“There’s no one left around here,” Kaname Shiraishi said out of the blue while he stared up at the ceiling in the middle of the empty library.
He spread his long arms as a bird might its wings and closed his eyes, feeling and sensing, like he was in the midst of some prayer. It resembled a cool pose a manga character would strike on a book cover. If another boy his age did this, people would laugh and mock him. There was nothing funny when Kaname did it, however.
Maybe it was because she had witnessed his agility—the way he wielded that silver bell and chased after his fleeing opponent. She’d seen him defeat his enemy in battle like a comic book character might.
“No one left?” Mio Harano questioned.
As usual, Kaname’s explanation left something to be desired. He had a tendency to speak directly about the core of a topic without any transition or introduction. Mio was entirely used to it by now and understood it as a quirk of the boy’s personality.
He slowly retracted his extended hands. “Yes. They were here—but not any longer.”
This library was part of Kusumichi Elementary. Mio had read the name on the school gate when Kaname brought her here.
An elementary school? Mio had wondered. Kaname had made his way through the school grounds without clarifying. She’d called to him, uncertain if they were allowed to be here, but Kaname hadn’t responded. He’d headed directly to the library without a single detour.
“Are we allowed to be in here? I don’t think strangers are permitted to walk on school grounds…”
There were no children now, after hours, and the school was silent. The orange of the sunset cut across the building, creating that strange, fantastical period between afternoon and night during which no souls could be felt. The front door was unlocked, and there were probably some teachers lingering around. The building couldn’t be totally empty, yet it felt mysteriously lifeless.
“It’s fine. Places tend to be desolate after they’ve been there. People stop caring about outsiders and strangers,” Kaname stated without turning around. As usual, he spoke with a one-sided tone.
“Do you mean Hanaka isn’t here?” Mio asked.
“No, all of them.”
To Mio’s mild frustration, it didn’t feel like the answer was relevant to the question. Kaname slowly shook his head. The high-collared uniform shirt beneath his light coat seemed strangely appropriate. This was an elementary school, but a school nonetheless.
Kaname lowered his gaze from the ceiling to a level plane, then exited the library without comment. He stopped at odd points, looking left and right, but always narrowed his eyes and returned to staring toward the end of the corridor. Then he would resume walking, as though following invisible arrows marking the path.
Mio didn’t understand what it meant. There had to be something that only he understood—that only he could see. The same had been true back in their second year of high school. Something had occurred that day that surpassed Mio’s understanding, and only Kaname Shiraishi could see it.
He was drawn to a particular classroom.
“Here. They were here, but not anymore.”
“Huh?”
The sign over the room read Class 5-2. Sure enough, the desks and chairs were a lot smaller than those meant for adults. Each seat featured a handmade cushion and drawstring bag. Student drawings and calligraphy covered the walls. It seemed like a perfectly ordinary elementary school classroom to Mio. Nothing appeared out of place.
Kaname paced toward the back end of the room. He held up his skinny arms to the far wall and eyed a particular spot.
What could it be?
Mio followed his gaze to some kind of chart. Flower-Circle Stickers. Next to each group’s number was a very long list of red stickers stuck to the sheet.