That night, Reo began visiting Misaki's room every evening. At first, it was only the hiragana chart. Reo would point gently at the characters written across the notebook page with his translucent fingers. Misaki would speak them aloud to confirm. Reo would nod. The cycle repeated—building up one character at a time, a frustratingly slow conversation. But Misaki had realized something. There had to be a faster way. On the bus ride home from the library, she'd been thinking about it the whole time. He couldn't speak. He couldn't move objects. But his eyes worked. He had expressions. So then——. The next night, Misaki pulled out her sketchbook. She spread it across her desk and gripped a pen. She had almost no artistic talent, but she couldn't afford to say that now. A moon. Round and white. She could draw it well enough. A tree in the garden. A cherry tree. She added a few leaves and made the trunk thicker. An insect. A grasshopper. It had too many legs, but she fixed it with an eraser. A smiling face. A round face with a curved line for a mouth. A sad face. Eyebrows lowered, mouth inverted. Each time she drew, Misaki tilted her head. Did it look right? Would he understand? But she kept drawing. One card, two, three——before she knew it, she'd made nearly fifteen picture cards. Reo came late that night. The air grew cool, just as always. Frost crystals began spreading across the edge of the window. Misaki gripped her blanket tightly and took a deep breath. ——She wouldn't panic anymore. Not because she'd gotten used to it. But because the desire to see him had begun to outweigh her fear, and Misaki was aware of that shift in herself. Reo appeared in the corner of the room. Silver-white short hair, pale blue eyes. His translucent body was wrapped in a faint, bluish-white glow. He looked at Misaki and gave a small bow——it had become their greeting lately. "[serious]I made some new ones today," Misaki spread out her sketchbook and arranged the picture cards in front of Reo. Moon, tree, insect, smiling face, sad face, cookie (that one had been the hardest), window, flower, hand, sky——. Reo stared at them. One by one, slowly. Then he looked at Misaki's face, then back at the pictures. His translucent finger pointed to the drawing of the tree in the garden. "[serious]The garden?" Reo nodded. Then he pointed to the insect drawing. And then, leaning his body forward slightly, he mimicked a grasshopper flying. Both arms spread wide, a little hop. A small sound escaped from Misaki's lips. "[surprised]……You were playing with bugs?" Reo nodded clearly. But that wasn't all——he moved his hands further, mimicking the motion of chasing something. Catching it, letting it go again——. From those small gestures, the image of a boy from a hundred years ago, chasing grasshoppers around the garden, seemed to emerge. Something deep in her chest grew warm. (He was just a normal boy.) She'd known that. But seeing it like this was completely different. The word "ghost" seemed to recede into the distance. What stood before her was a twelve-year-old boy who had played chasing grasshoppers in the garden. Misaki held up the cookie drawing for Reo. "[gentle]This one……?" Reo pointed to the drawing. Then he made a sniffing motion with his nose. The gesture of smelling something. Watching that movement, Misaki found herself murmuring. "You even remember the smell……" The smell of cookies from a hundred years ago. Sweet and warm, the smell of something his grandmother had baked. This boy still remembered it. Even after a hundred years, he remembered it properly. Misaki's eyes grew a little hot. She didn't want to cry. But there was a dull ache behind her eyes. Next, Misaki showed him the moon drawing. A white, round moon. Reo's expression changed. It had been gentle before, but the moment he saw the moon, it became softer still. Reo pointed to the moon drawing, then turned toward the window. The night window. Outside, the ridge of Tsukimori Mountain floated in the darkness. Reo pointed to that window, and then placed his hand over his own chest. Misaki watched that gesture intently. (He loved the moon. He loved watching it from the window.) Without words, it was conveyed. It came through clearly. Reo turned back to face her. His mouth didn't move. No voice came out. But his eyes were saying something. They said: *I understood.* From that night on, Misaki's evenings changed. The next day, and the day after, the picture cards multiplied. Stars, rivers, rain, food, books, cats, birds——she drew whatever came to mind and added them. At first, Reo had been careful in choosing which cards to point to, but gradually his movements grew faster. His finger was already moving before he even looked at the picture. He knew what he wanted to choose. Every time Misaki checked with her eyes, "Is that right?", Reo would nod slightly. She felt that nod gradually transform from its initial awkwardness into something certain. And Misaki realized something: she was looking forward to this time. While eating dinner, she'd drift into thought. What picture should she show him tonight? She wanted to hear more about the time Reo chased bugs in the garden. How many kinds of cookies had there been? Where had he watched the moon from? The fear hadn't disappeared. But beyond the fear, something larger was growing. One night, Misaki sat with her sketchbook on her lap, lost in thought for a while. Reo was looking at the moon outside the window. (I have to ask.) That thought had been in her head all along. She remembered the newspaper article she'd found at the library. "Harukazé Mansion Fire — Two Children Dead." Reo had a sister. Lilia. Eight years old. But Reo had never once pointed to that name. He'd said "help me." And yet, about his sister——not a single word. Why. She was afraid. If she asked, something would break. The warm time they'd built up over these past few days would crack. But if she