The scenery outside the window kept changing into things she didn't recognize. Sakurai Misaki sat in a bus seat, gazing blankly at the flowing landscape. Rice paddies. Mountains. More rice paddies. Occasionally a small shed with farm equipment. Almost no traffic lights. (Is this really Japan?) Deep brown eyes reflected only green. Her black, soft short bob hair swayed gently with the bus's vibrations. A small silver earring on her left ear caught the faint light of the overcast sky. Misaki's name was Sakurai Misaki. Sixteen years old. Until yesterday, she'd lived in a city where trains and convenience stores were within a ten-minute walk. Her father's work had necessitated a move to a place called Tsukimori Town in Kasumigawa Prefecture—that had been a week ago. Population: twelve thousand. The nearest station was Kasumigawa City, forty minutes away by bus. (Forty minutes...) It felt like a long time had passed since she'd boarded the bus. When she'd pulled out her smartphone, there was only one bar of signal. When she'd tried to open an app, the loading icon just kept spinning endlessly. Misaki sighed and put her phone back in her pouch. Besides Misaki, there was only an elderly woman and a man who looked like he was returning from farm work on the bus. After a while, the bus took a wide curve. "Higashioka entrance, Higashioka entrance," the driver announced. Misaki stood up with her backpack. When she got off the bus, thick summer air wrapped around her body. Different from the humid heat of the city. It smelled of grass and soil. Cicada cries descended from all directions in an incredible volume. (Wow, so loud...) "Um, excuse me." "[surprised]Hm?" Misaki called out to the bus driver through the window. "[serious]How far is it to Harukaze Mansion from here on foot?" The moment she asked, the driver's expression shifted subtly. "[surprised]...Harukaze Mansion? Are you moving there?" "[serious]Yes." "[cold]...About fifteen minutes on foot, up the hill. Just go straight down the eastern road and you'll find it." The man said only that, then closed the bus door. It felt like he'd suddenly cut the conversation short, and Misaki felt a bit unsettled. As she watched the bus depart, she recalled the driver's face. It wasn't so much a surprised expression as a worried one. (Why?) Thinking it was fine, Misaki began walking down the eastern road. 　＊ After climbing the slope for about fifteen minutes, Misaki stopped. The house stood on the hill. "[surprised]...Wow." The word escaped her involuntarily. But it wasn't a "wow" of admiration. The wooden siding that should have been white had turned gray with age. A thin spire jutted upward from the edge of the steeply pitched roof, piercing the sky. Ivy clung to the wide veranda. In the garden stood one massive cherry tree. Its leaves were lush and green, but the trunk was thick and ancient. It had to be over a hundred years old. Overall, it was exactly half "beautiful" and half "eerie." (Twenty-five thousand yen a month... yeah, that makes sense.) She recalled the rent amount her mother had mentioned beforehand. Now she understood perfectly why no one would rent a property like this at normal rates. Her parents were already talking with the moving company in front of the house. "Misaki! You finally made it. Look inside. It's really spacious." Her mother waved her over cheerfully. Misaki, her feelings complicated, stepped through the mansion's entrance. 　＊ After the moving company left and her parents began organizing the boxes, Misaki decided to explore the house alone. The first floor wasn't particularly frightening. Walking along the old wooden hallway, it creaked with each step. The living room had a large fireplace with an iron grate of questionable functionality. The kitchen had high ceilings, and through the window she could see fields outside. After peeking into the room that was supposed to become her father's study, Misaki returned to the living room. Something was displayed above the fireplace. A picture frame. An old photograph. Sepia-toned, or rather, almost entirely turned brown with age. In the black-and-white photo, four people were pictured. An elderly man and woman, and two children. Misaki leaned closer to the photograph. Both children wore Western clothing. The child on the right was a boy, and on the left was a small girl. Both looked straight at the camera. The boy's eyes were somehow clear. Though not smiling, they held a certain peacefulness. (Who are these children?) Misaki stared at the photograph for a while. Especially the boy's face—for some reason, she couldn't look away. 　