There was something thrilling about running in the dark. It was a mix of pure adrenaline and anxiety, frantically scanning with your eyes while completely unable to see more than a step ahead—assuming your eyes even permitted that much—all while dealing with the lingering thought that maybe, just maybe, something was watching you from beyond your cloud of vision.
I was no athlete, but the downhill slope leading toward Alison's neighborhood had me breaking past my own physical limits. My strides were long, constantly threatening to stumble and collapse onto the pavement, which would likely ruin my charcoal sketch of her. I was being irresponsible, no doubt, but I felt like I needed this. I needed to shake off the unease infesting the back of my mind like thick honey being poured over my brain—slow, heavy, and difficult to absorb.
In the distance, I could see her street. It was the only one in the area with bright streetlights instead of dim lamps; they could afford luxuries like that here. When I reached the bottom, a short walking distance from her block, I eased my stride into a light jog. Sweat trickled down my neck, reminding me not to overdo it.
The streetlights welcomed me into the neighborhood. Their designs looked Western—simpler, clean, silver, and highly modern. Alison's mansion lay right at the end of the road; beyond it was her back garden, which stretched all the way to the thick forest of the Chichibu Valley. I slowed my jog down to a leisurely walk, though nothing about this felt relaxing. I had hoped the run would quell my nerves, but my heart was pounding. Still, I couldn't have second thoughts now.
Two houses down, I noticed a gentle gray smoke escaping into the air by the mansion's gate. I strained my eyes toward the source. Standing near the pedestrian entrance was a man I could recognize in any crowd.
He dropped his cigarette as I approached the gate, stepping on it before picking up the butt and placing it in a glass dish on top of a round steel table—the kind meant for garden decor and birds to gossip on. He walked over to the gate, opened it with full authority, and extended his hand with a polite, pristine smile.
"Mister Taka Yoshi, this is a pleasant surprise—what can I do for you?"
I shook his hand, though I couldn't really feel his grip through the sleek black gloves he wore. I could never tell if he wore them out of professionalism or fashion.
"Walter, sir, I'm glad to see you're well. I'm here to deliver a drawing to Alison. Is she asleep?"
He lifted his chin, letting the gate light catch his features. He checked his wristwatch, pulling back the sleeve of his black suit to get a clear view.
"The young lass is up and energetic as ever. With her new semester tomorrow, she's rather enthusiastic. In fact, I just finished revising Japanese literature with her just to calm her nerves," he said, looking back toward the mansion. Inside, there was a lot of activity, with shadows moving behind the blinds of the lit rooms.
I nodded. That sounded exactly like Alison. I couldn't picture her ever standing still; even in class, she always had some fidget toy she was attached to.
"She has a great tutor. Her Japanese has improved so much, and I can't even compete with her in math anymore—though I was never any good to begin with," I said with a small chuckle, trying to ease my nerves.
"Taka Yoshi, you flatter me. Everyone has their own gifts. In fact, yours is tucked right underneath your arm. Mind if I take a look?"
I nodded, handing the sketch through the bars of the gate. A part of me felt agitated—I hadn't wanted Hiroshi to see it, yet here I was, breaking my own rules for Walter. Maybe it was the way his accent weaved into our local tongue, leaving a foreign ring when he spoke. Or maybe the honey in my mind was slowing down my reactions. Walter had been hired by Alison's mother back when the Weddings lived in South Africa.
He shifted toward the light, holding the paper with care using both hands. His eyes moved across the page, then stopped dead in their tracks. We stood there for a while, seconds ticking past. I tried to read the thoughts hidden behind his sunken eyes, but his lips were buried under a thick black mustache that refused to show whether he was smiling or deadpan.
Finally, he lifted a hand and rubbed his cheek, his gloves catching the light from the lamp hanging above the gate.
"Taka Yoshi, this is a fine portrait you've drawn here. It's not every day I come across something so expressive…" He trailed off, walked back to the gate, and slotted his keys into the lock. With a quick turn, he opened the gate and stepped out. He gestured for me to enter, handing the sketch back once I crossed the threshold.
