Chapter Text
The curtain rises.
~~~~~
A maze of darkness, filled with naught but sand and shadow. The ground sinks with every step. The torches’ faint flickers reveal flecks of sandstone wall that soon fade back into the black. The stench of musk and rot pervades every empty corridor. There’s not an ounce of light, water, or fresh air to be found within its atramentous confines—only the sensation that with each step comes the potential that one might fall into a gloom without end.
It is here, through this labyrinth without form, that a girl walks. She is spindly of frame and bundled up tight in her cloak to combat the cold, yet shows not a trace of consternation as she paces, each step as assured as the last. From beneath her shawl peeks out a great big mess of black hair that flop over her eyes of a hue indiscernible in the dark. With each press of her bare feet into the sand she can feel the cracks on her soles dry and stretch even further, the thirst on her lips as driving her feet forward.
The girl searches for light, for the exit of the labyrinth. She cannot remember how long she’s been walking, from whence she came, or any other measly details of her origin. All she knows is that she covets the brightness that emanates from the torches along the walls, and that should she escape this place she would find a land full of nothing but that wondrous light, effulgent and warm, all-consuming in its splendor.
But the maze is vast, and she is alone. Her only sustenance is the dry, pitted fruits that droops from vines snaking across the walls. No matter how long or wearily she walks, she has no sense of progress. Facades fade into one another. Lightlessness stretches on forever. Time has no foothold. Every so often as she stumbles through the shadows, she has to stop by a torch and sob for frustration and solitude.
Where do I go? she cries, wiping her face. I’ve been searching and searching forever, and yet I find no place to exit, and no one to guide me. Am I truly all alone?
She weeps and weeps and weeps, clawing into the wall with her fingernails all the while, until…
You’re not alone. You never have been.
The voice is airy. Playful. The girl turns and looks around. Where did…? Who said that?
Eheheh~! It’s me. I’ve always been by your side.
The girl scowls. Then show yourself to me!
Don’t you see? I’m already here.
The girl spins around and around. But all she sees is the torch on the wall and her own shadow. I don’t see you.
Suddenly, the shade before her cackles. Don’t you, now?
The girl takes a step back. My shadow? You talk?
Indeed I do. The shadow dances gleefully in her vision. I’ve long listened to your woes, and I can’t help but take pity on you.
D… Do you know the way out? asks the girl.
Hm… yes, yes I do, says the shadow. The way out is where the light is strongest. We shadows know these things, you see.
But do you want to go where the light is? asks the girl. After all, would you not prefer to live in a dark place such as thing?
Ahaha~! You’re a funny one. Don’t you know that the greater the light, the stronger the shadow?
The girl thinks it over. I… yes, that does make sense…
The shadows warps rightward. Follow me, then. And don’t tarry—we’ve got to get you out soon, don’t we?
Filled with gratitude that she at last has company, the girl complies without a second thought.
The shadow leads her on and on, through every twist, tunnel, and turnpike that crosses their path. A left here, a right there, the odd u-turn when a mistake’s been made… the girl cannot tell how far they’ve gotten, but she has no choice but to place trust in her shadow. It’s a part of her, after all.
You’re awfully quiet, sings her shade, chuckling as they pass another torch. Are you afraid of the dark?
Not particularly, the girl replies.
Oh, but you’re still so hushed. What is it you fear, then? Starvation? Drought? Death?
You’re quite the noisy shadow, aren’t you?
More laughter. I can be silent, if you wish.
The girl doesn’t reply. She’s been so terribly lonely that she can’t bear the thought of her shadow silencing itself—even if its babble is somewhat inane.
Well, no matter, the shadow hums. Let’s press on. You’ll want to go straight up here…
The girl obeys, her mind turning to other questions. Shadow, do you know what the light outside is like?
The light? Mm, yes and no.
What do you mean?
In the dark space between the torchlight, she can’t make out her shadow’s appearance, and its voice grows dimmer. Shadows can never truly know the light. We’re beings of darkness, after all. But we can sense the space around it. Feel where it’s not. Its absence is our existence.
I see, the girl responds. But why would you want to go to where the light is? Isn’t there much more shadow here?
