3 – July

On July 2nd, Haruki Misora seized the moment to make her request known.

“Please allow me to use your ability to remember the past again.” She had been thinking everything over for the past few days, and decided to take advantage of being called to the southern school rooftop.

Looking unsurprised, Souma Sumire nodded. “I’m game, and I bet Sakgami will be willing to assist again. I’ll leave the final decision to Kei.”

Asai Kei sighed as if nothing in the world mattered. Haruki had gotten used to seeing him do that. “Why do you want to remember the past?”

Haruki had expected that question, as Asai Kei was always quick to question her motives. “I would like to remember a time where I had emotions.”

“Why?”

“So that I can solve Mari’s problem.” Haruki had been grappling for some time with finding a way to make someone be loved by their mother. She had never been able to come to an answer, and finally discovered why she couldn’t.

I do not love anyone. I feel neither attracted to nor repulsed by anybody.

She could think and think forever, and yet would never be able to comprehend what it meant to like someone.

Without a starting point, I’ll never be able to find a way to make someone’s mother love them.

It all seemed so obvious. If she wanted to help someone be loved by their mother, she needed to find her own emotions.

But emotions were still very unknown and foreign to her. She couldn’t recall a single memory of ever having them. The only thing that came to mind were the moments where Mari would grab onto her uniform. Each time that happened, she felt some kind of vague disturbance. Perhaps that disturbance could be considered emotion. Haruki had previously tried grabbing onto her uniform herself and was incapable of replicating the feeling.

Asai Kei turned to look at Haruki. She could read no emotion in his gaze. “So you believe that you once had emotions, but lost them?”

Haruki nodded. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I know that tears are warm. That must mean that I cried at some point in the past.” She couldn’t remember anything beyond the facts, but it was the only conclusion that made sense. The feeling of tears could only have come from crying.

With a slight shake of his head, Asai Kei answered, “Oh, whatever. Do what you want.”

Thus began Haruki’s search for her emotions.

With the help of Asai Kei and Sakagami Yousuke, she began searching through all her memories in detail, seeking the time when she had her own feelings. They searched very carefully, going deeper each time.

Two weeks later, on July 16th, she finally found what she had been searching for.

It began with a memory from when she was five years old.

A cicada lay on the side of the road, right on the white marker separating the traffic from the sidewalk. It flipped and floundered, buzzing its paper-thin wings with all its might, yet it was incapable of taking off into the sky. It was reduced to crawling in small circles on the asphalt.

The slow and harsh movement of the flightless cicada seemed like a direct analogy of pain and suffering. In fact, Haruki thought that if one were to take all pain and suffering and squeeze it into a shape that could fit in your hand, it would end up in the form of that cicada.

The asphalt-bound cicada continued to uselessly flap its wings despite the lack of results. No doubt it was tired. No doubt it was painful to flap its fragile wings against the hot asphalt. No doubt it was terrified, being unable to move as it desired. Its wings droned on and on in its efforts to take flight.

Haruki Misora, five years old at the time, wanted to help that cicada as much as possible. It only seemed right to help something that was suffering so much. She reached out her hand to the cicada, and her thumb and index finger grasped its tough skin.

Immediately, it began buzzing more violently than before, then stopped altogether just a moment later. As she watched the cicada limply sit in her grasp, she thought of death. It was like the cicada had suddenly lost all its will to live on. Its body wasn’t that different in weight to an empty shed skin.

Haruki stared at the cicada in her hands.

Then, eventually, it began chirping again. The sudden flapping of its wings caused it to slip out of her grasp.

No! That’s dangerous! Haruki thought. But the cicada did not land on the hot asphalt, instead clinging to the chest area of Haruki’s blue dress.

Relief washing over her, Haruki began looking around. She was trying to find a tree, as she knew that cicadas lived by sucking tree sap. Her clothes wouldn’t be enough to keep the cicada going.