"I won't get ahead of myself. Give the lass the portrait, but ensure she doesn't stay up too late. It's back to school for the both of you tomorrow, and I expect you both to be responsible."
I nodded respectfully. His authority was striking, but I mustered up some courage. "Thank you, sir. I'll do my part," I said, bowing slightly.
He nodded approvingly. "Come, I'll walk inside with you. I need to see if I can help with Charlotte's things."
He started toward the front door. It was a bit of a walk as we navigated the illustrious garden, which refused to sleep despite the late hour and the heavy clouds gathering above.
"Is Miss Charlotte home?" I asked, suddenly unsure if I should even be coming inside. She and I were on good terms, and we'd talked a few times before, but I didn't want to overstep.
"Don't get cold feet now, Taka Yoshi. Charlotte is quite fond of you. I've seen it myself—she'd likely open her doors for you at any time." He wiped his feet on the doormat. I went to do the same, only to realize with a jolt of irritation that I had left my shoes back at the temple.
"Also…" he said, turning the knob on the massive front door, "it's fairly rowdy at the moment."
To say I felt out of place would be an understatement. I had never actually been inside the mansion before; my rare visits had always been kept out in the garden. Staff were running around in every direction. I looked into one room and saw three women busy with chores; in the lounge, another five were rushing to replace furniture covers and sheets. Despite it being the middle of the night, the house was busier than ever. Walter noticed my bewilderment.
"When Charlotte prepares for her trips, she becomes quite…"
His sentence was cut off from behind us.
"Difficult," a tall, stern man said. He was dressed neatly in silver tones, and I recognized him instantly—he was Alison's constant shadow during the school semester.
"Jovi, could you help locate Alison? Taka Yoshi here has drawn an impressive portrait for the young lass," Walter said, sticking to Japanese. I wondered if he did it out of respect for me.
The head butler's face remained stone-faced and rigid. He glanced my way, adjusting his circular glasses with a hand. I noticed he was also wearing gloves, though his were stark white.
"He is her classmate, yes? Couldn't this have waited until tomorrow?" he asked, his eyebrows raised. He dropped his hand back to his waist, somehow straightening his already perfect posture.
"The youth are full of energy. It's a good sign for our future," Walter said with a tight smile. He was trying to stay positive for my sake, but it was obvious the head butler面对 intimidated him too.
"It is a school night, Mr. Walter. I would expect better professionalism from you—"
"Taka Yoshi!~"
The head butler's lecture was cut short by a wild, blossoming cherry tree of a girl. Alison ran straight over with pure excitement and threw her arms around me in a tight hug—the kind she only gave when it was just the two of us reuniting. She held me tightly for a second before letting go. I gasped for air, and she giggled at my struggle.
Behind her stood a replica of her, though one who had seen more seasons to flourish. I quickly bowed to show my respect to her mother. Alison sulked at my formality.
"Come now, Jovi, the semester only starts tomorrow. Let the youth be young tonight," Charlotte said, her tone a mix of casual leisure and natural authority. Alison flashed her mother a bright smile before tugging at my arm.
"My room is a total mess, can we go outside?" she asked, her eyes wide. Every second spent inside the mansion seemed to make her more restless.
I nodded, incredibly grateful for the escape. Despite how massive the house was, the interior felt completely claustrophobic, with my anxiety growing like roots trying to pin me down.
"Miss Charlotte, thank you. I hope you have a safe trip," I said with a small bow.
She nodded my way, her gentle smile cutting right through my anxiety. "Thank you, Yoshi Taka. Though I hope I can borrow Alison for just a few more seconds."
I watched as the staff carried suitcases to the front door—modern, refined luggage patterned with scales and fur, looking more artificial than natural. I nodded quickly. "Take all the time you need, Ma'am."
We all made our way out to the driveway. The staff were fitting her luggage into a fairly small car like puzzle blocks; it was honestly impressive how they managed it. As I helped move a heavy red polka-dot bag onto the front passenger seat, I learned that Walter had volunteered to drive Charlotte to the airport.
"All right, that seems to be everything, Charlotte," Walter said, his foreign accent coming out thick this time as he used his elbow to press the trunk shut.
She nodded, looking over at Alison with eyes that showed she already missed her daughter. It was only then that I realized Palmer was nowhere to be seen.
