Chapter 32

I lay down on the floor with my phone in my hands. First of all, I wanted to ask why she wanted me to come over. I had no idea why she’d invite me, and it was killing me. When I checked my phone, I saw Ms. Chitaira had sent me another message. If you decide to come, make sure to wear your school uniform. Why? I typed to her. Because I want to see you in it. I was sure she had other reasons, but I didn’t want to waste time thinking about it. I put the phone down and scowled at my school uniform, which hung from a hook on the wall. I snorted. “Goddamn school uniform…” I pinched the scarf, hating myself for being so weak. And so, on the day we agreed, I went to the station trying to look like an ordinary girl on the way to school, and I boarded a train to hell. Ms. Chitaira had moved quite far away from her family home, escaping her family both figuratively and literally. I’d never been to that town before, either—one more reason I felt small heading in there. I got off the train, checked the map Ms. Chitaira had sent me, and started walking away from the station. The air smelled salty, like in the town where Ms. Chitaira used to live. I watched a flock of pigeons take to the air from the station plaza. They left behind a smell that brought back certain memories. At the address Ms. Chitaira had given me was a wide apartment house that could be mistaken for an inn when seen from below. It was several times taller and wider than the crummy little apartment building I lived in. A woman in a sky-blue yukata greeted me in the lobby. “My, Takasora! It’s been too long!” “…You’re the same as ever.” Her vibe and soft smile were exactly the same as when I’d last seen her a few months earlier. She was a witch who brought people to ruin with nothing more than her smile. She took my hand as if we were close friends, and then she led me to the elevator. “I like your uniform!” she said with a level of enthusiasm that left me embarrassed. It was the first time she’d seen me in my school uniform. The change in her behavior was a stark reminder that her fetish was the real deal. I got on the elevator with this woman smiling like the god of luck, Ebisu, and we went to the fourth floor. Ms. Chitaira’s apartment was the second to last at the end of the corridor. When we got to the door, I stopped sharply, noticing the view. “It’s the ocean.” I could see the white crests of breaking waves on the shoreline running parallel to a long road. This was a seaside town. I used to think the ocean was far away, too far for me to ever reach it, but it was just a short walk from this tall, expensive building. “We should go to the beach together,” said Ms. Chitaira. “Yeah…,” I said with obvious reluctance, which she pretended not to hear. As she turned the key in the lock, I heard quick footsteps, as if a pet cat were rushing to greet her missing mistress. It was not a cat, of course, but a person… Huh? Who was that? Question marks appeared over my head. “Er… Who are you?” I recognized the face, but the girl’s vibe didn’t match my memories. My brain was struggling to process it. “You need me to remind you my name?” Her voice was the same, but something didn’t feel right about it. The girl standing in front of me was certainly Umi Mizuike, but not as I remembered her. The most noticeable difference was that her long mop of hair had been cut short and tied into a neat little ponytail. And it was dyed light brown. “Your hair…” “Oh, this? I went with Sis to her hairdresser, and this is what I came out with.” “Ah, I see…” She was wearing denim shorts and a sleeveless crop top—the kind of outfit I associated with the beach or maybe the poolside—with a sleeveless shirt tied above her belly button. It hugged her figure, emphasizing her big bust. Her makeup was bolder, too, with thick eyeliner drawing attention to her eyes. I also immediately noticed her scent—that flowery fragrance. It wasn’t just hanging out around her; it was as if it had become a part of her, like invisible flowers blooming on her body. “Your clothes…” “Sis said she likes this style, too.” “Ah, I see…” Gone was the dark-eyed girl who wore wrinkled T-shirts. She’d had a total makeover. Next, I saw her fingernails had been manicured with each painted a different color, like M&M’s. Noticing my gaze, Umi showed me her hand. She held out her middle finger to me, which had the nail painted blue. “Sis and I were trying to see which color looked good on me. She said they all did,” she explained happily before I even asked. “…You’ve been keeping busy.” “And why did you come here anyway?” Something felt very out of place… Ah, right. It was Umi’s manner of talking. Her speech was no longer marked by that soft regional accent, replaced by standard Japanese, like a rough stone being sanded until it had a uniformly smooth texture. Despite all these changes, one thing about Umi was just the same as before—her disinterest in me. “I…wanted to talk to you.”