Mystic Love

A pair of footprints stretched across the snow-covered ground.

As far as the eye could see, an endless row of dots suggested a path on the flat, featureless plain.

The small footprints, initially wavering as if unsure which way to go, eventually proceeded straight ahead and vanished into the thin mist.

The mist surrounding the area seemed to absorb even the sound, creating an uncomfortable silence. The scene, too sparse to be called a snowy landscape, felt almost unreal.

Once I go through this mist . . .

The moment I quietly murmured that, I thought I heard a whispering voice from behind me, and I was at a loss for words. I looked behind me.

But there was no one there. There couldn't be anyone there.

Was I hearing things? Was it the whisper of a ghost? A chill ran down my spine. I felt as though something was pushing me forward, so I gently stepped one foot onto the snow.

The snow was soft, and my shoe sank into it with a dry sound. It was deeper than I had expected, almost trapping my leg.

A chill brushed against my cheeks.

As I inhaled, the air was so cold it made me cough. I tried to breathe slowly, afraid to disturb the air, the white mist of each exhale disappearing quickly.

Why is there so much white everywhere?

I felt a sense of anxiety.

The pure white made me restless. Staring at it made me feel as if my body could be swallowed by an endless void.

I must hurry.

Despite my urgency, the mist disoriented me, slowing me down.

Any warmth I had was being drained from my body through my feet. The cold clung to my throat, and I was gripped by a disturbing sense that the mist was playing with me, toying with my mind.

It was so mysterious.

In such uncertain surroundings, without landmarks to guide them, one could quickly become lost.

I continued following the evenly spaced footprints in the snow; they were like unfamiliar characters printed on a stark white page, my own steps adding to the story.

New prints overlapped the old.

It was a pattern with an endless repetition.

While following the tracks in the snow, I unconsciously counted them. Numbers are appealing, comforting at a time like this.

Especially at a time like this.

If I didn't do this, my fragile psyche couldn't stay calm. The immense void would quickly crush me with anxiety. Forgetting to think, judge, or interpret, I focused only on counting, and at least for that moment, the anxiety slightly subsided.

Two hundred seventeen, two hundred eighteen, two hundred nineteen, two hundred twenty . . .

I stumbled on what must have been a stone beneath the snow but quickly regained my balance.

Such a tiny fragment of a stone, small enough to fit comfortably in my palm, was enough to disturb my mind. It felt like an omen of dire misfortune, causing my breath to become erratic.

I looked out at the vast expanse ahead.

I was starting to get frustrated that the scenery hadn't changed at all, even after walking so far. Maybe I was walking straight, but in reality, I was just going around in circles. An unpleasant thought crossed my mind.

How is an open plain different from a maze?

In this plain with no landmarks, how was I going to reach the destination? How was I supposed to know I was on the right path when I couldn't distinguish the start from the end? What if there was no end at all?

Without even realizing I was lost, I might wander forever. That would have been the worst—or best maze—just like how a plain white puzzle is the most difficult jigsaw puzzle.

I've heard somewhere about a maze made from a single straight line—straight lines could be frustrating, too.

It's an incredibly frightening idea, isn't it?

If people can get lost even on a straight line, how can they escape such a maze? In that place, the very concept of being lost becomes something entirely different.

My thoughts sank deeper and deeper.

When I was young, my friends used to call me lost.

Of course, it was probably just a trivial joke that the person would forget the moment they said it.

Still, it sounded like it had a ring of truth to it. I felt as if I was being told I had no choice but to continue to be confused for the rest of my life.

The moment I remembered those words, I shivered. For a moment, I forgot to breathe. It was such a shock.

Even now, when I think back to that time, I feel indescribably complicated emotions.

For some reason, I couldn't forget that one word.

Now that I think about it, perhaps I never truly escaped the maze I got lost in at back then.

As I walked, my thoughts wandered aimlessly.

How long had I been walking?

My body heat had been completely drained, and I couldn't feel my hands or feet. I no longer knew where I was going or why. Still, driven by an unfounded sense of mission on my strange solo march, I continued counting footprints.

Suddenly, a shadow caught my eye, disrupting the monotonous white.

Could this finally be the end? But seeing that figure, my heart quickly grew cold.

Four hundred seventy-two, four hundred seventy-three, four hundred seventy-four.