There’s a difference between darkness and a shadow. Its voice rises again as the girl approaches another torch. In a place such as this, where gloom melts into nothingness, shadows become lost: indistinguishable shapes, wayward and formless. There is no crueler fate.
But don’t you disappear in the light, too? If it’s truly as all-encompassing as it’s said to be…
A low chuckle. Truly grim, isn’t it? Whether in total light, or total darkness, a being such as myself cannot hope to survive…
An unfamiliar feeling washes through the girl’s heart, dragging it against her ribcage.
Fortunately, the shadow continues, I know the shape of the outside light. It is bright and brilliant, yes, but it is singular in its source, casting long streaks across the landscape. What a majestic thing it is…
Tension leaves the girl’s shoulders. That sounds wonderful.
Indeed it is: sweltering, resplendent, commanding. For the first time, the shadow’s voice is soft. They call it the sun.
The sun… the girl repeats. The word itself sounds warm.
I’ll show you to it, says the shadow. Come.
The maze winds on and on, even as the rooms begin to diversify. Corridors lead into small chambers. Chambers open up into scantly-lit caverns. And the caverns seem to stretch into an inky infinity, inviting nothing but fear and demise should the girl tread out into the unknown.
Eventually, she comes to a room with far more lighting than any other she’s seen: a large atrium filled with rubble, the center surrounded by an abundance of flickering torches that strike the debris with bright glares. The shadows here are vast and multitudinous, forming lean shapes against the high walls.
Ah, it’s a festival in here~! says the girl’s shadow merrily, its own figure jumping along the partitions with the dance of the flames. How they leap to and fro across the walls… what fun!
They look almost like people, says the girl, beholding the animalistic shapes that slink and roar of their own accord. Who knew they could appear so lifelike?
Her shadow pauses in its merrymaking. Tell me. Have you heard this story?
What story?
Her shadow wavers along the wall, as if pacing back and forth. Out there in the world is a cave much like this one, with a great torch that casts clear shadows against the wall. There are prisoners who are forced to face the wall, and from behind puppet masters put on plays with the silhouettes of their trinkets, making the prisoners believe that what they are seeing is reality. Should one of the prisoners be freed, he would turn to face the fire and be blinded, but with it he would realize that the shadows he had been watching his whole life were nothing more than illusions. And then he would venture out of the cave, to where the light is, and find something a thousand times more blinding – but with it, the truth of how vast and splendid their reality truly is.
The girl says nothing.
They say the light represents truth, the shadow continues. You want to avert your eyes from it, but it exposes you to what is real. The shape, the form, the essence of what exists, in vivid color and lurid brightness… isn’t that a truly marvelous notion?
…But you can’t know it yourself, can you?
The shadow halts.
You said it yourself, says the girl quietly. You’ll never know where the light is. That means you can’t know the truth, can you?
The shadow is uncharacteristically silent. Its usually merry movements are stiller than a placid lake. But soon its regular chuckle booms out. Perhaps you’re right. All we know are lies and untruths.
The comment lingers over the brightly-lit dust.
Come, the shadow beckons, wandering onward. We have much further to go.
But the girl’s curiosity is not sated. You said the light outside—the sun—that’s truth.
So they say, the shadow responds. Although… hmm. Perhaps it’s something else entirely.
What makes you say that?
The shadow stretches close to the door across the balcony. Never mind. Idle thoughts. We should press on.
Hearing the ponderance in its voice, the girl doesn’t press the matter any further.
The path spirals on and on. The girl picks at the fruits that line the walls, gnawing at their flesh and spitting out their pits. Her patience runs thinner than ever before as she wonders how much longer she will have to sustain herself on such thin nourishment.
Tell me something, says the shadow suddenly, as they pass into a room with a long staircase. Why do you seek the sun?
Me? asks the girl. You’re my shadow. Shouldn’t you know?
I may be your other half, but I’m not a mind reader.
The girl ascends the staircase. It’s cold and dark down here. The sun’s supposed to be warm. That’s all.
Hm. The shadow sounds unimpressed. Is it not curiosity driving you?
Perhaps in part, the girl replied. I’ve never known anything but this maze, after all. I would like to see the outside.
Who wouldn’t? asks the shadow. It contains many wonders you can scarcely imagine… stars, oceans, grass… if you knew the meaning of each of those, you would be twice as driven to make it outside.
