Yuzuki's Hidden Stories

Chapter 1: Guide to the Unusual (No.01)

I quite enjoy the library.

I don't have to worry about what other people say or how
they look at me—I can devote myself wholly to the quiet
hours.

As usual, I get to school before the start of class and
study here.

It's anything but a usual day, however. Today's the culture
festival, and excitement is buzzing throughout the entire
school.

A huge sign stands outside the school gates welcoming
visitors from outside, and dozens of colorful stalls line
the campus on the other side. My class's stall is presumably
among them, but I don't drop by to check on it. I study in
the library instead.

The familiar classmates I pass don't say anything. I know
they don't expect any sort of help from me.

It's only been a few months since I started high school,
and I'm out of place in my class.

I have my aspirations, and dealing with others is too much
of a bother. I don't have time to sing praises of my school
life like other students, nor do I want to.

The bang, bang! of blank shots reaches the library.

And here I thought I could concentrate on my studies during
the culture festival... My concentration broken, I stare out
at the blue sky beyond the windows.

"Seriously? This is where you've been?" It's a
sudden, blunt voice that hardly suits the air of this place.

Oh no—she found me.

The voice belongs to a girl in my grade who's a bit out of
place for a prep school like this—she has bright blonde hair
and never wears her uniform properly.

She always behaves terribly, and everyone else thinks of her
as a delinquent.

She stands out for different reasons in class, and for
whatever reason, she occasionally pokes her nose into
my business.

She has the audacity to sit across from me, cackles, and
says thoughtlessly, "It's so funny you're studying today,
of all days."

In a wordless display to show how busy I am, I drop my eyes
back to my books and ignore her.

But that is never enough to discourage the blonde girl, and
I always lose out in the end. Unfortunately, today is no
exception.

I ask her what she wants, and she says, "Since you clearly
have nothing better to do, we should go check out the
festival together."

What? She wants to go? With me?

Her usual stubbornness rears its ugly head. Eventually, she
grabs my phone from the table and yells, "Follow me if you
want it back!" She races out of the library.

Now that things have gotten this far, calming her down would
be way more trouble than it's worth...

And so I agree to look around with her, on the condition
that it's for "a little bit." It is a calculated move,
knowing I'll be freed more quickly that way.

I avoided the blonde girl at first. Her loud appearance
and flippant personality were alien to me.

But in these few months since starting school, she has been
the only one who has talked to me with any regularity
despite my cold exterior.

And the more I get to know about her family life and inner
world from our occasional conversations, the more I see
her in a different light.

She's loud, quite a handful, and, to be blunt, a constant
interruption to my studies. But I can't bring myself to
dislike her...

I walk along the school halls, brightly decorated with
balloons, paper decorations, and painted signs, with the
excited blonde girl.

Now that I get a better look at the school, I realize the
whole building has a particular air—families with cotton
candy wander around, and performers in costumes strut
through the halls. While preparing for the festival, I avoided
all work besides the bare minimum assigned to me, so I'm
surprised to see it so thoroughly decorated in such a
short period.

She scarcely pays me any mind as she pulls me by the arm and
drags me into a classroom with a sign written over it
reading "SHOOTING GALLERY."

Excitable students greet us like eager employees at a store
and hand us "handguns" made of disposable chopsticks.

I stand bewildered, and they say we can pay one hundred yen
for five shots as they hand us a rubber band.

While I slowly set the rubber band in place, I hear the
clanging of a bell. I turn to my side to see the girl
standing victorious. She scoops up the small stuffed rabbit
she managed to shoot down, sets her next band, and aims
at her next target.

Undaunted, I also aim at the target... But embarrassingly,
the band flies into next week.

I have one shot left. I aim carefully, determined to make
this shot count. I notice the girl looking at me as she puts
her prizes into a bag.

I know she's making fun of me internally.

But when she grasps my situation, she gives me surprisingly
succinct advice. She does so gently, politely, in a way that
doesn't harm my masculine pride. And it...somehow reminds
me of someone I know.

