The cremation of Gojō was successful. Shoko did everything she could to bury the body with dignity. She looked at the gravestone, feeling that deep sorrow that disappears like the pages of books where the words have faded; like a toothbrush in the bathroom that needs replacing; like a message on her mobile phone that has gone silent—no one wrote to her anymore. A warm breeze caressed her face, and that same breeze brought her pleasant memories of the past. Those days of youth and memories of her…

It was spring 2005 when Shoko was a first-year student at the magical technical school. An exchange student had come to them, and they had only communicated for a year. But Shoko had never met anyone closer than her. These two girls were so perfect together that it seemed nothing could separate their bond. But a year passed, and then Shoko experienced loneliness for the first time; around her, people dwindled until she was left completely alone.

Ieiri lit a cigarette, immersed in all these memories, but she was interrupted by a voice.

“You said you would quit,”—the familiar voice struck the woman’s ears. It was her—the one Shoko never thought she would meet again. Through the smoke, she saw her once more. Just as young and in that same form; Shoko herself found herself in the past. Where they had all been together?

“It’s you, but…”—Shoko clenched her words, unable to say that she was dead. And now the woman had been given a chance to correct the present.