Chapter 2

“Is it good? I added yogurt as a secret ingredient. It’s supposed to give it a refreshing, slightly sweet flavour. It was in the recipe book.”

“Yeah, it’s really delicious, Midori.”

Perhaps she added too much yogurt, as the tanginess stands out a bit, but to Masato, everything Midori cooks is unconditionally delicious.

Sitting side by side at a four-person table, rather than across from each other, Masato and Midori eat their curry rice.

Midori smiles happily at Masato’s sincere praise.

“Yay…! I messed up earlier, but this time I got praised.”

“Just to be clear, I wasn’t scolding you earlier. I’d scold you if you slacked off and did nothing, but I won’t get mad over trying and failing.”

“But you told me to do it… I wanted to do it right.”

Midori has a tendency to faithfully follow whatever Masato asks of her, no matter what.

And the reason for that is—

“Because you’re the only one who still looks at me…”

“Midori…”

Masato doesn’t blame her, even if she fails at tasks like studying. The point of studying isn’t just to master middle school material (though that’d be nice) but to engage in the process of thinking and solving problems. Schoolwork builds not just knowledge but also memory, creativity, and mental discipline for life. For someone like Midori, who’s shut herself away, this kind of daily “exercise” is essential to keep her mind sharp.

In extreme terms, it’s okay if she doesn’t succeed.

But to Midori, it’s not that simple.

As a recluse who never made it to high school, no one asks or expects anything of her. She’s not needed, wanted, or acknowledged by anyone—not even her parents, who’ve long since stopped paying attention to her.

But one person is different—Masato. He visits her every day, gives her tasks, and accepts the results. He’s the one who expects things from her, who waits for her.

To Midori, Masato is the last person giving her a reason and meaning to live.

“If I keep failing… you’ll probably… abandon me too.”

“You were gonna say ‘abandon’? No way that’d happen.”

“Yeah… you’re kind, so you say that now. But someone like me, who can’t do what everyone calls ‘normal’… you’ll get tired of me someday.”

Her words stem from experience—being told “I won’t abandon you” countless times, only to be left behind. Teachers and her parents tried to help her recover from her reclusiveness but failed and eventually gave up. Now, her parents, both working, escape into their jobs, leaving all of Midori’s care to Masato, her childhood friend. Perhaps out of social appearances or a sliver of guilt, they leave her food and miscellaneous expenses for Masato once a month via the table. That’s their way of fulfilling their parental duties, it seems.

“If you ever left me… if I couldn’t live for you…”

She clings to Masato’s sleeve with her index finger and thumb, as if holding on for dear life.

Unlike the adults, Masato doesn’t try to force her out of her reclusiveness. Escaping can be a path too. After all she’s suffered, she needs time to not try so hard. That’s his belief.

Besides, he feels he has no right to push her to go to school, not after failing to save her from her bullies.

“I’ll do anything you want, Masa-kun. So just tell me.”

She looks up at him, her cheeks faintly red.

She’d probably do anything he asked, success or failure aside—even something illegal. As the person who’s known her the longest, Masato understands this. Of course, he’d never ask her to do something like that.

Unable to simply nod at her willingness to devote everything to keep him close, he dodges by addressing her earlier comment.

“Don’t talk about impossible ‘what-ifs’.”

“Masa-kun…”

“I’ll always be here. Don’t think about useless stuff like that. Fill your head with happy thoughts instead.”

“Okay… Then I’ll fill myself up with you, like always.”

If that calms her heart, Masato won’t deny it.

“Come on, the curry’s getting cold. You worked hard to make it delicious, so let’s eat while it’s warm.”

“Yeah.”

Relieved, Midori resumes eating.

×　　　　×　　　　×

“Alright, I’m heading home for today.”

At the entrance, Masato puts on his shoes and turns to Midori, who stands behind him.

“You’ll come back tomorrow?”

“Of course. Do the Japanese homework I mentioned, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it properly.”

To ensure she doesn’t forget the important task, Midori looks down and repeats softly, “Do the Japanese homework properly.”

In this way, she engraves the “reason to live” Masato gives her into her heart.

“See you tomorrow, Midori.”

“…Yeah, I’ll be waiting. Always, until you come.”

With those words seeing him off, Masato leaves the Ibutsu house. Midori has no personal computer or smartphone. She never had the former, and her parents cancelled the latter after she became a recluse, deeming it “a waste of money.” So until they meet tomorrow, there’s no way to contact her, and she’ll truly be alone in that house.

