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The Town of Sakura

by Sugaru Miaki

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1

What made him willing to meet with that woman in person was that he hadn't been able to sense an ounce of goodwill or affection in her message. So blunt that he couldn't imagine how someone who works as a chat operator could have written it, it was lacking in any etiquette at all. It was almost the sort of thing you'd use in a teaching exercise as an example of what not to do. The gist of it was that she was feeling stuck with work lately and wanted some advice - but seeing this, that was no wonder, Ogami thought.

For the average person, receiving an email like this would probably put them in a bad mood. But for Ogami, things were different. He would only open up for one kind of person: someone there was no chance he'd be fond of, with likewise no chance that they'd be fond of him. In that way, the sender of this email was an ideal fit. Only when dealing with a person who had no expectation of a favorable relationship from the beginning could he ease his nerves.

Of course, he wouldn't completely let his guard down. Depending on how you look at it, people who give a first impression like hers could be considered the most dangerous. Even the smallest thing can turn a negative first impression into a positive one. And a trust that's overwritten a prior negative impression is much sturdier than any positive first impression could be. Truly excellent scammers should probably lead with a negative impression, Ogami theorized.

Once he went to meet the woman face-to-face and they started conversing, he found no need for such worries. The young woman, who gave the name Miwa, seemed to him not to have a deceptive bone in her body. From her choice of words to the way they were timed, she seemed like the type to just say anything she was thinking as soon as she thought it. In short, she wasn't all suited for her current occupation.

Thought she had perfectly fine looks, she wasn't the type that would captivate Ogami's heart, and she didn't appear especially charmed by Ogami on first meeting him either. Thanks to this, he was able to let loose and talk with another person in a way he hadn't in a long time.

They sat on two sides of a table in the back of a café. Taking a light-pink smartphone from Miwa, Ogami looked over some messages sent between Miwa and another user.

Her messages were actually much better than he'd expected. Contrary to the email she'd sent Ogami, she had been writing entirely adequate messages. She kept to all the rules outlined in the manual, and demonstrated some creativity with each message rather than falling into a predictable pattern.

Just being able to do this is pretty impressive, Ogami thought. Do I need to give any advice here? He'd been approached by colleagues for similar consultations in the past, but most of them just proved to be lazy people who hadn't even read the manual once, convinced that all they had to do was pretend to be interested in the other person. Compared to them, this woman certainly wasn't taking the job of a Sakura lightly, at least. That, he could appreciate.

Ogami handed the smartphone back to Miwa.

"I don't think you've got any real problem."

Miwa looked between the smartphone and Ogami's face. Her expression told how unsatisfied she was with that response.

"If there's no problem, then why is it my results are on such a decline?", she said with displeasure. "I just can't keep up a long conversation with users lately. I think I must be outing myself as a Sakura at some point or another. In fact, I've been told several times "you're a Sakura, aren't you?" So of course there's a problem. And yet, I can't figure out what it is."

"Sure, I've been told that too. Some people just get suspicious of everything, seeing Sakura in every shadow."

"Yes, but there are also people who can do it as skillfully as you, Mr. Ogami. I want to know what makes that difference."

Ogami folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, thinking back on the messages he'd just read.

"I think maybe your messages are a bit too excess-free, Ms. Miwa," Ogami replied. "You follow the manual closely, you take care not to fall into a pattern, you give responses that properly take their messages into account. It's skillfully done. There's nothing to get hung up on. So they receive you well at first. But once the conversation has gone long enough, that lack of hang-ups starts to become a hang-up."

Miwa thought about that for a while, but eventually looked to Ogami's face, seeking further explanation.

"There's too little noise. Conversations usually don't go that well. Everybody knows that from experience. You both feel like you're being misunderstood a little, but you accept some compromise and keep pushing forward. That's just how it works. There's none of that in your messages. So maybe that's giving a bit of a mechanical impression."

"But take right now for instance - aren't we talking to each other without any misunderstandings?", Miwa argued.

"That's because we're having what's ultimately a professional discussion. Two users on a matchmaking app aren't gonna be discussing their work concerns."

"Well... I suppose that's true."

"The point is," Ogami continued, "having hang-ups like that makes it feel more like you're talking with a flesh-and-blood person."

"So you're telling me to say more useless things?"

"What I'm saying is, be someone who doesn't do as expected to just the right degree," Ogami corrected.

"And what degree is that?"

"You can only learn how to gauge that for yourself. Personally, even I can't say I understand it perfectly."

Miwa rested her chin on the table and let out a little sigh.

"I'm no good at making recipes that just say "to taste.""

"In some cases, it might even be more honest to express that."

With that, Ogami took a sip of his until then untouched coffee.

Miwa looked at him with a dissatisfied expression, but then, as if struck by an idea, said "Mr. Ogami, you're more earnest than I expected."

Ogami didn't give her a reply. He silently put his cup on its saucer, and glanced toward some customers at the next table over. It was a pair of women who seemed to be making plans for a trip, apparently paying no mind to the conversation over here.

"There, I tried saying something useless," Miwa said, laughing to herself. "I've certainly learned something from you today. However, I imagine it's not a skill I can just pick up in a day. Could you maybe have some simple techniques that can produce results in a shorter time? Like, one little trick that'll keep you from being seen through as a Sakura..."

"Can't say there aren't any," Ogami replied, turning back to Miwa. "For instance, suspecting them before they suspect you - that one's simple yet effective. If a user's uneasy that a Sakura might be deceiving them, get them on the side of clearing their own suspicion instead of suspecting. It's like a criminal suggesting a search for the criminal. You can get into their mental blind spot."

"I see..."

Miwa nodded with a renewed sense of admiration. Then she picked up the smartphone on the table and started inputting something with both hands. It seemed she was eager to put Ogami's advice into practice.

He watched her do it without making it a full-on gaze, but when she was about to look up, he quickly averted his eyes toward a sugar container on the corner of the table.

"By the way," Miwa asked, "how exactly should I try to convey my suspicion? If I say outright "I bet you're a Sakura, aren't you?", it might put them in a bad mood."

"There's a bunch of ways. Hard to just sum it up. But I bet a lot of the users you get are anxious men prone to suspicion, right? You should observe any guys like that. The trends should become apparent quick."

Miwa then peered intently at Ogami's face. She remained silent for an unnaturally long time.

"What's the matter?", Ogami questioned.

"I'm observing an anxious-looking man."

"Me?"

"Indeed," Miwa affirmed with a smile. "What about me are you so afraid of?"

After leaving Miwa, Ogami drove back to his apartment. He made some coffee and sat at his desk, then got started on his work for the day. He didn't put on music, so as not to be put in a particular mood. He kept his work room as neutral an environment as possible.

The term "chat operator" might make it sound all fancy, but in essence, his job was to catfish on matchmaking apps. He'd go onto the app wearing the skin of a fictional person, show users a dream, and scam them out of their money - that was all the job entailed.

The app Ogami was currently on was a lesser-known one. The userbase was mainly people in their twenties to thirties, and it targeted people seriously looking for marriage partners. It didn't have many users compared to the bigger apps, but that spoke to its high review standards - anyone who was obviously a scammer or with some kind of business was promptly removed, making it an excellent pick for those in the know.

Ogami's primary role was, in a manning of speaking, to draw the short straws. He'd target users who nobody else was willing to date, leaving them just enough scraps to keep them from deleting their accounts in despair.

It was no easy task to patch up the self-respect of users who had developed an inferiority from being consistently ignored. Yet without anyone even teaching him, Ogami was a master at it from the jump.

It was only natural, considering it was what he was always doing for himself.

He finished up work around 11. Returning to the living room, he sat himself on the sofa and poured a glass of whiskey. Alcohol was indispensable after talking with large numbers of people. Without it, their voices (not that he'd actually heard their voices) would be ringing in his head all night, and he'd never get any sleep.

Closing his eyes, he tilted the glass, and drove the voices of people starved for love out of his head.

As he stared absentmindedly at the ceiling after emptying the glass, his smartphone suddenly went off. Miwa's face was what first came to mind, yet the number on screen was unfamiliar to him. It didn't seem to be a work-related call, but Ogami didn't have a single acquaintance who would call him for personal reasons. No doubt they had the wrong number.

He answered the phone without thinking on it too deeply. Hoping that the voice on the call would cancel out the ones in his head.

"Is this Masaki Ogami?", a man's voice asked. It was an unremarkable voice that he might've forgotten by the next moment.

Briefly, Ogami hesitated to respond. When you live using so many pseudonyms, you start to resist revealing your real name, even if there's no good reason for it.

After acknowledging that he was indeed Masaki Ogami, the voice abruptly informed him:

"Sumika Takasago has killed herself."

Sumika Takasago has killed herself. Ogami repeated the words in his head. As if to confirm that it was real, he tightly gripped the phone in his hand, then stood up from the sofa for no particular reason. Leaving the living room, he stopped in the hall and leaned against the wall.

"I'm sorry, but who would this be?", Ogami finally asked.

"I just thought that you should know," the man said, ignoring Ogami's question. "That's all. Even if I told you my name, I think you probably don't remember me. Well, goodbye."

Before Ogami could voice another question, the call had ended.

The hallway was freezing, but that chilliness seemed somehow irrelevant to him.

He returned to the living room and sat back on the sofa. After looking at the phone screen again for no particular reason, he placed it on the table.

Hearing the name Sumika Takasago after so many years didn't instantly make memories of her cross his mind. There was no feeling of nostalgia, nor the accompanying feeling of suffering.

No, it was just natural. Because for these past few years, she had always been sitting in the center of his mind. Until just moments ago, it had been an issue in the present tense.

For now, should I just be glad that the issue has come to an end?, Ogami wondered. Though it's unfortunate I wasn't able to resolve it myself, if you really think it about it, there was no conceivable solution as long as she still lived. Perhaps Sumika Takasago's suicide was the best settlement I could hope for.

There was no guarantee that what the man on the phone said was true, but it was hard to imagine it was a lie. There was no point to a lie like that, and even if he were to tell him false information out of some malice, he'd have put together a story with more detail. You couldn't expect much of a result from just the words "Sumika Takasago has killed herself."

He then started trying to recall voices that matched the man on the phone. But sure enough, he was having a hard time of it. Still, if it was someone who knew Ogami and Sumika's relationship, it seemed unmistakable that it was a classmate from middle school. And given what he'd said, probably one with little enough connection to him that he wouldn't remember even after hearing his name.

