Chapter 3

Chapter Three Days I don’t recognize that ringtone, I think drowsily. An alarm? But I’m still sleepy. And you know what, I’m going right back to sleep. Eyes still shut, I grope for the smartphone I know I put beside my futon. Huh? I reach farther. Grr, that alarm is so noisy. Where’d I put it? “—Ow!” My back hits the floor with an emphatic thud. Apparently, I’ve managed to fall out of bed. Ow, ow, ow, ow… Wait, what? Bed? I finally open my eyes and sit up. Huh? The room is completely unfamiliar. And I’m in it. Did I sleep over somewhere last night? “…Where am I?” The moment I murmur the words, I notice a strange heaviness in my throat. By reflex, I put a hand to it. The throat my fingers find is hard and angular. “Hmm?” My voice slips out again, and it’s really low. I look down at myself. …They’re gone. A T-shirt I’ve never seen before falls flat all the way to my stomach, and they’re not there. My boobs are gone. And right in the middle of my freakishly visible lower body, there’s…something. Something asserting its presence strongly enough to overwrite the feeling of wrongness precipitated by my missing boobs. What is…this? Slowly, I extend my hand, reaching for that area. All the blood in my body and all the skin over it is being pulled toward that one spot. …Is this, um…? L-location-wise, it’s… …………… ………… …… I touch it. And very nearly pass out. Who is this guy? I’m gazing at a strange face in the mirror of a strange bathroom. His slightly showy hairstyle brushes his eyebrows, apparently aiming for a casual/calculated ratio of about 6:4. The eyebrows are stubborn-looking, but his eyes are on the wide side and make him seem like a bit of a pushover. His chapped lips seem completely unacquainted with the concept of moisturizer, and his neck looks stiff. His cheeks are lean, with clean lines, and for some reason, there’s a big bandage on one of them. When I touch it gingerly, there’s a dull throb. —But. Even though it hurts, I don’t wake up. My throat is bone-dry. I twist the faucet, fill my hands with tap water, and drink. It’s unpleasantly warm and smells like chemicals, like pool water. “Taki, are you up?” Abruptly, a man’s voice calls from somewhere in the distance, and I give a little shriek of alarm. Taki? “Breakfast was your job today, kid. Remember? You overslept.” Nervously, I peek into what looks like a living room. As he speaks, a middle-aged man in a suit glances at me, then immediately returns his attention to the dishes. “I-I’m sorry!” I apologize out of habit. “I’m heading out. There’s miso soup—go ahead and finish it off.” “Um, yessir.” “And go to school. Even if you’re late.” On that note, the man briskly piles up the dishes, puts them in the small kitchen, passes by me as I stand petrified in the doorway, goes to the foyer, dons his shoes, opens the door, steps out, and shuts it behind him. It all happens so fast there’d have been barely enough time for a kite to call once. “…What a weird dream,” I say out loud. I take another look around the room. There are photos and design sketches of bridges and buildings and structures all over the walls. The floor is a careless mess of magazines and paper bags and cardboard boxes. Compared to the Miyamizu house, tidy as a venerable old Japanese inn (all thanks to Gran), this place seems wild and lawless. The room is really small—probably a condominium. If this is my dream, I have no idea where it came from, but I’m impressed by how real it seems. I guess I’ve got a pretty good imagination. Maybe I could be some kind of artist when I grow up. Tweedle! A text alert echoes from the depths of the hall with such impeccable timing that it seems like a comeback. Eep! I gasp, hastily dashing back to the room where the bed was. The smartphone’s on the floor beside the sheets, and there’s a short message on its screen. Are you still home? Get over here, run! Tsukasa Huh? What? What’s this? Who in the world is Tsukasa?! At any rate, I guess I have to go to school. I scan the room. My eyes stop on a boy’s uniform hanging beside the window, and as I pick it up, I’m suddenly aware of another emergency. Oh, for the love of…! I need to pee. Haaaaaah. I heave a sigh nearly strong enough to deflate my whole body. What is wrong with guys’ bodies, anyway?! I managed to do my business somehow, but I’m still shaking with anger. The harder I tried to pee, and the more I tried to aim it with my fingers, the more the thing changed shape and the harder it got to go. What’s up with that?! Are they stupid?! Are they idiots?! Or is this guy weird?! Arrrgh! I’d never even seen one of those before! And excuse me, but I’m technically a shrine maiden! After I change into the uniform, keeping my head bent from the awful shame and fighting back tears (I can’t actually fight them all back, and a few slip out), I open the condo’s door. Well, for now, I’ll just go, I think, and raise my head. —And then. My eyes are riveted. The view before me leaves me breathless. I’m standing on the outside corridor of a high-rise condo that’s probably on a hill. Below lies a generous carpet of greenery, like a large park. The sky is a vivid cerulean blue, without the slightest blemish. On the border between the blue and green, ranks of buildings of all sizes line up neatly, like extra-intricate origami. Each and every one is stamped with minute, exquisite windows like the mesh of a net. Some of the windows reflect blue, others are tinted green, and still others simply glitter in the morning sun. I can see a red tower, tiny with distance, and a silver building whose rounded lines remind me vaguely of a whale, and a shining black building that looks as though it’s been cut from a block of obsidian. I’m sure these buildings and several of the others are famous—even I recognize some of them. Far away, little toy cars flow in neat, orderly lines. It’s the scenery of the biggest city in Japan, and compared with what I’d imagined, it’s— Actually, come to think of it, I’ve never really tried to visualize what it would be like before, but it’s much, much more beautiful than it looks in the movies and on TV. It hits me hard, right in the chest. “Tokyo,” I murmur. This world is far too dazzling. I inhale deeply and squint, as if looking at the sun. “Hey, where’d you buy this?” “In Nishi-Azabu, on the way home from lessons.” “Guess who’s gonna be opening for their next big concert?” “Yo, wanna skip club today and go catch a movie?” “An agency employee is coming to the mixer tonight.” Wh-what’s with these conversations? Are these people actually modern Japanese high schoolers? Maybe they’re just reading posts off some celebrity’s Facebook page? I watch the classroom from where I’m standing, half-hidden behind the door, timing my entrance. I used my smartphone’s GPS to get here, and even then, I got incredibly lost. By the time I found the school, the lunch bell was already chiming away. Still, this school— Glass windows that take up entire walls, bare concrete, colorful iron doors with round windows… It’s so abnormally fancy, I have to wonder whether it’s a World Expo venue or something. This Taki Tachibana guy, a boy my age, lives in a world like this? I think of his name, which I found in his student handbook, and his smug expression on his ID photo. They annoy me a little. “Taaaki!” “—!” Somebody abruptly throws an arm around my shoulders from