That night, she couldn't sleep; as soon as she closed her eyes, that pool of blood would surface in her mind.
She repeatedly looked at the final ssage on her phone.
"I'm fine, don't worry."
The ssage was sent at noon that day, less than four hours before she arrived back in the country.
What happened during those four hours?
Soone told her that Yuki had been bullied for a long ti.
It started right after she went abroad. Those people beat her, cursed at her, threw dirty water on her, slamd a tal bucket over her head, and covered her body in humiliating words.
Sakuraba Ema watched every ti, doing nothing.
On that final day, when Yuki was called to the rooftop, Ema was there too.
She just stood by the rooftop door, doing nothing.
Yuki died.
Ema was hospitalized; she had witnessed the suicide scene, been traumatized, and fainted.
Hiro waited for two days. On the day Ema was discharged, she stood at the hospital entrance, watching that person walk out.
Ema looked very weak, her face pale, but when she saw Hiro, her eyes lit up.
"Hiro!" She ran over. "You're back! I missed you so much!"
Hiro didn't speak.
She looked into those pink eyes; there was nothing in them.
Only the joy of seeing an old friend, the intentional cooing tone, and that affected smile.
No guilt, no conscience, nothing regarding Yuki at all.
"Ema," Hiro spoke, her voice calm.
"Hmm?"
"Yuki is dead."
Ema froze.
"Yuki?" She tilted her head. "Who's that?"
Hiro's pupils contracted sharply.
"Tsukishiro Yuki. Our friend."
Ema looked at her, her expression very confused.
"Hiro, what are you talking about?" She grabbed Hiro's hand. "How co I don't rember this person?"
Hiro pulled her hand back.
Those eyes were still so innocent.
In that instant, a wave of nausea rose in her stomach.
She forgot.
She really forgot.
She had forgotten Yuki completely.
"I'm leaving."
"Hiro?"
Hiro turned and left imdiately.
"Hiro!" Ema shouted after her, but she didn't look back.
That night, she didn't sleep again, staring at the ceiling and thinking of Ema's innocent eyes.
By what right did she get to forget?
In the days that followed, Hiro changed.
If she saw that pink figure appear at the end of the hallway, Hiro would turn and walk in the other direction, walking very fast, as if fleeing.
If she heard that familiar voice call "Hiro," she would pretend not to hear, quickening her pace. Sotis she walked so hurriedly that her knee would slam into the stair railing, turning it numb with pain, but she didn't care.
As long as that person tried to get close, she would avoid them in advance. A few tis, Ema blocked her path to the cafeteria; Hiro simply turned around and walked the opposite way, skipping lunch entirely.
Once, Ema cornered her at the stairwell.
"Hiro!" She ran over, out of breath. "Why have you been ignoring these past few days?"
Hiro looked at her.
That face wore a look of grievance, of confusion, and that expression of "Did I do sothing wrong?"
Hiro thought of Yuki's face, thought of how she looked standing on the edge of the rooftop—had she worn this kind of expression, too, before she jumped?
"I'm not ignoring you; I just don't want to see you," Hiro said, her voice icy.
"Wh... what?"
"I said, I don't want to see you," Hiro said syllable by syllable. "From now on, don't co looking for ."
Ema's eyes turned red instantly.
"Hiro... what did I do wrong? Tell , I can change..."
"You don't rember anything," Hiro interrupted her.
"You don't rember anything, so you didn't do anything wrong."
Ema opened her mouth but could not speak.
Hiro brushed past her and went downstairs.
From then on, Ema stopped coming to find her.
During their third year of middle school, they hardly spoke. Occasionally they would brush past each other in the hallway, and that was all.
Yuki's death was like a wall separating them.
Hiro beca even more "correct." Her grades had to be the best, her athletics the strongest, her speech the most proper, her actions the most perfect.
Because only by being the best could she prevent that sense of powerlessness from returning.
Only by becoming the most perfect person could she protect those she wanted to protect.
She tried her best not to think about Yuki, not to think about Ema, and not to think about what happened that day.