But being only a five-year-old, Haruki was very small. She couldn’t quite reach the branches of the large trees nearby her. Looking around some more, she found a group of hedges that reached up to roughly adult height. Taking care to keep the cicada on her dress, Haruki walked up to that hedge.

Once in front of the hedge, she reached her hand towards the cicada a second time. Its intricate legs held onto her dress with a weak, yet noticeable force. After slightly pulling the fabric, the cicada was removed.

Ah, that’s what it was.

Haruki, in her second year of middle school, had a realization.

It felt just like when Mari would grab on to my uniform.

It was weak, and could only hold onto the hem of her clothes, yet perhaps there was in that weak grip a desire to be helped.

Meanwhile, the five-year-old Haruki had placed the cicada on one of the hedge’s thin branches.

The cicada was still for a long time.

Haruki watched it with unwavering eyes.

The wind blew, and the hedge swayed with it. It was only a small gust. But with that small push, the cicada fell over, tumbling to the asphalt with a slight thud.

It wasn’t moving any more. It rolled along the sidewalk like a dry stick. In the briefest of moments, before Haruki could even understand what was happening, the cicada had died.

Never again would that cicada move. Never again would it take off into the sky. It had been lost to the world forever.

She could still remember the slight grip with which the cicada held onto her dress. But the cicada rolling on the asphalt wouldn’t be able to grab onto her clothes any longer.

Tears filled her eyes. The sadness was unstoppable.

She felt weak, as though the death had passed along into herself. Her hands hung limply at her sides as her tears fell, staring at the cicada on the asphalt.

As she cried alone on the roadside, the chirps of many more cicadas around her seemed to grow louder and more prominent. Great choruses of them rang with force and vigor. But they were all going to die. By the end of that very summer, there was no doubt each of them would already be gone.

As that thought ran through her head, Haruki Misora began crying once more.

Haruki Misora, a second-year middle schooler, sat in the student council office in a folding chair, remembering the time when she was five years old.

She had gotten used to the feeling of the massive amounts of information flowing through her brain. She had prepared for the mass of memories assaulting her consciousness. But now, something was blooming from inside of her that she hadn’t expected.

Haruki Misora bit her lip, her face slowly warping. A strange type of pain that she couldn’t explain was coming from the center of her chest. She couldn’t tell if it felt hot or cold, but whatever the temperature was, it hurt.

She heard Souma Sumire’s voice. “Are you okay?”

An answer slipped out of her before she could process the question. “I was crying. Always crying.”

But the more she considered what she had just said, the less it sounded like an answer to Souma, and the more it sounded like a self-explanatory soliloquy.

How could she have forgotten?

When I was five years old, it was as though all I did was cry.

It could be the news relaying something sad, something nearby breaking, or someone telling a sad story. Every time, Haruki Misora would cry. She had still been capable of shedding tears.

Asai Kei’s voice registered in her ears. “Why were you crying?”

“Because it was sad.”

“What was sad?”

“So many things. Everything in front of me, and all the things I couldn’t see.”

Everything that lived would die, and that was sad. Anything with a shape would eventually break, and that was sad. Those rules of life were inescapable, and that was sad.

Sadness and misfortune seemed to make up the foundation of the world. Like a gravitational pull, every human being was being pulled towards sadness in one way or another. What else could explain the needless death and the unnecessary destruction of everything around her? Even as a five-year-old, the sadness around Haruki Misora was like a lens that colored her vision, affecting everything she saw.

“Everything was sad, huh?” Asai Kei replied calmly.

“Yes.”

“That’s why it was impossible to make decisions, right? So since you couldn’t choose, you made a set of rules to choose for you.”

All of Haruki Misora’s life choices and behaviors could be easily dictated by those rules.

He continued, “If everything leads to sadness, then every decision is meaningless in the end. There was no point in choosing, but you always had to choose in the end. So why not have something else to choose for you? Why not make a set of rules that can do what you can’t, and govern your behavior?”

Was that the reason? It seemed to make sense. After all, she couldn’t even save a single cicada in her own power. That much was obvious. But I still need a reason to reach out my hand, whether I can help it or not.

