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Soft fingertips were stroking through my hair.
It wasn't the fan. It had to be someone's hand. Warm, yet somehow dutiful—so careful it bordered on awkwardness.
Far away, I could hear higurashi cicadas singing. Apparently, I had taken advantage of the fact that no one else was around and nodded off with my cheek on the desk before I knew it. I remembered my consciousness slipping away while I was tidying the day's paperwork in the corner of the trainer's office.
But now even the cold feel of the wood grain had faded. It felt as though I were sinking underwater.
This was... a dream. Yes. I thought it had to be.
Those hesitant fingertips slowly moved from my hair down to my forehead—
and left behind a sensation like a kiss.
It was soft and gentle, yet it felt unbearably earnest. As though the lips that touched me meant to take responsibility for what they had done—that kind of weight lingered there.
(...Ah.)
In that moment, even inside the dream, I was sure of it.
Those are her hands.
Those dutiful, serious hands. Those hands so straightforward they almost hurt.
And yet I thought that couldn't possibly be true.
There was no reason for her to do something like this to me—
none at all.
So it had to be a dream. A phantom made by my own improper feelings. The reverse side of my wishes. I wanted to believe that. Because if I didn't, I don't think I would have been able to bear letting anyone see my face when I woke.
The higurashi cried on.
When I opened my eyes, the trainer's office was already empty. My head felt slightly feverish, and only the sensation lingering on my forehead remained with grotesque vividness.
"...I'm the worst."
It was a blessing that no one heard me mutter that aloud.
Surely it had only been a delusion conjured by the lingering heat of late summer—an overheated fantasy that had slipped into the gap between reason and desire. I convinced myself of that and locked away that dream, that day, deep in my chest.
And from there, my sin began.
Time passed, and the sin grew.
How many cicadas had cried since then, and then died and returned to the soil? Every time I looked up at one more empty shell clinging to a tree, I thought the same thing: I had not moved forward a single step from that memory.
If only I could forget that touch.
That summer night. The heat that had touched my forehead while I slept.
It was supposed to have been a dream. A hallucination. And yet even after the seasons changed, the memory engraved beneath my skin would not disappear. If anything, with time it only grew sharper, taking on more and more substance inside me.
The feel of fingertips brushing through my hair.
The sound of breathing that seemed almost to tremble.
And above all—the weight of warm lips falling to my forehead.
I could not forget it.
I decided it had only been an illusion shown to me by my own desire. I had to. Otherwise I felt as though I would lose my mind. For an adult like me to harbor feelings like that for a minor—for a student, a girl under my care—such a thing was unthinkable, impossible, unforgivable.
Every time I told myself that, something inside my chest creaked.
Regret, self-disgust, guilt. All of it twisted together inside me and settled there quietly, as though taking root. Like a poisonous weed secretly planted in the soil of my heart, it grew steadily with each passing season. Its thorns kept lacerating me from within, and yet there was also a part of me that accepted even that pain as only natural.
And today—
the day came when that girl would leave Tracen Academy behind.
Graduation day. A bright, proud departure. The kind of day on which a teacher, a trainer, ought to smile from the heart and send her off.
And yet to me it all felt like something happening in another world, utterly unreal. The thorn nested in my chest had never stopped aching, and no matter what I did, I could not pull it free. If anything, the closer that last day drew, the more quietly, more surely, it rooted itself in the very center of my heart.
And all the while, Phenomeno never changed.
Even while continuing to race as an Uma Musume, she fulfilled her duties as a member of the disciplinary committee. She was always noble, always sincere with everyone. Though there were times when people who met her for the first time found her intimidating, she always guided the younger students with unwavering honesty. She was far too admirable a girl, too fine an Uma Musume, to deserve an unworthy trainer like me.
And precisely because of that—
not once since that day had I been able to look directly into her eyes.
Not since that summer day when, in my dream, her hand stroked my hair and her lips touched my forehead.
