind was stuck on an infinite loop of the morning's terrifying apparition: the Ubume standing in the flesh, or something like it, on the train platform. Hallucination? Was I finally seeing her without a phone or a reflective surface? If she's physically here, why didn't the whole train platform freak out?

"Shiraishi-kun? You look like you're trying to calculate the weight of your own soul."

Ueno’s voice snapped me back to the present. Ah, right. I had successfully delayed my immediate stress, but the greater mission remained.

"Let's go, Ueno," I said, grabbing my bag. "I need to apologize to your dad. Seriously."

The sky had darkened prematurely, and a cold, persistent rain was starting to fall as we reached the convenience store. The sight of the familiar, brightly lit interior was a welcome anchor in the chaotic day.

As soon as the bell above the door jingled, Ueno's dad, the tired-but-decent konbini owner, practically bolted from behind the counter. He ran to Ueno and hugged her with a ferocious intensity, squeezing her like they hadn't seen each other since the Mesozoic era.

"Ueno! You're safe! I was worried sick!" he rumbled, his voice thick with relief. What a fiercely protective and loving dad.

I politely interrupted their emotionally charged reunion. "Excuse me, Sir. I really need to apologize for last night. I—"

He cut me off, his face instantly turning serious. The relief vanished, replaced by a heavy, unreadable weight. "Ueno, go get anything you want. On the house. We'll talk."

Uh, what? My anxiety levels spiked again. Am I about to be yelled at? Beaten up? Is he going to file a restraining order?

When Ueno was safely out of earshot, browsing the chip aisle in the back, I rushed my apology, fearing a sudden physical altercation.

"I am so sorry, Sir! I panicked! I shouldn't have dragged her, it was reckless, but I thought—"

He held up a hand. His face softened again, the severity replaced by a strange, knowing look that sent a chill through me deeper than the rain outside.

"Hey, kid. Have you heard of 'Ubume'?"

The abrupt question made me freeze. It felt like being hit by a metaphysical truck. What? Was he an urban legend enthusiast? Was this his convoluted way of asking about my sanity?

"...Yeah," I said hesitantly, avoiding eye contact. "I read about it online. The crying woman who gives you a baby that turns into a rock..." I definitely didn't want to admit the ghost was actively haunting my selfies.

"Did you know that Ueno was adopted?" he asked, ignoring my answer about the rock myth entirely.

"..Yeah, she told me when I asked about you," I replied, wondering where this train of questioning was going. The entire conversation was bizarre.

"Good. That will make things easier." He leaned against the counter, his gaze steady and ancient.

Wait... where are we going with this? What is happening?

"Sir," I insisted, my voice tight. "Where are we going with this?"

He sighed, the sound conveying decades of keeping a bizarre secret. "A very long time ago, I was working the night shift right here. Same counter. It was raining, too. This young, pale woman came in. She was trying to buy candy and sweets, using some damp, crushed leaves instead of money."

My eyes widened.

"I tried to reprimand her, thinking she was mentally ill or trying to pull a prank. But when I looked down at the leaves, they were suddenly coins. Real money. When I looked up, the woman was gone, along with the candy she bought."

"I was curious. Stupidly curious. I closed the shop and followed the faint trail of candy wrappers through the rain. It led me to the graveyard. I was about to leave, thinking I’d lost my mind, when I heard it: a baby crying."

His voice dropped to a near-whisper. "I followed the sound. It was a tombstone, and huddled nearby was an infant, completely surrounded by wrappers of cheap sweets and snacks. The crying wouldn't stop. I took the baby. I found something wrapped inside the blanket with her."

He looked directly into my eyes, and his expression held no anger, only the burden of impossible truth.

"It was a piece of paper with a name written on it."