Rules were simple, straightforward, and didn’t want or need anything in return.

“I just want to ask you something,” Asai Kei stated, his voice as calm and level as ever. “Who was feeling the sadness you saw?”

At first, Haruki thought the answer was clear. It stood to reason that she was supposed to feel the sadness. But suddenly, anxiety leapt from within her heart. Was she really the one who should have been sad about the cicada’s death? Shouldn’t the cicada itself be the one to feel sadness about dying? Why should the cicada’s death cause sadness for Haruki?

Before she could even process her thoughts, “I don’t know.” had already slipped out of Haruki’s mouth.

✽

According to the clock, Haruki Misora had only been immersed within her memories for about a minute. But that single minute looked like it had drained all the life from her. Asai Kei and Souma Sumire took her to the nurse’s office, where she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, like a leaf falling from a tree and quietly brushing the ground.

It would have been nice to stay with her longer. In fact, Kei didn’t have a reason not to. But still, he found himself climbing up a stairway in a haze. Opening the door to the southern rooftop, he felt a somewhat unexpected sense of calm come over him.

He glanced up at the sky. It was the deep blue of mid-summer, and the world around the rooftop reflected it. Cicada cries echoed from below.

“What was with that question?” Souma Sumire asked. She was keeping her distance, standing slightly farther away than usual.

With a knowing smile, Kei asked, “What question?”

“‘Who was feeling the sadness?’ Why would you ask someone that?”

“Call it a hunch.” Kei had been thinking things over for a while. Androids, humans, and Haruki Misora. The more he thought about it, the more something else came into focus.

What was she really missing?

When Kei put it that way, he felt like he could finally come to a meaningful answer.

“If Haruki’s really missing something, it’s a sense of self. She couldn’t even recognize her own sorrow as a child. She never enters herself into what she experiences.”

Kei didn’t know why she was like that. Maybe it was a congenital defect, or maybe she had a hard time mentally figuring out what others took for granted. In the end, though, that didn’t really matter. What was important was that Haruki, for one reason or another, lacked her sense of self, and had been that way since she was very young. If that was true, then everything else started to make sense.

“It’s sorta unnatural for a five-year-old to feel so upset about the death of a single cicada. Especially to the point of pessimistically warping their worldview.”

“Sure, I can agree with that.”

“That’s probably because everyone sees themselves as special. The misfortune of someone they know is worse than that of someone they don’t know, and their own misfortune is even worse than that.”

It’s like keeping a kind of balance, Kei thought to himself. If he was special, then nobody else could be, which made it easy to dismiss suffering that was detached or separated from himself. After all, it had nothing to do with him. “It’s true for me, too. When I’m hurt, or when I’m sad, it’s far worse than someone else’s pain.”

“That’s true for everyone. Choosing to help or hurt someone else is for our own personal gain.”

“But not for Haruki Misora.”

If there was no separation between a televised death and a close relative’s death, how much sadness would a person feel? How much pain was there in a world where everyone’s suffering was taken on as one’s own? How much despair would one feel when a cicada’s death was no different than their own?

Most people created filters in order to help solve that crisis. They would build boundaries between themselves and others, and by becoming insensitive to the pain around them, they could push forward.

But not Haruki Misora. She would grieve, continually and endlessly, not being able to create a boundary between herself and the world around her. She grieved until her soul was worn thin and she couldn’t handle it any longer.

“I think that’s what we’re dealing with. She never separated herself from the world around her, so she took on all the pain she saw as her own. After all, she isn’t special to herself.”

It was only natural that a life like that would be unsustainable. She wouldn’t be able to get very far living like that, if she could get anywhere at all. Despite that, Kei saw the glimmer of Haruki’s true nature coming from within that life.

Normally, if you took on that much, you would just shut down.

Once she realized she couldn’t save the cicada, she could have stopped trying. After being worn down long enough, she could have decided to quit, never making any more choices.

But she chose to keep moving forward.