Perhaps my blonde classmate is the older sister of a much
younger sibling. That would explain her sisterly care.

Taking her advice, I hold up my chopstick gun one more time.
The moment of truth... But things are often easier said than
done. My rubber band skims the side of a box of sweets, and
that's that.

"Close!" she says with a grin, then tosses me a box of
caramel candy from her bag. By the time I catch it, she's
already moving on to the next classroom.

"C'mon!"

Her voice is comfortable and familiar, as though we've been
friends for a long time. And afterward, we go around to each
classroom together.

I win the quiz competition, we split the takoyaki she
craved, and each time, she smiles kindly at me.

Though pangs of guilt stir in my chest from neglecting my
studies, it wasn't half as bad a time as I imagined.

Once we had seen the majority of the displays and stalls,
the sun was beginning to set. I tell my blonde classmate
that I will be returning to the library shortly.

She then tells me she wants to see the grand finale of the
culture festival: the fireworks display.

It's said that this school has fireworks every year. She is
more excited about this than I anticipated, taking me to an
empty classroom with a perfect view of the fireworks.

The moment we get to the classroom, she runs to the
restroom. She'd been having so much fun that she kept
missing her chance to go—I can't help but chuckle.

Though I agreed to accompany her for only a little bit, when
I look at the clock on the classroom wall, I see how late
it's gotten...

I don't handle noise well, not to mention letting others
mind me, but...today was hardly a bad day.

Just after she rushes back from the restroom, what follows
is a brilliant display in the sky that never lets things go
completely dark.

Several modest fireworks burst in the sky. Though we are
somewhat disappointed, it's the perfect cherry on top for
the first day of the cultural festival.

"Hey, sorry for bothering you while you were studying," she
says quietly.

But I respond with a whisper of my own, "I mean, it wasn't
so bad in the end..."

As we share our thoughts on the festival, watching the other
students clean the grounds, a sudden announcement comes
over the intercom.

It's specifically calling for our class to gather in the
classroom.

"I guess we should go..." We can't ignore this one, so we
leave the empty classroom behind.

Feeling awkward that I avoided helping set up in the
morning, I enter the classroom and join my classmates,
wearing their matching class T-shirts and bracelets.

Some students look anxious, while others hang their heads
in what looks like anger—quite the contrast to their colorful
clothing. And yet, our homeroom teacher starts off in a calm
tone.

"We're missing a part of the sales from our crepe stall."

At that moment, whispers ripple through the classroom. The
teacher calms the class and begins to explain what happened.

Our class was situated outside, running a crepe stand. As
a way to prevent others from stealing the money, any money
collected from sales would be brought to the safe in the
classroom at specific times.

Part of that money vanished while it was being moved from
the stand to the classroom...

Though our teacher did not explicitly say it was stolen,
the implication was that someone took the money.

"No way... Who could've done this?"

"We worked so hard to make that money..."

"It's gotta be someone else from another class..."

As the entire class reels from the revelation, I cannot help
but voice the words bouncing around in my head.

"The culprit is in this class..."

And the next thing I know, everyone is looking at me.

Chapter 2: Who Ruined the Culture Festival (No.02)

The first day of my high school culture festival came to
a close.

The entire class gathers in our classroom, and our homeroom
teacher informs us that part of the proceeds from our stall
has vanished.

When I hear the details, I’m convinced it is theft and that
someone in this class committed it...

“The culprit is in this class...”

The words spill out of my mouth before I realize it,
bringing suspicion and panic to my classmates.
My teacher desperately tries to calm the reeling class.

The teacher then asks me, his tone agitated for reasons
I don’t understand, “Do you have proof?”

I begin to sort out the situation in my mind as I answer.

First, my class was running a crepe stall. And twice in the
day at specific times—once around noon and once around
sunset—a specific student was supposed to bring it to the
classroom safe for safekeeping.

According to the teacher, the money was collected and
vanished on the way to the classroom.

The details of how and when the money would be collected
were posted in the class group chat that morning. Only those
in the class know about the money.