A landscape by a lake unfolded before me.

I stood beside a small body lying in the snow.

With that last step, the density of the air shifted.

The body didn't move an inch. It was as if time had frozen. Red stains scattered around the motionless limbs, vivid against the pristine white.

The vermilion spots stimulated another memory in me, sharp and unbidden.

Ah, I didn't want to remember. I wanted to forget it forever.

It's in my memory, sprinkled on a white canvas.

A scarlet liquid rose from between thin lines of a cut on smooth skin. Trembling slightly, the beads slowly knotted, and eventually, unable to bear its own weight, a drop began to fall.

The tense air pressed against my ears and my temples. Or rather, the dull throbbing pain seemed to be coming from inside my head. Was this what it would feel like if molten lead was poured into my ears?

The vivid colors that painted my memory refused to let me go.

From the wound, the red liquid rose endlessly. My eyes were fixed as I felt a numbness spreading through the back of my head. I couldn't even tell if I was breathing or not. My brain became hazy, as if soaked in alcohol.

Silently, the red area soaked my vision . . . smeared it . . . filled it up . . . completely buried it . . . and I . . .

I shook my head vigorously.

I shook off the images floating in my mind and dropped my gaze back to the body at my feet.

Familiar clothes, familiar hairstyle . . .

The body was face down, so I couldn't see the face. But I knew the body lying there all too well.

Because it was the one I had killed.

December 27th

Waking up to The Book of the Law whispered in my ear was amongst the worst awakenings imaginable. Even Aleister Crowley, who became famous as an alchemist, never imagined his magical writings would be used this way.

At least for someone like me, who never aspired to be well-versed in magical theories, such a wake-up was far from pleasant.

It wasn't supposed to be.

For pure will, unassuaged of purpose, delivered from the lust of result, is every way perfect.

A smooth voice whispered in my ear, drawing me back to a half-awakened state. I turned over, wishing they would stop bothering me, but the futon shifted and cold air poured in through the gaps. I hugged the pillow tighter against my chest.

I loved sleeping.

I especially loved sleeping during the winter.

Sleep was gentle. Wrapped in a soft, comfortable down comforter, my eyes closed, I inhaled the warm air deep into my lungs. Drifting between sleep and awake with a fuzzy head, I felt like I wanted to stay like that forever.

I couldn't bear to get up.

And yet, I could hear a voice . . . a voice . . .

The Perfect and the Perfect are one Perfect and not two; nay, are none!

Mmmm . . .

Even as I tried to escape back into slumber, the voice pursued me relentlessly, forcing a groan from me. The sound squeezed from the depths of my throat echoed like the death throes of an old Siamese cat.

I slightly opened my eyes and Ayumu's lips were right next to my face.

She recited smoothly, sonorously.

I didn't dislike her deep, resonant voice—in fact, I quite liked it. But I was not so strong that I could continue to sleep while listening to various quotes. They were out of place in the cold morning air, and I longed for peace.

Your face is too close.

Ayumu’s smooth skin was right in front of me.

My still drowsy face—my sleepy and dazed eyes—were reflected in her eyes, which glimmered with mischief. It was a bit embarrassing.

Her breath tickled my cheek.

Even though we were both girls, it was a heart-racingly close distance. Not good for my mental health.

I sat up quickly. The cold air in the room invaded the collar of my pajamas.

Nothing is a secret keys of this law. Sixty-one the Jews call it; I call it eight, eighty, four hundred eighteen.

But they have the half: unite by thine art so that all disappear.

My prophet is a fool with his one, one, one.

Um, Ayumu? I'm actually awake now.

Sitting up, I watched Ayumu as she paused her recitation with a slightly annoyed voice.

I'm still just halfway there. You might as well listen till the end. You wouldn’t want to lead a lazy life, would you? Reaching the highest mysteries requires unceasing effort and practice.

Ayumu showed no sign of apology but rather made her discontent plain. Did she really feel compelled to recite this? I couldn't understand her hobbies.

Do you actually remember the whole thing?

Of course. Unless something unusual happens, I remember things I've seen only once. I’m not old enough to have memory loss yet.

Could she be some kind of demonic entity?

She was incredibly attractive on the outside, but why did she always say such strange things?

The morning light streaming through the gap in the curtains illuminated her profile. Her glossy black hair, reaching down to her waist, looked even more striking.