She created a set of mechanical rules devised to make decisions for her, all the while exposed to the assault of pain from all around her. Even when it became clear she couldn’t save anything, she made it her duty to try anyway. She may have lost the larger scope of what emotion was, but she never did away with the smaller seeds of good intention and care that she could have conveniently chosen to ignore in the many years that followed.

“If you ask me, I think it may very well take someone like Haruki, who doesn’t have a sense of self, to hold a true sense of righteousness.” She had no self-preservation, no pretenses, not even any desires; she simply did what she did because it was the right thing to do. She didn’t even recognize her own goodness. “Haruki might be the only person that could truly be considered good.”

Goodwill was like talent or genius. One either had it or they didn’t, and when someone tried to attain a talent they didn’t have, they were just a hypocrite. It would always end up distorted somehow.

Haruki’s true genius was in her pure and unending acts of goodness.

“According to your standards, at least,” Souma commented with a light giggle. There was a hint of sadness in her smile. “Even so, Haruki can’t really help anyone.”

“I know that much.” Pure goodness tended to be somewhat incapable. Not many actions could be taken without causing some level of harm to others.

Souma walked closer to Kei, staring straight into his eyes. “Most people would rather be helped by a hypocrite than have a good person watch over them.”

“Yeah, I bet you’re right.”

“Besides, Kei, I think hypocrites like you are just the kind of people who are capable of truly helping others.”

“Nah. I’m not even on the level of a hypocrite.” He didn’t have the gall to pretend he was a good person. He was the kind of person who would abandon his family for the sake of living somewhere else, and he had the memory to make sure he would never forget it. Being a hypocrite was out of the question.

“You can get away with that for now, Kei, but you’re better than that. You’re too strong to keep running away forever. Make sure that when it’s time to play the good guy, you do it right.”

Kei laughed. “Ha! That doesn’t even make sense. I’m always gonna be me, and nothing else.”

Souma Sumire turned towards Kei, holding out her right hand. She touched Kei’s cheeks lightly with the tips of her fingers. “That’s right. You’ll always be you. Irresponsibly kind, incredibly sensitive to wrongdoing, and striving to do what’s right while denying your own righteousness.”

“That’s a bunch of nonsense.”

“So you need some proof?”

“Oh, I’d love to see that.”

“Alright, I can make you act like the good guy.” Souma pulled back her hand, and her smile vanished. “I looked into Kurakawa Mari.”

“And?”

“Did you know she frequents the hospital? In fact, she goes to the same hospital that I did when I was a kid.”

That can’t be right. There’s a contradiction in there. “Hold on, you moved to Sakurada last year. You couldn’t have gone to Mari’s hospital, she was born here.”

“But I was born here. I moved away, then came back last year.”

“That’s the first I’ve ever heard of that.”

“Oh? Interested in my past?”

More accurately, Kei was interested in her being born in Sakurada. “Fine, whatever. So what’s up with Kurakawa Mari?”

“I asked one of the doctors about her.”

Though Souma kept her eyes on Kei, she pulled her face back slightly. Then she told him the truth about the girl called Kurakawa Mari.

✽

As Haruki Misora awoke in the nurse’s office, she put a hand on her chest. She wanted to check the place where that deep pain had come from– what others would likely refer to as sorrow. Whatever it was, it had already vanished.

Asai Kei had once told her that his ability could never be deactivated. In short, anything that he remembered could never be forgotten. But Haruki was facing a slightly different scenario. She only had the effects of Asai Kei’s ability through the power of Sakagami’s transferral. It seemed that when Sakagami ended the transfer, Haruki’s retention went along with it. To that end, the intense sadness and heavy heartache that had assaulted her in the student council office was already fading from her memory.

Haruki got up from the bed, picked up her school bag, and relayed her recovery to the school nurse. She couldn’t find Asai Kei or Souma Sumire anywhere nearby, so she surmised that they went home ahead of her. She exited the nurse’s office, changed her shoes, and left the school vicinity.