That day, Tracen Academy's graduation ceremony was held beneath a sky so calm it felt like a lie.
A spring breeze blew through, dry and almost transparent.
The cherry blossoms were still only buds, but somehow that suited the girls about to step out onto new roads.
Throughout the entire ceremony I could not settle myself. When Phenomeno's name was called, when she received her diploma, when she stepped down from the stage, I could not bring myself to look properly at her. By the time the trainer's office door was quietly knocked upon after school, perhaps I had already braced myself for this.
"...Excuse me, Boss."
That form of address made my chest twist painfully.
Though my voice shook when I told her to come in, the girl beyond the door appeared exactly as she always did. Her uniform was neat and perfectly worn. Her diploma was held in her hand. Her back was straight, and her expression as rigid as ever.
"I have received my diploma."
"...Yeah. Congratulations."
"Thank you very much."
When Phenomeno gently placed the diploma at the edge of the desk, the stack of papers there shifted slightly, and the soft rustle of paper spread through the quiet room.
From somewhere out in the corridor came the faint sound of wind, like the final breath of winter passing by. But inside the trainer's office the windows were shut tight, and that breeze could not enter. Instead the air felt stagnant, carrying the faint smell of old warm air blowing from the AC.
The distance between Phenomeno and me was no more than a single step. If I stretched out my hand, I could have touched her sleeve. And yet it felt as though some transparent wall stood between us, a strange kind of pressure. The tension was so thick I could almost feel her body heat. And as if measuring that distance, her gaze pierced straight through me.
An awkward silence fell between us. I tried to say something, and my throat closed. In the end I simply stared at her, unable to shape any words. Meeting her eyes frightened me. It felt as though I must never touch her again. The hand holding her diploma seemed dazzling and impossibly far away—
She had come this far without ever noticing how I felt. Standing before the sight of her, having walked here so splendidly, I remained unable to offer her anything as an adult. If I could just smile, say nothing, and send her off—
that was what I had wanted.
But the one who broke that silence was her.
"...Boss. There is something I absolutely must tell you."
Her voice was quiet, yet it carried a firm weight. Every time I drew a breath, my own heartbeat sounded obscenely loud in my ears. On the desk, the surface of the water in my cup trembled slightly in the stale air. I tried to steady my breathing without letting her notice, but I couldn't.
Still standing, she continued.
"...I thought for a long time that I should keep silent. I thought if I spoke, I might trouble you, and that this relationship might come to an end. I agonized over it again and again, but..."
Her lowered voice trembled slightly. Even so, she did not avert her eyes.
"As a member of the disciplinary committee—and as someone meant to serve as an example to the younger students—I have always protected my own principles. And yet at the very end... I foolishly crossed the line I myself had drawn."
Each word she spun out in that quiet voice stabbed into my heart. Every time one landed, it felt as if the air itself thickened, until breathing became difficult.
And then—
she took one step toward me.
Just one step. Yet the density of the air seemed to change. I drew back the slightest bit against my chair while following her with my eyes alone. Half a step more, and we would be close enough to touch. The thought of touching her by accident terrified me. But even more terrifying was how hard it was to suppress the urge not to.
Then I felt her breath touch my cheek.
"That is why I wanted to pretend it had never happened. I pretended to forget. But... I couldn't. I could not."
She drew in a breath and looked straight at me.
"I regretted it many times. But what I felt then was my true heart. The fact that I touched you, that I let my feelings slip out... all of it was real."
Those words were like a confession—and at the same time, like penance.
"...It was half a year ago, on a certain summer day. I foolishly... kissed your forehead while you slept."
The words were so quiet, and yet they burned with unmistakable heat.
Phenomeno did not lower her face. She did not cry. She simply spoke of her sin head-on, as though reading aloud a report documenting a violation of discipline. Yet there was not the slightest trace of coldness in it. Regret, pain, and a will that still refused to disappear—all of that supported her voice.