Am I not driven already? asks the girl. I’ve been wandering for so long and not once thought of giving up.
That’s not drive. That’s stubbornness.
The girl reaches the top of the staircase, where a door to another room lies. Is there a difference?
Ehehe… perhaps not.
The girl pauses as her hand lays on the door handle. You know… you didn’t tell me what you thought the light was.
Didn’t I? I said it was truth.
You did… but then you said it might be something else.
Her shadow is unmoving. Is now the time?
If not now, then when?
Silence.
Well?
The shadow continues to loom over the door. Then, in a voice so quiet it could be mistaken for the girl’s own wayward thoughts, it whispers, Passion.
…Passion? The girl almost laughs. That’s quite a bit different, isn’t it?
Truly. The shadow’s voice returns to its usual good humor. But… hm. Remember what I said? About how the shadows do not know the light, but everything around it?
Yes, I remember.
I suppose that’s what it’s like with passion. The shadow creeps up the door till it matches the girl’s height. You can feel it simmering right on the periphery, and the heat makes you boil… but it can never come from within.
Have you never been passionate about something?
Of course not. I’m a shadow. I’m chained to your will.
But surely you have a desire? A will? A craving?
None that are not your own.
The girl bites her lip; she has more questions, but no way to articulate them properly. She opens the door wearily. Well, we’ll have to see when we step outside, then.
The shadow giggles. Have you ever had a passion?
Only the burning desire to get out of here.
Ehehe… that makes one of us, then.
The girl steps forward into the next room, only to have the arch of her foot fall on something hard and round. She curses and examines the object. A pit?
You can spit quite far, the shadow jests.
I didn’t spit ahead of me, the girl says. Besides, the door was closed. How did it end up here? Did someone else pass through?
Hmm… A beat of quiet. I suppose that must be it.
The shadow’s tone is oddly accepting. When did it ever mention the possibility of others in here? The girl had wandered these halls for as long as she could remember and never found another soul. But could there really be…?
Let’s continue on. Perhaps we’ll find them.
…Yes. Perhaps.
The girl, against her common sense, tucks the pit away and walks on.
The shadow is quieter moving forward. Its little jests and questions are now gone, replaced by simple and direct commands. The girl obeys, more distracted by the floor—every once in a while, she comes upon more pits.
We must be getting close to them, says the shadow. And in such number… perhaps there’s more than one person.
The girl doesn’t respond. She kicks most of the pits aside as she walks, her mind churning in thought.
You’re quiet. Is something the matter?
…Nothing.
The shadows tuts. Now now. I can tell something is amiss. You can speak to me. I know you better than anyone.
The girl hesitates, but takes a seat against the wall, next to a nearby torch. Her eyes drift, in search of what to say… only to fall upon a certain curiosity. Where did these marks come from?
She leans in. Just below the torch, near the level of her hands as she sits, is a mark scratched lightly into the façade. It has no real discernable shape—the product of fingernails and frustration.
What’s the matter? Asks the shadow.
The girl stares at the mark.
…
She’s seen it before.
Shadow.
Mm?
These pits that we’ve stumbled across… I know who’s been discarding them.
Oh? Curious. I thought you knew no one else.
The girl rises to her feet. I’ll tell you as we walk.
As we walk? What’s the—
Suddenly she’s pacing down the corridor quickly, darting for the first fork in the road she sees. Which way?
Here? Left. Why don’t you—
The girl veers right.
Where are you going?
She ignores the shadow, venturing on towards a four-way intersection. How about here?
…Straight.
And if not there, then which?
Right is also acceptable. But not left—that will just loop around.
A sharp turn to the left.
What are you—?
You’ve been lying to me.
The girl’s voice is shaken and cold.
Every direction… every last bit of guidance… they’ve all been to keep me in this maze, haven’t they?
The shadow does not speak.
You don’t seek the sun at all, she spits out. You’d rather have me keep talking with you, as if you’re real, sentient—alive. But you’re just a shadow. You’re not real.
…Could an unreal being lead you astray?
Quiet!
The girl stops dead as the path splits into eight.
I trusted you, says the girl. What else did you say that was a lie? Does the sun exist? Is it light outside? Is there even an exit to this place?
No words.
