Chapter 1
Prologue: Charlie
The self-proclaimed rebel's hand turned the dull-colored key, and the steel door slowly opened.
What appeared before them was the school rooftop enveloped in darkness.
Cracks ran through the concrete beneath their feet, with weeds peeking out from various gaps. Looking up, a deep green mesh fence blocked their path, beyond which stretched a starry sky and the scenery of a lackluster rural town.
We had reached the rooftop, a place I had never set foot since entering high school.
A place where high school students in fiction meet, clash, deepen their bonds, sing, and film 8mm movies—yet in reality, an inaccessible place where phantom youth experiences occur.
This really feels like the rooftop.
I called out to the rebel walking a step ahead of me as I approached the fence.
This guy, a few centimeters taller than me, was named Souta Tsutsumi. A friend since elementary school, he was now in the class next to mine as a high school senior. Today, Souta had appeared in my buzzing classroom after lessons ended.
Voilà.
He'd said it playfully in French that he'd apparently learned recently. He showed me the key he was gripping tightly: the rooftop key, which he claimed to have swapped with a dummy in the faculty room.
And so I was invited to participate in this small act of rebellion.
We executed our plan at night. Meeting up after cram school, we snuck into the now-empty high school.
It's just as I thought. This rooftop, exactly as I imagined, is being quietly forgotten.
Souta gripped the fence with both hands and shook his annoying curly head as he turned to look at me.
His eyes gleamed behind his black-rimmed glasses.
It's symbolism. Symbolism.
The school rooftop is a symbol of lost youth—
That had been his sales pitch.
Summer vacation starts next weekend. In our final summer of high school, shouldn't we put up a little resistance? Let's carve this symbol of our lost youth firmly into our memories. I, as a rebel, will be your guide.
His theatrical way of speaking was nothing new.
Souta has always been eccentric, but there's a hint about him that that he aspires to be the brilliant detective type. Even his choice of first-person pronoun boku—he doesn't use the gentle-sounding version with a raised "bo," but rather the flat, industry-standard pronunciation that sounds so affected. I've never asked him about his true intentions, but he's probably just trying to seem intellectual.
And so I went along with Souta's obviously pretentious invitation.
I agreed because I thought we could make a small memory with relatively little risk.
In fact, now that we were up on the rooftop, it felt pretty good. Regardless of all that talk about lost youth and rebellion, it wasn't half bad in terms of adding some excitement to my otherwise dull daily life.
In the end, our high school life amounted to nothing . . .
Souta announced gravely, his fingers still entwined in the fence.
He was about to launch into some emotional speech about lost youth. Not feeling quite as worked up as him, I countered with a more level-headed perspective.
Nothing is an exaggeration. Online classes are over, and the cultural festival is coming back this year.
Just over three years had passed since the state of emergency declaration in April 2020.
High school life in July 2023 was gradually returning to something resembling its original form.
But you still feel unfulfilled, don't you? You feel like something's missing. That's why you went along with my invitation.
Well . . . I guess there is some truth to that.
See? Our youth was stolen from us! That's why we have to take it back ourselves! This is how resistance begins . . .
Fully in theatrical mode, Souta gazed beyond the fence with distant eyes and delivered his line with dramatic flair. Then, suddenly, he turned to look at me with a startled expression.
Come to think of it, it was just like this back then too.
Which time?
When we were in seventh grade and snuck into the Abandoned School together? Despite being such a quintessential "Abandoned School," we were disappointed by its B-grade lack of even a single ghost story, so we took matters into our own hands.
Mikomae City, often described as "barely within Tokyo," is frankly the middle of nowhere. While the areas around the station and schools are reasonably developed, once you go a certain distance from the center, the landscape abruptly transforms into nothing but fields. Perhaps because this dividing line is so unnaturally distinct, the town has an artificial quality about it, like a painted backdrop.
Among the few claims to fame here is the Abandoned School of our Mikomae High School. You'd think an "Abandoned School" would be on the same grounds or nearby, but it actually takes about fifteen minutes by bicycle to reach it from here. Surrounded by fields and forests, the place has a certain charm with its historically rich wooden architecture built in the early 1920s, and it's often used for filming dramas and movies. The building would have been demolished long ago if not for its demand as a filming location, allowing it to survive through several renovation projects.
An old wooden schoolhouse standing quietly at the edge of town—hearing this description raises expectations, but it's ultimately just a businesslike venue with absolutely no stories of ghosts or things like the Seven School Mysteries. Dissatisfied with this situation, we staged a small act of rebellion when we were in seventh grade. If there weren't enough ghost stories, we'd make our own—with this ridiculous logic, the four of us who were close friends at the time fabricated a cursed talisman and secretly planted it in the Abandoned School.
Riku.
I looked up at the sound of my name to find Souta staring beyond the fence again. The townscape in the distance transitions into rural scenery at a clear dividing line. Fields and mountains as far as the eye can see. As I wondered what Souta could possibly be looking at amid such scenery, it hit me. Souta's gaze was fixed on the Abandoned School.
Then I realized what Souta must be thinking about.
Back then, what we planted.
Want to go check if the cursed talisman is still there?
I knew you were going to say that. But it's been five years already, right? No way it's still there.
Word is that the Abandoned School, which has survived this long, is finally going to be demolished during summer vacation. If we're going to check it out, this is our last chance, isn't it? Come on, it'll be part of our little rebellion.
Souta never backs down in situations like this. Was it my misfortune to have so easily gone along with sneaking onto the rooftop? I resigned myself, nodded, and thought, well, why not. But somewhere in my heart, I was actually a little excited by the hint of adventure.
We exited through the same back gate we'd snuck in through and headed toward the Abandoned School on our bicycles. Beyond the residential and commercial area surrounding the school lay the other face of this town—Mikomae covered in fields and farmland.
But something unexpected happened near that boundary.
In front of a large supermarket's vast parking lot, the store had closed, and with the lights off, the area was dark. There, we spotted what appeared to be a female student from Mikomae High School. Dressed in her uniform, she was leaning against a pillar of a large sign bearing the supermarket's logo, staring at her smartphone. Next to her stood a familiar red bicycle.
Saki!
Souta called out and stopped his bicycle in front of her.
As we got closer, we could see it was indeed Saki Hayasaka.
She had medium-length black hair and bangs hanging down to her eyebrows. Perhaps due to her almond-shaped eyes, or maybe because of her small frame, she reminds me of a cat, personally speaking. Not unusual in this area where high school options are limited, she was also a friend from elementary school, just like Souta. Now that we're not as close as we were in elementary and middle school, there's an awkward distance between us, precisely because we used to be such good friends.
Saki looked up from her phone and eyed us as we suddenly appeared with a puzzled expression.
Huh? What are you two doing here?
We've run into you at just the perfect moment!
Souta announced cheerfully, then turned back to look at me.
Behind his glasses, his eyes lit up with that suspicious gleam once again.
Why are you looking at me?
Let's invite Saki too! This must be fate!
Wait, what are you suddenly . . .
Think about it! Could this possibly be a coincidence? Saki was there back then, when we—
Um, I have no idea what you guys are talking about.
Saki tilted her head and stepped between us.
She furrowed her brows, clearly suspicious.
What do you mean by fate?
She'd just posed an incredibly profound question.
What is fate? Of all people, this wasn't something I felt comfortable discussing casually in front of her. I was awkwardly self-conscious and felt pathetic for being unable to respond properly when Souta, practically oozing self-confidence, eagerly jumped in with an explanation.
Riku and I are going to the Abandoned School! Remember back in seventh grade when the four of us went to plant that cursed talisman? We're going to check if it's still there!