behind, and I give a wordless yelp. When I look, a bespectacled CEO-type (only neat and sophisticated) is smiling at me, close enough that our bangs are almost touching. Eeeeeek! ’Scuse me, mister—this is the closest I’ve ever been to a guy in my life! “Look at you, showing up at noon. Let’s go eat.” With that, the kid with glasses sets off down the hall, still hugging my shoulders. No, seriously, you’re way too close! “Ignore my text, will you?” he accuses, but he doesn’t sound mad. Then I figure it out. “…Excuse me… Wait, Tsukasa?” “Ha-ha, ‘excuse me’? Do I detect a note of contrition?” I don’t know how to respond to that, so for the moment, I quietly extricate myself from his arm. “…You got lost?” Takagi—a big, good-natured guy—shouts, not bothering to hide his astonishment. “How the heck did you manage to get lost on the way to school?” “Um…” I falter. The three of us are sitting in a corner of the wide rooftop. It’s supposed to be lunchtime right now, but there aren’t many people around. Maybe they’re avoiding the summer sun. “Oh, um, ’scuse me—” “‘’Scuse me’?” Takagi and Tsukasa eye each other dubiously. Oops, that’s right: I’m Taki Tachibana now. “Uh, I mean, um… Oh. Pardon me…?” “Hunh?” “Sorry……” “Say what?” “……Whatever?” Uh-huh, they nod, still looking bewildered. I see, so he’s the “whatever” type. Got it! “I was just enjoyin’ myself a little. Tokyo’s kinda like a festival. Real lively.” “…What’s with the accent?” asks Takagi. “Huh?!” I have an accent? I turn red. “Taki, where’s your lunch?” Tsukasa prods. “Huh?!!” I didn’t bring one! As I hunt through my school bag, sweating bullets, they laugh. “Do you have a fever or something?” “Tsukasa, you got anything?” “Egg sandwich. Let’s stick that croquette of yours in here.” Here. The two of them hand me the improvised egg-croquette sandwich. Their kindness touches my heart. “Thank you…” They both grin at me wordlessly. To think boys could be so stylish and kind…! No, Mitsuha, don’t do it! Don’t fall for both of them at once! —Well, no, I’m not falling for anybody, but Tokyo is fantastic, anyway! “So listen, after class today, wanna go to that café again?” Takagi asks, and without thinking, I stare at him as he takes a bite of rice. “Yeah, good idea,” Tsukasa replies. Taking a swig of water out of a plastic bottle, his throat works smoothly. Huh? What? Where did he say we were going? “What about you, Taki? You’re coming, right?” “Huh?!” “To the café.” “C-c-caféeeee?!” The furrows between their eyebrows deepen, but I ignore it. My mood is soaring, and I can’t repress my excitement. This is it! Who’s laughing now, bus stop café?! Two tiny dogs dressed in pop idol–style outfits are sitting on a wicker chair, watching me with eyes like candy drops and wagging their tails so hard they seem liable to come off. There’s an incredible amount of space between each table, and fully half the customers are foreign. A third are wearing sunglasses, three-fifths are wearing hats, and not one is wearing a suit. There’s no telling what any of them do for a living. What is this place? Adults go to cafés with their little dogs on weekdays, in broad daylight?! “I like the timberwork on the ceiling.” “Yeah. They put serious effort into that.” Tsukasa and Takagi don’t seem the least bit intimidated by this supremely trendy space. They’re smiling and discussing their impressions of the interior. Apparently, these boys are touring different cafés because they’re interested in architecture. What kind of hobby is that?! Aren’t high school guys into magazines like MU?! “Taki, do you know what you want?” Prompted by Tsukasa, I stop dissecting the café and let my eyes fall to the heavy, leather-bound menu. “…! I—I could live for a month on how much these pancakes cost!” “What era are you from, again?” Takagi laughs. “Umm…” I stress about it for a little while and then remember: Oh. Right. This is a dream. Well, in that case, why not? It’s Taki Tachibana’s money anyway. I’ll just eat whatever I want. Ahhhh, what a great dream… The pancakes are the heavyweight kind, a fortress solidly flanked by things like mango and blueberries. After finishing them, I sip cinnamon coffee, deeply satisfied. Tweedle. The smartphone in my pocket chirps… Huh. There are an awful lot of angry-vein symbols in this text. “…Agh! What’ll I do? It says I’m late for work! Somebody who’s probably my boss is mad at me!” “Wait, you had a shift today?” asks Takagi. “You better hurry and go, then,” says Tsukasa. “Right!” I hastily stand. Oh, but… “What’s up?” “Umm… Where do I work again?” “……Say what?” The two boys have soared past disgust. They seem about ready to snap. Gimme a break. I know absolutely nothing about this guy! “Excuse me—isn’t our order ready yet?” “Taki! Go take table twelve’s order!” “This isn’t what I asked for.” “Taki! I told you, we’re out of the truffles!” “Is our check ready yet?” “Taki, you’re in the way! Move!” “Taki, you idiot, do your job!” “Taki!” The place is a dauntingly ritzy Italian restaurant. It’s a two-story building that’s open all the way up, atrium-style. The ceiling is hung with sparkling chandeliers, and there are big propellers up there, too, spinning slowly. I’ve seen something like them in a movie. Taki Tachibana is a bow tie–wearing waiter, and at dinnertime, the restaurant is hellishly busy. I’m being swept this way and that by a muddy torrent of confusion, getting orders wrong, serving them wrong, getting tsked at by customers and yelled at by the chefs. Come on, people, I’ve never worked here before! Actually, I’ve never worked a part-time job before, period! This is a total nightmare! Waaaah, seriously, when am I gonna wake up?! This is all your fault, stupid Taki Tachibana! “—’Scuse me. You. Boy.” “Huh? Uh, yes?!” I’ve already gone a little ways past the customer who flagged me down, and I turn back hastily. How am I supposed to know to respond to “boy,” huh? Wow. The man’s an obvious thug, complete with open-collared shirt, gold chain, and lots of clunky rings. Still, if you go to the next city over from my town, there are a lot of guys like him hanging out in front of the station. His type feels a little more familiar to me than the celebrity-esque luster of the other customers. When he speaks, there’s a thin smarm in his voice: “Listen. There was a toothpick in my pizza.” “Huh?” Mr. Thug picks up the very last slice of basil pizza with his fingertips. There’s a toothpick sticking out of the edge where it was sliced, basically screaming that someone jabbed it in there after the fact. Maybe he’s joking around with me. I’m bewildered, unsure how to respond, and Mr. Thug continues with a seemingly fixed smile. “It woulda been bad if I’d eaten that, right? We’re just lucky I noticed it. What’re you gonna do?” “Huh…?” I get the feeling I really can’t afford to say, You really stuck that in there yourself, right, sir? I give a noncommittal smile instead… Conversely, his fades. “I’m asking you what you’re gonna do about it?!” Crash! All of a sudden, he kicks the table up with his knee and starts yelling. Instantly, the murmur of conversation freezes. I tense up, too. “—Sir! Is something the matter?” A woman appears and pushes me out of the way. She glances at me and whispers, “I’ve got this!” Someone else grabs my arm from behind and drags me away—a waiter who’s probably worked there longer than me. “You’re acting