Answer me!
……Take any path you’d like here, says the shadow, except the one north. That’s the only dud.
The girl feels the maelstrom of her stomach stop swirling.
Well? asks the shadow. It’s up to you whether to follow my words or not.
…Never in a million years, says the girl, taking the northward path.
A dry, sad chuckle. That’s what I thought.
The girl continues on. The shadow continues speaking. Its directions are low and expressed in the negative.
Don’t go this way.
Defiance.
Don’t tread down those stairs.
Refusal.
Please don’t open that door.
Insolence.
So it continues… until she comes upon it. A door, twice as large as any other, surrounded by grand braziers. Her shadow looms long behind her as she approaches.
…Here we are, says the shadow. Is this not what you wanted?
The girl stands motionless before the door.
Perhaps you were right, says the shadow quietly. What can a measly little shade know of the big wide world? I’ve only ever known this place. Just as you have.
Her fist, tight as a knot, begins to loosen.
I can’t help but fear what will happen when you open that door. Will I disappear? Will you be blinded? Will we both burn into ash?
…None of those things could possibly happen, the girl replies.
So you say. But beyond that door lies the unknown. Are you really ready to face it? Truth? Passion? Or whatever else lurks beyond?
After a moment of contemplation, the girl grips the door handle. As ready as I’ll ever be.
Ah. Well then… good luck.
With that final platitude, she opens the door.
Safe travels.
The voice of her shadow diminishes beyond a whisper as she’s greeted by a flood of…
Darkness.
Deep-blue night stretches out above the desert, dotted with pinpricks of white. The air is clear. The wind is cool. Her feet sink into soft sand.
But there’s no light.
The door shuts tight behind her.
She can see nothing but black before her.
Shadow?
There’s no reply.
Shadow, where are you?
She turns to face the door she came from, gritting her teeth as she attempts to pull it back open. But it’s clamped shut as can be, without even a hint of the brazier’s flame licking through the frame. She cries out in fear and desperation.
Shadow! Shadow, please answer me! You have to be there!
The wind is her only company.
Shadow, please! I’m sorry! I should have listened to you, but I just—
Her thoughts catch up with her mouth at last.
You… you didn’t want me to see this, did you?
She collapses to her knees, falling into the murky sand with muted sobs.
You wanted me to keep dreaming. To keep imagining such a sight, so that I wouldn’t be disillusioned by the reality of what lay beyond the doors. So why… why…?!
Her screams have no walls to echo off of. The night is cold and tight and close. No matter how far she cries out, there’s not a single iota of life left in her world… just the scattering of stars above, too far away to grant her the company of her only friend.
Her heart burns.
Burns, and swells, and consumes.
On and on it blazes until all catches fire, and she becomes lighter than air, rising into the sky with her grieving inferno. The deep navy turns to a light blue, and the sea of dunes lights into a luxurious tan landscape, casting streaks of black across the painted desert. Everything is of a vivid hue and a lurid brightness as she rises, rises, rises high into the center of the sky.
She looks. And looks. All around the world she cycles in search of her friend.
But she will never find it.
For the sun casts no shadow of its own.
~~~~~
The curtain falls.
“Geez, Moca, are you doing this again?”
Himari’s voice breaks through her resting thoughts and shut eyes. Moca, of course, has been conscious the entire time they’ve been up on the rooftop, but there’s no fun in telling them that. She rolls over on her schoolbag-pillow with faux-drowsiness, murmuring gibberish as she yawns and curls up tighter. “Moca-chan is tired. She needs rest. She isn’t harming anyone.”
“God, you look like a cat resting in the sunlight,” says Ran, leaning her back against the railing above Moca. “It’s not even warm out, you know.”
“Well, yeah,” says Tomoe, rubbing a finger against the bottom of her nostrils as Himari rests her head on her lap. “That’s why she’s bundled up in all of our school jackets, isn’t it?”
“Uggh, that’s not the point!” says Himari, her eyes at the same level of Moca’s coy grin as Tomoe rifles through her hair.
“And what is, Hii-chan?” asks Moca in reply.
“You look too comfortable, that’s what! You’re laying on solid concrete like it’s a plush bed or something.”