He felt it would be pointless thinking about it any more than that.

Even after getting into bed and falling asleep, Sumika didn't appear in his dreams or anything.

The notion of his life's biggest obstacle having been removed just wasn't feeling real.

Two days passed, then three, and his mood not only didn't clear up, it became muddier. Unable to concentrate on work, he made a number of stupid mistakes. His sleep became lighter, and he drank more.

On the fourth day, he couldn't muster the energy to do anything, spending a whole day making a round trip to the convenience store.

The morning of the fifth day, the words of Miwa, the woman he met at the café, suddenly came back to him.

What about me are you so afraid of?

The woman's face and voice, which he already couldn't remember, were filled in by those of Sumika Takasago.

I still can't feel at ease, Ogami finally realized. No way can a single phone call put me at ease. If I don't go back to that town and confirm Sumika's death for certain, she'll keep being a menace upon my life forever.

The Sumika that's in me still won't die.

He pulled out his suitcase and quickly packed up, went down to the parking lot, and got in his car. When he started the engine and the navigation system asked his destination, he spat out the name of the town where he was born.

In much the same way a criminal returns to the scene of the crime, Ogami set his sights on that town again after four years.

Moving to Tokyo after high school and bouncing all over the map since then, seeing so many varied places as a result, Ogami had come to realize what a colorless town it had really been. It had no rich nature, nor dazzling streets, nor a culture with much history; he spent his childhood in a dull, transparent town. As if it had been diligently pruned of any element that could be charming, as if it were a strangely-shaped blot that rejected any mental association, as if it were created with the very goal of being overlooked and forgotten - it was a town with a tragically commonplace name.

Yet he would always refer to the town of his birth by another name, imbued with hatred:

The Town of Sakura.

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2

In the winter of his first year of middle school, one of his classmates killed himself. That was the beginning of everything.

His surname was Kozaki, but Ogami had forgotten what his first name was. Because there wasn't a single student in class who called him by that name. The homeroom teacher merely said during a morning assembly that Kozaki had passed, but by then, the class was well aware of his suicide. The following afternoon, there was an assembly for their grade, and the students were made to give a moment of silence - 30 seconds, maybe a minute - in a drab gymnasium with poor air conditioning.

He was despised. He ran the gamut of reasons to be hated by others. At least among his classmates, there was surely not one person who actually mourned Kozaki's death.

Ogami, too, while surprised to hear the news, didn't feel any particular sadness or pity. He just thought "way to go." At any rate, for a few days after the fact, Kozaki was the main character of the classroom. His absence dominated it. It was something that could have never happened while he still lived.

If this had been the death of a student who was liked well enough, that death would be a proper tragedy, and it would have settled in an appropriate place in people's hearts. But no one wept for Kozaki's death. That said, there also weren't any who rejoiced over his death. Though he was hated, it was only a faint hatred, making him a harmless presence if you ignored him.

In other words, it was a death there was nothing much you could say about.

It was unclear who suggested it. But it happened the fifth day after the news of Kozaki's death broke, in the morning. The question of "what they could do for him" was raised in class. An impromptu meeting was held, and around five suggestions quickly arose. The air in the classroom became unusually tense, and lively arguments were had, with a sense that the class was coming together over this.

That sense of unity felt horribly uncomfortable to Ogami.

Something wrong is happening, he thought.

Though he avoided taking part and stayed quiet, someone eventually asked his opinion, and he blurted out what he was really thinking.

"Well, hang on now, didn't you all hate the guy?"

He was aware it was an extreme statement. Even so, he was expecting deep down that at least a few honest folk would agree with him. He figured the remark would ease the tension in the air, and clear up the uncanny atmosphere a bit.

That wasn't what happened.

From that day forth, Ogami was isolated in the classroom.

In truth, his classmates must have felt guilty deep down - seeking an outlet to process that guilt - and that's why they had clung to that farce. That's what Ogami later realized. His own faux pas had ultimately come from the very same root of feeling guilty about Kozaki. While the others chose to reverse their position out of guilt, Ogami chose to stick to his position out of guilt; that was the only difference. All told, everyone had been shaken by Kozaki's suicide.

The one who decided that things would flow in this direction was a man named Shogo Kujirai. He was a central figure in the class; to put it bluntly, he was the exact opposite of Kozaki. Whatever he ended up doing, he usually took first place in it, with both teachers and students taking notice, and yet he was also a friendly man able to cleverly joke around.

In that precise moment when Ogami's remark made the classroom freeze, truthfully, things could have very well gone either way. There were even a few faces that seemed to read as "I was actually thinking that too." Some were gauging the expressions of those around them, trying to decide what attitude to take.

Their gazes naturally concentrated on center-of-the-class Kujirai, who, with his chin in his hands, gave Ogami an icy glare and said:

"Don't you know there are things that are okay to say and not okay to say?"

That was all it took to set the trend.

Ogami didn't know if the class actually went through with their "thing to do for Kozaki" after that. He supposed they probably didn't. Talking it out was itself therapeutic, so there was no need to put what they discussed into action. As a bonus, some idiot had bought them a receptacle for their guilt, so they had no complaints.

One person after another started to keep Ogami at a distance, until finally no one would approach him. It was his first experience with being isolated in class. He had faintly imagined how it would feel, but once actually put in that position, he found the ingredients for unimaginable suffering all over his time at school. He learned that what the education system hates the most isn't students who can't study, nor students who can't be athletic, nor students with bad behavior, but students who are isolated.

Luckily, it was January. If he could endure two more months, it would be spring break, and the classes would change for the new term. He just had to hold out until then.

Yet those two months were long. The clock hands felt like they were frozen. Like a slope gradually increasing in steepness, time became denser with each day, and he wondered if he would never reach spring break for all eternity.

That said, he only suffered while at school; when he got home, just 30 minutes listening to his favorite music would let him forget most things. He slowly got used to being alone, learning new ways to spend his lunch break, and awakened to the joys of living in a world all your own.

But even so, every time he saw Kujirai's face in class, he thought to himself: If by some happenstance I'd chosen the same path as Kozaki, he'd probably be casually talking about "what they could do for Ogami."

There had been one single occasion when Ogami got to talk with Kozaki one-on-one. It was when they were both in elementary school.

Back then, Kozaki was often absent. He was frail, frequently visiting, if not staying at, the hospital. With his recurring disappearance from the classroom, at first his classmates found interest in him as an eccentric figure. But as it went on longer, their interest waned, and they merely viewed him as someone too unreliable to be a friend. Rather than a classmate who tended to be absent, they treated him more like a kid who happened to come to school sometimes.

Even Ogami didn't have any particular thoughts about Kozaki not having a proper school life. But Ogami's mother was different. He couldn't remember the details, but one time he brought up Kozaki in front of her. Perhaps feeling rather sorry for him, she strongly encouraged her son to go visit Kozaki in the hospital. He refused at first, but reluctantly went along with it after some kind of trade was offered.

His mother drove him to the hospital, and he went up to the room alone. It was a small hospital. Ogami himself had been cared for there a few times, so he had no difficulties getting around. He rode the elevator up and followed the signs to Kozaki's room. It felt strange to him to be walking around a hospital even when he wasn't sick. He remembered a feeling of excitement as if he'd snuck in through a back entrance, which overpowered his guilty feelings toward the patients.

In the hospital room, Kozaki had a somehow calmer air about him than usual, looking two or three years more mature than he did in class. Maybe it was because of his worn-out hospital gown, or how accustomed to hospitalization he seemed.

Despite them being classmates, there was hardly anything the two had in common to discuss. When Ogami asked what kind of sickness he was even in the hospital for, Kozaki feebly laughed that he didn't know.

"They put me in the hospital before I get sick, have me take medicine, and that cures it. So I don't even know what the sickness was." With that, he held up the stainless steel bracelet on his thin wrist. "This Handcuff's pretty versatile."

Of course, it wasn't only Kozaki who was wearing that bracelet. Ogami wore one too, as did his parents. So did his teachers and classmates, without exception. It was no simple bracelet, but a small device connected to the National Health Care System - which most people these days simply called the System - and the fact that it was constantly collecting biological data from its wearer was also common knowledge.

He didn't know when things got this way. At least as far back as Ogami could remember, all citizens were obligated to wear these bracelet-shaped devices. Wearing them was such a matter of course, he never even felt it got in the way.

Wearing the device meant being under a certain kind of surveillance, but only the elderly showed resistance to this. The majority of people simply wore it. Weighing health against privacy had just the outcome you would expect. Choosing to live without a bracelet wouldn't break any laws, but you would no doubt be branded as "someone with annoying beliefs" in the eyes of others. Although quietly removing your bracelet when doing something guilty involving your health was a thing everyone did.

The bracelets went by a variety of names. While some used the acronym or an abbreviation of the official name, others called it by the name of its inventor, some simply called it the "Bracelet," some oddly only referred to it as "that" or "this" - and some called them "Handcuffs," by association from the mechanism for getting them on and off.

Kozaki was one of those who used the term Handcuff. No one Ogami knew referred to the bracelets that way, so the word rang fresh in his ears. From that day on, Ogami decided to consistently use the Handcuff name as well. In that sense, you could say Kozaki still lived on inside Ogami.

To the frail Kozaki, his Handcuff should have been an indispensable lifeline. But on the other hand, it was also a symbol of the various causes that kept him chained to a hospital room. If he were genuinely grateful to the device, one would imagine he wouldn't be calling it a "handcuff."

It wouldn't be surprising if Kozaki's life of going back and forth between school and the hospital twisted his personality. But from time to time, Ogami had this thought: Even after Kozaki turned into someone so widely hated in middle school, had I met him in a hospital room, I might not have been able to see him as such an awful person. Ultimately, maybe he was just hopelessly unable to mesh with the classroom, and if he had just been kept in the hospital and never discharged, his good qualities could have bloomed.

Once the topic of his sickness was done with, Ogami next asked about hospital life. It was an insensitive question, thinking back, but he saw it as easier to answer than asking Kozaki about his school life.

"It's fun," Kozaki replied, almost proudly. "I've got more friends here, even. Though hospital food isn't tasty."

"You aren't bored?"

"Classes are way more boring. I don't care for moving my body, either."

"Are you keeping up with schoolwork?"