There’s a chance that someone outside of the class caught
wind of the information somewhere during the festival, but it’s
unlikely they would ever have the chance to plot the theft.

“So you’re saying we stole it?”

One of the two students in charge of safekeeping the sales
shouts.

“That’s not what I’m saying. If anything, you are immediately
exempt from suspicion.” Their face is red from the tension,
but I ignore them and continue to think. “At which collection
phase did the proceeds go missing, anyway?”

“The second phase. Isn’t that right?” the teacher turns to
the student who was at the stall at the time of the second
collection.

According to the student’s testimony, someone dressed in a
bunny costume came at the evening collection time, and she
mistook them for the student in charge of the collection.

Feeling partially responsible for the incident, the student
wears a glum look but makes an addendum as she recalls
the situation.

Despite her suspicion when she saw the costume, this person
was holding their class-specific collections box, so she ultimately
concluded that they were the classmate in charge of collecting
the money.

Once the person in the costume left, the real student in
charge of the money came, and chaos befell the stall.

When the teacher went to check on the money in the classroom
safe, he found only the proceeds from noon, and though they
split up to look for the missing money, they have yet to
find it...

I knew it, I think to myself. The culprit was well-
informed about how the money was handled.

My classmates begin to stir again, each of them hoping to
escape suspicion.

Among the chatter, my ears pick up on someone saying,
“...is suspicious.”

“Yeah, I heard she has sticky fingers...”

She is the blonde girl I walked around the culture
festival with, the one the whole rest of the class treats
like a criminal.

And the moment that whisper reaches the ears of others,
the entire classroom tacitly comes together.

They want to frame the ill-mannered blonde girl as the
culprit.

At this point, the entire class begins to cross-examine her
to make her the scapegoat.

“We bonded to make this culture festival a reality. The
only one who could do something so awful is someone who
doesn’t help!”

“I heard she stole money from her job too. Once a thief,
always a thief!”

“She never came to run the stall—she was too busy plotting
her crime all day!”

It’s all illogical nonsense, spoken from a place of self-
preservation.

I point out the fallacies with each of their testimonies
and prove her innocence.

It is clear that the reason they all doubt her comes from
a place of prejudice due to how she dresses and looks,
as well as the flippancy of her words and actions.

And just as I begin to tire of the futile arguments,
I present to them a perfect alibi.

According to the testimony of the students in charge of the
money, the crime took place shortly before five o’clock. She
and I had gone to the empty classroom to watch the fireworks
about thirty minutes later.

That means that when the proceeds were stolen, she and
I were still in the middle of looking around the festival.
Some try to argue that we are co-conspirators, but the
students whose booths we visited would be able to provide
testimony.

“You mean to tell me that she’s the culprit, but I believe
someone else fits the bill much more neatly.”

My coup de grace of a statement causes everyone in class
to fall silent—they have nothing to say in return.

A light clap breaks the silence, one that hardly fits the
gravity of the situation. In concert, the teacher showers
me with praise.

“Wow, I’m impressed! You’re just like a detective in
a mystery novel!”

Our teacher often spoke about mystery novels with fervor,
even during class, and the students consider him quite
eccentric.

Everyone’s eyes go wide. For a moment, I don’t understand
what he means.

The teacher, who has been watching silently this whole time,
speaks as though he is urging us to go home. He says he will
be looking after the classroom safe tomorrow, so we can rest
easy and enjoy day two of the festival as we please.

He then turns to me and the blonde girl and says, with
a twinkle in his eye, “If you’re the detective in this whodunit,
then that would make her your sidekick.”

“Solve the mystery of who stole our proceeds together.”
That is the task the teacher has entrusted to us.

We have a time limit: by the end of school the following
day—by the time the second and final day of the culture
festival is over.

“Cooperation, everyone!”

The first day of the culture festival comes to a strange
end, thanks to our mystery-loving homeroom teacher.

As the other students make their way home, they regard
me suspiciously or with glares.

What a fine mess this whole thing is. All I wanted to do was
study...

The blonde girl and I are the only ones left in the
classroom. We exchange wordless stares.