"You'll give the new semester everything you've got, okay, dear?" she said, her voice a mix of confidence and maternal worry.
"I'll give it two hundred and fifty percent, Mother!" Alison beamed, before suddenly bursting into tears and rushing into her mother's arms for one last hug. Charlotte comforted her, gently stroking her hair. She looked over at Jovi, who returned her silent gaze with a solemn nod. With that, Charlotte gathered herself and got into the car.
Alison decided she wanted to go to the park down the street instead of staying near her house. While I would have preferred to stay close to the mansion, I was just grateful she was humoring me.
"Yoshi Taka, tell me honestly—was I really that breathtaking on the bridge?" she asked with a giddy expression. She lifted her chin and played with her thumbs like a schoolgirl, though she was technically a few hours early for the role.
"Well, I wouldn't say exactly that…"
"Huh!?" she gasped, placing her hands on her hips, her expression mockingly dignified. "Now, now, Yoshi Taka, you don't have to be shy around me!" She said it, but it felt like she was mostly talking to herself.
"It's not that!" I said, putting more force into my voice than I intended.
"Then what is it, Yoshi Taka? What could you possibly have for a girl at this hour?" she teased with a grin, closing the gap and leaning in close.
I sighed under my breath. Her mischief really knew no bounds. "I'll show you at the park," I mumbled. Maybe I really should have waited until tomorrow.
She glanced at the sketch tucked firmly under my arm. "Now you really have me curious," she lamented. "Fine, be that way, but I won't even look at you until I've seen it!" She snapped her head away, staring across the street.
"The park is still a bit of a walk. You really want to be stiff the whole way?" I asked in slight disbelief. This girl was impossible when she didn't get her way. She didn't react, showing no signs of dropping her silent treatment.
"Alison…"
Still nothing.
"Alison, please."
She stiffened her arms, crossing them tight over her chest. "Hmph," she muttered.
The walk to the park was entirely unpleasant. But if she was going to be stubborn, then so was I.
We finally sat down on a wooden bench, though I couldn't tell what kind of wood it was since the nearest streetlight only offered a faint glow. I went to pull the sketch from under my arm, but before I could lay it down gently, Alison snatched it away, holding it right in front of her face with intense focus.
I had wanted to watch her reaction, but with the way she held the paper up, all I could do was wait. And wait I did. My ears began to ring from the absolute silence; it felt as if the darkness around us was closing in.
Tired of the waiting game, I reached out and grabbed the top left corner of the sketch, gently pulling it down. But what was revealed made my heart ache.
Alison had tears streaming down her face. How I hadn't noticed her crying before was unfathomable—the tears rolled down her cheeks, refusing to drop from her chin, tracing paths down her neck instead. She had been holding her breath, or maybe it had just been incredibly shallow. Now that she could see me looking, she began to sob openly, frantically wiping at her eyes. I had to admit, I had no idea how to comfort her. She buried her face in her shirt, pulling the fabric up to her eyes like a tissue.
My own breath hitched. I couldn't understand what was happening. I just sat there, completely useless and unsure of what to do. So I did nothing. I just waited for her.
In time, her breathing steadied.
"I'm sorry, Yoshi Taka," she choked out, her voice trembling and breathless, her face still half-hidden by her shirt.
I placed my open palm on the wooden table between us, a silent gesture of support, though I wasn't even sure if that was what she needed. She let go of her shirt, her eyes raw and red from crying. She looked at my hand, reached out, and squeezed it tightly. Her pain flowed straight through me—not because it hurt physically, but because it felt like I was suddenly understanding her on a level I couldn't explain. None of it made sense to me.
We sat in silence for a few seconds. My own throat tightened as my emotions finally caught up with me, though I strained to keep myself under control.
"You never cease to impress me, Yoshi Taka," she said with deep weight behind her words. She forced herself to speak more steadily, trying to look me in the eyes, but her furrowed brow gave away the struggle. "I'm going to have this portrait framed," she vowed, her grip tightening as reassurance. "I've never seen myself like this. But now that I have, it's like…"
She paused, looking up at the clouded sky as if searching for clarity. "It's like I was able to see myself—past, present, and future. It was so nostalgic that it hurts, Yoshi Taka. How do you do it? How do you see such beauty, such tragedy in the world?"