(I’ll go see her as soon as school’s done tomorrow.)

With that thought, he heads home.

×　　　　×　　　　×

The next day, during the break after first period, Masato sits at his desk by the window in the back, sorting through photos on his smartphone after a storage warning. Pictures like a cloud shaped like a dog’s head—things that seemed fun at the time but now feel irrelevant—get deleted as he works backward from recent to older photos.

His eyes stop on one image, and his scrolling finger freezes.

It’s a smiling Midori at an amusement park they visited together, probably two years ago, before her bullying and reclusiveness began. She’s wearing her favorite pure white dress, standing next to the park’s mascot in a costume, flashing a peace sign. Her hair was only shoulder-length back then.

He can’t help but stare nostalgically.

(We used to go to all sorts of places together back then.)

He wouldn’t mind doing it again someday, but he won’t force it.

“Who’s that cute girl?”

A familiar voice comes from behind—clearly directed at him, given how close it is.

It’s Ide.

“A date photo, maybe?”

“What, what, Akatsuchi-kun on a date?”

Another voice joins in—Dora. Her eyes sparkle with curiosity at the word “date.”

“Minamoto-san, it seems this girl is the reason he’s rejecting the confession.”

“Wow, if you’ve got a girlfriend this cute, no wonder you’d turn someone down.”

It’s true that Midori is the reason for his rejection, but their assumption is way off.

“Hold on, don’t jump to conclusions. She’s just my childhood friend, like a little sister. This wasn’t a date, just us hanging out.”

“That’s literally what a date is,” Dora says.

“…Is it?”

Her words catch Masato off guard.

(I thought dates were only for couples…)

“Date definitions aside, is she really just a childhood friend?” Ide asks, his eyes gleaming mischievously like a kid who loves gossip. He’s such a guy when it comes to girl-talk.

“If we were dating, I’d say so. Also, keep your voice down! We’re in the classroom.”

Luckily, no one seems to be eavesdropping, but if someone who loves this kind of gossip overheard, it’d be a disaster. Love-related rumors, true or not, are prime gossip fodder, and Masato doesn’t want to be teased.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m trying to be mindful,” Ide says.

The bell for the next class rings, cutting the conversation short.

“Next class is starting,” Ide says, glancing at the wall clock above the blackboard. Students start returning to their seats, preparing for the lesson, though some linger in conversation.

Masato’s gaze drifts to the empty seat from yesterday. Kurusu is absent again today—he hasn’t seen her once.

“Hey, is Kurusu out again today?”

He asks casually, as if mentioning a random absent classmate. This way, no one would suspect she’s the one who confessed.

But both Ide and Dora look at him with puzzled expressions.

(What? Did they figure it out?)

He worries—but their reaction is unexpected.

“Who’s that?” Dora asks.

“I’ve never heard of them… What class are they in?” Ide adds.

They respond as if they’ve never heard of such a person.

“Huh? No, Kurusu! Our classmate!”

Thinking he might’ve misspoken or they misheard, Masato repeats her name.

But—

“Don’t know any girl like that… You sure you didn’t mix someone up?” Dora says, still puzzled.

Masato looks to Ide for help, but—

“Well, we just started second year, so mix-ups happen… But isn’t everyone here today?” Ide says.

“Yeah, I think it’s full attendance,” Dora agrees.

That’s ridiculous, Masato thinks. He hasn’t seen Kurusu all day, her seat’s empty, and there’s no bag on the hooks.

“Then whose seat is that?” He points to the empty seat in front of the teacher’s desk—Kurusu’s seat. All three are looking at the same thing.

“That seat’s always been empty. What’re you talking about?” Ide says.

“Are you half-asleep?” Dora adds.

(What are they talking about?)

For a moment, he wonders if it’s some new kind of bullying, but their eyes show genuine confusion, not malice. He knows these two aren’t the type to join in on bullying.

Then, Ms. Kamina enters the classroom. The next class is her “Contemporary Society” lesson.

Noticing her, Ide says, “Oh, the teacher’s here. Catch you later,” and returns to his seat.

“Don’t fall asleep in class,” Dora says, assuming he’s just sleepy, and heads to her seat.

Masato, however, stands and approaches the teacher’s desk.

“Ms. Kamina, can I talk to you?”

“Huh? What?”

He quickly grabs the attendance book on her desk. If “Kurusu” is listed, he can confirm her name and absence. Even if he’s been misremembering her name, the only absent student should be her, so the absent name would be Kurusu’s correct one.