"Touching someone while they sleep is not something one should do. Not merely as a disciplinary committee member, but as a person, I..."
For just a moment, her words caught.
"...I am aware that what I did was vile. And yet... even so... I could not deny the feelings I had at that moment."
Her eyes collided with mine.
Without evasion, without excuses—her gaze was like someone holding herself out and saying, I am a sinner.
I could not say a thing.
It felt as though if I put anything into words, everything would shatter. Her gaze was too earnest, too bright—it drove painfully into my chest. Receiving my silence, she lowered her eyes ever so slightly, as though realizing the fear she had harbored had been correct all along, and bit her lip in pain.
"...I knew you had been avoiding me ever since that day."
"T-that's not—"
"No. It is."
Her voice cut in quietly.
"Because since that day..."
She swallowed once, and then said it in a voice so small it seemed squeezed from her throat:
"You have not looked at me even once."
It was soft, yet final.
"It is because I... committed a transgression. Isn't that right? My feelings reached you, and because of that..."
I could offer neither excuse nor denial. All I could do was clench my hands on top of my knees.
"I am truly sorry! ...I should have hidden it. I should have ended it inside myself alone."
Still looking down, she went on. Her voice trembled, but it never quite faded.
"But even so, Boss—my feelings... have not changed."
Only those words were perfectly straight.
When she raised her face, the light in her eyes was sincere as it pierced into me.
"I have loved you for a very long time. As a member of the disciplinary committee. As your trainee. I respected you as my trainer... and when I realized there was something in me that went beyond that, I truly did not know what to do. It hurt. Again and again I admonished myself not to harbor such foolish thoughts. ...And yet, I...!"
Something burst inside my chest.
Had this girl truly been carrying those feelings all this time, never bending her pride or her principles, and still standing before me? How much courage and resolve had that taken?
I was supposed to have protected her.
And instead I had fled into guilt, looked away, and yet still relied on the straightforwardness she offered me.
That truth tightened hard around my throat.
"...I am a sinner."
Phenomeno said it in a low voice.
Her voice did not tremble this time. But the pain floating in the depths of her honest eyes spoke eloquently of how heavy those words were.
She stood there, still watching me. As though fleeing from here would itself be the true sin.
"As an officer of discipline, I broke what I was meant to protect. Ethics, trust, all of it—I trampled it all beneath my own feelings. I know myself that it is not something that can be forgiven."
She bit her lip for a single beat.
Then Phenomeno slowly, deeply bowed her head.
"So please... Boss. Please pass judgment on me."
That posture was neither mere confession nor apology. It was like the final wish of someone asking the person she loved to bring an end to the sin she had laid upon herself.
"You may sever this feeling itself, if you wish. I cannot allow myself to trouble you any further."
"Please"—with her head still lowered. I could see her shoulders, broad compared to mine, trembling faintly. There were no excuses and no逃避 in her words. Only a plea so direct it could only have been reached after facing her sin to the very end.
"...I see."
At that one quiet sentence, Phenomeno's shoulders jumped.
"I can't judge you."
When she lifted her face, our eyes finally met.
"Because I'm a sinner too."
I answered with a smile.
Whether it was relief, resignation, or some strange sense of release that came from finally sharing this with someone, I didn't know. Maybe my voice trembled. But I was certain my words reached her heart.
Phenomeno stared at me, lips parted in blank surprise.
The expression was so unlike her that I found myself laughing.
"Hehe, don't make that face. ...Will you forgive me, then? Me, who has no right to judge you?"
When I smiled and said that, a flush slowly spread across Phenomeno's cheeks.
Outside, an out-of-season wind stirred the curtain.
But inside the closed trainer's office, light as soft as spring filled the room, as though announcing the end of a punishment that had lasted for far too long.
For the first time, one sin met another—
and at the beginning of spring, they found a shape called forgiveness.
For the Sin of Devotion