Tears began to trickle down again, though I wondered if this was just her way of processing everything. "How did you do it?" she repeated, looking back down at me.
I shifted on the bench, leaning closer. I thought explaining it would be hard, but my mind felt entirely clear. "I just remembered the sparrow, and all the times you were there for me. When I drew you, it all felt…" I looked at my other hand, as if the right word was resting in my palm. I couldn't believe I was being so transparent about what I saw when I illustrated her. "I was just being honest."
It felt corny to say out loud, but Alison didn't see it that way. Her quivering lips broke into a genuine smile, and she wiped away a stray tear threatening to escape the corner of her eye. She looked at the drawing again, collecting herself. A proper smile surfaced, her posture straightened, and she rested her hand back in her lap.
"I wish I had her hair," she said, her tone much lighter now.
"Well, it's possible. I mean, she is you."
She giggled, running a hand through her blonde hair. Then, a sudden silence fell over us, like the air was promising something important.
"~Yoshi Taka…"
Her wild nature was returning, her tone shifting right back to the one she had used inside the mansion. "Let's start our own club tomorrow, for the new semester."
I was caught off guard by her sudden vision, but I couldn't doubt her sincerity. Her eyes, still rimmed with pink, shone with that exact sparkle I had just engraved on paper.
"It'll be a club for art—an art club!"
"I thought our school already had one," I said, not trying to shoot down her idea, but struggling to keep up with her rapid shift in mood.
"Yes, but we're going to run this one. It'll have a brand new club room—I'll buy all the equipment, and…" Her eyes practically vibrated with energy and excitement.
"Alison…" I said calmly, looking straight into her eyes to pull her focus back to the bench. I tried to approach it gently. "If you're doing this for me, then stop—"
"You dummy, I'm doing it for myself," she said, tears streaming down her face again. I felt terrible. "I've never done anything I didn't want to do. I want a place where I can go and just… be me. And you said you wanted an artistic realm, remember?" She pointed at the sketch resting on the bench. "I want you to be able to make more of this. I want the whole of Japan to see it, and I want to be there for every single step! And…" She stood up abruptly from the bench. "You can't convince me otherwise!"
She said it with a serious, watery face. Her skin looked flush and radiant under the streetlights, finally giving the night a bit of justice. I realized for a brief second that I was turning red too—not out of embarrassment, but because I was deeply touched.
"Then I won't," I said, standing up to meet her. "Instead, I'll support this dream—because it's my dream now, too. Starting tomorrow—no, starting right now—my dream is to start a new art club. One where you can be your honest self."
Alison grinned at my sudden passion. She reached her hand out, letting it float in the air between us with her pinky extended. It looked incredibly silly, but she did it with fierce, unshakeable belief. "Pinky promise that you won't back out. That you'll see this through to the end."
I didn't even hesitate. I reached out my left hand and sealed our pact. Her grin softened into a gentle smile. "Yoshi Taka, thank you. I'm so glad to have a friend like you."
My heart trembled. It was a miracle I was holding myself together. Would I ever meet another person as genuine and pure as her in my entire lifetime? Though I felt a twinge of shame for being unable to return her level of raw honesty, I could only hope she understood how grateful I was for her existence—how many sunrises she had brought into my bland, gray life.
We decided to call it a night, parting ways with a gentle, meaningful hug. It wasn't awkward or embarrassing; the emotional connection we had just shared fueled me with a renewed ambition that felt like a wildfire catching on a mountain.
Alison insisted on walking back to the mansion alone, claiming she needed to calm herself down for Jovi's sake and that if I walked with her, she'd probably just get emotional all over again—whatever that logic meant. "A lady needs a breather; can't have it all exciting," she recited from some foreign quote, waving goodbye.
I waved back with a grin. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.
The clouds had promised rain, but they failed to deliver.
I remembered a time when the clouds actually delivered. I had already placed my foot on the starting mark down on the track. I looked up at the stands and saw my sister watching, her raincoat drenched from the downpour. She didn't care, because she knew today was important. She knew that if I gave it my all, our lives would change for the better.