She arched her back proudly, and through her thin blouse, the ample curves of her chest stood out even more. To put it bluntly, she was a truly beautiful woman.

Ayumu always kept her blouse unbuttoned down to the third button.

She was daring, to say the least.

Overwhelming.

Such a provocative scene first thing in the morning might not be considered wholesome.

As I tried to divert my gaze from her chest, I let out a heavy sigh.

Ayumu, why don't you use your talent for something more meaningful? I believe you were reading The Book of Astarte yesterday.

Indeed. I've been selecting these daily with you in mind. They do reflect my tastes somewhat. Crowley's books are particularly inspiring. It would be wise to start with these. You could be reciting them in a month.

I really don't want to become an expert in black magic, thank you very much!

This is not a good attitude.

Ayumu frowned. It seems I'd elicited a poor reaction.

Lazing about in bed since morning, and then you say such things . . . I'm truly not impressed. Aren’t you embarrassed to live your days so obliviously carefree? Even now, your brain cells are dying by the minute. Mindless routine can kill your spirit. It's like ingesting a slow poison daily in small amounts—it creeps into your bloodstream and silently devours your body. Wouldn’t you hate to end up paralyzed, picked apart by birds of prey while you decay alive, in such a hellish scenario? After all, you—

Ayumu crossed her arms and rattled off her speech.

It was a harsh critique. But arguing back seemed like it would only add fuel to the fire, so I simply hung my head and endured quietly.

Hmm. It seems I'm getting through to you a bit. Well, we can continue this tomorrow. Breakfast should be ready soon. If you don’t want to miss out, you better get changed quickly.

I almost pointed out that the delay was mainly due to Ayumu, but I held back, not wanting to stir up more trouble.

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

An awkward silence filled the air, and an uneasy time flew by.

Ayumu stood by the bed, looking down at me with her arms crossed over her chest, which only accentuated her provocative appearance. I really wished she would stop posing like that—it felt like she was showing off.

Um, I can't change clothes while you're here, Ayumu.

I finally had to broach the subject, and break the awkward silence.

Why?

Ayumu's response wasn’t actually phrased as a question, but came with a resolute strength that made it sound more like an accusation.

Why?

Is there some problem with that?

Quite possibly.

What kind of problem?

What kind of—

I hadn’t expected that line of questioning and found myself at a loss for words.

I hardly think there could be an issue—but if you’re concerned about my presence, don’t be. I won’t be unsettled just by seeing another girl undressed. Such worries are foreign to me. There’s no danger. Just think of me as a mere observer here. Or do you need help changing? If that's what you want, I am happy to help.

Wasn't that dangerously inappropriate?

I fidgeted with the collar of my pajamas.

How annoying.

As I hurried to stop Ayumu, who started to open the closet, I muttered about how troublesome she was.

If left to her own devices, she would just charge ahead.

Ayumu often seemed too detached from mundane matters, which to others could appear as bold actions. Her fearless demeanor was often perceived as audacious. It seemed her behavior was quite popular among some of the underclassmen, but even now I was still not used to it.

I was at a loss for how to deal with her.

It wasn't that I found it unpleasant, but it was hard to tell how serious she was—though I believed she was utterly sincere.

Such seriousness felt a bit too much for me to handle.

That would be a far cry from the wholesome scene one might expect on a crisp winter morning.

I gently declined.

Oh well, can’t be helped. You're quite the difficult one, aren’t you?

Ayumu shrugged her shoulders and then relaxed her face with a soft sigh.

So, how do you feel? Not feeling ill, are you?

She asked abruptly.

Had we been discussing that? It seemed totally out of the blue.

Oh, no, not particularly.

Good, that’s a relief then.

Ayumu narrowed her eyes and nodded slightly, seemingly satisfied with some unspoken conclusion. This felt like a trap.

Then, Ayumu suddenly turned around swiftly and said:

Indeed! Now, listen carefully to the next sequence of numbers and words.

4638ABK24ALGMOR3 . . .

Continuing to recite devilish, or rather mischievous phrases, she left my room without a care.

And so, another day begins.

It seemed this day, too, would not pass peacefully. Half-dazed, I watched her retreating figure while clutching the collar of my pajamas.

Her long black hair swayed with a dignified flutter as her figure shrank in the distance.