Still...I haven’t had a day like this in some time—a day
where everyone is frightfully aware of my existence...

Chapter 3: Inconvenient Glint (No.03)

Day two of the high school culture festival.

Purely by chance, I happened to get wrapped up in the
search for the culprit who committed theft in my class.

Just as the first day was about to come to an end,
someone stole the proceeds from our class stall.

The girl I had gone around the festival with was named
as a potential suspect.

Why? Elementary.

She dyed her hair blonde, and she wore loud, gaudy clothing.
She was poorly behaved in our typical day-to-day at school.
That was all the reason her accusers needed.

The entire class was determined to peg her as the criminal
baselessly, but I refuted their misplaced statements.

Our homeroom teacher cheered me on, insisting I was like the
detective in a mystery novel. He instructed me to search for
the true culprit by the end of the second day, with the girl
as my assistant.

And so, my blonde sidekick and I walk the school grounds
together.

I glance aside to see her with candy in her mouth,
listlessly looking around the area.

In a way, I understand. The way our classmates focused fire
on her yesterday must have stung pretty badly.

"First, we should retrace the Bunny Costume's steps..."

"Bunny Costume" is my nickname for the culprit who stole
the money during collection time. They appeared shortly
before the class's agreed collection time, took all the
money in the specific box meant for collection, and then
vanished.

If we can get a general grasp of their actions, we might
be able to find some sort of lead. First, we will have to
question our classmates.

Talking to classmates I barely spoke to in the first place
is, quite honestly, a huge challenge.

Some of them are clearly wary of the girl beside me.

But whenever I'm unsure of how to talk to them, the blonde
girl always supports me or speaks in my stead.

Many misunderstand her due to her looks or the way she talks
and acts, but she is caring and quite skilled at helping others
in a casual manner.

Whenever I look at her, I can't help but be reminded of
someone...

If I recall correctly, she only has one parent and younger
siblings. I suppose that would explain her sisterly
demeanor.

As those thoughts roll around in my mind, she suddenly
speaks to me. "Hey...thanks," she says.

I turn around, and she continues to speak. She says that
when everyone suspected her yesterday, she was afraid
they would start suspecting me too.

But she was delighted that I came to her defense instead
of suspecting her.

"All I did was say what I thought was right."

"And that made me happy."

She thanks me again. I can't see the look on her face very
well.

Nobody in our class who was working at the stall the day
prior seems to know where the bunny came from or where
it vanished to.

Even as the sun sets, we have no leads. So, with the girl
in tow, I widen our scope and begin to question the classes
with stalls near ours.

It's here that I hear something strange.

"That was right before the fireworks rehearsal, right?
Everyone was busy breaking down their stalls, so no one
would have noticed then."

Rehearsal?

I repeat this word, and the student I'm talking to points
to the poster plastered on the nearby wall.

"Today's the real show. The rehearsal was yesterday.
Pretty sweet for a trial run, though, wasn't it?"

The poster details the time and date of the fireworks show.
It's tonight...and starts later than the one the day before.

Standing still in front of the poster, the blonde girl
approaches me from behind.

"Oh, huh. The fireworks are today!"

Her tone is unnaturally bright.

Yesterday, she had dragged me to the empty classroom,
stressing how desperate she was to see beautiful fireworks.

If the rehearsal was yesterday and today is the real show,
then that makes her actions a bit odd.

"Hey, we should see the fireworks again as a do-over!"

I can sense the trouble in her voice, and it's clear that
her smile is forced. I almost want to refuse the conclusion
I come to in my head.

But...I cannot do that.

"All right..."

I fall in step behind her as she walks lightly, almost
delighted, just as I did the day before. My own steps are
heavy, and our attitudes could hardly be any more different.

Funnily enough, we arrive at the classroom at around the
same time we did yesterday.

But unlike yesterday, the cheers coming from outside feel
empty, and the ticking of the clock echoes loudly in my ears.

I'm the first to break the silence.

"I solved the mystery," I say, but the girl does not turn to
look at me. Her gaze remains fixed outside. And so, I
continue, "You used me for an alibi. You are the culprit."