＊ When she went upstairs, the hallway air turned cool. Despite it being a summer night, it felt cold somehow. Misaki looked into several rooms. When she opened the corner room on the far end, facing east, she could see Tsukimori Mountain through the window. The mountain's silhouette floated black against the twilight sky. She decided on this room. When she tried to open the neighboring room, she noticed something odd—cold air was leaking from the boundary with the hallway. (What?) When she held her hand up, the temperature difference was unmistakable. In the middle of summer. She pushed the door open to find a vacant room. Faint, faded floral wallpaper remained on the walls. Small flowers arranged in neat patterns—it must have been beautiful once. Someone had lived here. She knew it somehow. There was no logical basis for it. But she was certain. This was a place someone had cherished. Misaki stood still for a moment, then quietly closed the door. 　＊ Night fell. Dinner was a bento box her mother had bought. While eating, her father spoke happily. "There's really something nice about having so much space. I think I can fit a big desk in my study." "[excited]Right! And the garden's so big—maybe we could start a vegetable garden next year." Misaki picked at the tamagoyaki in her bento while remembering the bus driver's face. (...Why did he make that expression?) 　＊ Before bed, Misaki was unpacking in her room. She opened cardboard boxes, arranged books on shelves, hung clothes on hangers. The cicadas had stopped their chorus. Only the sound of insects drifted through the window from outside. A steady *jiii* sound. Quiet, calming. A sound you couldn't hear in the city, Misaki thought. She was sweating. The closed window wasn't helping. She wiped her neck with a towel and reached for another box. That's when it happened. The air changed. (...Huh?) It had been hot, but suddenly it was cool. No—not cool. Cold. Misaki froze, towel in hand. She checked the window. Closed. She checked the air conditioner. Off. But the temperature had definitely dropped. Her breath came out white. (What?) Seeing white breath come from her own mouth, Misaki instinctively stepped back. In summer. Indoors. Breath turning white. It made no sense. It was impossible. Her eyes went to the edge of the window, where frost was beginning to spread. Glittering crystals slowly expanding. Misaki's heart pounded in her chest with tremendous force. (Someone's here.) She knew. Somehow, she knew. There was something else in this room besides her. She was afraid to turn around. Her legs trembled. But her body rotated of its own accord. It was in the corner of the room. A boy. Semi-transparent, wrapped in a faint bluish-white light. Standing, facing her. Around twelve years old, maybe younger. Wearing old-fashioned clothes. Short hair. A quiet expression. Their eyes met—or so it seemed. "——!" A scream that wasn't quite a scream escaped her. She dropped the towel and bolted from the room. She ran down the hallway, down the stairs to the first floor at full speed. "Dad! Mom!" Both appeared. "[surprised]What's wrong, Misaki?" "[scared]There's someone in my room! A child!" Her parents exchanged glances. Then they both went to check her room. "[serious]...There's nothing here." "No one. Look, the window's closed too." Her mother put an arm around Misaki's shoulders. You're just tired from the move, she said gently. Misaki returned to her room in silence. Only the frost marks remained on the window glass. Evidence that someone had been here—white traces lingering on the edge of the glass. But her parents wouldn't understand. She sat on the bed, hugging her knees. (A ghost.) She didn't want to admit it, but she had no choice. That wasn't a living person. Its body had been transparent. It had been wrapped in light. (I'm scared.) To be honest, she didn't want to be here anymore. It was too soon after moving to say such a thing, but she wanted to pack everything up and run. And yet, at the same time. (...Who was that child?) That feeling was there too. Fear and a small curiosity mixed together in a jumble. She couldn't sleep. 　＊ In the dead of night, Misaki went downstairs. She'd meant to get water from the kitchen, but her feet stopped in front of the living room instead. As if drawn by something, she stood before the fireplace. She looked at the photograph. The old photo with four people. An elderly man and woman, and two children. She looked at the boy on the right. "...Ah." A sound escaped her. The boy's eyes. Those peaceful, quiet eyes. They were the same as the face she'd seen in her room. Misaki couldn't look away from the photograph. In the quiet living room, only the sound of an old clock could be heard. Tick, tick, tick. (This boy—he's the one who was in my room.) Which meant the boy in this photograph was... (A child who died here... a hundred years ago...?) Every hair on her body stood on end. But her feet wouldn't move. The boy in the photograph looked back at her. Simply, quietly, he looked at her. Frightening. But somehow, it wasn't just fear. (...Does he have something he wants to tell me?) Misaki was startled by her own thought. After being so terrified. Outside the window was darkness. The massive cherry tree in the garden swayed its leaves in the night breeze. The tree that had been here for a hundred years moved slowly, quietly. Misaki couldn't move from in front of that photograph until dawn.