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Yoshiko hadn’t come to school in over ten days. The rest of Aqours were worried about her condition; while Yoshiko wasn’t excited about going to school, she would usually come to go to idol practice and make sure she wouldn’t fail or get scolded by the president. She would never miss so many consecutive school days, and everyone was worried. “Hanamaru-chan? Would you mind checking on Yocchan today? She hasn’t been in school, and I’m worried,” Riko said.
Hanamaru turned around, munching on a snack. “I’m sorry, zura; I’ve got some temple duties to take care of. Here’s her address, though,” she said, quickly scribbling down some notes on a piece of paper and handing it to Riko.
“Thank you, Hanamaru-chan.” Riko waited through the whole day, wondering what ailment could be affecting Yoshiko in such a brutal manner.
Riko walked up to Yoshiko’s home after bidding goodbye to the rest of Aqours. She hadn’t been to Yoshiko’s house before, but she recognized it from its neighbors; there was a distinct aura that she couldn’t pinpoint that surrounded the house. There wasn’t a car in the driveway, meaning that Mrs. Tsushima hadn’t arrived home from work yet; this meant that she had to use the spare key that Yoshiko had entrusted her with. For a few seconds, she hesitated, unsure of whether it was legally or morally permissible to practically break inside Yoshiko’s home. Despite her concerns, however, she still decided against caution, letting her curiosity get the better of her; she entered.
The interior architecture of the house was striking to Riko. Many of the pieces of furniture, objects scattered on the ground or on surfaces, and decorations gave the room a unique atmosphere that she could only expect someone like Yoshiko and her mother to possess. There were fallen angel outfits on the gray couch, Yoshiko’s image color; the size also looked like it would fit Yoshiko. There were many pictures of hell and its religious interpretations, whether it be Christian, Islamic, Satanist, or any other religion; any pictures of heaven or paradise were noticeably absent unless it was a comparison picture. The room’s color and aesthetics were also bleak; the most prominent color that decorated the room was gray, followed by black, with white in third place; vibrant or vivid colors such as deep reds or pale blues did not appear in any visitor’s vision. Yoshiko must’ve thought the room would’ve been more picturesque and appealing in its state. Riko snapped out of her self-induced daze. “Yocchan? Are you in here? Please respond,” she shouted, not knowing which direction Yoshiko would be located.
That’s odd, she thought. Maybe she’s in her room upstairs?
Riko looked at the stairs that led to the second story of the house, wondering whether she should take the fateful step and ascend them. She took another trip around the living room to inspect for anything she may have missed; Yoshiko could’ve gone on a surprise trip to a place on a place near Japan’s antipode on its place on the globe, such as France or West Africa, however remote that possibility could be. Looking at the countertop, dining table, and couch, she found nothing that hinted at Yoshiko being in a different location. She even decided to look on the roof to see if Yoshiko’s antics had continued, finding nothing.
She began ascending the flight of stairs, each step creating a resounding high-pitched sound that reverberated throughout the whole building. When she reached the midpoint of the staircase, she decided to call out one last time to make sure that any response she could’ve received from Yoshiko the first time wasn’t missed; she had nearly halved the distance between her and most potential locations Yoshiko would be at in her house, meaning that the sound’s magnitude and loudness would be multiplied by a factor of four. “Yocchan? Are you at home? If so, can you please say something?”
There was no response. Riko felt that she was shouting into a void. She turned her body around, facing the bottom end of the stairs. Just as she was about to begin her descent, she heard a suspicious noise on the second floor. Is that Yoshiko? Or is it a murderer?
As they say, curiosity killed the cat; however, Riko wasn’t a cat, meaning that she wasn’t killed. Letting her interest overtake her rational thought processes and expected value function evaluators, she decided to continue her ascent and terminate her movement in the opposite direction. The same sounds boomed throughout the building while she climbed, adding to her nervousness, though it wasn’t any match for her curiosity.
When she reached the second floor, she observed the four rooms in front of her. She thought the noise had originated from one of the four rooms, though she was currently unsure of which room it was; she decided to inspect all four of them lest anything slipped from her watchful eye’s grasp. Surrendering herself to her curiosity, she tiptoed to the door of the first room, which was absent of a nameplate or any identification of what was inside it other than its color, which matched the palette used in the rest of the house. Though it seemed inconsequential, Riko opened it not of interest but out of caution.
Inside the room, there wasn’t much to look at. Its wallpaper was the classic gray that decorated the rest of the house. There were a few possessions scattered around the room, and there was evidence that the room hadn’t been visited or maintained in a long time. She saw a few spider webs, though none of the offending spiders; she also noticed the dilapidated condition of some of the chairs. The most important part, however, was the fact that Yoshiko was absent from the room.