pretty weird today,” he says, looking concerned. “I’m terribly sorry about that, sir!” Out of the corner of my eye, I see the woman bowing deeply to the thug. The background hum returns, as if someone’s twisted the volume back up. I’m pushing an industrial vacuum cleaner that’s as big as a lawn mower over the floor. The restaurant’s finally closed. The lights in the chandeliers have dimmed, and all the tables have been stripped. One employee polishes glasses, another checks the stock in the refrigerator, and somebody else is doing something with the computers at the cashier counter. The woman who rescued me is wiping down the tables one by one. For a little while now, I’ve been trying—and failing—to find an opportunity to speak to her. Her long hair has a soft wave to it. From the side, it hides her eyes, and I can’t read her expression. Still, her lustrous, glossy lips are curved into a gentle smile. Her arms and legs are slender, and her waist is very small—and yet she’s got big boobs. She’s just incredibly cool somehow. Passing her, I catch a glimpse of the name tag on that proud bosom. It reads Okudera. Perfect! “Miss Okudera?” Just as I take the plunge and speak, somebody pokes me in the back of the head. “That’s senpai to you!” The guy who poked me sounds like he’s joking. He goes back into the kitchen, a stack of menus in one hand. I see, so she’s got seniority on me. Okay! “Um, Okudera-senpai! That was really…” “Taki. You had a rough day today, didn’t you?” As she speaks, she turns and looks me right in the eye. Her long eyelashes curve toward the ceiling, her perfectly shaped almond eyes are the epitome of beauty, and her sexy voice sends a tickle down my back. I instinctively feel compelled to tell her I love you! My cheeks flush a little, and I hastily look down. “Uh, no, it wasn’t really ‘rough,’ just…” “That guy was totally full of it. I handled it according to the manual and let him have his food for free, but…” She doesn’t seem all that angry. She flips the rag over and starts wiping down another table. Just as I’m about to try to prolong the conversation… “Eek! Okudera-senpai!” Another waitress cries out. “Your skirt!” “Hmm?” Miss Okudera twists to inspect her rear, and her face rapidly flushes. Now that I’m looking, I can see a rough, horizontal slash just above her thigh. With a shocked little shriek, she pulls her apron around to hide the tear. “Are you hurt?” “Geez! Nasty. Was it that one dude?” “I think something like that’s happened before…” “Was someone harassing you?” “Do you remember the guy’s face?” Several staff members gather around Okudera-senpai, chattering worriedly. Eyes downcast, she’s gone very still. I stand motionless, like an idiot, with the words I’d prepared still on my tongue. Her shoulders tremble slightly. I think I see little tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. This time, I need to rescue her. The thought seems to burst inside me, and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve grabbed Okudera-senpai’s hand and started walking. I hear voices at my back (“Hey! Taki, you little…”), but I ignore them. The green can be a field. The orange is flowers and butterflies. I want at least one more design element. The brown is— Sure, it’ll be a hedgehog. The cream is for its nose. Pinching the edges of the tear in the skirt, I deftly whipstitch it together. For some reason, there were several colors of embroidery thread in the changing room sewing kit, so I’m taking the opportunity to make this a bit of an elaborate repair job. Gran trained me in needlework, and it’s something I’m particularly good at. “All done!” I hand the skirt to Miss Okudera. It’s only taken me about five minutes to finish. “…Huh? This is…” The dubious expression she’s worn since I dragged her to the dressing room quickly shifts to surprise. “This is amazing! Taki, wow! It’s even cuter than it was before!” The tear in the skirt was a straight, horizontal line about six inches long, so as I stitched it together, I turned it into a scene of a hedgehog playing in a field. The skirt is dark brown, so the little decoration acts as an accent, my thought being a cute motif would look especially good on a sophisticated beauty like Okudera-senpai. She has an even-featured, gorgeous, magazine-model face, but when she smiles, she’s more approachable, like an older girl from the neighborhood. “You really saved me today. Thank you very much.” I finally managed to say it. “Heh-heh!” Okudera-senpai’s large eyes narrow softly when she smiles. “To tell you the truth, I was a little worried back there. You’re weak, Taki, but you’re always so quick to fight.” As she speaks, her slim fingers lightly tap her left cheek. Oh. Vaguely, I grasp the reason for the bandage on Taki Tachibana’s face. “I like this version of you better,” Okudera-senpai says, a bit mischievously. “You’re surprisingly in touch with your feminine side, Taki.” My heart leaps with a bo-yo-yoing. Her smile is absolutely unbeatable. It makes me want to give her everything I have for free. I think it’s the most precious thing I’ve seen in Tokyo today. The yellow train I take to get home is empty. By now, I’ve realized that Tokyo is filled with all sorts of scents. Convenience stores, family restaurants, the people I pass, the edge of the park, construction sites, the station at night, the inside of the train… Almost every ten steps, the aromas change. I never knew human beings had such pronounced smells when gathered in one place. And for every lighted window that skims past my vision, there’s a person living in this city. My heart is strangely stirred by the ranks of buildings that stretch as far as the eye can see, by their dizzying numbers and the overwhelming weight of them, almost like a mountain range. Taki Tachibana is one of the residents here, too. Softly, I extend a hand toward the boy reflected in the train window. His face annoyed me a little, but I guess I don’t hate it. I’m starting to feel a sense of camaraderie with this guy, as if he’s a fellow soldier who endured this rough day with me. But you know— “Y’know, this is a really impressive dream, if I do say so myself.” Back at his house, I throw myself onto the bed where I woke up this morning. I’ll tell Tesshi and Saya about all this tomorrow: Listen to this dream I had! Isn’t that amazin’? Aren’t you awed by my fantastic imagination?! It’s like I actually went to Tokyo! I bet I’m gonna be a manga artist—or no, wait, I’m not so great at art, but I bet writin’ novels would be a cakewalk. I’ll probably make a ton of money! You wanna be my roommates in Tokyo? Fantasizing about this and grinning to myself, I roll over onto my back, pick up Taki Tachibana’s smartphone, and start skimming through it with my fingertip. Oh look, he keeps a diary. [9/7 Ate at KFC with Tsukasa and Co.] [9/6 Movie in Hibiya] [8/31 Architecture Tour—Bayside Edition] [8/25 Payday!] As I scroll backward through the headers, I’m impressed in spite of myself. “He’s real thorough.” Then I tap the photo app. Most of the pictures are landscapes. After those, the majority are of him with Tsukasa and Takagi. Eating ramen together, going to the park together… They sure are close. A beef bowl place, a soba shop at the station, a trendy hamburger joint. The road home from school. Sunset through the gaps between the buildings. His friends’ backs. Jet contrails in the sky overhead. “Lucky him, livin’ in Tokyo…” As I murmur, a yawn slips out. Starting to get sleepy, I go to the next photo. “Oh, it’s Okudera-senpai.” The picture is of her back as she’s cleaning the restaurant window, and it feels like a candid shot. In the next, she’s noticed and turned to face the camera, beaming and flashing a peace sign. …Maybe he likes Okudera-senpai, I think out of nowhere. It’s bound to be unrequited, though. She’s in college. To her, high school guys are still just kids. I sit up on the bed and create an entry in his diary app. Then I start typing in everything I experienced today. About how I made a lot of mistakes but connected with Okudera-senpai at the end. About how, on the way home from work, we walked from the restaurant to the station together. I capture all of it in the entry, wanting to report it—or brag about it—to Taki Tachibana. Once I’m done, I yawn again. Then, out of nowhere… Who are you? For some reason, I remember the line scribbled in my Japanese notebook. Vaguely, I can picture Taki Tachibana in my body, writing that note in my room in Itomori before he falls asleep. What a bizarre idea. Still, there’s something oddly persuasive about it. I take a felt-tip marker from the desk, and on the palm of my hand, I write: Mitsuha Yaaaawwn… That’s the third yawn. Unsurprisingly, today wore me out. It was a colorful, thrilling day. It feels as if I spent all of it getting pelted by a rainbow-colored shower. Even without background music, this world dazzled me from start to finish. I imagine how startled Taki Tachibana’s going to react when he sees the writing on his hand, and, smiling a little, I fall asleep. “…What is this?” I say the words aloud, despite myself. I’m staring at my hand. Finally, I let my eyes drop from the letters on my palm down to my wrinkled uniform and necktie… So, what—I fell asleep without changing? “—Wh…wh-what is this?!” This time, I actually yell. We’re having breakfast, and my dad glances at me but promptly loses interest and returns his attention to his bowl. I stare at my phone, stunned. There’s a really long journal entry on it that I don’t remember writing. …And on the way home from work, Okudera-senpai and I walked to the station together, just the two of us! It’s all because I’m in touch with my feminine side. “Taki, want to hit another café today?” “Uh, sorry, I’ve got work after this.” “Ha-ha. You know where to go?” “Huh? …Hey! Tsukasa, you jerk, was that you?” I raise my voice without meaning to. Actually, I wish it was him. Tsukasa’s puzzled expression tells me it wasn’t, though. Even I know there’s no reason somebody’d go to all that trouble for a prank. Getting up from my chair, I reluctantly excuse myself: “…Nah, never mind. See ya.” As I leave the classroom, I hear Takagi’s voice behind me. Dude’s back to normal today. An uneasy shiver shoots through me, and my feet get cold. Something very weird is happening to me. “…Wh-what?” After I change into my work clothes, three of my senior coworkers are standing outside the changing room when I open the door, blocking my way. There’s one regular staffer and two college part-timers, all guys, and they’re glaring at me with eyes that look bloodshot or maybe teary… Either way, not good. I swallow hard, and the three of them start in on me in menacing tones. “Taki, you scumbag, whaddaya think you’re doing, getting a jump on us?” “You’d better have an excuse, weasel.” “You two left together yesterday, didn’t you?” “Huh… Wait, no way—seriously?! I did? With Okudera-senpai?!” Meaning that journal entry was real?! “What happened with you two after that?!” “Uh, no, I…I really don’t remember much…” “Don’t gimme that crap!” Just as it looks like somebody’s gonna haul me up by my shirtfront, a cool voice echoes through the hall. “Okudera, reporting for duty.” Okudera-senpai arrives, her long, bare legs and the shoulders peeking out of her top gleaming in the light. She greets us with a smile, strappy sandals clicking pleasantly. “Hello, everyone.” “Hi!” She’s sort of an idol at this place, and confronted with her stunning presence, the four of us reply in unison. For a moment, we almost forget about our problem. Then Okudera-senpai turns back and looks right at me. “Let’s make it another good day. Okay, Taki?” I can almost hear a heart symbol punctuating that sentence, so sweetly delivered, followed by a wink sent my way before she disappears through the door. I turn so red, it’s like somebody dumped boiling water over my head. This is way too much. I want to go polish all the glasses in the restaurant until they shine, right this minute. “……Hey. Taki.” The guys’ voices are so dark it’s as though they’re resounding from the depths of the Earth, and I come back to myself with a jolt. —Not good. As the senior staff cross-examines me, almost wailing, I wonder: What’s going on here? Are they pranking me? Is everybody in on it? …Nah, couldn’t be. What’d I do while I was out of it? What the heck is “Mitsuha”? The birds are energetically twittering away again this morning. There’s a newborn clarity to the early sun that streams in through the paper sliding doors, and the morning is peaceful, as usual. Even so, although I’ve just woken up, unfamiliar writing with a quality of pure, concentrated irritation is scrawled across my arm. Mitsuha??? What are you? Who are you???? The letters are big and messy, written roughly with a super-thick Magic Marker, from my palm all the way up to my elbow. “Sis, what is that?” When I look up, Yotsuha’s standing in the open sliding door. I make a face that says, That’s what I want to know. My little sister’s face replies, Well, it doesn’t really matter. “You’re not feelin’ up your boobs today, huh? Break! Fast! Time! Hurry up!” She shuts the sliding door with a sharp clack, just like always, and I watch her from my futon. Huh? Boobs? I’m “not feeling them up today”? …Excuse me? My mind produces a gratuitous image of myself happily squeezing my own boobs… B-but that’s so perverted and gross! “Mornin’!” I say as I enter the classroom. The minute I do, all my classmates’ eyes are on me. Eep! I give a little gasp. Wh-what? Trying to make myself small and inconspicuous, I cross to my seat by the window. I hear whispers. “Miyamizu was really cool yesterday, huh.” “Uh-huh. I didn’t think she had it in her.” “Her personality’s kinda changed, though, yeah?” “U-um, people are lookin’ at me…” “Well, what did you expect? After what you pulled yesterday, they can’t help it,” says Saya. “‘What I pulled yesterday’?” I ask, sitting down. Saya peers into my face, looking puzzled and worried. —You know…durin’ art yesterday, when we were sketchin’ that still life. Huh? You really don’t remember? Again? Honestly, Mitsuha, are you okay? You and me were in the same group. We were supposed to be drawin’ the vase and the apples—y’know, the subject that doesn’t make any sense. Except you sketched a landscape instead. Well, that bit doesn’t matter. Anyway, Matsumoto’s group was behind us, and they were talkin’ nasty, the way they always do. What, you want to know? Um, well, about the mayoral election. Huh? Details? Oh, you know, how the town administration is all just figurin’ out how to hand out subsidies, and it’s the same no matter who does it, but how there are “some kids” whose livelihood depends on it, et cetera. Dumb