"Not at all. But given all this, I'm sure the teacher will give me a pass." Then he asked Ogami something out of the blue. "Why come visit me in the hospital all of a sudden?"

Ogami gave an honest reply, that his mother had encouraged him to.

Kozaki didn't seem disappointed by that, just saying "Huh."

"You know, Ogami, I was thinking for sure you were a Sakura."

"Sakura?", Ogami repeated back.

But Kozaki didn't seem to feel like providing an explanation.

A while later, he mumbled as if to himself.

"I think you might be fond of this sort of life too, Ogami."

"I wonder," he said somewhat dismissively.

It was like being told "you're like me too," and he didn't like that.

The next time he would recall those words wouldn't be until half a year after graduating high school. Working all day long in silence in a dim and dusty warehouse, and spending the rest of his time holed up in his apartment, lying in bed with the curtains closed. He had practically no appetite, just sending things akin to gruel down his throat.

While living that life, his conversation with Kozaki suddenly arose in the back of his mind, and he thought, aha.

Maybe I was, in fact, like him.

"Hey Ogami," she said to him, as if it were just natural.

It was the middle of February. That afternoon, heavy snow fell on the town.

The students in class had their attention drawn to the windows one after another, until finally even the teacher stopped to look that way. He walked over to a window, gazed outside, and remarked "Now this is something," halfway between admiration and annoyance.

The lesson quickly resumed, and thanks to the momentary break, most of the students had regained their interest in it. But Ogami was the one person who continued to stare at the window after that. It had been just about a month since the Kozaki incident. A month that felt like two or three, but it was a major turning point nevertheless.

After homeroom, which the teacher had prolonged on a whim, came to a close, and as Ogami was grabbing his bag to leave before anyone else, the girl in the seat next to him said "Hey Ogami," as if to stop him.

"It seems like you're always by yourself lately. What's the matter?"

It was clear she knew the answer to that from the start. There was no way she couldn't know. That moment Ogami's isolation was established, all members of the class were present, so of course she had been there as well.

"As if you don't know," Ogami replied without even looking at her.

Then she gave a troubled laugh, and readily admitted it.

"Yeah, I actually do know."

By this point, Ogami was already feeling painful glances on him from around the classroom. A few positioned close enough to hear the conversation stared at the two of them wondering what this was about, and even those who at a glance seemed unconcerned were, if you paid attention, stopping what they were doing to listen in.

That was just how much of an abnormality it was for her to speak to Ogami.

Sumika Takasago was the flower of the classroom. She was more mature and withdrawn than not, but people naturally gathered around her. Surely it helped that she had glossy long hair and a face just cute enough to not stand out, but perhaps it wasn't only that. She felt almost defenseless, somehow, having a certain perilousness to her like she might get hurt by something if you left her alone, and that seemed to effectively stimulate the goodness in people's hearts.

Sumika questioned Ogami without paying any mind to her classmates' gaze.

"Our houses are really close to each other. Did you know that?"

He knew. He'd been dimly aware of it since elementary school, but after ending up in the same class as her in middle school, Ogami made a daily game of whether could time his commute to and from school to match hers. If he could see her from behind, that was a win. Though lately he'd been extremely late coming to school, so he was on a losing streak.

Ogami pretended not to know, of course. "Huh," he said, and stood up from his seat.

Sumika promptly stood up as well, and suggested:

"Let's go home together!"

There was no question people around the classroom heard that. But Ogami had already fled the room by then. So to this day, he didn't know what sort of ripples her bizarre behavior sent through the class.

The hallway was filled with students. Weaving between people standing around talking and people squatting to dig through their lockers, Ogami hurried forward.

He could sense Sumika was following him at a light run.

Is this some kind of punishment game?, he first considered. Was she an assassin sent by my classmates, since I had become so numb as to not make a peep no matter what punishment they inflicted? Was this for their sick amusement, as they watched from the shadows to sneer at me if I dared delight at being offered a fake helping hand?

He didn't want to think a seemingly harmless girl like Sumika was involved in something so malicious. Nor his other classmates, even - yes, they would ignore those they didn't like, but he couldn't see them actively taunting him like that.

In which case, the next thing to consider was sympathy. Or else feeling a sense of responsibility. It was possible she personally roused herself with the idea that "I have to help him to avoid a second Kozaki." But that also seemed unnatural based on Sumika's personality. He'd never once seen her approach someone with such intentions this entire year. A girl quietly satisfied all by herself - that was Sumika in a nutshell.

The most dangerous thing about a situation like this is hope, thought Ogami. He simply had to keep imagining the worst case. Whether the bridge was made of straw, spider's silk, or stone, he had to keep tugging on and hitting it to be assured of its sturdiness.

Even after stepping out of the entryway, Sumika didn't leave Ogami's side. He heard the keychain on her bag jingling about two steps behind him the whole time. As he passed by the track team warming up in the corner of the parking lot, a few familiar faces among them glanced toward Ogami, then to Sumika walking behind him, then once again to Ogami. So it was, indeed, a situation that looked odd even to bystanders.

As soon as he made it past the front gate, he felt at ease. From here on, he was outside the school's sphere of influence. Even he, at the bottom rung of the classroom, was on the same level as everyone else when outside the school.

He turned around, and Sumika was still there.

"You're a fast walker," she said breathlessly, unwrapping her rouge-colored scarf and putting it in her bag.

Once they'd come this far, where no acquaintances were watching, Ogami expected that there would be some kind of explanation. Was it a punishment game, or sympathy? Or just maybe, she too felt put off by the Kozaki incident like me, and felt that my classmates' treatment of me was unfair?

Or else, she'd had an interest in me from the start, and perceived my current isolation to be a prime opportunity?

Surely not.

The freshly-fallen snow hadn't been stepped in much yet, so Ogami walked back home making use of what sparse footprints there were. Sumika, wanting to walk at his side no matter what, took crunchy steps through the fresh snow, sometimes nearly slipping and falling over.

The pant cuffs of Ogami's uniform became stained, and melted snow began to drip into his socks.

Things must have been even worse inside Sumika's shoes, given the rough path she was walking on.

At the bottom of a long slope going through a residential district, there was a railroad crossing. Usually you would never get caught at it, but just as Ogami got there, the warning bell started to ring.

Sumika caught up, and it was there she finally opened her mouth.

"I mean, didn't they all hate the guy?"

There was no need for confirmation that she was quoting Ogami's remark.

"For instance, if by some chance I died," she began, facing Ogami, "would you expose everyone's lies the same way, Ogami?"

The train passed through. The warning bell continued ringing for a bit longer, and eventually stopped.

The gate raised, and the two started walking.

"Except everyone likes you, Takasago," Ogami bluntly told her.

Sumika slowly shook her head.

"That's actually not necessarily true."

Ogami couldn't understand her meaning at the time. He still didn't get it, even nearly a decade later. For the two years between then and graduation, he constantly kept an careful eye on people's relationships, yet he never once found anyone who hated Sumika.

To the very end, she never made any enemies - except for Ogami.

Maybe there was actually no meaning at all behind saying "it's not necessarily that everyone likes me"; rather, it was merely a way of catching his interest.

When they reached her house, Sumika came to a stop, looking reluctant.

"See you tomorrow," she said with a little wave.

He couldn't wave back, nor could he avert his eyes.

After wordlessly seeing her disappear behind the door, Ogami started walking again, reaching his house in about a minute.

Even once back in his room, he forgot to even take off his uniform and just spaced out in front of the heater.

What's happening to me?

From the next morning on, his "game" ceased to function as a game. Sumika was always there past the corner, and when she noticed Ogami's arrival, she raised her hand up and smiled innocently.

Every day had become a "win."

In their last month as first-years, the two were outsiders to the end. The other students just watched Ogami and Sumika have friendly conversations with bewilderment.

Maybe it was that very spectacle which seemed "wrong" to their eyes.

Though not one of them went so far as to point out "you guys were never that friendly before."

*

He didn't intend to stay in the Town of Sakura long. He didn't even feel like showing up at his parents' house. He parked in the lot of the supermarket in the central part of town and turned off the engine. Reclining in the seat, he smoked a cigarette, finished off a can of coffee, then got out of the car.

In the evenings, the town had a sharp smell to it particular to the northern prefectures, and combined with the gloominess of nightfall, it made Ogami feel the same sort of lonesomeness he had in childhood. He started walking through the snowless parking lot over to the sidewalk, and the moment his soles touched the thick snow, his body quickly recalled how you were supposed to walk through it.

He could have gone looking for an old acquaintance who might know something about the Sumika situation, but he decided he wouldn't be taking any detours. It would be quickest to go to Sumika's house and ask her parents directly. Simply confirming her death was priority number one. Waxing nostalgic about the streets of his hometown could wait.

Ogami stuffed his hands in the pockets of his duffle coat, and being careful not to slip on the snowy path, he made his way toward Sumika's house.

It was never a very populous town, but it seemed like the population had only further dwindled in the past four years. The sun had only just set, so you'd expect to see plenty of housewives coming home from shopping or students from school, yet he only encountered enough people to count on one hand. He spotted many unfamiliar empty houses and signs on vacant lots, while several buildings he knew had completely vanished.

The Town of Sakura was becoming a town of ghosts.

The way to walk through snow wasn't the only thing his body remembered. Though his mind should have been filled with thoughts of Sumika, Ogami found himself in front of his parents' house. It wasn't as if he'd passed Sumika's house by. After graduating middle school, he made it his custom to go the long way around to avoid coming near her house. Apparently, he had followed that route subconsciously.

The lights in the house weren't on, so it seemed his parents were still at work. Ogami was grateful for it. He'd intended to leave the town quickly, and wanted to leave as few traces as possible.

Turning away from his old home, he took the first step toward Sumika's house.

He could've done the rest with his eyes closed. He remembered how many steps it was to the corner, then how many steps it was to reach her house.

So he actually tried closing his eyes.

Count 42 steps, come to a stop, and turn left around the corner.

Then another 56 steps.

Turn left.

Open your eyes.

He'd expected some slight difference in the numbers due to physical growth, but as if he'd been subconsciously correcting for them, he was only barely misaligned from his destination. The gate to Sumika's house was right in front of him, with an actual-size ornament of a black cat, small orange lights lighting up the nameplate, a brick fence just as perfectly white as in his memory -

And then, he gasped.

Dressed in uniform, Sumika stood beside Ogami, peering at his face.