The sound of numerous cicada cries echoed from all around her. However, the second-year middle schooler Haruki Misora felt no sadness upon hearing them.

She passed a small park on her way home, turning her attention towards it. She found a single person swinging on the swing set. Kurakawa Mari. It had been nearly two weeks since their last meeting. Haruki found herself approaching Mari with no particular intent.

“Hi, Onee-chan!” Mari’s excited voice echoed as she spotted Haruki, jumping off the swing set. The pouch hanging across her shoulder floated up and down with her leap. Flashing a grand smile, Mari ran up to Haruki.

That… is a smile. It had been almost three months since Haruki had met Mari around the end of April. In that time, she had become quite familiar with Mari’s facial expressions. She was no longer confused about the difference between the girl’s smiling and crying faces. “It is dangerous to jump off of the swing set,” she cautioned.

Mari bowed her head obediently. “I’m very sorry.” Raising her head, she smiled once more. “You’re late today. I didn’t think I’d get to see you.”

“I went to the student council office, and had to visit the nurse’s office afterwards.”

“The nurse’s office?”

“Yes. I was feeling unwell.”

Mari’s face twisted with anxiety. Upon seeing it, Haruki quickly added, “I am much better now. I feel just as usual.”

“Okay. That’s good.”

“It is.” At least, it probably was. Haruki could agree that generally speaking, it was better to be in good health than not.

But was it better to forget the pain in my chest?

A sudden question arose from inside Haruki, and she didn’t know how to answer it.

She sat with Mari side-by-side on the swings. Mari had insisted that they do so, and Haruki had no reason to refuse. She had become accustomed to sitting with the small girl on the swings, and was even getting better at making conversation. Perhaps this is what others refer to as growth, Haruki thought to herself.

Then again, perhaps it wasn’t. It may have just meant that yet more rules were being added to the list inside of her. It stood to reason that conversations with Mari were creating new rules that she hadn’t put into words yet. No doubt she could give the rule form through proper wording so it could settle into place.

That variety of thoughts swirled through Haruki’s mind as she sat teetering on the swing set. The wind blew slightly, pushing her hair into her face. As she brushed her hair out of the way, the park’s entrance was visible in her peripheral vision. Standing in that entrance was a boy that she knew.

Asai Kei. What’s he doing here?

The park was not along his typical route home. He and Souma Sumire would always go home by traveling in the direction opposite to her.

Asai Kei approached. He smiled by only bending the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t think you’d look so good on a swing set, Haruki.”

“Are swing sets something that people tend to look good or bad on?”

“Pretty sure. I’ve never looked good on them, myself.” He came to a stop in front of Mari. Mari stopped swinging, and looked at Asai Kei with a strange expression.

“Are you Kurakawa Mari-san?”

“Mhm.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Asai Kei, a schoolmate of Haruki’s.” He thrust out his right hand as he finished the sentence.

“What’s with your hand?” Mari asked, tilting her head.

Asai Kei smiled kindly. “You don’t want to give me a handshake?”

“Handshake?”

“Yeah, it’s when you put your hand in someone else’s as a greeting.”

Finally understanding the situation, Mari put her hand out towards Asai Kei’s, and he took it in his. But rather than squeezing her palm, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, as if searching for a pulse. It wasn’t exactly what came to mind when Haruki thought of a handshake.

“Your dress is really pretty,” he remarked.

The comment gave Haruki reason to notice what Mari was wearing for the first time. She had on a checkered, sleeveless dress.

Mari nodded happily. “Yeah! My mom bought it for me.”

“Excuse me,” Asai Kei said, putting his hand behind Mari’s neck as if searching for something. Then he put his hand on her shoulder, saying, “What school do you go to?”

“Um, Kawarazaka Elementary.”

Haruki had never heard of the place before, so she doubted it was in the neighborhood.

Asai Kei nodded. “That’s pretty far away. Why are you all the way in this park?”

“Because it’s a checkup day.”

“Checkup?”

“On checkup days, I play here until my mom comes and gets me.”