§

Such was the routine.

Since the winter break began, it had become a daily ritual for Ayumu to come to my room to wake me up, given my low blood pressure and weak body.

I don't particularly hate the idea of someone coming to wake me up. I just didn't care for the topics she would recite in doing so.

The basic methods of this magic . . .

Or

The dangers to those who are not freed from material thinking . . .

Or

Regarding the Devil's deception . . .

Or

Secrets and blood rites . . .

Hearing things like this just depressed me.

It was like I was facing the end of the world.

Was she aiming for some sort of hypnotic learning effect?

Ayumu's actions didn't seem to be mere antics because there seemed to be some deeper motivation. I was also worrying they might have a negative effect on my mental health.

Despite this, I didn’t lock my room. Partly because a lock was no challenge for Ayumu with her lock-picking skills, making the dorm’s installed locks mere decorations. But there was also something endearing about her carefree behavior.

Ayumu's presence was somewhat dazzling. But for me, Choko Kugasaki, she was something utterly unattainable.

At any rate, breakfast was the issue at hand.

I changed out of my pajamas into a muted gray cardigan. As I approached the window and opened the curtain, bright light streamed in, filling the room.

I shielded my eyes as I gazed out the window. Beyond the thick foliage, I could see the academy building where we studied, standing tall and bathed in the morning sun. I took a deep breath as I admired the sight.

Slowly, I made my way downstairs to the dining room and found everyone already seated at the table.

Come on, you’re so slow!

My childhood friend, Serika Kadokura, had leaned over the table pressing her cheek against the surface, striking a bored pose.

Glaring resentfully, she spoke in a resigned tone. Today, she was again dressed in her favorite—or perhaps her only—bright red hoodie, worn so often it seemed. A shining red scarf peeked out from the sleeve on her left wrist. She had a particular fondness for the color red.

The fact that she was idly swinging her legs under the table wasn’t just an expression of her moodiness. It was because, being so short, her feet didn’t reach the floor when she sat down. It was hard to believe she was the same age as me. Her clothes were also far too large, making her look all the more childlike.

Her youthful features only added to the impression of a small animal.

Despite her intense dislike of being treated like a child, she insisted that she would hit a growth spurt all at once to make up for lost time, but her argument was not convincing, leaving one to marvel at the mysteries of genetics.

Her short hair swayed as she lifted her head from the table.

Sorry for being late.

I bowed slightly, mostly towards the other two—not just Serika.

Choko, you’re always such a sleepyhead. Even when I go to wake you up, you don't even roll over. You're a bit of a mess. We were even gossiping about what you could be up to every night. It’s kind of suspicious, right, Yuma?

I wasn't doing anything suspicious, not like Ayumu, but I did admit that I needed to fix this oversleeping habit. I was even mockingly called Sleeping Beauty last year, which I did not find amusing.

Leisurely sitting next to Serika was Yuma Okimoto, the art club president. Her shoulder-length hair was held back with a pale yellow headband. Her pristine aura truly left nothing to be desired.

However, she was lazy and weak.

One might even say she was fragile.

Moreover, she carried an air of nonchalance. From a distance, it was hard to tell whether she was awake or asleep. It was unclear whether she was nodding in agreement or just nodding off.

When the conversation turned to her, Yuma looked bewildered and then, a beat too late, said:

Hmm, umm, what were we talking about?

She rubbed her sleepy eyes.

The conversation was utterly disjointed. Her voice itself was melting away.

Overall, one could say her survival skills for day-to-day communication were meager at best.

And yet, the fact that she manages her duties as president without a hitch might suggest some invisible divine intervention—it was so effortless that one couldn’t help but wonder.

Ugh! Weren’t you listening? You were nodding along. I thought you were on my side, Yuma. This is too much! I’t's hopeless. You're killing me!

I don’t really understand complicated matters. Oh, Choko, you’re here. Good morning.

Yuma, hands neatly placed on her lap, bowed gracefully.

Regardless, it was clear that within our art club, Yuma was truly the best person. One might say her kindness was excessive. I hoped it didn’t turn into something evil.

And at the back of the room, sitting unfazed, was the former president: third-year student Ayumu Miwa.

