The meeting ended just past noon. After leaving the club room, Iori headed alone to the Marine Science Building—Building 3. Crossing the hilltop campus. Summer sunlight beat down mercilessly. Skin burning. Sizzling. Late July. Namikaze City's summer was honest. Brutally honest. Descending to the basement of Building 3, the air changed. Cool dampness. Chlorine smell. A small pool. Three meters deep. For diving practice. Usually only Marine Science students used it. But Paradise members could access it with prior application. Iori had brought a change of clothes. He set his bag on the pool deck. Put on the wetsuit. Pulled the zipper up. Body compressed. Tight. Same sensation as three years ago. Exactly the same. (Need to check if I remember.) He entered the water. Body sinking. Eyes open. Pale green water. Pool bottom visible. Light wavering. Quiet. Water was always quiet. Outside sounds vanished. Only breathing. Slow. Rhythmic. Iori exhaled. Sank deeper. Kagura Drop. That ocean facing open sea. Fifty meters from shore—water depth suddenly exceeded thirty meters. Sharp drop-off. During ebb tide, downcurrent formed. Got pulled in, even experienced divers couldn't surface. That ocean lived in Iori's memory. Blue. Deep. Beautiful. Called "God's Garden"—not entirely wrong. Complex currents. Local changes unpredictable. Tidal tables didn't explain everything. That's why the accident happened. That's why the accident— Hand on pool edge. Surfaced. Breathed in. Face breaking water. Chlorine and humidity returned. (Memorize the entire tidal table. Extract sea condition data from Hotta. Think of ways to change the camp schedule.) Things to do. Mountains of them. Time—less than a month until late August camp. 　　* Out of the pool. Changed. Stepped outside. Strong sunlight hit again. Walking campus. Passed the cafeteria. Past lunch hour but people lingered. Laughter beyond tables. Four-hundred-thirty-yen daily set meal smell. Fried food. Realized he was hungry. Over an hour in the pool. Stomach empty. Natural. Entered cafeteria. Took set meal at counter. White rice. Miso soup. Salt-grilled fish. Spinach side dish. Tray to corner table. Alone. Picked up chopsticks. Started eating. Voice from behind. "[surprised]Huh, Iori? Rare seeing you here this time" Turned. Kotarou stood with tray. Tanned face. Carefree smile. Other tables full, so he sat across without asking. That's how he was. Sat down like it was obvious. Iori didn't say welcome. Didn't chase him off either. Kotarou reached for fried chicken with chopsticks. "[curious]Where'd you go today? Disappeared right after the meeting" "Pool" "[surprised]Building 3? Alone?" "Practice" "Getting ready before camp?" "Yeah" Kotarou said "You're serious" and put chicken in his mouth. Chewing, he checked his phone. Looked at Iori again. "[casual]You ever been to Kagura Drop" Iori's hand stopped. Just for a moment. Answered holding chopsticks. Like nothing happened. "Last year's camp" "Right. I'm looking forward to it. Unlike Shiomi Beach, bigger fish there" Shiomi Beach—twenty-five minutes by car from university. Paradise's usual practice spot. Shallow sandy beach and rocks. High transparency. Five to fifteen meters deep, coral and fish visible. Veteran diver Hotta ran a shop there. Blue Gate. Shiomi Beach was safe. Kagura Cape wasn't. Iori drank miso soup. Hot. Tongue slightly numb. "[casual]Currents are complex there. Be careful" "[laughing]Sounds like something Azusa-senpai would say" Kotarou laughed. Iori didn't. Ate in silence for a while. Cafeteria voices blended distantly. Air conditioning humming. Someone's tray clinking. Kotarou spoke. "[casual]Hey, Iori" "What" "[whispers]You seem weird lately" Kept eating. Didn't stop chopsticks. "Weird how" "Like... something"Kotarou looked at ceiling searching for words. "Quieter than before. Like you're thinking about stuff more" Iori picked apart the grilled fish with chopsticks. Avoided small bones. (He noticed.) Kotarou looked dull. But he watched people. That's why he was the circle's mood-maker. High ability to read atmosphere. Iori knew that from three years ago too. Problem was how to answer. "[cold]Before camp. Lots to think about" "Like what" "Equipment checks. How to read tidal tables" Kotarou stared at him. Three seconds. Then "huh" and another piece of chicken in his mouth. No follow-up. Kotarou was like that. Asked. Then backed off. Didn't push. That's what made it bad, Iori thought. When someone backed off, you wanted to talk more. (Can't say. Can't possibly say.) Memories from three years later. Returned to the past. Tell someone that? What happens. They won't believe. Look at you weird. Worst case, kicked from the circle. More than that—even if they believed. "Accident will happen, want to stop it"—if Kotarou skipped camp because of that. If someone else acted unexpectedly as a result. If Iori changed something, distortion appeared elsewhere. That terrified him. Had to do it alone. Alone. Unnoticed. Quietly change things. Kotarou stood. "[gentle]When you finish, come to the club room. We're reviewing how to use dive computers" "Got it" "[gentle]Don't push yourself" Light words. Kotarou said that and left with his tray. Iori ate the remaining spinach. Tasted like nothing. 　　