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Kaori’s father had asked her what she’d meant to her. Had they been friends? Had Kaori had someone to share her sorrows with? Her laughter? Her worries? Her fears? Her dreams? Or had she been alone, like he’d feared?
His voice had cracked with the question, eyes bloodshot and sunken, the kind of tired that never goes away, no matter how much sleep you get. He had stared at her, pleading—not for the truth, but for something softer, something that would hurt less. Something that would let him believe his daughter hadn’t been as lonely as she had been.
So Mei had lied.
She told him yes. Yes, they’d been friends. And he’d sobbed harder, grief shaking through him in violent waves, like a man lost at sea with nothing to hold on to. Mei had left after that, unable to bear it—unable to hear more stories about the girl she had failed.
A friend. That’s what she had called Kaori, hadn’t she? But what did that even mean? Hadn’t everyone else called her that too, now that she was gone? The same people who had ignored her, whispered about her, pushed her to the margins like she was nothing? Now they wept, spoke of injustice, said it was a tragedy . But if anyone had asked them for a single detail about Kaori—something real, something that mattered—would they have been able to give an answer? Would they have known the way her hands shook when she thought no one was looking? How her fingers smudged pencil lines across the pages of her sketchbook, like she was trying to make the world softer, more bearable? Would they have known how much she wanted —for connection, for recognition, for something more than the role life had cast her in?
No.
No, of course they wouldn’t.
Because they had treated her like shit. Just like Mei had.
She pressed her knuckles hard against her lips, as if she could physically force back the nausea clawing up her throat.
Oh, she had liked being called Kaori’s friend. Had liked how Kaori had followed her, eyes full of something Mei could never name but had basked in anyway. Had liked being drawn, admired, seen, understood in a way no one else had ever tried to understand her. She had liked it. Had taken it. Had used it.
And she had given nothing in return.
Nothing when they swarmed around her, fawning, laughing, whispering. Nothing when Kaori had tightened that invisible mask, until the cracks barely held together. Nothing when she had seen her slipping, fading, hurting.
Nothing.
And now, Kaori was gone.
Just Mei remained. Mei, and her parents, and their expectations, their demands, their suffocating control. Mei, and a life she didn’t even want. Mei, and the unbearable weight of knowing that the only person who had ever truly cared about her—not the version of her that smiled on command, that charmed and played along, but her —was never coming back.
The silence was a lead weight in her chest, pressing, pressing, pressing, until she thought she might shatter.
How was any of this fair?
How was Fumeko Nomura —that murderer, that monster—allowed to simply walk away? To chase some happily ever after while the rest of them were left to pick up the pieces?
Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into skin.
Kaori had deserved better. So much better. And Mei—Mei should have been better. But she hadn’t been.
And now, it was too late.
“Hey there.”
Mei didn’t flinch. Maybe she should have, given everything that had happened at their school over the past few weeks. But she didn’t. And perhaps that was telling in and of itself.
She barely registered the girl’s presence at first. Another voice, another empty attempt at sympathy. How many times had she heard those same saccharine words today? “It’s so tragic.” “I can’t believe she’s gone.” “She was such a kind person.” Lies, all of them. Mei had watched those same people walk past Kaori every day as if she were invisible. Watched them whisper, sneer, and laugh behind her back. Now, suddenly, they mourned? It made her sick.
“You’re Mei Kawa, aren’t you?” the girl continued, as if Mei’s silence was nothing more than an invitation to keep talking. “I noticed you left the memorial service early. Figured you’d be off crying somewhere in private. Can get pretty intense when it’s about someone you love, right?”
Something in Mei’s chest twisted, sharp and sudden, like a blade pressed too close to her ribs. Love. Had she loved Kaori? Had she even deserved to?
She finally glanced up at the girl, vaguely recognizing her - one of the many who had flitted in and out of her social orbit, easily discarded, easily replaced. Pretty, with striking red hair, the kind of person Mei had once surrounded herself with for all the wrong reasons. But her name? Mei didn’t care enough to remember. And if this girl expected her to, she’d be sorely disappointed.
She should have walked away. She should have told her to fuck off. But something about the way she spoke - the casual confidence, the almost knowing smirk - kept Mei rooted in place.
“It’s fine,” the girl continued, undeterred by Mei’s silence. “You don’t have to talk. I get it. Really, I do. That’s why I’m here, actually. I have an offer for you.”
Mei narrowed her eyes but still said nothing. The girl just grinned, a slow, almost lazy stretch of her lips, like she was enjoying herself.
“I lost someone too,” she said, and there was something different in her voice now. Less performative. Sharper. “To Fumeko, I mean.”
A heartbeat passed. Then another. That name.
The wound, barely scabbed over, ripped itself open again. Mei inhaled sharply, but it didn’t feel like breathing. It felt like drowning.
“I know how it feels,” the girl went on, her voice smooth, coaxing, like she was peeling away Mei’s defenses layer by layer. “That hurt. And all that anger. Oh, that anger. Especially since we both know the police won’t ever give us what we desire most. Incompetent as they are.”
We’re sorry , they’d said. We’re trying , they’d said. We’ll get them in time.
Promises, promises, promises. Or, more simply: Lies.
“So here’s what I’ve been thinking,” the girl continued, shifting her weight onto one hip, casual but deliberate. “I’m a woman of many talents. And I’m itching to make good use of some of them. If you were willing to aid me, that is.”
A strange sort of stillness settled over Mei. She couldn’t put her finger on why, but something was telling her that she should walk away. Should laugh in this girl’s face, tell her she was crazy, tell her she was above this- above her - and leave.
And yet… yet she didn’t move. Not even when her own voice - quiet, almost unfamiliar - broke the silence.
“Help you do what?”
The girl’s grin sharpened. Her eyes gleamed - golden, almost familiar, and yet nothing like Kaori’s. There was no warmth there. No kindness. Just fire and hunger.
“Help me take revenge,” she said, the words slow and deliberate, tasting them before she let them loose. “Help me kill Fumeko Nomura.”