Originally, having no particular hobbies other than reading, I never intended to join any club activities. But I ended up joining the art club due to a convincing invitation from Ayumu, whom I met through library committee work. Her skills of persuasion were remarkable.

Looking back, I didn’t regret joining this club. Despite various issues, it had been a comfortable gathering.

Ayumu’s eyes—her most striking feature—caught mine and she smiled gently. Though she could look quite stern at times, she also showed kindness now and then.

Well, well, let's just leave it at that and have breakfast. Choko looks so famished she might just fade away.

Feeling a bit of my pride wounded by Ayumu’s words, I walked over to the dining table.

During the winter break, it was just the four of us here at the Nicolaus Girls Academy dormitory.

The other students had vanished early in the holiday break to head back to their hometowns.

The liveliness quickly faded from the school, leaving the usually bustling dorm eerily silent and desolate. The building felt too spacious for just the four of us, almost guiltily so. Walking alone down the dimly-lit hallways sometimes felt as if a ghost might appear at any moment.

Although I wouldn't say I lacked social skills, I did find excessive social interactions exhausting, so I'd always preferred the tranquility of dorm life over the usual school hustle.

The noise was bothersome.

Watching groups of girls my age shrieking and passing by loudly, I felt as if my own energy was being drained.

I often wondered how those girls could be so full of energy, almost suspecting they belonged to a different species. At times, I was genuinely perplexed with nothing to say. Serika alone was more than enough for me. Of course, I never showed these feelings openly, but I definitely preferred quieter spaces over crowds.

So when the long holiday began, and the noisy students started leaving the dorm for home with their belongings, I watched them from my window with a surprisingly refreshing feeling. Staying at home would have been stifling for me, and life with familiar friends was more comfortable, so I chose to stay in the dorm following Ayumu and Serika's invitation.

With the dorm manager away until the new year, we had to take care of daily chores among ourselves.

These chores, for just four people, weren't too demanding. Cleaning, laundry, and shopping were shared between us, resulting in a generally relaxed lifestyle. Especially in terms of cooking, where Ayumu and I were exempt due to our lack of culinary skills, leaving that responsibility to Yuma and Serika.

Serika, just juice again?

Ayumu commented with a disapproving tone as she saw the glass before Serika on the pristine white tablecloth.

I am disciplined and will stay on my regime. I will not stray!

Discipline—also known as dieting.

Even though she looked thin enough already, or rather too thin by average standards, Serika occasionally began dieting abruptly, as if suddenly remembering to do so. The ritual, performed without any warning, seemed almost like a personal challenge to spite those around her.

Being whimsical, it wasn't long before Serika forgot and casually showed off her robust appetite again, as usual.

Honestly, I don't know how you can drink so much tomato juice. To me, it looks like the devil's brew. Better suited for a vampire.

Disliking the texture, Ayumu glared at the liquid in the cup as if it were something vile, while absentmindedly moving her fork around.

In my opinion, it was a bit extreme to hate it that much.

Serika, you really should start by fixing your picky eating habits. Not being able to eat spaghetti is just . . .

What can I do about it? It's not like I chose to be this way. Those long, slimy things make my body react violently. I can handle the tomato sauce alone, but not the white stuff.

Faced with Yuma's argument, Serika turned her head away with a pout, her gestures childishly sulky. Her behavior only accentuated her youthful demeanor.

But it's not like you have an allergy or anything, right? You also refuse soy milk, turnips, taro, wheat gluten, radish, celery, bamboo shoots, Chinese cabbage, Brussels sprouts, cauliflower, eryngii mushrooms, konnyaku, mochi, cellophane noodles, cheddar cheese, squid, whitebait, gratin, scallops, kamaboko, chawanmushi, or even vanilla ice cream. I really don’t understand your standards.

Her pickiness was astoundingly chaotic.

My taste buds are sensitive. I wish you'd be more considerate.

The criteria she used to select her food was profoundly puzzling, with no apparent common factors. Perhaps on Serika's tongue, a complex and bizarre—or even grotesque—chemical reaction was taking place.

Yuma, you aren't much of an eater, either.

The amount of food on Yuma's plate was scant.

When I pointed this out, Yuma responded with a clear and composed face.

I don’t require much energy. This amount is just right for me.

She looked like a person with little chance of survival.

Her voice seemed to float around the room like clouds in the sky before finally reaching us.