stuff like that. When you heard them, you said, “That’s me they’re talkin’ about, right?” So I said I thought it probably was. I mean, if you ask me, I’m gonna answer, right? Then, Mitsuha, what do you suppose you did? You seriously don’t remember? You kicked the desk with the vase on it right toward Matsumoto’s group! And with a great big grin on your face! Matsumoto and the others got scared, and of course, the vase broke, and the whole class went dead quiet. Actually, you gave me the chills, too! “Wh-wh-what in the world?” I turn pale. After school, I run straight home. Yotsuha and Gran are in the living room, drinking tea without a care in the world. Glancing at them out of the corner of my eye, I run up the stairs, shut myself in my room, and open my classics notebook. Who are you? it still reads. I turn a few more pages. My skin crawls. Now there’s a whole two pages filled with small letters in the same handwriting. First, in big letters, Mitsuha Miyamizu. Then there are lots of question marks around it and bits of personal information about me. Year 2, Class 3 / Teshigawara , friend, occult geek, dumb but a good guy / Sayaka , friend, quiet, kinda cute Lives with her grandma and her little sister Yotsuha / Way out in the sticks / Her dad is mayor / She’s a shrine maiden? / Sounds like her mom is dead / Her dad doesn’t live with them / Doesn’t have many friends / Has boobs Then, in larger letters, What the heck is this life?? I stare at the notebook. I’m trembling. The scenery of Tokyo shimmers in my mind, as faint as a rising haze. Cafés, a part-time job, guy friends, walking home with someone… A corner of my heart catches the tail of an impossible conclusion. “Is this…? Could we be…?” “Is this seriously…?” I’m holed up in my room, staring at my phone in denial. For a while now, my fingers have been shaking as if they partly belong to somebody else as I scroll through the entries in my journal app. Sandwiched between the ones I wrote, there are several headers I don’t remember. First Harajuku-Omotesando panini-rama! / At Odaiba aquarium with two boys / Observation platform tour and flea market / Visited father’s workplace Kasumigaseki District! A corner of my mind catches the tail of an inconceivable conclusion. Could this be…? In my dreams, are this girl and I— In my dreams, are this boy and I— —switching bodies?! The sun rises from the edge of the mountains. Little by little, the daylight washes over the lake town. The birds in the morning, the hush at midday, the insect songs in the evening, the glitter of the night sky. The sun rises between the buildings. Little by little, the daylight glints off countless windows. The throngs of people in the morning, the hum of midday, the scents of everyday life at half-light, the sparkle of the streets at night. Over and over, we’re captivated by moments like these. And, gradually, we learn. Taki Tachibana—Taki—is a high school kid my age who lives in Tokyo, and… At irregular intervals, unexpectedly, two or three times a week, I swap bodies with Mitsuha Miyamizu, who lives way out in the sticks. It triggers when we fall asleep. We have no idea what causes it. Our memories of the time we spend switched fade as soon as we wake up. It feels like a lucid dream. Even so, we’re definitely swapping. The reactions of the people around us prove it more than anything. Now that we’re aware that we are actually switching with each other, we’re starting to hold on to bits of memories from the dreams. For example, at this point, even when I’m awake, I know there’s a boy named Taki who lives in Tokyo. Now I’m positive there’s a girl named Mitsuha living in a country town somewhere. I don’t have any solid evidence or rational explanation, but I have this strange sense that tells me it’s real. We’ve also started communicating with each other. On the days when we switch, we leave diary entries or notes on each other’s smartphones. We’ve tried texting and calling, too, but for some reason, neither of us could get through. Anyway, we’re lucky we figured out a way to communicate at all. We both need to keep each other’s lives intact and undisturbed… So we set rules. <To Taki—Don’ts List #1> • Absolutely no baths, ever. • Do not look at or touch my body. • When you sit, keep your legs together. • Don’t get too friendly with Tesshi. Try to get him and Saya together. • Don’t touch other boys. • Don’t touch the girls, either. <To Mitsuha—Don’ts List Ver. 5> • I told you before, don’t waste my money. Remember? • Don’t be late for school or work. Learn how to get there already. • Don’t talk with an accent. • Are you sneaking baths? I think I smell shampoo… • Don’t get cuddly with Tsukasa, you idiot. People will get the wrong idea. • Don’t get too friendly with Okudera-senpai, I’m begging you. —But still… I grit my teeth reading another of Mitsuha’s journal entries. Reading Taki’s entry in my diary, my blood starts to boil. Honestly, I swear, this is just completely… That guy… is such a…! That girl… You “tore up the court” playing basketball in gym?! That’s not me at all! Not only that, what are you doing jumping and bouncing around in front of the boys?! Saya even yelled at me and told me to keep my chest and stomach and legs covered properly! Male gazes! Watch your skirt! This is very basic stuff!! Mitsuha, you twit, don’t go scarfing down crazy-expensive cakes! You’re freaking out Tsukasa and the other guys, and that’s my money! It’s your body eating them, Taki! Besides, I’m working at that restaurant, too! Plus, you’re taking too many shifts. I can’t do anything fun this way. That’s because you keep burning through my money! And seriously, no matter what I do, I can’t make those braided cords with your grandma! On the way home, Okudera-senpai and I stopped and had tea! I tried to buy hers for her, but she paid for mine instead. “Take me out when you graduate from high school,” she said! Can you believe that? “That’s a promise,” I told her, all cool-like. Your relationship is blossoming, so, you’re welcome. Mitsuha, what the hell do you think you’re doing?! Don’t go messing with my relationships! Taki! What is this love letter?! Why is some guy I don’t know confessing to me?! Why did you tell him you’d “think about it”?! Ha-ha. You aren’t using your assets at all. Don’cha think you’d be more popular if you let me run your life? Don’t get full of yourself! You don’t even have a girlfriend! You don’t have anybody, either! It’s not that… I don’t have one—I’m just not looking! It’s not that… That’s Mitsuha’s ringtone. Meaning, I’m living in the country today, I think sleepily. Awesome. I’ll get to put in some more time on the café project I’m working on with Teshigawara after school. Yeah, and also— I sit up on the futon and look down at my body. Mitsuha’s pajamas have gotten really conservative lately. She used to sleep in a baggy nightshirt without a bra. This morning, though, she’s wearing underwear that’s kinda constricting and this shirt that’s buttoned up all the way. There’s no telling when we’re gonna swap, so she’s being careful. Well, I get that. I do. But. I reach for her breasts. This is my body today. Nothing wrong with touching my own body, I think, just like always. Only. Except. But… My hands pause, and I mutter quietly: “…Guess I shouldn’t.” The sliding door rattles open. “……You really do like your boobs, don’t