But—

“Why… How…?”

Her name isn’t there.

As Ide and Dora said, no one is absent today. There’s no trace of Kurusu’s existence in the records.

“Hey!”

Ms. Kamina’s annoyed voice snaps him back. She snatches the attendance book from him.

“Don’t touch without permission.”

“S-Sorry…”

He apologizes reflexively, still reeling from the absence of someone he was sure existed.

(Did she move away without me knowing? No, Ide and the others would’ve mentioned that…)

That leaves the possibility that he’s been imagining her existence.

(No way, when did I start losing it?)

“Akatsuchi, get back to your seat. Or do you want to stay for my fun after-school lessons?”

“Uh, Ms. Kamina… Do you know someone named ‘Kurusu’?”

He asks desperately, clinging to hope.

She pauses, looking at him, then sighs softly and replies, “What, some celebrity? This isn’t the time for that. Class is starting—get to your seat.”

“Y-Yes…”

His classmates, though silent, eye him strangely, noticing his odd behaviour. Feeling awkward, Masato returns to his seat without asking more.

No one knows Kurusu. No one, except him.

×　　　　×　　　　×

After school, Masato leaves the school gate alone. Dora has volleyball practice, and Ide has committee duties, so Masato, in the go-home club, rarely leaves with them unless it’s during exam periods or similar timings.

“This makes no sense…”

His mind’s been in chaos all day, and he barely absorbed the lessons. Ide and Dora were worried about his odd behaviour, but he brushed it off, acting fine. Consulting them about Kurusu, who they claim not to know, would only worry them more.

His heart, however, is far from calm.

(Was she already ‘gone’ yesterday?)

It’s possible. Thinking back, no one mentioned her yesterday either. But the day before—when she confessed—she definitely existed. He’s pretty sure she was talking normally with friends during the day.

He confirmed during the break after second period that her supposed friends—two girls who were in a different class last year but joined hers this year, both in the literature club and among her few friends—also didn’t know “Kurusu.” They didn’t seem to be pretending either.

(I don’t want to think I’m the crazy one…)

But when everyone else shares one perception and he’s the only one different, objectively, he’s the abnormal one.

(For now, I’ll head to a café near the station to calm down and sort this out. I can’t let Midori see me like this.)

As he walks, he notices something.

(Wait, aren’t there… too few people?)

It’s not just few—there’s no one. The residential area from school to the station isn’t bustling, but there should be other students heading home.

Yet, the street is empty except for him. No pedestrians, no bicycles.

Masato steps onto the single-lane road. No moving cars, no people on the sidewalk. A parked car sits in the middle of the road, but it’s empty.

It’s as if the world has become deserted, filled with silence.

He hurries toward the station. There are two cheap chain cafés, a small ramen shop, a gyudon place, a privately owned bookstore, and a supermarket—nothing exciting for students, but at this time, it shouldn’t be empty. This area should be the liveliest around.

Yet, there’s no one. Just silence. He checks the supermarket, where lights are on and a cheesy theme song plays, but it’s deserted. The registers are unmanned—anyone could steal freely.

Stepping outside, Masato shouts into the street.

“Hey! Is anyone there?!”

No response.

“Someone! There’s gotta be someone!”

Yelling like this could get the police called, but no matter how much he shouts, there’s no reaction.

“This can’t be real…?”

He runs back, panting through the strain, desperate to find someone—anyone—at a place he knows people were, the school.

But—

“No way…”

The once-lively sports field, filled with club activities, is now empty. Like a school on a holiday, it’s just vast and silent.

It’s as if he’s been left alone in the world.

Is this phenomenon localized, or has everyone in the world vanished without him checking?

“Midori…!”

He pulls out his phone and calls her house to confirm her existence.

(Please pick up!)

As a recluse, Midori avoids outside contact except with him—deliveries, salesmen, even phone calls. He regrets keeping the ringer volume low to avoid bothering her, as it’s set so faintly it barely reaches her room. Even if she’s fine, she might not notice.

But this time, he prays she’ll answer.

“Please, Midori!”

The voice that answers isn’t hers but the automated voicemail.

“This is the voicemail service—”

“Damn it!”

He tries calling Dora, Ide, his parents—anyone likely to pick up. Unlike Midori, they have smartphones and should answer if they can.

Surely at least one will—

But no one does, no matter how many times he tries.

“Why isn’t anyone answering?!”

Frustrated and anxious, he yells. Still, no response.