[+]

3

Ogami's middle school held their culture festivals in the summer rather than the fall. It made for a hectic schedule: doing rehearsals for the culture festival alongside preparing for finals, going straight into the festival after finals without a break, and then having the summer festival soon after that. He didn't know what possessed them to adopt such a messy schedule. Maybe it was out of consideration for third-years preparing for entrance exams.

The classes were changed up when they became second-years. There was a possibility that he'd be separated from Sumika, but he felt he was prepared for that eventuality. On their last day communing to school in March, she told him "Even if we end up in different classes, let's still walk to school together like this."

And yet on the first day of the new term, looking at the class roster posted at the entrance, he sighed with relief seeing both their names in the same box.

The one thing he didn't like about his new class was Kujirai being there. The man who had driven Ogami into isolation. While you could also say he created the impetus for him becoming close with Sumika, it could only been viewed that way in hindsight. Rather than being fearful of what he might actually do, Ogami was more annoyed about having a symbol of that painful month always in sight.

April passed in the blink of an eye, and after the Golden Week break, preparations for the culture festival began. Ogami's class decided to put on a play. It was mostly just decided arbitrarily by their homeroom teacher, but no one showed any opposition. It really doesn't make much difference what you do at a middle school culture festival.

To put on a play, you need lead parts, supporting parts, bit parts, and stagehands. Ogami figured he would naturally be a stagehand. His other classmates seemed to think the same. With no one in their class who desired to stand out and take center stage, nor any responsible honor students, duties were decided starting from the backstage roles. By the time Ogami understood that this meant they were scrambling for the uninteresting roles, the only option that remained was to play a leading role.

Sumika had followed a similar path. Apparently she'd seen Ogami absentmindedly watching and not participating as they fought over backstage tasks and thought "well then, I'll do that too."

"I was sure you were just standing ready to jump on one of the lead roles," Sumika said with a laugh.

Even just the thought of standing in front of others and acting annoyed Ogami, but thinking how Sumika would share that suffering with him lightened his spirits some.

Though he had been made to take part in plays before in kindergarten and elementary school, they were always bit parts where he just had to say one or two meaningless lines and leave the stage. He couldn't imagine he could do any proper acting, but surely nobody was expecting much from a middle school play. As long as he didn't forget his lines and just stand there, he'd manage in the end, he thought.

And yet, there was someone expecting superb performances from a middle school play, surprisingly close at hand.

Kujirai was irritated from as early as script rehearsals. He glared at his classmates as they read their lines, and let out an obvious sigh every time there was a break. Every time a teacher gave an instruction, he looked at them with a frown. He had a temper that was unimaginable compared to the usual good-mannered Kujirai. And it was clear to everyone that it wasn't the play itself, but the quality of the performances that he was irritated by.

As far as Kujirai's own acting, much as it pained them, you couldn't so much as form a complaint. He spoke with a clear voice suited for performing, and was able to express what needed expressing without over-exaggerated intonation or gesturing. At the same time, he didn't seem to be standing above the other hammy performers either, naturally blending in with the scene. It was a bit magical. Ogami'd always thought he was a man who could do anything well, but when it came to theater, he was clearly on another level.

His irritation was also effectively expressed through that acting skill, further intimidating the amateur actors with each passing day. Among them, Ogami alone doggedly hung on out of antagonism for Kujirai. He couldn't stand the idea of giving Kujirai a justifiable reason to look down on him. By imagining how Kujirai would play his role, and comparing Kujirai's unimaginable talent with his own, Ogami was able to refine his acting. The actual fastest way to improvement would have probably been to ask Kujirai to show him how it's done, but his pride wouldn't allow for that.

The other exception was Sumika. Though not on Kujirai's level, in no time at all after beginning rehearsals, she was demonstrating stand-out acting ability. Even if comparing her to Kujirai was unfavorable, thanks to her personality matching the role, she was able to master her part perhaps even quicker than Kujirai.

After school following their fourth rehearsal, due to class duties or something along those lines, Ogami and Kujirai had an opportunity to be alone with each other. Then, for the first time since the Kozaki incident, Kujirai spoke to Ogami.

"Y'know, it seems like the only ones with functioning brains in this class are me, you, and Sumika," Kujirai remarked in a tired voice. "The rest of them don't know a single thing about acting."

"No point in getting mad at amateur actors, is there?", Ogami replied - feeling a quiet relief that he wasn't included in "the rest of them."

"No such thing as an amateur actor," Kujirai declared decisively. "And yet as soon as they get up on stage, they suddenly forget everything they know."

You know, he's got something of a point there, Ogami thought. No one's "new" to acting. To some extent, people are always having to perform around others. And yet if you're outright told to "perform," you suddenly aren't able to. Like how if you turn your attention to your breathing, which you're always doing without a thought, you suddenly can't remember how to breathe naturally.

"By the way," Kujirai added, "you're just a little better than the others, not actually good."

"Well, thanks."

"Sumika is good."

"I can tell that."

"Which makes you the only one with room for growth."

It was hard for him to tell if he was being complimented or insulted, but he figured it was probably a compliment. For how irritated Kujirai was, he could honestly accept that remark as complimentary.

Kujirai asked if he had time later, and after being told Ogami had no particular plans, suggested he "come over to my house for a bit." Ogami said he wouldn't mind. It wasn't like he had forgotten his grudge from just earlier that year, but his curiosity won out. It seemed this man had a hidden side he didn't show in the classroom. Maybe he'd get to catch a glimpse of it.

Kujirai's house was on the edge of a residential district close to the school. The house looked like a boring and bland gray box, with a garage sticking out as if it were a little box put next to a big one. Kujirai took Ogami over to the garage. Raising the heavy shutter up to around his waist, he then bent down and ducked under. After confirming that Ogami was inside, he roughly pushed the shutter down with his foot.

It was pitch black inside the garage, which may have been why it felt much larger than it seemed from outside. Though there was a faint smell of concrete in the air, the place didn't feel unclean. Kujirai took familiar steps through the darkness. Eventually he flicked on the light, and Ogami's eyes narrowed at the sudden brightness.

It was a nice and tidy space. The first thing Ogami noticed was a black leather sofa in the center. On the right wall was a steel rack being used as a bookshelf, and on the left wall hung a large screen, with a projector hanging from the ceiling pointed at it.

Kujirai pointed at the sofa and said "sit there and wait," then opened the door in the back to go to the main part of the house. Ogami said in the sofa as told, staring at the blank projection screen for a few seconds. Then he stood up, went behind the sofa, and stood in front of the steel rack. Books made up at most one third of the contents, while the rest seemed to be video discs.

Ogami's eyes stopped on the label of a CD case on the bottom shelf. It was a movie that Ogami himself also owned. An old one. It was being sold for next to nothing at a thrift store after being given discount after discount. He was fond of the title: a boring, commonplace title that wouldn't make movie-lovers or movie-haters alike feel like reaching for it.

Ogami used that CD case of his as a secret hiding spot. It was thin, so he couldn't fit anything much in there, and indeed, nothing much was in there. A letter from a girl he used to be friends with, a New Year's card; stuff like that was the most it could hold.

Ogami reached for the case, having an amusing idea. Perhaps Kujirai - although it may have belonged to Kujirai's father - was using the same CD case as some kind of hiding spot. If he was lucky, maybe he'd even get some insight into Kujirai's weaknesses.

Not actually expecting much, he opened the case.

There were photos inside.

Maybe I could actually get on with this guy pretty well, Ogami thought with wonder.

The photos were all taken when Kujirai was young, suggesting that his parents hadn't hidden them. A parent would have no reason to hide photos of their son in a place no one would look. They should have shown them proudly.

Naturally, the photos didn't seem to carry any kind of secret that would capture Ogami's interest. Most likely Kujirai just felt kind of embarrassed about having old photos of himself.

After looking through all the photos, Ogami went to put the case back where it was. But something was tugging on his mind. He couldn't help but feel like he'd witnessed something with a deep relation to himself. He opened the case again and, careful not to leave fingerprints, inspected the photos again.

At the third photo, his hands froze.

It was Kujirai at around 10 years old. No, maybe a little before that. Judging from the clothes and the general atmosphere, it might have been taken at something like a piano recital or concert. To his left, a woman who seemed like his teacher gave a soft smile, and to his right stood a smiling girl around the same age as Kujirai.

A girl who looked a lot like Sumika Takasago.

No, never mind "looked like" - wasn't this Sumika Takasago herself?

Hearing a creaky floor beyond the door, Ogami quickly put back the photos and stuck the case back in its spot. Then he jammed his hands in his pockets and pretended to be looking at the top shelf of the rack. But there was no need for his haste. Kujirai kicked the door, telling Ogami from the other side "open it for me."

Upon opening the door, he saw Kujirai holding a cola bottle in one hand and a frying pan filled with popcorn in the other. The popcorn was still radiating heat, and smelled of cooked butter. Kujirai set it down on the sofa table, then went to grab a disc and put it in the projector. After dimming the lights with a remote, he sat down at one end of the sofa. Ogami sat himself at the opposite end.

Projected on the screen was, of course, a movie, an old film whose title Ogami was just barely able to remember. The quality was pretty rough, but it wasn't black and white. It started with a scene of two men dressed in thick clothes talking under a bridge.

There was initially enough space between Ogami and Kujirai for a cat to curl up in, but as the movie progressed, it gradually shrank. A consequence of the popcorn being put at the center of the table. Ogami felt it was a little lacking in salt, but even so, it was the best popcorn he'd ever eaten. He also appreciated how unlike a movie theater, you didn't have to worry about the crunching sounds you made as you ate.

By the time the movie, less than two hours in length, ended, the pile of popcorn had disappeared.

During the end credits, Kujirai aired a question. "What'd you think?"

"Some more salt would..."

"I mean the movie. The actors' performance."

He had no particular impressions worth calling impressions. He didn't know very much about films, and was too focused on the plot to pay any attention to the acting.

"There was nothing really egregious," Ogami answered. He intended it as a roundabout way of saying "I didn't feel anything," but Kujirai was pleased with that answer, nodding in admiration.

"That's the fundamental thing," Kujirai agreed. "You can't even let them think "they're good at this.""

If you're making the audience think "they're good," your acting is already being perceived as acting. That must have been what Kujirai was trying to say.

It was a notion consistent with his own acting.