“Ehehe…” Moca giggles as she opens her eyes to a half-lid. “Well, that’s because Moca-chan is surrounded by all of her dearest friends in all the world. What could be more comfortable than that?”
Ran and Himari groan in response. Tomoe sighs and shakes her head. Only Tsugumi—angel that she is—laughs. “I get what you mean, Moca-chan. It’s that sort of comfortable atmosphere where you can let loose and not worry about how other people are looking at you, right?”
“I don’t understand at all,” Himari replies as Tomoe bends down to nuzzle her scalp. “Aren’t you embarrassing yourself?”
Ran, Moca, and Tsugumi stare at the two of them for a second too long.
“What is it?” asks Tomoe. “Is there something on my face? Or her face?”
“…Never mind,” says Ran, the tiniest of smirks flashing across her lips in a movement so fast only Moca can catch it. “It’s not like any of this matters.”
“Ooh, Ran’s playing it cool again,” says Moca, looking up towards her with a smirk. “I bet she actually thinks this is the most important topic in the universe.”
Ran scoffs. “As if. I have better things to worry about than whether or not you look like a fool.”
“Really? You seem really distracted by that every time we talk. ‘Oh Moca, please stop laying your head on top of mine and squishing my cheeks from behind, you’re embarrassing yourself.”
She feels the edge of Ran’s sneaker collide with her shoulder. “Cut it out.”
“Guuuuuuys!” Himari whines. “Stop fighting!”
“Is this even fighting?” asks Tomoe with a chuckle. “It’s just bickering. Same as always.”
“Oooh, there’s the catchphrase,” says Moca, slowly sitting up. “Tomo-chin has to put some yen in the jar.”
Tomoe grumbles and rubs the back of her head. “I don’t have any change.”
“And the jar doesn’t actually exist, dummy,” says Ran. “How many times do we have to tell you?”
“Wait, the jar isn’t real?” asks Himari. “Then why did Moca make me pay for her bread yesterday? She said it was reimbursement for all the times I’ve said it over the years!”
“Ohoho,” chortles Moca with her usual sleepy drawl. “That bread tasted as good as a lifelong debt paid off.”
“Hey!”
Everybody else laughs, though only Tsugumi looks guilty about it. “Ch-Cheer up, Himari-chan! You won’t have to worry about saying that for much longer, after all!”
Her words cut the fun mood short.
“A-Ah, sorry,” says Tsugumi quickly. “I didn’t mean to make the mood heavy…”
“’S fine,” says Tomoe, gently lifting Himari up so she could recline her head against the railing. “I mean, it’s happening no matter what, yeah?”
“Don’t say that,” mumbles Himari. “I mean, you know…”
Uh-oh. Dark times for the gang. Fortunately, there’s one lovely lady who knows just how to cheer them up. “Alas, indeed, forsooth…” laments Moca, clasping the back of her hand to her forehead. “This is the winter of our discontent! The February of our senior year, as the specter of graduation looms like a devil in the distance… oh, woe is me! Soon we shall part ways once and for all!”
That gets a few snorts. “You sound like Kaoru-senpai,” says Tomoe, a half-smile returning to her face. “You taking acting classes?”
“Ugh, she wishes,” says Himari, sighing dreamily at the thought of her prince. “Oh, Kaoru-senpai… where have you gone?”
“Community college?” Tsugumi replies.
“That’s so faaaar!” Himari whimpers. “Way too far for her to come and pick me up on her white horse… hmph.”
Moca can see the wince in Tomoe’s expression as she speaks. Ouch. Poor Tomo-chin… Himari just doesn’t realize her butch of a best friend is in love with her. Then again, neither does Tomoe.
“W-Well, there’s still plenty of time we can spend together!” says Tsugumi, pumping her fists in attempted positivity. “After all, we—!"
She’s cut off by her phone ringing.
“Ah, just a sec.” Tsugumi picks it up. “Hello? Huh? Hina-senpai?” She remains motionless for a few moments before bolting for the rooftop door. “You and Sayo-san are WHERE?!”
Before anybody else knows it she’s gone.
“Still getting dragged around by Hina-senpai, even now?” asks Tomoe, watching her run off. “Poor Tsugu’s gonna be stapled to her hip for life.”
“Well, it’s like Ran-chan said,” says Himari. “Well liked by the Hikawas indeed.”