didn't ask, nothing could begin. She wanted to help Reo. If she truly meant that, she couldn't look away. Misaki turned the page of her sketchbook. A blank page. She picked up her pen. Her hand trembled slightly. Slowly and clearly, she wrote. ——"Who is Lilia?" She turned the sketchbook toward Reo. Reo turned around. At first, he looked at Misaki's face. Then his eyes fell to the sketchbook. In that instant. His smile vanished. There was no sound. Only his expression changed. But the way it changed——pierced Misaki's chest like a blade. The peaceful face that had been watching the moon moments before froze as if turned to ice. His eyes' focus drifted somewhere far away. His mouth trembled faintly. At the same time, the room's temperature plummeted with a sensation like a heavy thud. Her breath became visible. Frost crystals began spreading from the edge of the window glass. Slowly, silently, but certainly, turning the glass white. The sketchbook slipped from Misaki's hands and fell to the floor. Tears welled up in Reo's eyes. Crying without a voice. Crying without his expression moving. Only transparent liquid accumulated in those pale blue eyes. As if he'd been holding it back for a hundred years——that was the face he wore. Misaki couldn't move. Reo raised his trembling, translucent hand. He turned it slowly toward the wall. The wall between this room and the next. The room with the floral wallpaper still remaining. His fingertip wavered. The moment Misaki saw that trembling, something fell into her chest. (This is sorrow.) She was certain. Not anger. Not fear. This trembling was the sorrow he'd carried for a hundred years. The next instant, Reo's outline began to waver. Like mist, he gradually faded away. "[scared]Wait——" The words came out, but too late. Reo was gone. Alone in the room. Only frost remained on the window glass. Her visible breath slowly disappeared. The room temperature began to return to normal. Silence alone filled the space. Misaki stared blankly at the sketchbook that had fallen to the floor. The words "Who is Lilia?" remained there. Her knees were shaking. Not from the cold. It took a while to stand up. She stepped into the hallway. The door to the next room was visible. Floral wallpaper. Beyond the wall Reo had pointed to. Her hand reached for the doorknob. The cold touch of metal. One deep breath. Another. One more. She pushed the door open. The room was empty. No furniture, nothing. Moonlight streamed in through the window. It was a room her parents hadn't filled with belongings since the Sakurai family moved in. Misaki looked around the room, guided only by moonlight. Floral wallpaper remained on the walls. Small flowers arranged in neat rows, a faded pattern from long ago. It must have been beautiful once. But now, in places, the wallpaper was peeling up, its edges curling away. Misaki approached the wall. One section was peeling more than the others. The edge of the wallpaper was bent back. Something was wedged between the wallpaper and the wall. She pulled gently. The feel of thin paper. Carefully, slowly, so as not to damage it——. What emerged was a small bundle of papers. Pressed flowers were sandwiched between thin sheets. Misaki held it in her hand and looked at it in the moonlight. Almost no color remained. Only the grayish, colorless shape of the flower was visible. But the form was perfectly preserved. A small wildflower with many round petals layered together. Even the stem remained intact. Someone had pressed it carefully, so the shape hadn't collapsed. A flower that had waited in the wall's crevice for a hundred years. Misaki couldn't move. She stood there, staring at the pressed flower in her hand. She remembered the picture cards she'd drawn in her sketchbook. The tree in the garden. Reo's gesture of chasing grasshoppers. Reo watching the moon and placing his hand over his heart. Reo mimicking the smell of cookies——. These images lined up quietly in her mind, forming a single picture. A boy who chased bugs in the garden. A boy who loved the moon. (Lilia gave this to Reo.) It was certainty. There was no basis for it. But she was certain. A flower his sister had given him. Picked from the garden, pressed, and given to her brother with care. Reo had kept it here, in the crevice of the wall in Lilia's room, all this time. For a hundred years. Hidden from everyone, always here. The back of her eyes grew hot. She hadn't meant to cry. But tears fell. Just one, spilling over. It landed on the pressed flower, dampening the thin paper slightly. Misaki quickly adjusted her grip, cradling the flower gently in both hands. I'm sorry. She didn't say it aloud. But she thought it. To have kept something so precious in this place for a hundred years——what had Reo been thinking all this time in this mansion? What had he felt every time he remembered his sister? That expression from tonight——how many times had he worn it alone, unable to show it to anyone——. Misaki stood there, cradling the pressed flower in both hands. Moonlight streamed in from the window. The same angle as in the next room. The same moon Reo had loved. Something solidified clearly in her heart. Fear or no fear——that wasn't the point anymore. She would uncover this boy's truth. She would bring to light the story that no one had spoken of for a hundred years. What had happened to Lilia. Why Reo had worn that expression. What had really happened in that fire. Without speaking, Misaki made a vow. In her hands, cradling the pressed flower, lay the shape of a flower from a hundred years ago. Even without color, the form remained. Someone's precious feelings were preserved here, exactly as they were. Misaki carefully carried it back to her own room. She placed it on her desk and gazed at it for a while. Reo wouldn't come tonight. She had the feeling he wouldn't come tonight. But——when he came next time. When he came next time, Misaki would face him