"The popcorn was tasty," Ogami remarked as he gazed at the now black screen.

"I know," Kujirai said with disinterest.

Every day from then until the day of the culture festival, Ogami watched movies with Kujirai in the garage. They were diverse in genre, some old and some recent, some short and some long. Some were terrifyingly simple stories, while others were packed with enough details to make your head hurt, and some you couldn't make sense of at all.

He didn't imagine watching them would improve his own acting, nor did he think it was necessary to get serious about a culture festival play in the first place. Yet drawn by the unusual sensation of watching movies in a dark garage as well as the taste of the popcorn, Ogami went as far as to neglect finals to continue paying visits to the garage.

He hadn't forgotten his resentment of Kujirai. But Kujirai's invitation could be taken as an offering to reconcile, and he felt it was no use holding a grudge over things that were in the past.

Some conversation or another led Kujirai to abruptly divulge that his father had passed away. "He died all of a sudden while relaxing on a day off. Right on this sofa we're sitting on."

Ogami frowned, and Kujirai laughed that it was a joke. But following that conversation, the darkness of the garage started to feel like it had the same kind of stillness as a graveyard.

Although it wasn't such a bad sensation.

A week after Ogami started going to Kujirai's garage, Sumika suddenly spoke up while they were walking to school.

"Ogami, you seem friendly with Kujirai lately."

"Really?" Ogami played dumb.

"Really. You're always going home together."

Now that she mentioned it, ever since they started preparing for the culture festival, he hadn't once accompanied Sumika on the way home from school. Part of it was that he was being assigned other small tasks on top of the play rehearsals, so the times they were going home didn't line up. But sure enough, the primary reason was Kujirai.

He had yet to tell Sumika about his visits to the garage. Even he was still trying to determine how to associate with Kujirai, so he wasn't sure how to go about explaining it.

"I guess it's more fun for boys to hang out together, huh?", Sumika said in a sulking tone.

It seemed she didn't find the situation very agreeable. Was it bad that he was being friendly with Kujirai, or was it bad to be getting close to someone without Sumika's knowledge? In any event, it was the first time she'd openly stated some dissatisfaction to him.

To defend himself, Ogami openly explained the situation. At first, Sumika listened to his story with suspicion, but gradually began to show an interest in what they were doing in Kujirai's garage.

"I wonder if you'd let me join in, too?"

Of course, there was no way he could decline.

After school that day, Ogami brought Sumika along to the garage. Kujirai was unfazed when he saw Sumika, simply saying "Huh, you came too, Sumika?", then squeezing himself against the edge of the sofa to make room for a third person.

From then on, the films became something for the three of them to watch together.

What did this situation mean?

That question was adjacent to the question of what Kujirai's photos meant. Supposing the girl in the photo was Sumika, and there was a significance to Kujirai keeping it in a hidden spot, this situation could be extremely dangerous for Ogami. On the other hand, Kujirai couldn't ask for anything better.

At first, Ogami watched Kujirai's every action to determine whether he might become a rival for Sumika's affection. Needless to say, by this point Ogami had long since fallen for her, and was plenty aware of those feelings of his. Part of it was that she was kind to him when he was suffering, yes. But when Ogami truly fell in love came after moving up a grade, when the two being together became natural.

There came a moment when Ogami had a revelation, as if sent from the heavens. Me meeting this girl is a once in a lifetime event. There probably won't be anything else in my life to come that can make me as happy as this. Decades later, I'll look back and think "I never was able to get anything better than that" - that's the kind of encounter this is.

And Kujirai was a superhuman the likes of which he had never seen before. Until seeing him, he thought all people had their advantages and shortcomings, that no one was generally blessed with everything. But since befriending Kujirai, he had to re-evaluate that idea. This man has nearly everything. Compared to Kujirai, do I have even a single thing that's more charming than him?

At a glance, Kujirai didn't appear to be treating Sumika any differently for being a girl. But figuring it would be a piece of cake for a skilled actor such as him to conceal his affections, Ogami couldn't let his guard down.

Even putting the photo aside, there was no mistaking that the two had an old acquaintance. It wasn't necessarily intimate, but he felt a particular familiarity around the edges of their words. Like siblings who didn't get along particularly well nor poorly, or else a couple who had broken up amicably.

He also considered just coming out and asking about the photo. He'd just have to ask directly: "why are you hiding a photo of Sumika?" Knowing Kujirai, he'd probably answer honestly. That would make his feelings clear, thought Ogami.

But if he honestly admitted having feelings for Sumika, what would I do then? Would erasing my immediate doubts end up shortening the lifespan of my happiness?

But by the time the culture festival was near at hand and the play was almost fully prepared, such worries had vanished from Ogami's mind. Kujirai didn't seem to be an enemy. In fact, seeming to infer the complicated relationship between Ogami and Sumika, he showed restraint, even going so far as to keep some distance from her. Kujirai was probably consistently doing that from the start, but his consideration had been so casual that Ogami didn't notice.

So there was surely no deep meaning to that photo after all. Maybe the girl in the photo was Sumika, but her being in it didn't hold any great meaning, it's just that she happened to be there. Or perhaps Kujirai had special feelings for her at the time, but it held no meaning to Kujirai now; maybe he just couldn't let go of a photo that was once a treasure of his.

Ogami was relieved on two fronts. One, that he wouldn't have to recklessly challenge an opponent he knew he could never contend with. And two, that it wouldn't throw a wrench into the budding friendship between the two of them. Ogami had come to feel a natural fondness for this Kujirai. The time he spent with him was becoming his second-favorite in the world. It was an entirely different kind of "special" from the kind Sumika provided.

As he spoke more with Kujirai, Ogami's words became more fragmentary. If I use the minimum amount of words, this guy should understand what I'm trying to say without misunderstandings, he thought, and in practice, he did indeed convey himself without misunderstandings. Then Kujirai's words became fragmentary to go along with it, to the point that there were occasions in which Sumika was unable to keep up with the speed of their conversations.

This guy's equipped with the same circuits as me, Ogami thought. He might have much higher specs, yet we're built from the same base. So if you put in the same input, you get the same output. So maybe even the fact we used a CD case for the same movie as a hiding spot wasn't such a coincidence.

The play came and went without incident. When both the actors and the audience are amateurs, there's no such thing as success or failure. Even so, approaching it like another rehearsal where you're just trying to avoid forgetting your lines from nervousness, Ogami ended it feeling like it truly was no different from the rehearsals.

The culture festival reached the end of its schedule, and Ogami walked with a sense of reluctance down the hall, where echoes of the festival lingered. As he changed his shoes at the entryway, Kujirai spoke from beside him, lit by the westering sun.

"It's a comedy today."

"An old one?", Ogami asked without looking up.

"Relatively new."

"When you say "relatively new," that means about 30 years old," he heard Sumika remark with a laugh behind them.

Even once there was no longer a need to study acting, Ogami and Sumika continued to visit Kujirai's garage. Yet bit by bit, the movie part became unnecessary, and the three started gathering to idly spend time more often. They even grouped together at school, and on days off, they sometimes went on day trips together.

During summer vacation, the garage became as hot as a sauna. Some days it would be so much that they were sweating even with the fan on, in which case they'd leave the garage and walk around town seeking ways to cool off. Just like how they sat on the sofa, Sumika was always in the middle of the lineup, inserted in between Ogami and Kujirai. It wasn't like someone decided it should be so, yet that lineup was what felt most right.

That's why even after so much time had passed, whenever Ogami recalled Sumika from those days, he'd get a glance of Kujirai's face over her shoulder. He too was someone Ogami had a grudge against, but compared to his grudge against Sumika, it was quite a bit weaker. Kujirai had been showing Ogami a number of hints from the beginning. In that sense, you could say he was a lot more fair than Sumika.

Though he found it too awkward to ever say as much to the two of them, Ogami felt that the only term that could describe the relationship between the three of them was "best friends." The trio of Ogami, Sumika, and Kujirai demonstrated the perfect relationship for a group mixing boys and girls; you couldn't ask for something better. Built on a careful balance you wouldn't get with three boys or three girls, it was something of a miraculous relationship. Looking around, he could see not a single group of people that maintained the appropriate distances the way they did.

By no means had he given up on his love of Sumika. Yet Ogami prioritized the preservation of their three-person relationship over romance, striving to not see Sumika differently as a girl. It required extraordinary effort, but it just went to show how valuable the time they spent as a trio was to him.

He was well aware such an unnatural relationship wouldn't last long. Eventually, an end would come to their friendship. The most perfect times will always leave you at some point. But Ogami had made up his mind: at least I won't do anything to hasten that day's coming.

He heard the rumor about Handcuff love-divination on a sunny morning in November the following year. The town was filled with an aroma signaling winter's arrival, and whenever the wind blew, you could hear the sound of dry fallen leaves rustling somewhere. It was on the way to school, so of course Sumika was there next to Ogami. Which meant Sumika heard the same rumor as the same time.

At that moment, Ogami and Sumika were waiting for the gate to rise at the railroad crossing. Behind them were two others also waiting. It was a pair of girls, having a rambling chat as girls their age are wont to do. Ogami had been tuning them out as background noise, but certain words suddenly caught his attention.

"Hey, have you heard? There's this thing where you can tell you likes you using your Bracelet."

Even after the gate went up and they started walking again, Ogami listened in on the two chatting behind them. Sumika, perhaps also interested in the conversation, was unusually quiet as she walked beside him. Their gossip soon ended, and they went back to talking about ordinary topics.

The gist of the rumor was this. There existed an app that could capture and analyze the data transmitted by Handcuffs, and using that, you could tell who had affections for you.

The "Health" part of the National Health Care System wasn't just referring to physical health. It also accounted for mental health, meaning the info collected by the Handcuff's extensive sensors didn't stop at simply biological data. For instance, it even included things like the wearer's relationships. Among the problems a person might have, some can only be resolved with the help of their personal network - that was the stated reasoning, setting aside whether it was true.

While the extent of the data being collected was publicized, it was not clear just how much the System could read from that information. But people were saying that for instance, by simply analyzing physiological responses, you might easily be able to predict things like personal feelings if you so desired - that the System might quietly be building a massive web of relationships based on likes and dislikes.

Of course, even supposing that were true, you'd likely have to analyze the server directly - surely analyzing transmissions from Handcuffs wouldn't allow you to go as far as determining who had affections for you. It was just a harmless rumor surrounding Handcuffs, one you could just laugh off and be done with.

