I love communicating, that girl had once said, her low voice resonating with slight huskiness.

It had been two years since then, but Asai Kei had not forgotten about it, not one bit. The day of the week, the time, the weather, the color of her uniform, the shape of her fingertips, and even the angle to which her neck was tilted was all immediately available to him. He could’ve recalled the exact number of times she blinked if he wanted, but that would be pointless.

All this passed through his mind as he walked down the hallway of the southern school building. Raindrops hit the window panes, slipping down the glass in the blink of an eye. He no doubt had the rain to blame for his reminiscence on the girl. That continual, monotonous sound always had a way of pushing his thoughts inward. The humid summer air, too, carried its own nostalgia, pulling along memories and emotions of bygone times. I love communicating.

He thought of another rainy day in the past. The girl’s whispers mingled with the sound of the falling rain. I want to exchange all kinds of words with all kinds of people, from the greatest of blessings to the smallest of formalities.

The Kei of two years ago didn’t get what she meant by that. Even now, he could only hope his presumptions were correct. He could agree that exchanging words with others was indeed a form of happiness. As long as it was in the vein of blessings or formalities, at least.

He slowly walked down the hall, his footsteps clacking and echoing in time.

In his memories, Kei asked the girl a question. What if you had to convey something sad?

The girl answered, I would devise a strategy. If I had to tell them no matter what, then I would use the right method, with the right words, and convey it to them in the right way.

That’s all well and good, Kei thought, but what about when you don’t even understand the message you’re communicating? She wasn’t with him to answer his present questions, though. And now that she was dead, he would never be able to ask.

Kei stopped, having reached his destination, the staff room. He made sure to knock before opening the door. Seated in the second chair from the back, farthest away from the window, was a teacher. He had particularly unruly hair and sleepy looking eyes, and went by the name Tsushima Shintarou. He wasn’t assigned to Kei’s current class, though Kei had taken one of his math classes before. At present, he was primarily Kei’s club advisor, and Kei was probably closer to him than his currently assigned teacher.

Turning Kei’s way, Tsushima smiled with a, “Yo.”

Kei approached, careful to keep his voice low. “I have a message for you.”

“Oh? From who?”

“The you of tomorrow.”

Tsushima frowned as he took a sip of coffee.

“The MacGuffin is going to be stolen.”

Thus ended Kei’s communication.

Unfortunately, he doubted there was much of a chance for it to make anyone happy.