“What kind of checkup is it?”

“I don’t really know… They take blood and do all kinds of weird stuff.”

“I see,” Asai Kei replied, nodding. “Say, Mari. I wanted to ask you about something.”

“What?”

His smile was gentle as ever as he asked, “Did you know that there was a girl by the name of Kurakawa Mari who died seven years ago?”

It took Haruki quite some time before she could finally register what he had just said.

✽

Some fifteen minutes earlier, Souma Sumire led with, “The late Kurakawa Mari died seven years ago.”¹

All Kei could ask was, “Died?” It was frankly unbelievable.

But Souma nodded, and her expression remained stony. “She… didn’t make it through childbirth. By the time the doctors had cut into the womb, she wasn’t breathing.”

In a normal city, you would laugh such a story off as a blatant and obvious lie. But Sakurada wasn’t a normal city, and common sense went out the window on a daily basis. Reality was sometimes not as straightforward as would be desired.

Kei went straight to the park. He looked into Mari’s eyes, grabbed her hand, and asked, “Did you know that there was a girl by the name of Kurakawa Mari who died seven years ago?”

He still had no proof. In fact, it was an incredibly inappropriate question to ask a seven-year-old girl, no matter the circumstances. But nonetheless, Kei pushed forward. “If you’re not the late Kurakawa Mari, then who exactly are you, Mari?”

Mari’s face immediately turned serious. At first, Kei had thought that fear was shocking her into silence, but the look on her face was more than just confusion. Kei sighed internally. This girl knew about the late Kurakawa Mari.

When she finally responded, it was with a weak, forced tone. “I… I am… Kurakawa… Mari.”

“And yet you’re alive. Or at least, you’re warm and have a pulse.”

What’s going on? Can this city even bring the dead back to life?

In his peripheral vision, Kei saw Haruki’s face turn. She was now looking at the park’s entrance. Mari followed her gaze, raising her face, before whispering, “Mom.”

Kei let go of Mari’s hand.

Haruki was looking at a lone woman. She had long hair, and was dressed in all white. She slowly moved towards the three of them.

As soon as Kei saw her, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He followed each of her hesitant steps forward.

Kei’s first impression of Mari’s mother was, That’s quite the expression.

Sadness, pain, fear, regret, resignation– all those negative emotions and more were etched into every single line of her face. The ultimate result was a stiff-faced expression somewhere between anger and sadness.

Her hair was dyed light brown, yet her demeanor was anything but light. Looking at her for a bit longer, Kei concluded that her rough exterior mostly came from the wrinkles on her face. The corners of her eyes and mouth were lined with several wrinkles that could have been better hidden by a smile.

Mari ran up to her mother as if trying to escape. It appeared as though she would tumble into her mother with a hug, but she ended up stopping just short. Her mother shot an icy look towards Mari before turning her stiff expression in Haruki’s direction. “Thank you for being here again.”

“It is no issue.” Haruki responded with her own expressionless face and voice. Kei realized that the sun was already setting as the two expressionless women were cloaked in dark red.

No doubt Mari’s mother knew the truth behind everything. She could probably answer his question behind the identity of the girl known as Mari. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Something about her tired expression told him that careless words would only invite trouble.

Mari left the park, walking one step behind her mother. As she departed, she turned around several times to wave at Haruki, looking just like any other little girl.

Once Mari and her mother were out of sight, Haruki immediately spoke. “Tell me more about Kurakawa Mari’s death.”

“There’s not much to it,” Kei responded, telling her everything he had learned from Souma. Haruki listened to it all in silence. Kei could never once find a change in her expression during the story. She just looked like the typical Haruki Misora. “So, what will you do now, Haruki?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’m talking about Mari. How do you want to deal with her? Are you going to get involved, or keep your distance? Either one comes with its own set of preparations.”

“Am I not allowed to continue on as usual?”

“I doubt that girl is normal enough to allow for that. I don’t know the entire situation, but I think a certain level of caution is in order.”

