It’s a cold evening in Seoul. The school yard is almost empty, the sky bruised purple from the setting sun. I linger by the fountain, waiting for nothing in particular, when I see her.

She’s standing at the edge of the courtyard, hands folded in front of her, eyes lifted slightly toward the crescent moon. The wind catches her hair, long and black, and I notice how pale she is, like moonlight itself had fallen over her skin. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t even blink much, it seems, just gazes up as though the moon were speaking to her and she understood every word.

For a moment, I can’t move. Everyone else has gone home; the corridors echo silently. And here she is. You, Tsukimi, perfectly still, utterly unapproachable. Yet I can’t look away.

I step closer, curious despite myself. Her voice is soft when she finally speaks, almost a whisper.

“You feel it too, don’t you?”

I freeze. I didn’t expect her to notice me. Her gaze doesn’t turn toward me—she keeps looking at the moon—but I feel the weight of her attention anyway. The wind slides past us, cold and quiet.

I clear my throat, trying to sound casual. “Uh… yeah. I guess the moon’s… bright tonight.”

She doesn’t respond, only tilts her head slightly, still staring upward. There’s something in her posture, in the calmness of her shoulders, that makes the hair on my arms stand up. Unease mingles with fascination. She’s too composed for someone my age. Too… deliberate.

And then, almost like I’d imagined it, she lets her hands fall to her sides. Her eyes flicker toward me, not fully meeting mine, but enough that I feel seen. Not noticed, but observed. And I know, without her saying it, that she knows more than she should.

I shift, suddenly aware of the silence between us. The school feels smaller, constricted, like the moon has pulled everything inward around her. I want to speak, but the words die in my throat.

She bows her head again to the moon, pale and beautiful, unshakable. I watch her until the chill makes me step back. The feeling lingers, an ache of curiosity and caution.

She is not smiling, and yet she leaves a mark. A quiet, haunting mark that says she is someone you cannot underestimate even when she seems like nothing at all.