Perhaps her existence was on a different plane from ours. Listening to her for a long time made my head fuzzy and it felt like my soul was being drawn out—a dangerous voice indeed.

While Serika downed six glasses of tomato juice, we efficiently finished off the toast, bacon and eggs, and the pumpkin salad that Yuma had prepared.

While offering coffee after the meal—which, by the way, Serika couldn't drink either—Yuma met my eyes.

By the way, I was quite worried about you last night, Choko. You suddenly fell asleep in the hall.

Huh? Last night?

Last night?

Come to think of it, I had indeed been reading a book in the dorm hall last night. And then the memory from that point on was just gone. It seemed I fell asleep right there while reading.

How embarrassing, a major blunder on my part.

Ah, how should I put this?

Haha, that was great. We were worried you might have narcolepsy, but no, you were just sleeping so peacefully. We were silly to panic. You must have been really tired, huh?

At times like this, Ayumu showed her inherent meanness, seizing the opportunity to exploit someone's weakness. She enjoyed mocking others, and I, being easily swayed by emotions, was the perfect target for her.

It was quite frustrating after that. No matter how much we talked to you, you wouldn’t wake up. Eventually, Ayumu had to carry you back to your room. You slept so peacefully.

Yuma smiled sweetly.

As both of them showered me with their sarcasm, I felt unbearably awkward and shrank into myself.

Even so.

Ayumu carried me.

All the way to my room.

I imagined it.

. . .

I imagined it further.

. . .

Aaaaaah!

Such a mortifyingly embarrassing scene—I wanted to deny it with all my being. I almost cradled my head in horror.

The corners of Ayumu's mouth slightly lifted, her expression overly eager to speak. I hoped she wouldn't speak. I just wanted to eradicate this dreadful memory from all their minds.

Eh, that really happened? I didn't notice at all. I would have loved to see Choko's sleeping face too!

Oblivious to the mood, Serika spoke cheerfully.

Her straightforwardness made me feel resentful.

You say that, but it was after ten o'clock. Little children who go to bed by nine were surely fast asleep by then.

Hey, I'm not a child. You guys just stay up too late. Sleep is important for health. A healthy mind resides in a healthy body. "Let's sleep" is my motto.

Hmm. Excessive sleep can be a sign of autonomic dysfunction. It might be wise to get tested. I'll introduce you to a good doctor next time.

Ah! Ayumu, you always say such mean things! People like that go straight to hell, you know!

Now, now, Serika, please calm down. Would you like another glass of tomato juice?

Although Yuma tried to intervene, Ayumu continued without paying any heed.

I'm not saying this to be mean, you know. It's that kind of complacency that's most dangerous. It might seem trivial, but such things can happen to anyone due to minor factors. Symptoms often manifest in unexpected ways—headaches, palpitations, menstrual irregularities, taste abnormalities, numbness in limbs, dizziness, or even Ménière's disease. Ménière's is quite the nuisance. Stress and living conditions are said to be the main causes of autonomic dysfunction, but considering Serika's case, stress seems unlikely. It appears that . . .

Her voice trailed off unexpectedly in the middle of what seemed a likely long discourse.

. . .

She slightly bowed her head and covered her mouth with her right hand, which trembled minutely.

Ayumu, what seems to be the matter?

I accidentally bit my tongue a bit. Surprisingly painful. It seems the tongue really is quite sensitive to pain.

Ayumu answered bitterly, seemingly enduring the pain.

See, that's instant karma for you! Serves you right!

For some reason, Serika seemed unusually pleased.

Grateful that the topic had shifted smoothly, I listened absently to the chatter of the three while gazing at the milk I poured into my coffee.

I always poured the milk with utmost care, ensuring it did not splash or disturb the liquid surface, adding it little by little. I considered this the proper etiquette for coffee drinkers. After pouring, I let it sit without stirring for a while.

The complex pattern created by the merging of white and black in my coffee fascinated me more than any kaleidoscope. The swirling milk gradually distorted, convected, and eventually faded, somewhat reminiscent of falling asleep. Watching this process, I found myself feeling inexplicably serene, more so than when I actually drink the coffee.

I counted the sugar cubes as I dropped each one into the coffee.

Ayumu is always trying to mess with me.

Her unpredictable actions always stirred my emotions.

Ever since meeting Ayumu, things had felt different.