After a lengthy silence, the blonde girl finally replies.

"...Do you have proof?"

I have no way of knowing what she's thinking. I take out my
phone, and with an exhausted voice, I reply.

"The clock in this classroom is thirty minutes fast. It's
not something one is likely to notice if they're not paying
attention. I was surprised. That's why you took my phone,
isn't it?"

The girl turns to look at me. And though there is spite in
her eyes, she has a smile on her face.

The moment she brought me to this classroom—or, to be more
precise, the moment I had been chosen to look for the
culprit—she had been ready for this.

"Hold on a sec," she says and leaves the classroom.

I do not give chase.

For some reason, I can't imagine her running away.
And just as I suspect, she comes back.

In her hands, she holds the box for collecting the class
proceeds.

In the box is an envelope with bills and coins.

"You're right. I stole it. I hid the money and the costume
in another empty classroom."

Here's how she committed the crime.

First, she invited me to the festival so she could have
someone to affirm her alibi. She then took my phone
so I wouldn't know the time.

Then, she took me to an empty classroom with a clock thirty
minutes fast so she could leave me and commit the crime. She
told me she was going to the restroom and instead stole the
collected money.

Afterward, she went to a different empty classroom to hide
the costume and the money, then returned to me as though
nothing had happened, and then we watched the fireworks
rehearsal together.

She put her plan together in the morning when the collection
information came through to the class chat, and then she
actually went through with it. And that shocked me.

Her grades are poor because she doesn't come to class, and
the class treats her like a nuisance. But deep down...she
isn't like that. A strange thought comes to me—if she were
under pressure, would that explain her actions?

Whatever the case, I'm gravely disappointed because I had
such a pleasant time with her yesterday.

Something else strikes me as strange.

The class proceeds aren't much, in truth. And the portion
she stole was only half a day's worth. No matter how I think
about it, it doesn't seem worth the effort to me.

She understands my intentions from my gaze. Her expression
twists.

"I didn't have a choice..." she murmurs weakly.

The first burst of the fireworks illuminates her face.

A streak of tears runs down her cheek.

Chapter 4: Return to Reality (No.04)

From the dim, empty classroom, I watch the first firework
of the show bloom brilliantly in the sky.

I glance at my phone—it started at the time mentioned on
the flier. But according to the clock in the classroom, it's
beginning thirty minutes late.

With surprising—and disappointing—ease, the blonde girl
confesses that she was the one who stole the money from
our class stall.

And...

"I didn't know what else to do... We're broke. We never have
enough money."

They're always a few hundred yen short of replacing her
little brother's tattered shoes... They can barely afford to
pay to send him on field trips... She is keenly, agonizingly
aware of how the other kids perceive her little sister when
she goes to her sports festival...

"That's why I cut down on school hours and worked instead.
But they said the money in the register didn't match up with
the records, so they blamed me, and guess who got fired?"

She didn't want to dress in a way that showed she was poor,
so she dressed herself up like any other girl her age,
within the means she had. But her cheap accessories often
came off as gaudy and vulgar.

Never did I think things would lead to this, though.

Not only that, but the small expenses of day-to-day life
were mercilessly pushing her family further into a corner.

"If it were just me and my dad, that would be one thing. But
my little brother and sister... And people still suspect
me even if I'm not doing anything."

I have no words. Though I had an inkling of what was going
on at home, I had no idea things were this desperate for her.

"What...should I have done?"

This girl sacrifices pieces of herself and even steals for
her little siblings. A painful weight settles on me when
I think of my own self-sacrificing older sister.

The fireworks glow brightly over her pain. I look her
straight in the eye.

"Let's go to the teacher."

We will be honest, and we will apologize to our classmates.
She may have to explain her situation to them if it comes to
it. But this is something we must do.

"I'll...do what I can to help you with money," I say.

She looks at me with surprise but tears well in her eyes as
a smile crosses her face, and she nods.

Together, we make our way to the staff room and to our
homeroom teacher, lover of whodunits, the eccentric who
made me the detective in this case.