He decides to find Dora or Ide in person. They should still be at school.

He heads to the gym where Dora’s volleyball team practices, but—

“No one… here…”

Even if they’re on a break, it shouldn’t be completely empty. The net is up, a ball lies on the floor—practice was happening recently.

Next, he searches for Ide, who’s in a health committee meeting. Not knowing where it’s held, he checks the nurse’s office and classrooms, but finds no one—not Ide, not any lingering students.

Then—

“Hey! Is anyone there?!”

Back at the sports field, Masato shouts in the centre, pleading for a response. But his wish goes unanswered.

His mind can’t process this unbelievable situation.

(Damn it, this is a dream, right?! Someone tell me it’s a dream!)

First Kurusu vanishes, now everyone else. This can’t be anything but a dream—it shouldn’t be.

(I’ve gotta find someone…)

Maybe everyone coincidentally left for some reason, and he just missed them everywhere. The odds are astronomically low, but not impossible. Maybe everyone’s phones are on voicemail by chance.

He decides to head to Midori’s house.

Surely he’ll run into someone on the way. And at his destination, Midori, who never leaves, will definitely be there.

As he takes a step—or perhaps blinks—

A response finally reaches his ears.

“On your marks! Get set!”

A girl’s voice, followed by the whistle of the track team.

Suddenly, the familiar after-school bustle returns.

“Huh…?”

As if nothing happened, students are back, diligently practicing their club activities. The silent scene is filled with noise again.

It’s the usual after-school sight he knows. The people who vanished have returned in the blink of an eye.

But it’s not like they ran back from hiding—it’s as if a light switch flipped, and “what was gone suddenly reappeared.”

“What are you doing there?”

“Huh?”

A baseball team member calls out from behind.

“You’re in the way.”

“Oh, s-sorry…”

He realizes he’s standing in the middle of the field.

“Hey, just a few minutes ago… why was the field empty?”

“What? A few minutes ago? Everyone was practicing as usual.”

“But just moments ago, there was no one here, right?”

He presses, desperate for someone to validate what he saw.

The guy grimaces, as if thinking, “Great, I got stuck with a weirdo.”

“I’m busy, and you’re in the way standing there. Move it.”

He brushes off Masato’s question, ignoring the topic. Understandable—Masato would do the same in his position.

“S-Sorry…”

He leaves the field and leans against the wall inside the school building.

(What just happened?)

Was the empty scene a hallucination? If so, he might really be losing it.

(I haven’t done any drugs…)

Maybe it’s a brain issue. He might need a hospital.

×　　　　×　　　　×

Masato heads to the station again. As expected, it’s filled with students heading home, housewives shopping, elderly people walking dogs, bicycles, and cars on the narrow road.

“What was that…?”

It’s as if he was briefly transported to another world. No one else seems to notice they were “gone.” If they did, the school and this area would be in chaos. But to Masato, everything looks perfectly normal, unchanged from before and after the disappearance. As if nothing happened.

He’s the only one aware of the phenomenon.

“This is bad… I can’t wrap my head around it. It’s like a dream…”

But even though the world returned, there was no clear “waking from a dream” moment.

“Wait, Midori!”

Her face flashes in his mind. People were gone, and now they’re back. Which is she right now?

If she’s gone—

The logic behind this phenomenon can wait. What matters is whether she’s okay. He heads toward the station to check on her.

Then—

“Relax.”

A familiar voice comes from behind, clearly directed at him.

“Huh?”

Turning around, he sees—

“Ms… Kamina?”

His childlike homeroom teacher stands with her arms crossed.

“I don’t know who you’re worried about, but they’re fine now, like everyone else. They might’ve been gone for a bit, but they’re back.”

“Ms. Kamina, you know what just happened?”

“The thing where everyone vanished? Yeah, I’m aware.”

Someone else—someone close—noticed it too.

“‘Back’… You mean Midori—my childhood friend—isn’t gone?!”

“Yeah, she’s fine. So calm down.”

Her eyes carry a strange conviction, making him believe her words.

“And that ‘Kurusu’ you mentioned this morning? She definitely existed.”

“…!”

She casually mentions the name no one else acknowledged yesterday or today.

“Listen up, Akatsuchi. Right now, there’s someone out there ‘bugging’ humanity.”

“Huh? B-Bugging…?”

“Yeah, sounds crazy, right? Wanna know more? I could give you a special lesson.”

Saying this incomprehensible thing, Mika Kamina flashes a mischievous grin.