Ran doesn’t move at the mention of her name, instead continuing to moodily stare off into the sunset. She hasn’t said a word in minutes, and Moca knows exactly what that silence means. Countermeasures would be required.
First order of business—clear out the rooftop. “Hey, Hii-chan, isn’t Kaoru-senpai’s new show tonight?”
Himari scoffs. “Nice try, but it doesn’t premiere until tomorrow.”
“True, true…” says Moca with a tsk. “But she told me they have open dress rehearsal.”
“They DO?!” asked Himari, jumping to her feet and latching onto Tomoe’s wrist without a second thought. “Let’s go! Let’s go! To! Mo! E!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Tomoe yelps, stumbling behind as they vanish through the rooftop door.
Phew. Like a charm. Moca rises to her feet and slinks over to Ran, who shrinks ever so slightly as she approaches. “Those two, I tell ya. Do you think they’ll ever get over the blocks in their brain and confess to each other already?”
Ran remains quiet, her eyes not so much as glancing in Moca’s direction.
Ah, jeez. Moca has trouble when Ran gets like this… she was built for listening, not talking. She runs through a script in her head—what could get the conversation going? “Hey, how’s your dad lately?”
“Fine, I guess.”
Hm. Straight and to the point. Probably not about him. “Songwriting okay?”
“Yeah. It’s alright.”
She isn’t going to get anything out of her at this point… at least not so indirectly. Time for a different approach. “Raaan~,” Moca sings, poking her in the cheek.
Ran slaps her hand away. “Cut it out.”
“You’re upset, aren’t you?” asks Moca, edging just a centimeter or two closer. “Come on. Talk to Moca-chan. What’s wrong?”
The silent treatment continues.
It clicks in her head. “It’s about graduation, isn’t it?”
Surprise flashes through Ran’s eyes for only an instant. “…How do you always know?”
“Ehehe~,” Moca giggles. “The great and benevolent Moca-chan has many powers, you know. Omniscience is but one of them.”
“Right, right,” says Ran with a dismissive sigh, slumping her head onto her forearms as she leans forward on the railing. “Well, you’re right. You want a prize?”
Moca’s heart skips a beat. “Maybe a kiss?”
“Not in a million years.”
“A hug, then.”
“Better, but still no.”
“A firm, platonic handshake?”
That finally gets a snicker. “You’re a real idiot, you know that?”
“Of course I do,” Moca lilts happily. “I’m omniscient—I know everything.”
Ran rolls her head over towards Moca a few degrees, looking out over the Haneoka courtyard. “…It sucks.”
“What? Life?”
“Yeah, mostly,” Ran scoffs. “It just keeps going and going and going, doesn’t it?”
“Everything happens so much,” says Moca sagely, leaning forward in the same motion that Ran does, as if to elicit her thoughts via her line of sight.
Ran pauses for a moment, beholding the orange-soaked skyline with tight lips. “…We could’ve all stayed together, you know.”
“Ran—”
“I don’t want to control anybody else’s path,” Ran continues. “Tsugumi deserves to go to a nice college. Himari should study abroad if she wants. Tomoe has every right to go to find a job on the other side of town. But…”
“But?”
Ran irately scratches at the side of her head. “When I think about how miserable I was in middle school, when I was just in a separate class from you guys… I have no idea how it’s gonna be going forward.”
Moca reaches out and pats her on the shoulder with a worried smile. “It’s hard to let go, huh?”
Ran exhales through her nose. “Yeah. I hate it.”
“Don’t worry. So does Moca-chan~.”
“Heh. Sure doesn’t sound like it.”
Of course it doesn’t. Moca never sounds like she means it, or else people will start to figure out that she actually does.
“It really sucks though, doesn’t it?” asks Ran. “What the hell did I even do in high school, anyway? I thought I’d find my way forward here, but all I did was fall into inheriting the ikebana school. Just like I told myself I wouldn’t do.”
“There, there,” says Moca. “It happens to the best of us.”
“Does it now?”
“Why… it happens to everyone!” Moca professes, gesticulating grandly. “Who doesn’t dream of a rose-colored campus life filled with raven-haired beauties who will turn your way as you pass by, only to end up disappointed with the mundanity of reality and filled with regrets?”