When we return the money and tell him what happened,
the blonde girl offers a tearful apology. But...

"What a remarkable trick, though... If this were a mystery
novel, you'd be like a real detective!" he says cheerfully
as he counts the money and ensures that it matches the
records.

He doesn't seem like he's scolding her, nor does he ask why
she did it.

"So you stole on a whim, and you just happened to succeed.
Don't do it again, got it?"

"Er, not exactly. She planned it because of what's going
on at—"

I begin babbling in a panic, but the teacher raises
a finger, signaling me to be quiet.

"Listen. The collection plan was posted to the chat that morning.
There's no way you could have carried out something so
elaborate the same day." He then shakes his head. "This
is a prep school. If word about this became public, it would
be a disgrace. You confessed, so we're going to keep this
just between us, okay?"

He smiles. On his desk is a small stack of famous mystery
novels.

I glance aside. The blonde girl, her gaze cast downward,
says quietly, "Okay."

"Didn't you want everyone to know the truth, though?" I ask.
"Isn't that why you made me investigate?"

My voice cracks, and my fists quiver. I can't immediately
identify the emotion that wells in me.

"Maybe in the world of stories, sure. But reality isn't so
cut and dry. I think you'll understand that as you grow up..."

I can no longer stand it. I turn my back on my teacher
and do not hear the rest of what he has to say.

On the way back to the classroom, I hear the cheerful sounds
of the other students wrapping up the cultural festival.

Yet the blonde girl, her head still drooped, murmurs
quietly.

"I don't really matter, do I? Even if I don't do something,
people accuse me. And if I do something, it's treated like
nothing ever happened... It's like I'm just a convenient
excuse."

Self-deprecation sits heavily in her voice.

I want to say something, but in the end, I could not.

Once the culture festival comes to an end, the colorful
decorations are taken down, and we return to our regular
school life.

I come to school a little earlier in the morning than the
other students and study in the library. After school, I leaf
through reference documents in the library until it's time
for me to go to work.

I never spoke to her again.

Chapter 5: A Candid Chat (No.05)

Mama: Yuzuki seems aloof and hard to approach at first,
but he's such a good boy deep down!

Mama: You have no idea how happy I was when he
looked for me after I got lost in The Cage!

Babe: The kid's surprisingly clingy. Did you see how
relieved he looked when he found you?

Mama: Hee hee! Oh, and do you remember what he said?
"What good is a guide that keeps getting lost?"
Remember!?

Babe: That imitation was perfect, Mumsie.
Even better than the real thing.

Yuzuki: Hey, uh... What are you talking about?

Mama: Oh, we were just discussing the things we love
about our little Yu!

Yuzuki: Well, please stop with the—

Mama: Oh, I know! Now it's YOUR turn to say what you
like about the two of US! Doesn't that sound nice?

Yuzuki: Um... Well, I guess I... Whnn... Whnnnnn...

Mama: Um, Yu? Are you trying to get out of
this assignment by whistling?

Babe: Bwaaa ha ha! The kid can't whistle!

Yuzuki: No! I just...made a mistake. That's all.

Chapter 6: Stage of Dreams (No.06)

Gloaming turns to night, settling over the room like a
shroud. The only sound is the steady ticking of a clock.
The boy, exhausted from work and study, throws himself
onto his bed. He lies there, staring listlessly at the ceiling,
and lets his imagination wander.

The ceiling quickly becomes a night sky⁠ aglow with stars.
He draws lines and creates various constellations: A book.
A camera. A violet. The boy creates these things from the
imaginary points of light on his ceiling, filling his mind with
as much joy as he can before sleep comes to claim him.

He's alone again today.

An unpleasant noise echoes in the back of his mind: words
that were spoken about him at school. As he remembers them,
the constellations on the ceiling shudder and wink out.

His manager yelling at him. University students laughing as
he bumped into them on the street. Every time a memory of
the day replays in his mind, another imaginary star is
snuffed out. Soon, all that remains is a ceiling of perfect
black. The boy covers his ears and squeezes his eyes shut,
ready to escape into sleep—his single reprieve from reality.