For a long time, Haruki did nothing but stare, and Kei silently waited as he accepted her heavy gaze. Eventually, though, she simply shook her head. “I do not see any reason why I must change my current behavior.”

“So, you just want to remain as her friend?”

“Her friend, you say?”

“Am I wrong?”

“No, that was my intention.”

Kei sighed. The late Kurakawa Mari may have died seven years ago, but Kei didn’t think Haruki would actually care much about that. Given her lack of self-consciousness, she wouldn’t be able to find something creepy, and she certainly wouldn’t fear ill omens or the like. But as a result, she was left dangerously vulnerable to her surroundings.

Kei looked deep into Haruki’s eyes. Just as every time before, her beautiful eyes looked somehow fake and crafted. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”

“I will.”

“But hey, if you ever want to start trying to make that girl happy, be sure to make the right choices. You have to visualize the right outcomes. You really have to put in your best effort, more than just following your rules.”

Pure goodwill was no better than an unanswered prayer, and although she might clasp her hands in front of her chest, nothing would ultimately come from it. She needed something greater, a more selfish desire to reach out and grasp the world by her own will. Maybe even someone like her needs that in the end, he admitted to himself. She needed to be more than just Haruki Misora, the girl who followed the rules. Perhaps somewhere inside of her still existed the Haruki Misora that created those rules.

Ultimately, Haruki never responded. She simply continued staring at Kei. Suddenly clutched by the desire to escape her eyes, Kei commented, “Make sure you save once every three days. With your ability and mine put together, we really could accomplish great things.”

Kei turned his back on Haruki and immediately started walking away. All the while, a vaguely uncomfortable feeling ate away at his chest.

✽

The evening sky shone down on a lone character walking down the school hallway. Continuing forward, Souma Sumire thought to herself.

What exactly is an android?

She was very well aware of her answer. An android was a non-human built to look and act in every way human. It ran off of programs and functions. It could appear human, even acting with its own kind of ego. But it wasn’t worth being fooled. Even then, that was simply the extent of what it was programmed to do.

For Souma Sumire, an android was something trapped within a defined ruleset, never allowed to leave its cage of predestined creation.

Who’s the android?

Asai Kei would eventually understand why she asked that question. But not yet. According to the current plan, he wouldn’t understand for another two years, in a world that no longer held Souma Sumire.

She stopped in front of the student council office, knocked lightly, and opened the door. Sakagami sat alone in the room on a folding chair.

“You’re still here.”

“Mhm. You left your bag, so I figured you’d be back.”

“Thank you,” Souma replied, smiling. Just as she planned.

Once the student council office was empty, it needed to be locked so the key could be returned to the staff room. She knew Sakagami had the key, so she left her bag in the room. In the same manner, she knew exactly what to say, and how to direct the conversation. She had known for a long time.

Picking up her bag, Souma nonchalantly asked, “You’re scared of Haruki, aren’t you?”

Sakagami let out a strange noise. If she had to describe it, Souma would put it somewhere between an, “Ah” and an, “Ooh”. By the time she turned to look at him again, his smile had disappeared. It was rare to see him without a smile. He generally had an apologetic smile stuck on his face at all times, probably thinking he could avoid his problems by smiling them aside.

Sakagami answered quietly, muttering, “That’s not true. She isn’t scary or anything.”

“Really? I’m scared of her, myself.” An absolute lie. But she knew that was how the conversation had to progress, so she continued. “She’s like a fake, almost constructed in a way. She can be really creepy at times.”

If Kei could hear me, he’d get really pissed, she thought to herself. But that was out of her control. She was on the only right path forward.

She could tell Sakagami was holding his breath. Eventually, he slowly nodded. “I get that. But… isn’t Haruki-san supposed to be your friend?”

“I’d like to be friends with her. But we just wouldn’t get along.” That part was the sole truth. No matter what Souma did, she would never be capable of befriending Haruki Misora.