you, Sis?” That’s all the little sister says before closing the sliding door. I watch her go…while kneading my breasts. …This is okay, right? From on top of her clothes. Just a little. “Graaaaan. Why’s the body of our shrine’s god all the way out here?” Yotsuha whines. Gran, who’s walking in front of us, answers without turning around. “Thanks to Mayugorou, I don’t know, either.” Mayugorou? “…Who’s that?” I whisper to Yotsuha, who’s plodding along next to me. “Huh? You dunno? He’s famous.” Famous? I don’t really get how these relationships work in the country. The three Miyamizu women—me, the grandma, and Yotsuha—have been hiking mountain roads for almost an hour already. Today, they tell me, we’re taking an offering up to the body of their shrine’s god on top of the mountain. These people are living in a folktale, I think, thoroughly impressed. The sun shining through the canopy of maple leaves dyes them bright red. The air is crisp and dry, and there’s a strong scent of dead leaves in the pleasant wind. October. Who knows when it happened, but it’s full autumn in this town now. Come to think of it, I wonder how old this old lady is. The thought comes to me gazing at the small back ahead of me. Even on this mountain trail, she’s wearing traditional clothes. She’s a surprisingly strong walker, but her back has a textbook stoop, and she’s using a walking stick. I’ve never lived with an old person, so I can’t even begin to guess her age or what kind of shape she’s in. “Hey, Grandma!” I break into a run, then kneel in front of her, offering my back. After all, this little old lady is raising Mitsuha and her sister, and she always packs us really good lunches. “Let me piggyback you. If you want…” “Oh, may I?” Even as she speaks, she’s happily lowering her weight onto my back. I catch a distinct whiff of a mysterious fragrance I smelled once at somebody else’s house a very long time ago. For a moment, I get a strange, warm feeling, as if this moment has happened before. The old lady weighs nothing. “Grandma, you’re way light— Whoa!” The moment I stand, the added cargo buckles my (Mitsuha’s) knees. Yotsuha hastily supports me, complaining, “Come on, Sis!” Come to think of it, Mitsuha’s body is pretty flimsy and thin and light, too. Moving through the world this way…it’s kinda amazing. The thought gets to me a bit. “Mitsuha, Yotsuha.” I hear the old lady’s voice over my shoulder, sounding serene. “Are you familiar with musubi?” “Musubi?” Yotsuha asks the question from beside me. She’s hugging my backpack to her stomach. Below us, through the gaps between the trees, I can see the whole round lake. We’ve climbed pretty high. Mitsuha’s body is all sweaty from climbing with her grandma on her back. “In the old language, our local guardian deity is called Musubi, ‘creator of spirits.’ It’s a word with several very profound meanin’s.” Guardian deity? Where’d this come from all of a sudden? Still, the old lady’s voice is like something out of the Manga Japan Folktales program, and it’s oddly persuasive. “Did you know?” she starts again. “Joinin’ threads is called musubi. Joinin’ people is also musubi. The passage of time is musubi, too. They all use the same word. It’s a name for our god, and the god’s power. It describes the braided cords we make, divine acts, and the flow of time itself.” I can hear the murmur of running water. Must be a stream around here, I think. “Comin’ together to form a shape, twistin’ and tanglin’, sometimes comin’ undone, breakin’ off, then reunitin’. That’s a braided cord. That’s time. That’s musubi.” Without really meaning to, I visualize a stream of clear water. It runs up against rocks and splits, mingles with others, joins up again, and, seen as a whole, it’s all connected. I don’t really understand what the old lady’s saying, but I feel as if I’ve learned something very important. Musubi. Even after I wake up, I’ll make sure to remember that word. Sweat drips off my chin, falling to the ground with a distinctive plop, and is absorbed into the dry mountain. “Here, drink up.” We take a short break in the shade. The old lady hands me a thermos. It’s nothing big, just sweetened barley tea. Even so, it’s shockingly good, and I drain two cups in a row. “C’mon! Me too!” Yotsuha pesters. This may be the best drink I’ve ever had. “That’s another musubi.” “Huh?” As I hand the thermos to Yotsuha, I involuntarily look over at the old lady. She’s sitting at the base of a tree. “Puttin’ anythin’ in your body, whether it’s water, rice, or sake, is also called musubi. Did you know that? What you put in your body binds to your soul, you see. And so, the offerin’ we’re makin’ today is an important tradition meant to connect the god and humans to each other, a custom that the Miyamizu family has observed for centuries.” Before I notice, the trees end, and the lake town below us—now about the size of a sketchbook—is half-hidden beneath the clouds. When I look up, the wisps of cloud still overhead seem paper-thin, transparent and shining. They’re flowing rapidly into the distance and dissolving in the strong wind. We’re in a rocky area where only moss grows. We’ve finally reached the peak. “I see it, I see it!” Yotsuha’s skipping around. I catch up to her and follow her gaze. Ahead, there’s a crater-like basin about the size of an athletic field, as if the top of the mountain has been gouged out. The inside is a green, marshy area, and near its center stands a massive, solitary tree. I’d never even imagined a view like this one, and I stare. It’s almost like a natural floating garden. You’d never be able to see it from the town. The boondocks are all kinds of awesome. “This is the edge of the other side,” the old lady says. We’ve gone down to the basin floor, and there’s a little brook flowing in front of us. The big tree is beyond. “Other side?” Yotsuha and I say together. “The hidden world, the next world.” The next world. Grandma’s folktale voice strokes my back like a cold wind. My feet falter just a little. A sacred mountain, or a power spot, or a save point—whatever it is, the atmosphere saturating it really does seem to belong to some other world. This better not be one of those places that doesn’t let you leave once you go in. “Yaaaay, it’s the next world!” Yotsuha whoops and splashes across the little stream. Kids are really something, all dumb and full of energy. Well, the weather’s nice, and the wind and the brook are both peaceful. I’d probably be embarrassed later if I got cold feet over something like this. I take the old lady’s hand so she won’t get wet, and we cross the brook on the stepping-stones. “In order to return to our world…,” the old lady begins, suddenly sounding solemn, “you two must leave behind what’s most precious to you.” “Huh?!” In spite of myself, my voice gets shrill. “W-wait, Grandma—don’t say that after we’re already here!” The old woman smiles at my protest, and her eyes squinch up. I can see the gaps where she’s missing teeth, and it’s really creepy. “There’s nothin’ to fear. I meant the sake. Take it out,” the old lady instructs, and both Yotsuha and I remove small urns from our backpacks. They’re the kind of thing you tend to see on Shinto altars in people’s houses. Made of glossy white ceramic, their rounded shapes are a few inches across, and they widen into a pedestal at the base. The lids are sealed with