I can hardly think of a moment when I was with my grandfather and he wasn’t scolding me for something or other. It’s no surprise that my grandmother was cold to me as well. After all, I was a useless child. Why would anyone love someone like me?
I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being so worthless.
If I’m a good girl, can I meet with my mother and father someday?
I asked my grandmother that once. I was still so little, I didn’t know any better. I realize now how troubled she was by that question. I was a terrible child.
If I’d been a good girl, would my mother and father have stayed?
When I asked my grandfather that question, he gave me a harsher scolding than ever before. You senseless little brat! he said.
I’m sorry, Grandfather. I really am senseless. It’s because I’m awful. I’m useless. I’m a terrible child.
That must be why. That’s why I—
That’s why I’ll never see Mother and Father again.
They died because I was an awful child.
It’s all my fault.
Mreew.
Rraaau.
Mneew. Mraaau.
“Ah!”
A series of cries snapped Ryuuko back to reality. She looked down at her pouch and found Chinu poking her head out, staring back up at her. Ryuuko hadn’t opened the pouch, or at least, she didn’t remember opening it. Chinu must have forced it open on her own.
Ryuuko ran a fingertip along Chinu’s horns as she finished descending the staircase. If she had stayed in her own head like that for much longer, she might have lost her balance and fallen down the stairs. Chinu might have saved her from a nasty tumble. That was nothing new, though. Ryuuko had always felt uneasy when she was alone, and Chinu had spared her from that solitude.
I can’t stay like this, Ryuuko thought. I can’t be hopeless forever.
“I’m sorry, Chinu,” she said before pushing the zingai back into her pouch.
When Ryuuko finally reached the nurse’s office, she was greeted by a woman in a white coat: Kirinuma, the school nurse.
“Oh? Hello, Shiratama,” Kirinuma said as Ryuuko stepped into the room.
One of the beds had its curtain drawn. That meant another student was feeling ill and resting in the nurse’s office—unless it was Shizukudani, of course.
Kirinuma sat Ryuuko down on a bench and asked her a series of questions. Ryuuko tried to answer them as best as she could, but looking back, she could hardly even remember what she said. Kirinuma took Ryuuko’s temperature next, which registered at eighty-nine degrees Fahrenheit. Kirinuma asked what her normal body temperature was, and Ryuuko replied that she was usually pretty average. At any rate, eighty-nine degrees seemed far, far too low.
Wait, no, Ryuuko thought. I misheard her. She said ninety-eight degrees, not eighty-nine.
“Are you experiencing any pain?” Kirinuma asked.
“…No,” said Ryuuko. “Not particularly.”
“Oh? Well, you’re not running hot enough to merit fever medicine. How about lying down for a bit and seeing if a little rest makes you feel better?”
“…All right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Nothing to apologize for,” said Kirinuma. She was a kindly, down-to-earth woman, and she brought Ryuuko to one of the beds, then closed the curtains around her. “Sometimes people just feel a little under the weather. If you want to sleep, then go right ahead. I’ll let your social studies teacher and Mr. Harimoto know where you are.”
“…Thank you,” said Ryuuko.
“I’ll be stepping out for a little, but if you need anything, just ask Rukana. She’s in the next bed over.” Turning to the other curtain, she added, “Take care of her please, Rukana!”
“Okaaay,” a voice replied from beyond the fabric.
A moment later, Ryuuko heard Kirinuma leave the room. She laid down on the bed, pulled the covers all the way up to her chin, then clasped Chinu’s pouch to her chest. Staring up at the white featureless ceiling, Ryuuko realized she could hear a faint clacking noise. She wasn’t moving, nor was Chinu, and Kirinuma had already departed.
“Umm, excuse me? Shizukudani…?” Ryuuko timidly called out.
“Yeah?” the other girl replied. “What is it, Shiratama Dango?”
The clacking noise hadn’t stopped. It grated on Ryuuko’s ears.
“…Can I ask what you’re doing right now?”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“I’m afraid I have no idea whatsoever.”
“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t.”
“…So what are you doing?”
“Something that has absolutely nothing to do with you, Shiratama Dango.”
“I…see. I’m sorry for prying…”
“No worries,” Shizukudani said with a chuckle. Before long the clacking sound came to a stop, and a moment later, the curtains around Ryuuko’s bed were pulled back just enough for Shizukudani to stick her head inside. Ryuuko started to sit up, but Shizukudani said, “Oh, it’s fine,” stopping her. “You can stay lying down.”
“…All right. I’ll do so, then,” Ryuuko replied.
“You’re as funny as ever, you know?”
“I…am?”
“Sure are,” Shizukudani said with a nod as she sat down on the foot of Ryuuko’s bed. “Are you sick? That’s rare for you.”
“…My robust health is one of my strong points,” Ryuuko replied. “To be honest…this is a mystery to me, as well.”
“Something happen?”
“No… Well, nothing in particular.” Ryuuko closed her eyes. “Just—”
“Just?”
“A new student transferred into our class.”
“Oh?”
“And while it doesn’t feel right to describe that as something happening to me…I suppose it’s all that comes to mind.”
“A transfer student, huh?” Shizukudani muttered, kicking her legs in the air.
That was when Ryuuko saw them. A set of four eyes staring down at her from the ceiling. For just a moment, she froze so utterly, she couldn’t even breathe. Shizukudani’s zingai resembled a small human in some ways, but in others, it looked more like an oversize spider. No human had four eyes and four legs, of course. And Ryuuko recalled that spiders had more eyes than people did—eight, if memory served. They also had eight legs. In other words, Shizukudani’s zingai wasn’t quite like either.
“But you know, Shiratama Dango,” Shizukudani continued, “it sounds to me like something else might have happened before that. What do you think?”
“Something else…?” Ryuuko was still staring up at the zingai on the ceiling. “…Yes, it did. A number of things.”
“Then maybe you’re just a little tired.”
“That’s possible, yes.”
“How ’bout taking a nap?”
“…I’ll do that. I appreciate your concern.”
“You’re pretty stiff, you know that?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hey, I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” Shizukudani hopped off the bed, then turned around and gave it a light pat. “Sleep tight!”
“…Thank you.”
Ryuuko closed her eyes. She heard Shizukudani move away from her and slide the curtain shut. She must have returned to her own bed.
A moment later, the clacking sound started up again. Ryuuko opened her eyes. Shizukudani’s zingai was nowhere to be seen.
What in the world is that sound? she wondered. It wasn’t especially loud. Shizukudani was probably right—Ryuuko was just tired. Her eyes gradually drifted closed. After that, the clacking intermingled with the sound of her own breathing until eventually she couldn’t tell them apart anymore.