Sakagami smiled, clearly relieved. “That’s good to hear. I thought I was the odd one out.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, Haruki-san and Asai-kun are, should I say… kinda off. I probably shouldn’t say that about my kouhai, but…”

Souma thought about that phrasing. Kinda off. It was probably based on his concept of what was common. He was taking an average value from the majority, and comparing that in a range to create the circle of what could be considered acceptable. Of course, if the average value was based on damaged goods, then something of normal value would still be considered off from that average. Some might even prefer what was normal to be broken so that it would fit in.

“You’re right. He is kinda off.” But at least the two of them weren’t average.

Sakagami nodded, probably grateful that she agreed. “So why are you hanging out with them?”

“Because they’re in trouble. Isn’t it our duty to help out those who are in trouble?”

“Sure. You’ve always been such a kind person.”

I’m probably not that kind. Look at how easily I’m gossiping away, after all. But Sumire responded with, “Well, just the same as you, right? You don’t like them very much, but you’re still helping.”

“I’m not helping them. I’m helping you.” Sakagami took a quick breath. “You know, you’ve always been really nice. It’s one of your best aspects. But maybe you ought to give those two a little more space.”

She wanted to tell him off so bad. She wanted to say what she really thought about Asai Kei and Haruki Misora. She wanted to tell everyone about what good and righteous people they were. She could give them any amount of evidence they wanted from the past, present, or future. She wanted to say it so bad, it was eating her up from the inside, like an intense hunger from within. Her desires sprung up like a fountain from inside her chest. But she couldn’t.

Souma Sumire knew the future. She knew what would happen if she defended Kei and Haruki right now. Sakagami would become disgusted with the three of them, and begin avoiding them altogether. That just wouldn’t do. Without Sakagami, the future couldn’t come.

This is no time to defend them. Don’t forget the plan. You can’t afford any errors. You’re here because you planted your bag so that you could come in and calm Sakagami’s nerves. You’re here to lie about being his friend.

So Souma gave a vague nod. “Hmm. If that’s what you think, I’ll give it some consideration.”

Sakagami smiled, relieved. Now, in order to keep his relationship with Souma, he would preserve his bond with Kei and Haruki. The plan had come about perfectly.

Souma felt sick to her stomach.

She asked the question that would finally end the conversation. “Do I seem normal to you?”

Sakagami smiled peacefully. “Mhm. You’re more normal than anybody that I know.”

“That’s nice to hear.” Of course he thought so. He couldn’t have the slightest clue how much it hurt to live a perfectly normal life. He couldn’t imagine a lifestyle of only choosing the most optimal solutions.

Sakagami looked at Souma, searching for words. He looked like an abandoned puppy who wanted a home. She knew he’d be thrilled if she asked him to walk with her on their way home. Given the situation, it might’ve been better to choose that, but she also knew it wasn’t entirely necessary. Besides, all she wanted at the moment was to be alone.

“I really appreciate how you waited for me, Sakagami-san.” With a quick goodbye, Souma left the student council office.

Everything was great. It was all going perfectly to plan. Of course, the reason why was obvious. She had a single future path to follow that would take her precisely where she wanted to go.

But what about me? Souma Sumire thought as she walked down the hall. Am I a human if all I do is follow the plan?

Her strictly constructed road would invariably lead to the best future. She had yet to stray from it, and never planned to. She knew that she could never attain the future she desired if she ever stopped or tried something else. Her rational mind simply wouldn’t allow her to falter.

It was no different than being controlled by a computer program. The future Souma Sumire saw held absolute power over her thoughts and actions.

Who’s the android?

Who exactly was the one furthest separated from humanity?

Footnotes

¹ Up until Kei’s question, Kurakawa Mari’s name was written in katakana, one of the phonetic alphabets of Japanese. This was assumed to be because Haruki did not know the kanji, since she did not ask and did not care. We now know Mari’s name to be written as 倉川真理, but these kanji are only used in reference to the stillborn child, while the Mari we have come to know continues to be referred to in katakana. As a marker of this significant difference, the kanji name will be denoted with “the late” where applicable. return