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The haze in Oguri’s eyes took moments to fade as the sounds of machines beeped and whirred around her, her head aching ever so slightly, fought off by the painkillers that dripped into the tube that was connected to the needle in her arm. Her breathing was slow, everything felt ever so slightly cold, her throat constricted only slightly by the bandages that covered it.
Why was she here again? She had forgotten why, although maybe it was for an important reason. Trivial things never really mattered to Oguri, she had always lived her life as normal, as simple as possible, so she never bothered to find out why she was here again.
All she could make out in her stupor was a doctor saying that the operation was a success, and that was enough for her to feel at least a little better, even if the painkillers made her head spin and loll side to side like she was a bobble-head figurine. Ah, well, she did have bobble-head figurines as merchandise, though the real deal was still better, wasn’t it?
Staring listlessly at the ceiling, lavender eyes finally regained some semblance of actual consciousness, rather than the floaty, fleeting feeling of her entire body after the ‘operation’ she was supposedly in.
In simpler words, she was back to normal.
And in a few days, she was back at Tracen.
Her operation didn’t really affect her breathing, heck, it kinda improved it a little, or so she thought. Oh well, as long as she can run again, feel the beating of cleats on the turf, the wind whipping through her hair, then she’s complete. It was all she needed in her life.
Though something felt off, just a little bit off.
She never recalled having a roommate, is one thing.
The other side of her dorm room felt a little… ‘lived-in’. As if someone used to be there. Books stowed away at the desk, some paper strewn atop of it, a pen with a lightning bolt, posters of some Uma Musume that was from the era before hers, but none of them clicked.
A bed that was neatly made, ribbons that hung from a golden clip, with red stripes that ran down it.
A red headband that rests on a blue pillow that looked like it was placed there as remembrance to someone she never had the chance to meet.
A blue jacket that hung on the cabinet that belonged to the other side.
A white flower in a vase that was placed on the other side of her nightstand.
She never remembered having to share this space with someone else, even if evidence proves otherwise.
Who did these belong to?
Oh well, it doesn’t affect her daily life anyways. All she wanted to go back to was her routine, even if she had retired from the Twinkle Series.
She pushed down the feelings that welled up in her chest, the feelings that fueled her curiosity on who this mystery roommate was, even if her memory tells her she’d always been alone in this room for the rest of her time here in Tracen.
And so, she tried to go back to the usual routine.
Sometimes, she found herself craving some takoyaki, but none of them tasted that good. A vague memory surfaces at times, it plays like a grainy, blurry VHS video, much like the videos that she used to watch as a child.
A blurred pair of eyes that she doesn’t fully remember the color of, hair that looked ashen, a smile that she can never really put her finger on, a kind-sounding voice that told her ‘Keep eating as much as you want’ as takoyaki after takoyaki landed on her plate.
It was like a ghost was talking to her, smiling at her, holding out its hand at her, laughing and having fun, calling her with a voice that was muffled, as if she was underwater.
Yet she kept pushing that all down. Not now, not when she’s back to her normal routine. Not when her life had gotten back to normal.
Another thing is that her friends looked at her with downcast gazes, with smiles that were pained. Why? She was fine, she never got injured in practice, she was still pretty fast. Why were they so sad looking at her, despite the smiles?
Even if she were as dense as a block of tungsten, Oguri could still see how pained Creek was whenever she smiles at her, her hand holding her by the shoulder as if she needed some sort of comforting.
Sometimes, a name slips out of Creek's mouth, a name Oguri never recognized, never recalled meeting, and yet it felt so familiar in her chest. It made it beat, even if she doesn't recall who Creek talked about.
Who was 'Tamamo Cross'?