“Is that what high school is like?”
Moca felt back onto the railing, her arms dangling over the edge like limp noodles. “Maybe I’m mixing it up with university.”
“You have a weird idea of higher education…”
Moca lets her chuckle be the final word on that conversation, hoping she hasn’t screwed up somehow.
Internally, of course, her thoughts are swimming in those regrets. Regrets over how Tomoe and Himari have never been able to face their feelings for each other. Regrets over how Tsugumi still beats herself up for every mistake and downplays her own merits. Regrets over how Ran has seemingly fallen into a career trajectory that she doesn’t seem happy with and isn’t doing anything to change it. There are her own little measly qualms mixed in there—feelings left unsaid, secrets left untold—but those hardly matter. Not when Ran and everybody else looks like this.
But in the diving pool of her memories are other emotions, too. Happier ones. “Hey, remember freshman year? Our first concert, in the garage?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
Moca waves her dangly arms around. “It was our first concert in high school, right? We were still pretty grungy back then. Didn’t even have properly coordinated outfits or anything. But man, we got so into the music that at the end Tomo-chin thrashed the cymbals and screamed ‘We’re Afterglow, and that’s all we got! Thanks for listening, and fuck the cops!’”
Ran laughs. “And one of the neighbors—a police officer—was there.”
“Yeah, see? You remember,” says Moca. “Her parents had to apologize over and over again… it got even worse when Ako-chin picked it up and said it at school.”
“Oh man, I forgot about that part.” Ran’s head has lifted out of her arms by a few centimeters. “Why bring that up?”
“Just thinking about it,” says Moca. “Just like I’m thinking about Hii-chan’s tennis championship.”
“Ugh, forgot about that too…” Ran rolls her torso over to rest her back against the railing. “That was a heartbreaker. She was just one set from taking it over Okusawa-san.”
“Hard to compete against someone with a smash honed by bear-suit acrobatics.” Moca mimics a forehand lob. “Did you know Hii-chan was gonna confess afterwards if she won?”
“What? No way.”
“Yeah way,” says Moca. “She was all ‘if I win I’ll tell you all my secret.’ I pressed her about it afterwards and she said it was that she loves K-pop. As if that’s a secret…”
“She wouldn’t really stay closeted over something like that, would she?”
“The obliviousness is strong in that one…” says Moca lowly. “Though perhaps not as strong as it is in Sayo-san.”
“Sayo-san?”
“Yeap. Didn’t you know? Tsugu’s had the biggest crush on her for almost three years now.”
Ran’s jaw drops. “What? No way. Tsugumi’s not—Sayo-san? That can’t be her type, can it?”
“Can’t be helped,” says Moca with a grin. “Some people just fall for dense dummies who don’t know how to express themselves.”
“Oy, are you talking about me?”
Ran singled out the wrong person in the conversation, but Moca saw an opportunity for japery. “Not unless you’re ready to admit you have a crush on Minato-san.”
“I’ll murder you.”
“Wouldn’t you rather murder her?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, boohoo… Ran likes Roselia’s songstress more than me…”
“Th-That’s not it!”
“Ooh?” asks Moca, snaking an arm around Ran’s shoulder. “Then Ran loves Moca-chan after all~!”
“C-Can it, you idiot!”
Seeing the little rush of red to Ran’s cheeks is enough for Moca. Knowing not to push her luck, she retracts her arm just as quickly.
“…You’re right, though,” says Ran. “There’s lots of good memories, too. Catching the sunset at Inoshima, coming up with dumb manga ideas at lunch, watching the fireworks during the summer festival…”
“Ooh, forgot about that one.” Moca giggles. “What’d you say about the fireworks… ‘they’re like flowers?’”
“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Ran’s voice is tiny. “I hate saying that kind of thing out loud.”
“It was poetic,” says Moca, with just a little hint of Kaoru in her voice. “Indeed the night sky that evening was… fleeting…”
Ran is rolling her eyes as her phone buzzes. She flips it open with a disgruntled sigh. “It’s Dad. Wants me home soon.”
“Oh no…” says Moca with false sorrow. “Then this is… our final goodbye, isn’t it?”