Before that, it was always just Serika and me. We spent all our time together, always playing together.

Of course I had other friends, but Serika was special; there was no room for anyone else. She was my priority over everyone else. I needed no one but her. As long as she was with me, I was content. Serika felt the same way. We were perfectly content just being together.

Serika always wears the scarf I gave her on her birthday years ago. I remember how she lit up at the sight of the bright red scarf I chose for her back then. I wrapped it around her slender wrist, and she spun around with a bright smile.

Years had passed since then, but still she never took it off, always wearing it on her left wrist. That thin piece of fabric felt like the bond between Serika and me, and it made me a bit proud.

Although we were the same age, I'd always felt like I had to take care of Serika as if she were my younger sister. Our closeness resembled that of twins.

Disrupting that closeness, Ayumu appeared.

As I pondered, I dropped another sugar cube in my coffee.

She was, in a way, the polar opposite of Serika.

She could be a bit forceful at times, but she never overstepped. I appreciated that.

Back when I was newly appointed to the library committee—a role I was reluctantly given by my classmates—Ayumu, who never forgot to be considerate despite her directness, taught me various things. We had reading in common, and although our tastes significantly differed, we often engaged in long discussions.

It seemed that Serika and Ayumu didn't quite click, often bickering, but there was something endearing about it. She should have been used to Ayumu's teasing by now.

Feeling this unsettled wasn't like me at all.

I should be more . . .

More?

Hesitating to meet Ayumu's gaze, I looked down and stirred my coffee. The spoon clinked against the sides of the cup, making a pleasantly delicate sound as I stirred.

Ah! This must be what Ayumu had been concerned about before leaving my room earlier: last night's incident.

Understanding this, I felt amused.

Finally, I took a sip of my coffee.

The coffee, into which I had dumped seven sugar cubes, had become undrinkably sweet.

§

Since we've got the afternoon free, shall we head to the lake?

Yuma suggested this in her usual laid-back tone. She would lead us on an aimless stroll that doubled as a sketching picnic.

The lake, a mere fifteen-minute walk from the academy grounds, was an ideal spot for a small excursion, although venturing out in the cold December air could be considered crazy.

Nevertheless, there was something irresistibly compelling in Yuma's proposal. Perhaps the magic of her personal charm, which seemed to sway anyone. Naturally, the ever-enthusiastic Serika was all for it.

That sounds great, the lake is the best!

And Ayumu readily agreed.

No objections here.

With that, I had no strong reason to object either.

In general, I'd always lacked decisiveness, typically conforming to those around me.

Making choices had always been a struggle for me.

For instance, when shopping: choosing clothes, shoes, underwear, books, accessories, CDs, deciding on a menu at a fast-food restaurant.

Forced to make such choices, I could never decide quickly, and after much deliberation—or rather, pretending to deliberate—I would invariably settle on the same items as Serika. While she was happy with us matching, I simply saw it as avoiding the decision-making process, with no thoughtful intention on my part.

I followed Serika even when choosing a school, elective courses, a club, committee responsibilities. Activities that people seem to undertake without much thought always seemed enormously difficult to me. Comparing options and making decisions felt overwhelming and a tremendous waste of effort, making me want to throw everything away and flee.

It felt like no choice would make much of a difference. Yet once I made one, I often plunged into despair, wondering why I didn't choose another option. And likely, I would've felt the same regardless if I had chosen the alternative.

There was no such thing as the perfect choice.

Choosing one possibility inevitably meant abandoning the others, leading to inevitable torment over what might have been. Considering all the uncertainties and imagining all the possibilities, making the best possible choice was fundamentally an impossible task.

While everyone seemed to manage reconciling with such feelings, I found it terribly hard. The inherent risks involved in making choices were simply unbearable for me.

Perhaps it would be better to leave it to someone else. That way, I could escape the reality of having made a choice. Someone else could shoulder the responsibility. So, I'd always tried to just go with the flow as much as possible.

There was no "I" in the equation, no agency.

It was easier that way.

And honestly, I hadn't particularly regretted it until now.

Well, there was just this one time I might have regretted something.

From the moment Yuma threw out her suggestion, I knew I would end up going along with what everyone else said. The word "lake" caught me for a moment, but without much thought, I nodded, and the plan was unanimously approved.