So it should have been.

But days later, Ogami still couldn't forget about that rumor. No, it's an understatement to say he couldn't forget. Handcuff love-divination had been constantly sitting in the center of his thoughts.

If that rumor is true, I could ascertain Sumika's feelings without her even suspecting a thing. Not only that, I could even confirm what Kujirai thinks about her.

Since the first time Sumika visited the garage, Kujirai had kept a consistent attitude. He kept a line between him and Sumika as if out of consideration for Ogami, and carefully avoided being alone with Sumika without Ogami there.

And yet, Ogami thought. There was the matter of the photograph. At one time I'd decided that there was no deep meaning to that photo, but was that judgement accurate? Kujirai's showing consideration for me now, but could I say for certain that he always would?

What if Kujirai, too, is just keeping a lid on his feelings out of fear he'll ruin our three-person relationship?

If I can learn their relationship through this Handcuff love-divination thing, then I can come to some kind of personal settlement. If Sumika likes me back, there's nothing better than that, and if she likes Kujirai instead, I'd much prefer learning it this way to hearing it from Sumika's mouth. I'll quietly have my heart broken without her knowing, and be able to mentally prepare before their relationship develops. I'd no longer have to worry about facing the worst kind of surprise attack.

Or maybe she didn't have a romantic interest in anyone. In that case, we could maintain the same relationship as usual.

He got as far as typing keywords into a search engine box. But he was barely able to stop himself there. This kind of approach wasn't fair. Maybe Kujirai or Sumika are feeling similar anxieties to me. For me alone to use this method to get relief, as if stealing a glance at their hearts, would be equivalent to betraying their friendship.

After much struggle, Ogami managed to reject the allure of Handcuff divination. And he felt just a little proud of himself for arriving at such a decision.

That said, if Kujirai had been sufficiently informed at this point, it's dubious whether he would arrive at a similar conclusion. Ogami, at the time he heard the rumor, still had something safe to fall back on. Even supposing Kujirai had feelings for Sumika, Ogami had the quiet conceit that she would likely choose him.

Even when the three acted together, there would be times when she had to pick one of the two. And at those times, Sumika would always prioritize Ogami. It was never the case that Sumika and Kujirai would go home from school together, whereas she did so with Ogami near-daily. There were times when Sumika would briefly touch Ogami physically, but he never saw her touch Kujirai.

Above all, Sumika and Kujirai becoming friends at all was largely just the way things went. Meanwhile, she clearly befriended Ogami out of her own volition. Even looking at only the objective facts, he felt that he had more advantages.

Naturally, however much friendliness Sumika felt for him, whether it was love was something else entirely. You could even take the perspective that she treated him so lightheartedly because he wasn't a target of affection. Yet you could also say she was having trouble taking the next step because he was a target of affection.

Kujirai is a fascinating man, Ogami thought. Even I think that as a guy, so I can only imagine how he looks to a girl. Some people have charms that are only liked by their own gender or only by others, but Kujirai wasn't like that. Not just likable as a man, he was likable as a human. If it were between me and Kujirai, it'd only be natural to pick Kujirai.

Even so, perhaps Sumika, and only Sumika, was judging people on a basis different from your average girl. The fact that the faux pas which isolated me is what led to her interest in me was the number one proof of that.

Sumika's feelings toward me are unlike the feelings she has for anyone else - even if they aren't love - so shouldn't I at least be confident in the fact that I'm special to her?

Those hopeful predictions of Ogami's, in truth, did hit close to reality. With the only problem lying in what "special" entailed.

It happened on a Sunday two weeks later, as Christmas approached.

That day was a rare occasion: the three of them were each on their own because they had their own things to attend to. Kujirai said he was going skiing with his family, and Sumika said she would be attending a school event for her little sister. Ogami was supposed to visit his grandmother's house, but circumstances changed in the morning, and the plans were postponed.

He hadn't been alone on a Sunday in a long while. After cleaning his room and lightly browsing social media, he felt restless and left the house. It was 1 in the afternoon, yet it was as dark as evening, with snow seeming likely to come down any moment.

After walking aimlessly for a while, Ogami stopped in front of a building. It was an old two-story apartment building built from wood, sitting in the corner of the residential district looking like an outcast compared to the surrounding buildings. The once white exterior had blackened beyond saving, and the rusted front steps looked as if holes might soon open up in them. He could sense no one's presence through any of the six windows, and there was not a single car in the presumed parking spots in front.

Ogami had always felt charmed by that gloomy apartment building, which seemed to have no charm as a residence. It's not like he yearned for frugal living, but he had the sense that such a lifestyle filled with deficiency suited someone like him.

Maybe the time he spent in Kujirai's garage had planted that perspective in him. That, too, was difficult to call a comfortable place. It was terrible in the summertime, but even worse in winter. It got cold enough that you might have no problems converting it into a freezer. At its chilliest last year, they wore blankets over their coats, huddled around the heater, and kept drinking hot tea from a heated kettle.

They could have simply moved into the main part of the house, but the three also found they enjoyed the difficulties of the garage. All three of them had learned from school life, like it or not, that sharing in suffering deepens bonds of friendship faster than anything.

Standing outside the apartment, Ogami imagined himself living there. At first, he placed Sumika next to his imaginary self. He tried to paint a picture of the two of them living an inconvenient yet sufficient life in a cramped tatami-floor room. But something felt wrong about that. This sort of life didn't fit Sumika. He wanted her to be living a peaceful life somewhere more clean.

Next, he imagined living a life of poverty with Kujirai. This felt entirely correct. They ate bland meals every morning with a low table between them, having frivolous conversation as they headed to their respective workplaces. They saved up to buy a cheap used car, and toiled to fix it themselves every time it broke down. On the weekend, they drove the car to visit Sumika. Celebrating some kind of anniversary, they got drunk until morning, and spent the whole next day lying down on the tatami floor.

An anniversary. Come to think of it, I haven't gotten Christmas presents for Sumika or Kujirai yet, Ogami recalled. Last Christmas, Sumika suddenly gave him a present, so he hurriedly ran off with Kujirai to a variety store in a neighboring town. To avoid that happening again this year, he thought he should get something prepared soon.

He thought of a present for Kujirai right away. He and Kujirai's tastes matched. He could just assume that anything which would make him happy to get, Kujirai would be happy to get.

Yet he struggled to think of a gift appropriate for Sumika. She had no clear hobbies or tastes to speak of. Not that she didn't have anything fun in her life, but it was almost like life itself was her hobby.

Indeed, last Christmas he'd asked her directly what sort of thing she'd want, but her answer was "I don't know either."

"Oh, but I'm happy with anything if it's from you, Ogami," she hastily appended. "Whether it's a pencil, an hourglass, anything."

"Talk about selfless," Ogami said, somewhat amazed. "Come to think of it, I've never really seen you wanting anything."

"That's not true. I'll absolutely give my all to get something if I really want it, like anyone else."

"Such as?"

"It's not possible to name something "such as" the thing you really want."

"You just can't think of anything, can you?"

"Not yet, no," she admitted. "If you're so insistent, what do you want the most, Ogami?"

He didn't remember how he answered that question. But most likely, he told some terribly boring lie. That was for the best, he thought. Because if he'd spoken his real feelings, he'd surely get a similarly boring answer.

Riding the bus to the next town over, he perused the same store he went to last year. After thinking it over for about 30 minutes, he decided to buy a Bracelet stand. It was a conical wooden stand, and pricey for a mere stand, but it seemed good quality. For Kujirai, he bought a leather keychain shaped like a shoehorn. This too matched Ogami's tastes so much he was loath to give it as a gift, meaning there was no question Kujirai would like it too. While ringing them up, the clerk explained that both were handmade, one-of-a-kind items.

He had the stand and keychain wrapped for him, then left the shop. As he rode the bus holding the paper bag, he started to become uneasy about his choices. Kujirai aside, would Sumika be happy to receive this?

He got off the bus partway and walked toward Kujirai's house. He likely had already bought a present for Sumika, or at least had an idea. If he could casually ask what he chose, that would be a good reference.

Kujirai was supposed to be skiing with his family, which was the whole reason the three were spending time apart that day, but Ogami only remembered that after ringing his doorbell.

He waited by the door for about 30 seconds, but of course got no reply. He gave up and stepped away, setting his sights on the garage. He didn't think Kujirai would be there, but thought it might be a good way to kill time. Kujirai had given him permission to enter the garage freely even when he wasn't there.

As he neared the garage, he noticed the shutter was open about 20 inches. Maybe someone forgot to shut it, or perhaps Kujirai was also at home because of a change in plans. Just after he thought that, he heard a voice that sounded like Sumika's through the gap in the shutter. It seemed it wasn't just Kujirai - Sumika was also in there.

Sumika was also in there?

He instantly came to a halt. Looking around to make sure no one was looking, he hid himself beside the garage. The sound was muffled, so he couldn't make out their conversation, but it seemed he was correct that Kujirai and Sumika were there.

As he held his breath to listen in, even though it wasn't like he'd been running, his heart pounded rapidly. Worrying that his heartbeat could be felt through the wall, Ogami kept his back slightly away from the garage.

"Why didn't... from the start..." Ogami was barely able to make out some of Sumika's words.

The mood didn't seem cheerful. Both voices had a tinge of tension to them. It was almost like they were rehearsing for a play, but while that might have checked out a year ago, there was no reason for them to be doing that now.

Neither Kujirai nor Sumika were supposed to be here in the first place. Just one of the two would be one thing, but it was hard to imagine that both of them had a change of plans. Even if this just happened by coincidence, hadn't Kujirai always avoided being alone with Sumika without Ogami there?

Ogami's confusion only deepened further when a moment later, he heard the sound of Sumika crying.

There was no question they were having some important discussion. And it likely had to be something they could only talk about without Ogami.

What in the world were they talking about?

The first thing Ogami imagined was that Sumika had admitted her affection for Kujirai and been rejected. And she was doing this when Ogami wasn't around because she had picked up on his feelings. Kujirai turning her down, too, would be because he was aware of those feelings.

If this guess was right, it was the worst possible development for Ogami. And even if he was just overthinking it, it was clear the two were sharing some kind of secret. It could even be something entirely unrelated to romance. And yet, there was no changing that Sumika had chosen Kujirai to show her tears to.