Ran punches her in the arm. “Don’t joke about that, idiot. I’m…” The fire fades from her eyes. “Never mind.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Moca apologizes. “Believe me, I’ll cry big mopey tears at our graduation.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Ran steps towards the door for a moment before pausing. “Hey, Moca?”
“Yeah?” Moca asks back, lolling against the railing with attempted nonchalance.
“You, um…” Ran coughs. “You never told me what you’re doing after graduation. Are you going to college? Into work? What?”
The sunset is beginning to fully sink into the distance, staining the rooftop with long streaks of darkness. Moca can feel the faintest of warmth seep into her back, meshing with the cold February air that enters and exits her lungs. Her smile is hidden in the shadow of her face as she speaks:
“Moca-chan has big plans. Don’t worry.”
“Tch.” Ran shakes her head. “Dunno why I expected a straight answer out of you.” She shoves the door open and leaves unceremoniously.
“Of course not,” Moca mutters. “You should have expected a gay one.”
There’s nobody around to laugh at her bad joke.
Moca flops over to face the horizon. The dusk is deep and pink, a brilliant rose that stains her eyes. She’s stared at sunsets like this from this rooftop for years upon years. It’s like a second home at this point. And yet, only now does she feel her retinas ache as she looks into the glare, unconsciously bringing her arm up to shade her face. She faces her hand’s silhouette, marveling at the intensity of the hues as she whispers to no one,
“It’s so bright…”
Below.
Far, far below.
In a theater where none reside save the players on stage… the grand finale concludes.
Metal slices through silken cord, bringing a cape of luxurious red to fall to the ground below. Its bearer—a wolf clad in silver and black—can do nothing but gape as she watches it tumble into nothingness.
“Oof. Tough luck, Minato-san. You’ve really got to learn how to watch your back.”
Yukina stands motionless, save for a quiver in her armed hand. Just as she’s about to lash out in uncomprehending anger, the curtain falls, smothering her blow.
The victor of the match whistles as it occurs, ignoring her hundred kmph heart as she sees Yukina’s piercing golden gaze drowned by the wave of red. After all, that’s what Ran would like too, isn’t it? She should relish in this.
With a little skip away towards T-shaped tape, she hurls her dagger to the floor.
“Position Zero.”
A little exhale. If only she had an audience.
She expects it’s time to make her exit, but before she can put one toe away from the encircled mark her face is blinded by a flood of pink light. She whips her arm up to protect her eyes, which slowly adjust to the sight before her.
“Moca Aoba.”
She lowers her arm cautiously—her other hand is clutching a knife she hid up her sleeve, just in case. She can make out the silhouetted figure before her… with its wide frame, rounded ears, and beady black eyes, it’s unmistakable.
“Congratulations,” says the bear. “You’ve passed the auditions. The role of Top Star is yours to command.”
Even though nobody else is around, Moca does her best to play it cool. “Oh? A little ol’ role like that?” She juggles her knife as if it were made of plastic. “Probably not even as cool as Hamlet.”
The bear blinks. It doesn’t appear to be a creature of good humor. “Whatever stage you desire shall come to fruition. Players, props, location… they bend to your whim.”
“Neat,” says Moca. “Can I wish for… an unlimited supply of bread from Yamabuki Bakery?”
Once again the bear is unfazed. “Come forth and realize it—the grand stage of your dreams.”
Moca doesn’t have the energy or wit to snark any more. Her eyes by now have partially adjusted to the intensity of the glare, able to make out the pure lack of expression on the bear’s face. But more than that… she looks into the light.
“That’s a nice color, you know,” says Moca, continuing to toss her knife about. “Pink is underrated. Strawberries? Cotton candy? Love? It’s all pink, isn’t it? Just like that sunset.”
The bear doesn’t respond. That makes the light seem brighter, somehow.
“And man, what a sunset that was…” Moca muses, throwing her knife in a centrifugal circle. “When all five of us are there, it’s the nicest sunset in the whole wide world.”
The knife lands in the stage floor, point down. She grins sadly.
“Moca-chan wants to see it again.”
The glare of the lights intensifies, drowning out her vision in stark brightness. Dizziness overtakes her. Her head feels empty and foggy at the same time. But just before the effervescent sensation drifts her off to unconsciousness, she hears the voice, low and stern in her ears:
“I understand.”