braided cords, and I can hear liquid splashing inside. “Below the god’s body,” Grandma says, gazing at the enormous tree, “there’s a little shrine. Offer them there. That sake is half of you, you see.” Half of Mitsuha. I look at the urn in my hands. It’s that special sake, the stuff she made by chewing up rice. This sake was made by “binding” rice and this body… And I’m the one offering it. Feeling awkward—like I’m about to score a goal off a pass from someone I’ve been fighting with—but at the same time strangely proud, I start toward the great tree. This might be the first time I’ve heard real evening cicadas. I know what they are because it’s the sound effect they always use for evening in movies and games. Their melancholy, wavering song echoes all around me—everywhere—and it makes this whole experience seem a lot more movielike than an actual movie. There’s a loud rustling, and a flock of sparrows bursts out of the brush right in front of me. Having been under the impression that birds just hung out in trees, I’m startled, but Yotsuha runs after them, twirling around and around. She looks like she’s having fun. We must be pretty close to the town—there are faint dinnertime smells on the wind. The idea that it’s possible to so clearly distinguish the scents of everyday human life surprises me a little. “It’s already half-light.” Having completed the day’s formal business, Yotsuha sounds relieved, like she’s finally finished her homework. The evening sun lights up the girl and the old lady sidelong, like a spotlight. It’s almost too picture-perfect. “Whoa…!” The sight of the village coming into view below us makes me exhale despite myself. I can see Mitsuha’s entire town around the edge of the lake. Blue shadows have already engulfed the town itself, but the lake yawning beside reflects the red sky. On the hillsides here and there, pink evening mists are gathering. Dinner smoke rises from several houses, trailing high and thin, like smoke signals. The sparrows skimming through the air over the town gleam randomly, like motes of dust after school. “Think we’ll be able to see the comet soon?” Yotsuha is searching the sky, blocking out the setting sun with her palm. “Comet?” Now that she mentions it, I remember they were talking about something like that on TV during breakfast, about how the comet’s been close enough to be visible to the naked eye for a few days now and how, just after sunset today, we’d probably be able to see it if we looked diagonally above Venus. “The comet…” I say it aloud one more time. Out of nowhere, I feel as if I’ve forgotten something. I narrow my eyes, searching the western sky, and find what I’m looking for right away. Above Venus, which is especially bright, I see the comet’s shining blue tail. In the depths of my memory, something’s trying to surface. That’s right. Once before, I… That comet— “…My, my. Mitsuha.” Before I know she’s there, Grandma’s peering up at me—into me. My shadow is reflected at the bottom of her deep black eyes. “You’re dreamin’, aren’t you?” ! All of a sudden… I wake up. I’ve flung the sheet away, and it falls off the bed without a sound. My heart’s pounding hard enough to raise my ribs (at least I think it is), but I can’t hear my heartbeat. That’s weird— But just after the thought forms, little by little, I start hearing my blood pumping. The morning sparrows outside the window, car engines, the rumble of trains. As if I’m finally remembering where I am, my ears begin taking in Tokyo. “…Tears?” I touch my cheek and find droplets of water on my fingertips. Why? I don’t know. I wipe my eyes with my palm. Even as I do, the twilight landscape from a moment ago and the old lady’s words are disappearing, like water soaking into sand. Tweedle. By my pillow, my phone chirps. I’m almost there. I’m looking forward to today. It’s a Line message from Okudera-senpai. Almost here? What’s she talking about? …And then I gasp. “Wait, did Mitsuha—? Not again!” Panicked, I dive into my phone and read Mitsuha’s memo. “A date?!” I bolt out of bed and get ready at top speed. Date with Okudera-senpai in Roppongi tomorrow! She’ll be waiting in front of Yotsuya Station at 10:30. It’s a date I want to go on, but if I’m unlucky and it ends up being you, be grateful and enjoy it. Fortunately, the place where we’re meeting is nearby. I sprint flat out and arrive with ten minutes to spare. As I catch my breath, I check my phone to make sure. Okudera-senpai might not be here yet. Even though it’s a weekend morning, the area around the station is still pretty lively. I wipe away my sweat, straighten my jacket collar, and mutter “Mitsuha, you idiot” three times. Then, just in case, I start looking for Okudera-senpai. …I’m on a date with the Okudera-senpai. Not only that, but as it happens, this is my first date ever. A first date with Okudera-senpai, who’s like an idol, or an actress, or Miss Japan? Yeah, that’s setting the bar fiendishly high. Mitsuha, you moron. It’s not too late yet, so I’m begging you, switch places with me! “Taaaki!” “Waugh!” A voice startles me from behind, and I give a really lame yell. Hastily, I turn around. “Sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” “No, I wasn’t waiting! Uh, I mean, yes, I was! Or, no…” What’s with that question?! If I tell her I waited, I might make her feel bad, and if I tell her I wasn’t waiting, I risk making her think I was late. Aaagh, what’s the right answer? “Um, I, er…” Flustered, I look up. Okudera-senpai is standing right there, smiling at me. “…!” My eyes go wide. She’s in black mules, a white flared miniskirt, and a black off-the-shoulder blouse. The monochrome outfit leaves her shoulders and legs dazzlingly exposed, and several gold accessories have been placed strategically, as if placing a careful seal on the charms of her skin. There’s a large mocha-colored ribbon on her small white hat. She looks incredibly sophisticated and incredibly pretty. “…I just got here.” “Oh, good!” she laughs, sounding chipper. “Shall we?” She takes my arm… Ah, for a moment—just a moment—your breast touched my arm. I have a sudden, immediate urge to polish every window in this town. “The conversation keeps dying…” In the bathroom, I’m hanging my head real, real low. I feel like smashing it against the mirror. Three hours into the date, and I’m already more exhausted than I’ve ever been in my life. I had no idea I was this bad with girls. No, that’s not it. I hope that’s not it. It’s all Mitsuha’s fault for throwing me into this situation unprepared. And more than anything, it’s Okudera-senpai’s fault for being too pretty. I mean, everybody we pass stares at her with their mouths hanging open. Then they see me walking beside her and give me the stink-eye, like they’re thinking, What’s that little punk doing there? That’s what it looks like to me, anyway. Well, sure. Even I know I’m out of my league. Look, I didn’t ask her out! I want to go around grabbing people’s shoulders and making excuses for myself. Consequently, I have absolutely no idea what to talk about. Okudera-senpai can tell and tries starting conversations with me, but that makes me insanely uncomfortable, which makes it even harder to talk. It’s a vicious cycle. Dammit, Mitsuha, what do you and Okudera-senpai usually talk about?! Hoping for a lifeline, I open my phone and check Mitsuha’s memo. …That said, I bet