Chapter 7: Museum of Bonds (No.07)

The young boy went to the museum with his mother and sister.

They saw a model of the solar system's planets hung from
the ceiling and an exhibit with dinosaur fossils on display—
the boy was fascinated. He wanted to show off everything
he'd learned from his encyclopedia, so he began to explain
what he saw. As he watched his mother nod with a smile,
he beamed and only grew more enthusiastic.

"I beg your pardon, but please keep your voice down..."
The sudden voice belonged to a museum employee.
The warning startled and embarrassed the boy,
who looked upon the rest of the displays in complete
silence. His brief joy felt like fragments of a distant
dream, now replaced with cold darkness.

Evening fell, and after a brief visit to the gift shop, they
headed home. That's when the sad boy's sister handed
him a keychain of his favorite planet, Pluto—he just liked
how the name sounded. "We'll come back sometime,"
she said, her smile like the sun's rays, warming his heart
and reaching the very edges of the solar system.

Chapter 8: Pair of Self-Reproach (No.08)

When the boy was in middle school, his family started
slowly falling apart. His mother took on loads of debt,
and his father became more violent in actions and
speech regarding the prospect of repayment.

As the cracks in their family grew, it was the boy's sister
alone who didn't give up and kept on smiling. "I bet she
could put our family back together," he thought, using his
respect as a shield from the painful reality.

One day, the boy arrived home straight from school
and heard a voice coming from the bathroom.
The rest of the family should have been at work or
school clubs. He peeked through the crack in the door
to find his sister sobbing, doing her absolute best to
do so in silence. Gripped in her hand was a brush
with a shocking amount of her hair caught in the
bristles. In the sink, too, was a mat of her hair.

The boy felt a sharp twist in his chest, and he couldn't
breathe. His sister alone was shouldering the pressure
of keeping their family together. The boy cursed his
cowardice for looking away from this reality as he locked
himself in his room, blaming himself for this for the nights to
come. He could not let his sister shoulder this burden alone.
He would never admit weakness in her presence again.

Chapter 9: Harmonies of Surrender (No.09)

When the boy was very young, he and his family went to stay
with his maternal grandparents over summer vacation. They
lived in a big house in an affluent neighborhood outside the
city. Sitting in the large living room was a beautiful grand
piano, the kind he might find in his school’s music room.

The boy’s older sister greeted it like an old friend and
cast aside the red felt covering the keys. Her pale, slender
fingers glided over the keys in a choreographed dance.
Their mother sat beside her and joined her, and together,
they played a light tune.

Drawn in by the lovely melody, their grandparents came to
listen. The sunlight pouring in from the living room window
shone over them like a spotlight on a stage.

My sister and mom are an awful lot alike, the boy
thought. Their smiles and voices always cast such a
beautiful light on everything around them. In contrast,
the boy hated how he felt like a part of a faceless audience,
in the darkness made deeper by the light of the stage.
He would never be a part of the circle of light—all he could
do was watch them from afar.

Chapter 10: Bonds Sought (No.10)

The brother and sister wander The Cage and come across a
darkness like the ocean's depths. Appearing before them are
clusters of lights—giant jellyfish swimming across the sky
and smaller bioluminescent larvae floating in their wake.

The two stand in silence, unable to draw their eyes away
from the fantastical sight. The boy thinks back to the time
he went to the aquarium when he was very young. Colored
lights bathed the jellyfish in the tank, and he remembers
what his sister said when she saw them.

"They're like...gems," her voice scarcely a whisper.

She sounds the same as she did in his memory. No matter
how distant they grow, even if they never speak to each other,
they did once spend time together... Perhaps still, they have
a sibling's bond.

They pull out their phones together, turn them in the same
direction, and take a picture so that the moment will live
on forever.

When the eclipse cracked and shattered, the sun and
the moon brought to life a miracle for these two.

They do not know why things have come to this.
They cannot say who wished for this.

But for now, all they need is a little more. A little more time
to walk side by side as brother and sister, as they once did.

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