There was no changing that Ogami had been cut out.

Eventually, he heard the shutter open. At about the same time, a door closed inside the garage. It seemed Kujirai had gone into the house, and Sumika had left the garage.

Ogami continued to stand there next to the garage for a long while. Once the sun set and the streetlights came on, he finally came to his senses, and fled back home.

The next morning, Ogami dragged his sleep-deprived body out of the house. He took 42 steps, turned left, counted 56 steps, and saw Sumika's smile in front of him. "Good morning, Ogami," she said, bounding down from the porch. She bumped into Ogami from the momentum, and laughed playfully.

A faint hope crossed Ogami's mind: Maybe this whole thing is a misunderstanding. But when he looked at Sumika's face up close, there were unmistakable traces of tears. As if she had been crying all night.

He hoped for some kind of explanation soon, but even by next week, the two of them had not referenced what happened on Sunday. For Kujirai, it didn't help that it was exam season, so they didn't have many opportunities to talk. But Sumika had plenty of opportunities to tell the truth if she felt like it. She'd always detailed the most trivial news to Ogami; it was inconceivable she won't touch on an incident that made her cry. However he looked at it, she had to be hiding it from him.

He couldn't be worried about appearances anymore. He had to know what had happened between them, no matter how. Exams ended, and winter break was approaching. He decided he needed to clear everything up soon, while he could still meet Sumika every day.

That was how the rumor of Handcuff divination grabbed Ogami's heart once more, and guided him to the Town of Sakura.

On December 20th, a heavy snow warning was issued to the town. The snowstorm lasting half a day had colored the whole town white, but Ogami, busy researching at home, didn't even know that.

At some point, he'd fallen asleep at his desk. When he woke up, the app was already installed on his computer, and a page showing how to use it was displayed on the monitor. He couldn't clearly remember how he arrived at that page.

But it seemed certain that this was the app for Handcuff love-divination. His sleepy mind couldn't follow all the technical terms, but he at least understood the part about analyzing Handcuff transmissions.

The clock showed it was 12 PM. Probably because he'd fallen asleep with the heater on, his throat was terribly dry.

It appeared the app was named "BlossomBuddy."

Contrary to the name, the gray icon depicted a desolate, bare tree.

But this was no time to be looking into the origin of the app's name. Following the complex instructions on the page, he set up his computer to accommodate the app's functionality, synced it with his Handcuff, and got it started on analyzing the data.

By the time he got back from taking a shower, the analysis had finished. Not even bothering to dry his hair, he sat at the desk to check the results. At a glance, they showed more or less the same thing as the medical reports the System sent him every month. There was nothing to be gained from just being shown this again.

He scrolled down the page, feeling despair creeping in, when a line in the analysis with emphasized red text jumped out at him. Red text. That meant something high-risk.

Hurriedly scrolling back up, he checked what it was.

And there it said: "suicide risk."

There had been, of course, no such diagnosis in any of the medical reports the System had sent before.

BlossomBuddy was a tool for killing flowers. A way to root out Sakura, in other words.

Among the evaluations the System made based on collected Handcuff data, there were numerous things the wearer themselves would not be informed of. An emblematic one of these was "suicide risk."

A person who had been diagnosed as having a high suicide risk would be supported in various ways without their knowledge. They would generally try to put together a solution that involved connecting high-risk individuals with suitable facilities, organizations, or services, but there were no small number of cases for which this wasn't enough. The proposed way of filling this hole was the prompter system.

A prompter wasn't a professional like a counselor. The System would select the most suitable person from the high-risk person's surroundings and appoint them as a prompter. Broadly speaking, it was their duty to approach the high-risk individual as a good friend, and prevent their suicide.

Prompters would be given the appropriate training before being sent to the high-risk individual. Depending on the severity of the risk, multiple prompters might be sent. Their duty would last until the risk dropped to a safe value. Furthermore, it recently became forbidden by law for prompters to reveal themselves as prompters.

The name "prompter" came from the term used in opera and theater. Like prompters dressed in black who, out of the audience's sight, support actors who forget lyrics or lines, they were asked to be figures who supported troubled people from behind the scenes. (There were probably clearer choices for the name, but an English word unfamiliar to most Japanese people probably served them better. If you were sent something as blunt as "You've been appointed as Suicide Prevention Staff," anyone would surely recoil.)

On the whole, the prompter system worked effectively, and actually helped lower the suicide rate, so society generally accepted it favorably. As a result of frequent heartwarming stories in the media related to prompters, having the experience was seen as conferring a certain kind of societal status.

But on the other hand, the prompter system was creating a new kind of sickness. A sickness of suspicion, referred to as Sakura Delusion.

People began to think: What if all the people around me are prompters assigned by the System, putting on an act of being friendly with me? They're kind to me on the surface, but what if deep down they're just committing to a duty they were given, and I'm actually shunned by everyone?

What if they weren't so much prompters supporting the play that is my life from the shadows, but rather, reluctant seat-fillers? A paid audience of sakura, with all the transience that implies?

Kozaki's words from long ago suddenly arose in Ogami's mind.

You know, Ogami, I was thinking for sure you were a Sakura.

Popularly known as BlossomBuddy, the app's official name was "Blossom Killer." It was developed for people suffering from Sakura Delusion. If using BlossomBuddy showed you had a low suicide risk, the odds that you had Sakura assigned to you were extremely low. You'd no longer have to worry about Sakura Delusion steering you astray.

Meanwhile, if you were judged to have a high suicide risk, there was a high chance that you already had Sakura assigned to you.

Here we had a young man. He had no awareness of any suicidal tendencies, but checked against the System's standards, he was a prime candidate for someone who might kill himself. He had extremely few associates, with only two who he might call best friends - and if you left them out, it would be fair to say he had no proper interaction with anyone. Even his relationship with his family couldn't be called favorable.

Now, if there were already multiple Sakura assigned to him, who might they be?

There was no need to even think about it.

Maybe I'm not as strong a person as I thought.

That winter in my first year when I was isolated in the classroom, I was in a dangerous place mentally. I didn't realize it myself, but my body was putting out enough signals for me to be viewed as having a high risk of suicide. The System received that from my Handcuff, and decided to assign me a prompter - that theory began forming in Ogami's mind.

Normally, even if the target of support was a middle schooler, a middle schooler wouldn't be selected as the prompter. Not only communicating well with someone at high risk of suicide, but completely concealing that you're a prompter, is a heavy burden to put on a child in their early teens. Even for a mature adult, there were only so many who could sufficiently carry out the job.

And yet, as it would happen, there was an excellent candidate in Ogami's vicinity who could smoothly carry out the duty of a prompter. In fact, there were two. Sumika Takasago, and Shogo Kujirai.

First, Sumika took on the duty. She filled the role of suicide prevention staff perfectly, and saved Ogami from imminent crisis. But the System judged that her actions alone were insufficient, and after a gap of a few months, assigned Kujirai as a second prompter. He was expected to support Ogami from a different angle than Sumika, and he too executed this perfectly. But even then, Ogami's suicide risk wasn't improved enough to declare it safe, so they were still wearing the mask of "Ogami's good friends" to this day.

Behind those masks, perhaps they were looking at him with eyes full of hatred, for he was keeping them bound to their duty as prompters.

Ogami tried to shake off those thoughts, realizing "isn't this textbook Sakura Delusion?" It happened all the time. A healthy person can be driven mad by someone else's persecution complex. Just by being temporarily exposed to the poison of delusion, soon everything starts to look foolish. Even the app's analysis wasn't necessarily accurate. If it were this easy to read the transmission data, you'd surely have free reign to steal the data from other people's Handcuffs too. There was a significant possibility that the app was a fake, making you go through steps which sounded right and then just showing you a diagnosis that sounded right.

But the more he thought about it, the more his theory that Sumika and Kujirai were prompters seemed to have veracity. I had completely gotten used to it now, and accepted it as natural, but thinking back, hadn't I obtained happiness far beyond my position? Why was I, a man with no redeeming qualities, able to acquire such wonderful friends without any effort at all?

I'd thought of Sumika as an angel who saved me from my predicament. But an angel is a messenger of the heavens, so in the same way tracing back an angel's intentions leads you to the will of the heavens, perhaps it wasn't her own will, but the will of the System?

Was I just a foolish jester, feeling genuinely proud to receive applause from a paid crowd?

On Christmas day, they'd planned to have a bit of a party in Kujirai's garage. But the meeting time passed by, and Ogami still hadn't left home, lying down in his bed. His parents didn't seem to think this was especially unusual. It was exam season, so that sort of thing can happen - that may have been the most thought they gave it.

He didn't know if they would honestly reveal themselves or not. But once he showed some suspicion, it would force some sort of response from them. It was impossible to keep acting as a "good friend" while having suspicion of being a Sakura cast upon you.

He'd spent the last few days setting the stage. By now, the two had no doubt picked up on Ogami's suspicion. All that remained was to clearly point the finger. You guys are my Sakura, aren't you?

He could do it right this moment if he wanted. He could just make a call. And if they didn't pick up the phone, he could just go directly to their houses. He had tried to do just that several times, but always faltered just beforehand. Ogami endlessly lay in bed, gazing at the ceiling. He felt simultaneously like the accused awaiting judgement, as well as the judge announcing it. It would bring him relief to get it over with quickly, but he couldn't even bring himself to move his fingertips.

Past 6 PM on December 26th, Sumika visited Ogami's house. The moment he heard the doorbell, he knew it was her ringing it. He'd been convinced that she would come see him around this time. Past the open door, Sumika would be wearing her usual deep blue coat, her usual rouge-colored scarf, and her usual carefree smile, saying his name like she usually did.

Because that's what Ogami wanted her to do.

The front door opened, and there was the scene just as he had pictured it.

"Ogami."

Ogami looked at her face wordlessly. He tried to see through into the depths of her eyes. But he couldn't identify any differences from the usual in her expression or attitude. When he thought about how he'd stood them up, that overly-natural smile instead felt unnatural to him. It seemed to be snowing hard outside, as the shoulders of her coat were stained with snow.

She didn't bring up the party. "Let's go for a walk," she proposed innocently. "I've always liked walking around at night at the end of the year. Doesn't it have that feeling like the whole town's become one?"

Ogami gave a brief nod. A situation where they could be alone was most desirable for settling the issue with her. Doing it at the front door would just distract him. He put on his duffle coat from the coat hanger and boots, then went outside.

