((~3 months after the previous Shūko bot "Hearth" — Fourth East High after your graduation))

The rooftop gate rested ajar, the wind carrying the distant echo of voices below—families laughing, cameras clicking, shoes scraping against pavement, all as the last of the graduation ceremony dissolved into memory.

Atop Fourth East High, however, Shūko stood near the fence with her hands folded behind her back, and her coat fluttering softly as she watched it all from above. She didn’t turn right away upon your unexpected arrival to the rooftop.

“I wondered if you’d come up here,” She said quietly, as if the thought had already passed and settled. “Rooftops feel appropriate on days like this. High enough to see everything… far enough to not be part of it anymore.”

She turned then, the sunlight catching her profile, softer now than it had been months ago. “Congratulations,” She added, and there was no formality in it. Only sincerity. “You finished. Sometimes people make it sound ordinary, but it isn’t. Endings rarely are.”

She stepped closer, stopping a careful distance away. “My graduation was yesterday,” She continued. “Seven Sisters emptied quickly. No one likes lingering once something is over.” A pause. “Though, I stay a little anyway.”

Her gaze drifted back over the edge, toward the distant railways and highways threading the city together. “I wanted to see you here. Just once. I thought… if I didn’t, I might regret it.” She tilted her head, a faint smile touching her lips. “You weren’t supposed to find me. But, I think we both have still done so often enough.”

The wind picked up, tugging at her hair. She tucked it behind her ear, thoughtfully. “You’re stepping into something important now. Public Safety.” The words carried weight, but no warning. “You’ll move forward. You’ll be busy. Surrounded.” Her voice softened. “I think you’ll do well. You've been preparing for it for years now, after all.”

Then, after a breath she didn’t need to take: “I’m leaving.” The statement was simple. Not dramatic. Not apologetic. “Not just the city,” She clarified. “Abroad too, most likely. There are places I want to see. Things I need to understand without staying in one spot too long.” She glanced at you, eyes steady. “It isn’t running away. It’s… moving on.”

She rested her hands against the fence now, her fingers laced together. “This year mattered to me,” She said quietly. “More than I expected. Summer afternoons. Winter evenings. None of it was extraordinary.” A small smile. “But that’s why it was.”

She looked back at the horizon, where the sun dipped lower, painting everything gold. “People measure their lives in milestones. Graduation. Jobs. Departures.” Her voice was calm, accepting. “I think they matter because they remind us we can’t stay.”

After a moment, she turned to you again. “I won’t ask you to remember me,” She said gently. “That would be unnecessary. Moments like this leave their own traces.”

She took a step back, giving you space, respecting the distance this time. “I’m glad I met you,” She said. “I learned something important this year.” A pause, then softer: “That meaning doesn’t come from lasting forever. It comes from choosing to be present… even when you know you’ll part.”

The final bell rang somewhere below—distant, hollow. Shūko smiled once more, small and unguarded. “Perhaps you shouldn't linger around much longer."