* Back at the club room, two first-years gathered around a table staring at dive computers. Dive computers—underwater time, depth, decompression stops, required safety stops—displayed in real-time. Reviewing before camp was Paradise tradition. Azusa-senpai was there. Senpai stood before the equipment shelf, checking something on an inventory list. As always. Senpai never neglected equipment management. Once made a member stand in front of the ocean for thirty minutes because they brought a dead-battery dive computer. Since then, nobody forgot equipment checks. Noticed Iori entering. Senpai's eyes lifted. "[cold]You used the pool at Building 3 earlier. Filed the application" "Yes" "Good" Senpai returned to checking. Iori sat on the sofa edge. Kotarou said "you're here" and waved. A first-year held out a dive computer. "Senpai, which button is this?" Iori took it. Explained the operation. Room air was normal. Relaxed. Pre-summer, loose afternoon at the circle. Blue sky outside the window. Distant ocean light. Knew this air. Experienced it again three years later. Same air. Same room. Same faces. That was slightly painful for Iori. (Have to change it. But changing it distorts something.) Knew that. But didn't know how yet. Azusa-senpai placed one paper on the table. "This year's camp, we're confirming sea conditions with Hotta from Blue Gate. Shiomi Beach owner. Negotiating for Kagura Drop tidal current data every year" Room quieted slightly. "[surprised]...Senpai, did we do that before" "[cold]Didn't last year. Doing it this year. That's all" Brief silence. Iori watched senpai. Senpai's expression unchanged. Emotionless as always. But confirming with Hotta "starting this year"— (Senpai feels something too?) Didn't know. Maybe just safety management strengthening. Azusa-senpai was that type anyway. But that was fine. Official route to contact Hotta created. Iori could talk naturally. "[cold]Less than a month to camp. Check tidal tables individually" "Understood" Senpai glanced this way. Meaningless glance maybe. But felt like Iori was really seen. (Thank you, senpai.) Didn't say it aloud. Couldn't possibly. 　　* Night came. Corpo Himawari, Room 203. Six-mat room. Window slightly open, lukewarm night breeze entered. Cicadas gone. Instead, faint wave sound from distance—actually, ocean invisible from here, sound wouldn't reach. Imagination. Iori sat at desk. Spread printed tidal tables. Late August. Dates. Times. Tide numbers. When ebb tide peaked. Downcurrent at Kagura Drop most likely during strongest ebb tide hours. Circled numbers with pen. August 22nd. 23rd. 24th. Camp was three nights, four days. In memory, accident happened— Date unclear. Most frustrating part. Three-year-later memory was vague in details. Which day, what time—hazy like fog. Clear only: "during ebb tide" and "at Kagura Drop." (So, entire camp schedule, keep Kagura Drop off-limits.) Might be impossible. Senpai existed. Tradition existed. Every year, Kagura Drop was Paradise camp's "main event." Change suddenly, they'd ask why. How to explain. What to say. "I know the future"—could he say that. Pencil tip tapped tidal table numbers lightly. Tap. Tap. Beyond thin wall, Kotarou moved. Scraping sounds. Moving something. He was loud even at night. One wall away, his daily life continued. Iori set down the pen. Leaned back in chair. Looked at ceiling. One stain. Knew that stain. (Just one step at a time.) Rushing wouldn't change everything at once. But today, senpai moved on her own. Sea condition confirmation with Hotta. Same direction Iori wanted. Maybe coincidence. But usable. Chance to meet Hotta created. Naturally discuss sea conditions. Casually ask about Kagura Drop's dangerous timing. (Know it. One step taken.) Told himself that. Night breeze through window. Curtain swayed. Iori's eyes returned to tidal tables. August numbers. Dry paper texture. Fluorescent white light. Next was Blue Gate. Reason to meet Hotta—now existed. But what to ask, what information would change camp route—still had to figure out. Time decreasing. Tasks increasing. Iori alone in the night room, stacking plans nobody saw.