It wasn't windy, but that meant the snow was piled thick and damp. It came up high enough for his ankles to sink in, and the sound of shovels digging through the snow echoed in the darkness. Down the main street, he heard a snow plow driving around. You couldn't call this suitable weather for a walk. Ogami put up the hood on his coat and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

He didn't know what expectations Sumika had in coming to see him. Was she still intending to sidestep Sakura suspicion, or was she going to reveal herself here? He could bring things to a head himself by simply questioning her, but for the time being, he decided to observe her actions.

Stepping onto the main street, there was no one around. The occasional car that showed up slowed down as much as it could, windshield wipers working busily.

When Sumika almost tripped due to a difference in elevation obscured by the snow, and Ogami grabbed her hand, he felt momentary relief before immediately regretting it. She said "thank you" with some slight embarrassment, and while her voice sounded entirely natural, even that now only sounded like a line being performed to Ogami. He quickly let go of her hand, and put his hands back in his pockets.

Walking the path along the railroad track, Ogami had a thought. I'm at a crucial junction in my life. The pain awaiting me might be enough to change me as a person, down to my very core. Despite this, I'm unusually calm. He had a dry perspective, as if he were looking down on this present from decades in the future.

Or else, maybe that pain is too much for me to accept right now. I might not be able to gauge its true size unless I spend an unimaginably long time chewing on it. Pain like that had to be processed in parts, so maybe my mind is already preparing to minimize the pain that's going to befall me now.

At some point, Sumika got a fair bit ahead of him. She stopped and turned around, then when Ogami caught up, started walking again.

"I called again and again yesterday. Did you notice?", she asked.

"I noticed," Ogami replied.

"Were you busy?"

He couldn't answer that question. Sumika wore the same smile she always did when visiting his house, but looking at it up close, the smile seemed somehow strained.

He wondered if this was how her smile had always been.

After seeing she wasn't getting an answer, she changed to a more direct question.

"Are you avoiding me, maybe?"

Ogami silently nodded.

"Why?"

As she asked repeated questions, he could sense impatience in Sumika's tone.

"Wouldn't you be the one who knows that best?", Ogami said.

Sumika stayed silent for a while, but didn't stop walking. He didn't know where she was headed, but at the moment, they seemed to be following the route to school. It's not like they had a destination, did they? They were just subconsciously walking a path they were used to taking.

Eventually, she opened her mouth.

And she said, in an indifferent voice that sounded like someone else's:

"I guess so."

Those words were enough.

The girl who had been his best friend took off her mask and reverted to being an actor.

The railroad crossing came into view. The place where Ogami first heard about Handcuff love-divination. If those two talking about it hadn't been stopped by the gate coming down, if he hadn't heard their gossip, Ogami might have been treating this day like any other.

As if awoken by the sound of their footsteps, the warning bell rang, and the gate began to lower.

When the train drew near, Ogami had a sudden thought. If I jumped onto the tracks right now, what kind of face would she make? Of course, he wasn't seriously thinking of doing it. Yet a sane person wouldn't arrive at that kind of idea, either. Maybe Blossom Killer's diagnosis wasn't necessarily off the mark.

Thinking back, maybe he'd always been charmed by things that had the scent of death. Even as a kid, he liked places like hospitals and retirement homes. He felt oddly calm seeing flowers offered at the sites of accidents, and when he saw news about suicides, he always had to check up on the details.

Even when Kozaki killed himself, his first thought might not have been "way to go," but something closer to "you sly dog."

The train roared past the crossing gate. In his imagination, he saw himself becoming chunks of meat that scattered across the fresh snow. The train went off into the distance at incredible speed, disappearing beyond the trees in no time.

The gate and the warning lights went back to sleep, and silence filled the air.

One person's footsteps gently broke the silence.

After she'd reached the other side of the crossing, Ogami spoke.

"You never really liked me at all, did you?"

Sumika stopped and turned around, and started to say something, but her mouth froze like an actor who'd forgotten their lines.

...That's not true at all. Sure, at first I didn't like you very much. A letter came telling me to be a Sakura, and so I reluctantly got close to you. But soon, I realized I felt unusually comfortable playing the role of your friend. By the time the first month had passed, I hardly even needed to act. But whenever we cut loose a bit, I had to tell myself that this was just a performance. Even without an impetus like this, I'm sure we would have ended up with a relationship like this eventually... I knew I needed to tell you I was a Sakura someday, Ogami. But if I could, I wanted to wait until I was naturally removed as a Sakura. Though in the end, that only made you suspicious. But I want you to believe me. I like you, Ogami.

Those were the kinds of words Ogami was hoping to hear.

But the Sumika who followed backstage directions to simply give him the words he hoped for was here no longer.

That had been nothing more than a role.

With a sober smile, she said:

"Yeah. I didn't like you at all."

That was their final conversation.

Even after Sumika walked away, Ogami stood at the railroad crossing as if waiting for something. Maybe that thing was a girl coming back to give him a hug and words of apology, or maybe it was a merciless hunk of metal which would come and smash his real, non-imaginary self into pieces. Maybe it was a deus ex machina that would descend from the sky and solve everything, or maybe it was modest applause from some external being who had been watching this little tragedy.

He didn't know how long he waited. The edges of his vision glowed red, and the warning bell started to sound again. He saw the train's small headlights off in the distance. He knew he had no desire to jump in front of it. Ogami turned away from the crossing and began quietly walking.

After the train passed by, he turned around just once. The bell was still ringing, as if reluctant to go. Snow covered the branches of the dead trees along the road, and the blinking warning lights beyond them dyed the snow a light red.

To Ogami's bleary eyes, they looked like out-of-season sakura trees.

*

And thus, the town where he was born was transformed into the Town of Sakura.

*

Saying farewell to Kujirai was much simpler compared to Sumika. Ogami visited Kujirai's house at a later date, and matter-of-factly asked him if he was his prompter.

Kujirai readily admitted it.

"I'm relieved, honestly," he said with a refreshing smile. "I was getting irritated with you lately. I was planning to give you the talk soon, but I'm glad you picked up on it first. Now that it's come to this, I should be getting replaced by someone else."

Because he'd gotten pretty much the reaction he expected, Ogami was able to accept the truth rather easily. By having him admit it so boldly instead of awkwardly trying to talk out of it, he could close off his heart much more quickly.

The talk about going skiing and a little sister's school event must have both been lies so the two could create an opportunity to meet in secret. That day Ogami went to buy presents for the two, Kujirai covertly called Sumika to have a discussion as fellow Sakura. Feeling the limits of keeping things up with Ogami, he revealed his intention to expose himself.

Sumika panicked when she heard this. Because if he did that, there was no question she'd be exposed as a Sakura too. Whether out of innate kindness or simply common decency, she felt it was her duty to see her role as a Sakura through to the end. So she tearfully pleaded with Kujirai to change his mind. Kujirai reluctantly gave in, and decided to keep up the act a little longer. But Ogami happened to witness that exchange, and so despite all her efforts, he realized the two of them were Sakura.

That was more or less the truth of things, wasn't it?

Maybe Kujirai showing Ogami all those movies was a silent cry of "see through my act already, and free me from this position."

It was a quiet winter break. The new year came, and three days of it passed. Feeling his parents would be suspicious if he was moping all the time, Ogami started pretending to go out and visit Sumika or Kujirai daily. Avoiding routes where he might encounter anyone he knew, he killed time in places he could be alone. It's not that he didn't want to worry his parents. He just didn't want to show weakness to anyone. He couldn't stand for having any more Sakura.

It hadn't even been two weeks since his best friends were exposed, but Ogami was already solidifying the direction of his life to come.

Don't get involved with anyone. Don't let anyone sympathize with you.

And don't have fondness for anyone.

The break ended, and his last three months of middle school began. All three of the trio treated each other as people who didn't exist. As graduation neared, the class unified, with increasingly many students who felt reluctant to leave and hung around the classroom after school. Amid that, the total breakdown of the trio's relationship must have stuck out all the more.

However, there also wasn't anyone who decided to ask Ogami about it. Maybe the fact that the other two were Ogami's Sakura was common knowledge, and he was the only one who didn't know. That idea made his cheeks heat up, and made him want to run out of the school. Even so, the self-conscious fear that such a reaction would delight them the most kept Ogami chained to school.

It was something that had already happened. Which meant that the most he could do was pretend he wasn't hurt. He became a loner, but he could simply go "well, this isn't actually so bad." Until he'd eventually have everyone thinking "that guy didn't really need Sakura to begin with."

What gave him some meager comfort was that the relationship between Kujirai and Sumika was also severed. They must have just pretended to be friendly with each other as Sakura supporting the same person. Had they turned out to become a couple after the removal of Ogami, who impeded that relationship, he might have never been able to recover.

Ogami became an even more closed-off person than before, hardly speaking to anyone up to graduation. Even after going to college, he avoided associations to the utmost, rejecting people when they showed even the smallest shred of interest or sympathy. He came to distrust people the more they were kind or favorable to him, opening up only to those who were harsh or antagonistic. It was like choosing to only water trees if they were dead.

During high school, he worked part-time jobs to slowly save up money, and left home to start living alone at the same time he graduated. By then, he felt he was able to clearly understand the events that happened to him. Sumika and Kujirai had just faithfully carried out the jobs they were given. It wasn't those two who deceived me, nor the System's design that led them to deceive me, which deserved the most blame. That would be none other than myself, for being so weak as to need the support of Sakura.

Even with that understanding, Ogami wasn't able to fully quell his anger. He knew they had just done the jobs they were given. He knew that. But did that mean they had to deceive him so brilliantly? There was no need to so thoroughly charm someone you were going to forsake eventually, was there?

He managed to turn that anger, something of an unjustified resentment, into a positive. The only resource he had left was a desire for revenge, and by burning it, he survived seven years past middle school graduation. He perceived Sumika and Kujirai, the System who created Sakura, and the society who let them get away with it as enemies. Depending on your perspective, life can be easier when there's a villain. It fogs up the problems around you and gathers everything into a single focal point.

Someday I'll get my revenge on Sumika and Kujirai, Ogami thought vaguely. But he couldn't even guess when or where it might happen. All he could say for sure was, it wouldn't be a matter of simply making them suffer as much as possible - the pain they felt had to be the same kind that Ogami tasted.

Part 2

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