Nikaido first realized she was different during the sumr of her seventh year.
As the seawater rose above her head, filling her nasal cavity and lungs with liquid, and just as her consciousness was about to dissipate, a white light suddenly flashed.
She opened her eyes and found herself lying in the vacation house.
Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, falling across the ceiling.
There was the sound of waves outside the window. Her mother was at the bedside folding clothes, saying without even looking up: "You're awake? If you go to the beach today, rember to put on sunscreen."
She sat up and looked at her mother's face; there was no trace of panic on it.
"Mom," she spoke, her voice a bit raspy.
"Hmm?"
"...It's nothing."
She lay back down, staring at the ceiling.
That was absolutely not a dream. The burning sensation of seawater filling her lungs, the feeling of powerlessness as her body sank, and that white light.
Everything was too clear—so clear that she could still feel that sense of suffocation even now.
But she was alive, well and truly alive.
This was the first ti she used her magic: Death Regression.
However, she never used it again after that. Because being alive was a miracle in itself, and Hiro felt that miracles shouldn't be wasted.
Furthermore, she never wanted to experience the feeling of dying again.
In elentary school, she t Sakuraba Ema.
Ema was a strange child—always clumsy, yet constantly cheerful, never getting upset even when others called her stupid.
Hiro didn't dislike her at first; she even felt a bit like helping her.
Because the way Ema looked at her was like a lost puppy that had finally found its way.
But gradually, Hiro began to notice things.
When Ema tripped, she would always glance around first to see if anyone was watching.
When Ema got a question wrong, she would always intentionally let out an "Oops!" to get the attention of those around her.
When Ema forgot to bring sothing, she would always be the first to look at Hiro, wearing that "Could you lend it to ?" expression.
Hiro began to ponder a question.
Was she truly clumsy, or was she intentionally making people help her?
This thought was like a thorn stuck in Hiro's heart, but she never spoke it aloud.
Because saying it would be too "incorrect." Doubting a friend was incorrect.
The year they graduated from elentary school, Ema grabbed her hand and said, "Hiro, we have to stay together from now on, okay?"
Hiro nodded.
She thought this relationship would last forever.
On the first day of middle school, Hiro and Ema were assigned to different classes.
Deep down, Hiro felt a quiet sense of relief—not because she hated Ema, but because she finally didn't have to constantly think about that "incorrect" matter.
She quickly found her place in her new class: first in grades, all-around athlete, excellent character.
Teachers trusted her, classmates admired her. She beca the incarnation of "correctness"—everything followed the rules, everything was in order, just as before.
Ema would often run over in the hallway to pull her aside and talk, telling her about the new class, new classmates, and various trivial things.
Hiro always responded perfunctorily. She felt this was incorrect, but that old thorn remained in her heart, making her unable to be honest.
Until one day, Ema ran over, her eyes sparkling.
"Hiro! I've made a new friend!" She pulled Hiro's hand. "Her na is Tsukishiro Yuki, she's super cute! Co and et her!"
Hiro was dragged by Ema to the entrance of their classroom.
A girl stood there. She was very thin and small, with long silver hair and pale gray eyes. She kept her head down and didn't speak much, but when Ema grabbed her hand, she would look up slightly.
"Yuki, this is Hiro! My best friend!"
Yuki looked at her and gave a small nod.
"Hello."
Yuki didn't answer, she just watched her. Those pale gray eyes were very clean.
Later, Hiro learned that Yuki had taken a long leave of absence due to illness and wasn't very good at interacting with others.
Ema had taken the initiative to find her, taking her on school tours, keeping her company, and stubbornly pulling her out of her corner.
"She's always all alone, it's so pitiful, so I'm going to be her friend!"
From then on, the three of them were often together.
After school, they would occasionally sneak up to the rooftop to watch the sunset. Yuki would sit in the middle, with Ema and Hiro on either side, the setting sun falling over them.
This was incorrect, but Hiro didn't care as much anymore.
Yuki didn't speak much, but she would listen quietly to them. Ema was always chirping away about various things, while Hiro would interject a sentence or two, mostly just listening.
Those days were the warst tis in Hiro's mory.
During the first year of middle school, her family said they were sending her abroad to study.
"Just for one year. To practice your English. It'll give you an advantage for higher education when you return."
That was what her mother said.
Hiro had no right to refuse. She had known since she was a child that so things simply had to be done—that they were correct.
Before leaving, she found Yuki and Ema.
"One year," she said. "I'll be back in one year at most. Wait for ."
Yuki nodded, her eyes a bit red.
"We'll wait for you!" Ema grabbed her hand.
"You have to write letters! You have to call!"
Hiro nodded.
She looked at Yuki, wanting to say sothing, but nothing ca out.
Finally, she took a fountain pen from her bag and handed it to Yuki.
"When I co back, use this to write to ."
Hiro turned and left.
During that year abroad, she frequently ssaged Yuki. Yuki always replied with "I'm fine," "Don't worry," or "Everything is good."
Hiro believed her.
She thought that with Ema there, Yuki would be okay.
In the sumr of her second year of middle school, she returned to the country.
When the plane landed, she was still thinking about giving Yuki a surprise. Her suitcase was filled with gifts, and she wondered what expression Yuki would make as she took them out one by one.
She walked through the school gate.
Many people were gathered below the school building.
She followed their gaze upward.
On the edge of the rooftop, a person was standing.
Long silver hair, the wind blowing against her skirt.
Hiro's feet were nailed to the spot.
She wanted to scream, but no sound ca out.
The figure fell.
The world was very quiet.
Hiro's knees hit the ground, scraping them open, but she didn't care. She crawled forward, wanting to crawl over, wanting to see that face.
She was held back by others, pinned in place.
There was nothing she could do.
She only saw that patch of blood.
It was the sa color as her eyes.
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