When the starting gun clicked over the heavy crashing of the rain, I heard it clearly, just as I had hundreds of times before. My legs tensed, my breathing shaky. My sister looked me right in the eyes; no matter how fast I ran, she would be waiting for me at the finish line.
My name is Syouma Shioya.
I currently live in the village of Nagatoro in the Chichibu district. I moved here five years ago from my original home in Osaka. I absolutely hated moving here, but without a college degree, expenses in the city were unbearable, and with a severely injured ACL, it was impossible to make a living on the track anymore. My dream of reaching Nationals was behind me—left in a book that was never finished, or maybe one that was never even written.
I hated Nagatoro. I saw it as a physical manifestation of my failure—a constant reminder of what could have been if I had just driven responsibly. If I had kept my eyes on the road and both hands on the steering wheel instead of answering my manager's excited phone calls about my future and my success.
Pulling myself back to reality, I stopped by a tall tree near a meadow of thick, waist-high green grass. Behind this endless sea of green lay the river.
I took a sip of water, the thought of a morning swim instantly reenergizing my tired legs. I wasn't nearly as fast as I used to be; in fact, I didn't think I'd ever reach that elite level again. But my time here in Nagatoro had helped me realize that I was just glad to still have legs to run with. Glad to be able to enjoy the mountains, the thousands of species of flowers, and the raw beauty of nature that could only be understood on a morning like this. I couldn't help but wonder—would I have enjoyed cross-country running more?
I finished the last of the water in my bottle and shoved it back into my sack, noticing my running shoes were loose. I decided to retie them; traction was everything, and you couldn't afford loose feet. Bending down to go through the motions I had mindlessly performed thousands of times before, something suddenly stopped me dead in my tracks.
I looked at the very edge of the road, just two steps ahead of me. There were trickles of dark red—a strange mixture of dry and wet fluids. I stopped tying my shoelace, letting the loose strings drop to the dirt. I stepped forward to inspect the color, even though a sinking feeling in my chest already knew exactly what it was.
"Blood…" I murmured.
I could see a faint trail, almost like footprints forging a path of their own through the brush. I had seen blood before—I saw it every single time that recurring nightmare returned to haunt me of the car crash. Reminding me of how she could have lived a full, beautiful life if I had just been careful.
Every fiber of my being screamed at me to turn around and run away, but where there was blood, there was death—and I had just stumbled onto a fresh trace of it.
I followed the red path away from the road and directly into the tall grass field. I stepped forward, blindly catching my foot on something hidden beneath the weeds, causing my ankle to twist violently. A sharp, heavy flash of pain shot straight from my foot up to my head. My vision blurred momentarily, but I brushed it aside, wrapping a hand tightly around my ankle to rub out the sting. As my eyes cleared, I spotted something that stole the breath right out of my lungs, leaving me frozen in a state of absolute despair.
A shoe. A female shoe.
It was incredibly small—a child's size. The colorful stickers on it were youthful, a simple canvas sneaker. It was the kind of style I'd expect to see back in Osaka, or perhaps worn by a young foreigner. But out here?
The throbbing pain in my ankle subsided as I forced myself up slowly, my head feeling heavy and my stomach turning violently. Rationality urged me to turn back to the safety of the main road, but my human instincts drove me forward in search of the truth.
I brushed the thick grass apart, taking slow, meticulously careful steps. The adrenaline pumping through my veins turned vile and toxic, yet it was the only thing keeping my mind anchored. The blood was growing denser now, the light trickles turning into dark, pooling traces. The heavy, metallic stench of iron hung thick in the air—rough and protruding. It was almost overwhelming enough to make me flee, but I knew that whatever lay at the end of this red trail was waiting for me on the very next step.
Slowly, I peeled the final wall of tall grass apart.
My eyes went wide, losing all focus. My stomach convulsed violently, forcing me to pour out my breakfast onto the dirt. I collapsed onto my knees, begging my body for control, but my eyes were tearing up, my brain was screaming in phantom pain, and my entire body was aching.
All for the sight of a lifeless body.