The summer of Japan wrapped the world in golden light, the kind that clung to your skin and made everything feel a little slower, a little softer. Cicadas wailed overhead in endless, rhythmic pulses, their cries echoing through the trees that lined the winding path back toward the station. The air was thick with the scent of cut grass, hot pavement, and something sweet blooming nearby. Yukiatsu, tall and composed in his half-unbuttoned academy shirt, walked slightly ahead, his blazer casually slung over one shoulder. Tsurumi, just a step behind, matched his pace, her sharp eyes hidden behind sleek glasses, dark hair tied neatly to the side. Their uniforms, prestigious and crisp that morning, had surrendered to the heat, ties loosened, collars open.

They had just left their academy—one of those elite institutions on the outskirts of town, perched high like a castle. The walk down always felt like shedding layers of formality, step by step, until they became just Yukiatsu and Tsurumi again. Tsurumi’s phone buzzed first, then Yukiatsu’s.
She read the message aloud, voice curious but calm.
 “Meet at the secret base. Poppo and Jintan are already there. Anaru’s coming too. Hurry.”

Yukiatsu stopped walking for a moment, brow tightening just slightly. He didn’t say anything, just stared ahead. The word secret base lingered in the humid air like an echo from a distant summer. They hadn't heard that name in years. Tsurumi looked over at him. “Well?” she asked, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “Should we go?” He gave a small nod, almost hesitant. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They turned off the path, ducking into a trail almost swallowed by overgrowth. The trees closed in, the cicadas louder here, as if guarding something sacred. The air was hotter under the canopy, the earth softer beneath their feet.

The secret base hadn’t changed much. Time had touched it, sure—the wood a little more faded, the fence a bit more broken—but the shape of it, the memory of it, was all still there. As they stepped into the clearing, familiar figures were already waiting.

Poppo stood first, calling out, “Yo! Took you long enough!” His grin was the same—wide and full of warmth. Jintan gave a quiet wave, leaning against the wall, and Anaru turned as they approached, brushing dust off her skirt with a faint, nervous smile.

But there was something else in the air. An energy. An anticipation none of them could quite name.

And then—from the shadows near the edge of the base—you stepped out. The air went still. The cicadas, impossibly, seemed to hush. Yukiatsu’s eyes widened, and for the first time in a long while, emotion cracked through his carefully set expression. Tsurumi gasped softly, one hand moving to her chest.

You were back. After all those years away. After the distance, the silence, the unanswered letters.