you’ve never been on a date before. And so, below, I’ve put together a collection of handpicked links, just for you! “Whoa, seriously?!” Look at that! She’s practically a god! I open the links as if clinging to them for dear life. Link 1: How I gots me a girlfriend even tho I has a communication disorder Link 2: Conversation skills for the person who’s never, ever been the tiniest bit popular! Link 3: You won’t make ’em sick anymore! A feature on texts they’ll love …Somehow I get the feeling she’s selling me way, way short. Walking through the art museum, I’m finally feeling a little relieved. I’m not particularly interested in the photo exhibit, which is titled Nostalgia, but it’s great to be somewhere it isn’t weird not to talk. Okudera-senpai is five feet ahead of me, strolling slowly, placidly gazing at the pictures. Furano, Tsugaru, Sanriku, Rikuzen, Aizu, Shinshu… The exhibition is divided regionally, but all the rustic scenery looks the same to me. I don’t know the right way to appreciate photos, but about the only differences I can make out are whether the background is mountains or ocean and whether it’s summer or winter. The houses and train stations and roads and people all seem oddly similar. I guess rural Japan probably looks like this no matter where you go. In that case, the districts in Tokyo have a lot more personality. “Shibuya and Ikebukuro,” for example, or “Akasaka and Kichijouji,” or “Meguro and Tachikawa.” Even so, in the section labeled Hida, my feet stop all by themselves. This one is different from the others. Well, no. The photos still look similar, but I know this place—the contours of the mountains, the curve of the road, the size of the lake, the shape of the red shrine gates, the layout of the fields. I just know, the way you can always pick out your own shoes from a mess of scattered sneakers without even trying. I never actually went to visit relatives in the country during summer vacations when I was a kid, but that’s what this feels like. I’m having a surreal, powerful sense of déjà vu about the place. This is— “Taki?” When I turn toward the voice, Okudera-senpai is standing beside me. For a second, I forgot she existed. “You know, Taki,” she says with an even smile, “you seem like a different person today.” She executes a beautiful turn, like a model, and strides away, leaving me behind. I blew it. All I did today was trudge through the date Mitsuha planned like the whole thing had been a chore. I just kept coming up with excuses and didn’t even consider what Okudera-senpai, who was right there with me, might be feeling. Even though I (well, Mitsuha) was the one who’d invited her. Even though I should’ve been ecstatic just to get to spend time with her. Even though I’ve spent my whole life hoping for a miraculous day exactly like this. From the pedestrian bridge, I have a clear view of the cluster of Roppongi buildings we just left. Hundreds of windows shine golden in the evening sun. My eyes go back to Okudera-senpai ahead of me. She’s not saying a word. Her hair gleams, and her hat and clothes look brand new. Today, at least, she might have gone to all that trouble just for me. The thought makes my throat tighten. I feel like the oxygen’s suddenly thinned, and it’s hard to breathe. I grope for words as if desperately flailing for the surface of the ocean. “Um, Okudera-senpai?” She doesn’t turn. “…Are you hungry? We could go get dinner somewhere—” “Why don’t we call it a day instead?” she suggests with the tone of a patient teacher. “Okay.” On the spur of the moment, I say something really boneheaded. Okudera-senpai has finally turned around, but her expression, fading into the evening sun—I can’t see it clearly. “Taki… Forgive me if I’m wrong, all right?” “Sure.” “A long time ago, you liked me a little bit, didn’t you?” “Huh?!” She knew?! How?! “And now there’s someone else you like, isn’t there?” “Huuuuuuuh?!” I gush sweat as if I’ve suddenly teleported into a tropical rain forest. “N-no, there isn’t!” “Really?” “Th-there isn’t! There’s absolutely nobody like that!” “I wonder…” Okudera-senpai examines my face skeptically. Somebody else I like? No, there’s nobody like that. I’m pretty sure there isn’t. Just for a moment, her long hair and the softness of her breasts flicker through my mind but vanish almost immediately. “Well, never mind.” Her tone is bright and clear, and her face recedes. “Huh?” “Thank you for today. I’ll see you at work.” Okudera-senpai flutters a hand at me, then simply walks away, leaving me behind. Mechanically, I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. Even so, no words come out, and while I’m doing that, Okudera-senpai’s back descends from the pedestrian bridge and disappears into the crowd in front of the station. I gaze at the evening sun, feeling as if I’ve been abandoned on the edge of summer. There are no breaks in the cars streaming under the pedestrian bridge, and after I’ve been listening to them for a while, I start feeling as though I’m on a real bridge, over a river. The late sun is as weak as a flashlight, and it’s disappearing behind the water tank on top of a mixed-use building. I focus on it the entire time, intently, as if trying to reclaim something. It feels like there are other things I should be doing, but I can’t think of anything specific. I just want to go to Mitsuha’s town again, fast. Becoming Mitsuha means talking to her, too. When we’re swapped, at the same time, we’re connected in some special way. We’re trading experiences. We’re bound together the way her grandma was talking about. If I turn into Mitsuha, I think I’ll be able to talk about what happened today. I want to joke around with her. “That’s why you’re not popular, you know.” “It’s your fault for promising stuff without checking first.” I open the memo on my phone. There’s more to Mitsuha’s note. The comet should be visible just about the time the date ends. Eeeeee, how romantic! I can’t wait for tomorrow. Whether it’s me or you, let’s do our best on the date! Comet? I look up at the sky. The last traces of the sunset are already gone. A few of the brightest stars are out, and a jet’s flying past, humming faintly, but that’s it. Needless to say, there’s no comet. “What’s she talking about?” I mutter quietly. If a comet people could actually see was passing, it would’ve been pretty big news. Maybe Mitsuha got mixed up. Abruptly, my heart twinges uneasily in its darkest recesses. Something’s trying to surface in my mind. I flip through the phone and pull up Mitsuha’s cell number, staring at those eleven digits. Back when we first started swapping, I tried calling this number several times, but for some reason, it never went through. I touch it with a fingertip. The “calling” sound plays. Then I hear a voice from the speaker: “The number you have dialed is unavailable. Either the number is not in service or the unit is turned off or out of range…” I pull the phone away from my ear and press END CALL. So calls really don’t get through. Well, whatever. I’ll just tell her about this train wreck of a day next time we swap. I’ll ask her about the comet, too. We’ll switch tomorrow or the day after, anyway. With that thought, I finally descend the pedestrian bridge. There’s a pale, smooth half-moon overhead, all alone, as if someone forgot it there. But after that, Mitsuha and I never swapped again.