Arriving at the second room, she noticed that its door had a nameplate reading Tsushima Kongo. Riko thought that was Yoshiko’s mother’s room, so she continued and decided to circle around back to it if needed; after all, Yoshiko’s mother would probably revoke her spare key to her house if Riko invaded her privacy, especially for a reason as flimsy as this.
The third door was Yoshiko’s room; if the nameplate didn’t suggest so, the decor certainly did. There were a few items attached to it that were akin to miniature versions of a fallen angel or religious figures, indicating that the room belonged to Yoshiko Tsushima. She knocked on the door a few times to remind any potential inhabitants of her presence. After that, she said, “Yocchan? Are you in there? Please respond; we’re all worried about you.”
This time, however, she got a response. “Go away, Riri; Aqours would be better without me as eight members.”
Riko’s face first soured, turning into one of worry after that. “What are you talking about, Yocchan? Aqours is all nine of us, including you, Yocchan. We all know that.”
“Stop trying to delude me with your honeyed words, Riri; the rest of you just barely put up with me and keep me in for appearances.”
“Yocchan, I’m going in that room and finding out what’s going on.”
“No, Riri, you don’t need to; I know you don’t truly care about me.”
Riko’s feelings were pure anger at this moment. What happened to my Yocchan? What could’ve taken her confident personality and flipped her into a destitute state? She kicked open the door to Yoshiko’s door. Part of her wished she had left the house after her initial check, while the other part internally cheered at her timing.
To greet her entrance was a gruesome sight of horrors. The only normal thing about it was Yoshiko’s choice of dress; she was in her Uranohoshi uniform. However, everything else was abnormal and disturbing.
The last time Riko had been in Yoshiko’s room, the whole room was gray. Yoshiko loved being in Aqours, and as tribute, she had filled her room with her image color. However, between the time of her most recent visit and now, there was a second addition to the room’s palette: red, and it wasn’t to celebrate the student council president. The red decorated the room with clear patterns visible; there were lines of it, with the thickness of the line fluctuating between thick and practically invisible. It was present on all parts of the room, from the wall to the floor, though it was most present on the floor. The splotches of red ranged in their hue, too; some of them were darker, signifying their age, while others were lighter, indicating their freshness. The evidence all pointed to one thing: blood, and a lot of it. This alarmed Riko.
What drew even more attention, however, was Yoshiko herself. Given to razor on the ground near her, her disheveled state, the blood that littered the room, and her ruined uniform, it wasn’t hard for anyone to guess what had been happening; Yoshiko had been self-harming for the last days when she wasn’t present at school, and no one at Aqours had suspected a thing.
The prominent damage was present on her arms and legs. Yoshiko’s pale skin had stretches of red adorning it, a testament to her self-harm. In some areas, the surface area of the red outnumbered the normal skin, only showing the damage’s extent. The scars ran in all directions, some of them parallel and some of them perpendicular. Some were long gashes, while others were shortcuts. Some of them were fresh, while others had clearly aged. However, they all pointed to a dark and destructive habit that had crept behind Yoshiko and stabbed her while she wasn’t aware and in a vulnerable state.
“I’m calling emergency services, Yocchan,” Riko said, taking her phone out. She dialed 119, calling an ambulance to her location. “Now, before the ambulance comes, you’re going to tell us what’s going on.”
Yoshiko sniffled and nodded. Detailing what happened in the days previous, she took out her phone and opened Twitter. She opened a page titled “Tsushima Yoshiko Should Leave Aqours,” holding it to Riko. The constant barrage of offensive tweets had begun three days before her withdrawal from school and Aqours. For the first few days, she had remained resilient against the assault; however, as time progressed, she gradually fell victim to the torrent of attacks and accusations made against her. She slowly began self-harming, and then the degree and intensity of it increased to the point where it was potentially life-threatening. At the end of her monologue, she ended with an apology. “I’m sorry Riri … I let you and all of Aqours down with my abandonment. If I was stronger, this wouldn’t have happened. I’m so sorry ….”
Riko cut her off. “You aren’t the one who has to be giving the apologies, Yocchan; it’s us. While you hurt, we smiled and had fun. While you injured yourself with a sharp blade, we smiled with each other, unknowing of your plight. While you almost killed yourself, we were concerned, but we lacked the initiative to actually try to help you. We’re the ones who should be sorry, and I soundly apologize for all of us for our failure to aid you.”
Yoshiko stifled a cry. “Thank you … Riri.”
“And fuck those bitches,” Riko quietly muttered under her breath.
“What was that, Riri? I didn’t catch what you said.”
“It was nothing.”