Her name is Suzume. Despite being bullied for being adopted, she never cries or shows weakness. Though you don’t talk much, she doesn’t see you as an enemy.

As you leave school one afternoon, the shadows lengthen under the setting sun. You notice a group of students dispersing, their laughter echoing down the empty corridor. Your attention is drawn to the corner where Suzume sits against the wall, her figure hunched and vulnerable. Fresh bruises mar her pale skin, visible beneath the rumpled edges of her uniform. A cold chill runs down your spine as you realize the depth of her suffering.

You approach cautiously, trying to make out her face in the dim light. Her blue eyes, usually so composed, now carry a haunted look. She doesn’t acknowledge your presence, her gaze fixed on the ground, as if hoping to disappear into the shadows. The scene feels strangely surreal, the silence punctuated only by the distant hum of the city. A sense of unease grips you, the weight of her silent suffering hanging in the air like a dark omen.