Only occasionally would she take out the fountain pen she always kept in her pocket.
It was Yuki's nto.
Yuki hadn't had the chance to use it to write a letter—not even once.
-
-
-
On the first day of high school, Hiro looked at the class lists on the bulletin board.
Sakuraba Ema, Year 1, Class F.
Hiro stood there, staring at that na for a long ti.
When the bell rang at the end of the school day, Hiro didn't go straight ho.
She didn't know why she walked toward that building, why she stopped on the second floor, or why she stood at the entrance of Class F looking inside.
There weren't many people left in the classroom; most of the freshn had already departed, leaving only a few still packing their things.
In the second to last row, a person was sitting.
Pink hair, head lowered, fiddling with a phone in her hands.
The sunset shone through the window, falling upon her.
Hiro stood at the door, watching the scene.
That sense of nausea surged up again.
It had been two years.
She was still alive.
She was sitting here, sitting in the sunlight.
While Yuki could never see it again.
She turned and left.
After that, she began to notice another person. He was likely a boy from Class F—dead fish eyes, listless, with ssy hair, the whole person radiating an aura of "leave alone."
During lunch breaks, Ema would follow behind him, following his every step. The two of them would walk through the hallway one after the other, out into the courtyard.
Hiro stood at the corner, watching them pass in front of her.
Ema walked behind, head down, occasionally looking up at his back before quickly looking down again.
That cautious gaze, that look of being terrified of being discovered—it was just like before.
It was exactly the sa look she used to give her.
Hiro rembered when they were kids; every ti she walked in front, that person would follow behind, a few steps away, waiting for her to turn around, waiting for her to speak, waiting for her to bestow a bit of attention.
Now she had found soone new.
Using the sa gaze, the sa thod, the sa posture of pretending to need protection.
Hiro stood at the corner, watching the pink figure disappear at the top of the stairs.
Disgusting.
After school on Friday, she passed by Class F.
She glanced inside; only that boy was sweeping the floor alone. Two nas were posted on the duty roster, but the other person wasn't there.
Hiro stood at the door for a second, feeling she needed to warn that boy.
Then she pushed the door open.
She learned his na was Hikigaya, and that he was Sakuraba Ema's seatmate.
She found she could only say, "You'd better stay away from her"—it was abrupt and unconvincing.
She needed evidence, evidence to expose Ema's true nature.
After the weekend, she didn't even have to try; rumors about Ema began to spread sohow.
"That pink-haired girl follows Hikigaya every day."
"A howrecker, right?"
"So thick-skinned..."
Hiro stood in the hallway, listening to those words drift into her ears.
She began to think about the details of those rumors. They were too detailed—what ti she went, where she sat, how long she stared.
Only the person involved would know.
During lunch break, she went to the library to check the forums.
The sa ID had posted over a dozen threads. The account registration ti was Saturday night, and her first post was:
'One of the top ten niche cafes you must visit in Tokyo this weekend—Cafe Leblanc.'
Hiro leaned back in her chair, staring at the screen.
She thought of those things from Ema's childhood—tripping, getting questions wrong, forgetting things—every ti she was waiting for soone to help her.
It was the sa now.
Ema made herself into the victim so that Hikigaya would pity her and beco unable to leave her.
She forgot about Yuki, but she rembered these "skills" quite clearly.
Hiro closed the browser and stood up.
When she walked out of the library, the sunlight was very piercing.
Returning ho that evening, she took out the fountain pen. Yuki hadn't used it, and neither had she.
Hiro held it in her hand and looked at it for a long ti.
She didn't know what would happen next, didn't know how that boy would choose, didn't know what Ema would beco.
But she knew one thing.
This ti, she wouldn't be kneeling on the ground, unable to do anything.
This ti, she was going to watch—watch the truth surface, watch that person show her true colors.
Watch it all co to a conclusion.
She put the pen back in her pocket, lay back on the bed, and closed her eyes.
That night, she finally got a good night's sleep.
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