A large group photo was quickly taken—without cheers or sadness—since everyone still had about half a month left together.
The students in the gymnasium were soon waved back to their classrooms by Nobita-sensei to continue lessons.
Before the cherry blossoms in the sunlight could cast full shadows against the curtains, the after-school bell broke the frozen silence on the blackboard.
"Class dismissed. Everyone, be careful on your way home."
An elderly teacher on the podium closed the textbook in his hands, gave a nod to the students, and left the classroom.
Amidst the noise, Akira quickly packed his schoolbag, waiting for Shouko, who was still chatting nearby.
"Let's go, Akira, Art Club."
"Okay."
During the final period, Akira had already withdrawn from the Track and Field Club, and Mr. Sakai had accepted his decision.
Now, the only club the two shared was the Art Club. Since Shouko was still the club president, she couldn't withdraw anytime soon.
Following their memories, they walked to the Art Club room on the first floor of Teaching Building No. 3.
A year ago, due to the principal's impulsive decision, the Art Club had been relocated here, along with most other clubs.
"Knock knock… knock…"
Akira rapped on the door first, but no one answered for a long while.
Seeing this, Shouko pulled out the Art Club key from her schoolbag, unlocked the classroom, and stepped inside.
"Looks like Naruko-sensei isn't here yet."
Akira glanced around the classroom and shrugged.
"Well, she is pregnant. She must have been delayed by that. Otherwise, she'd usually want to spend twenty-four hours a day in here."
The two walked to the back seats, sat down, and resumed the paintings they hadn't finished yesterday.
As time passed, more and more members arrived, greeting the pair one by one. Akira and Shouko responded politely.
After all, they were the only third-years left, and Shouko was their kind, dependable Art Club President.
As for the other girl of their grade who had joined the club in the beginning, she had withdrawn half a month ago.
"Knock… knock… knock…!"
As the last bell of the afternoon rang, the Art Club members said their goodbyes and left.
Akira and Shouko tidied up, checked that nothing was left behind, and locked the door.
The March wind still carried a biting chill, but the setting sun had warmed it into a honey-gold hue.
The pachinko parlor on the corner flickered with neon, and office workers in camel trench coats streamed out of the station gates.
Their leather shoes and the round-toed Mary Janes of high school girls crisscrossed the stone paths, while the shadows of briefcases and Rakuten shopping bags overlapped on the ground.
At the sound of a train announcement, someone adjusted their bangs in front of their phone camera. The rhinestones on their black phone charm shimmered with a faint rainbow.
Somewhere, early-blooming Kawazu cherry blossoms rustled down. When Ayumi lifted her hand to catch a petal, the white shirt beneath her uniform cuff was revealed.
"I'm home!"
"I'm home."
"Welcome home…!"
Shouko, who was changing her shoes at the entrance, froze. That "Welcome home" was Nishimiya Yuzuru's voice—and yet she had clearly returned to Akira's house.
Akira, unfazed, switched his shoes and walked into the living room. There, Yuzuru was snacking on strawberries.
"Yuzuru, shouldn't you be taking Hachiko for a walk right about now?"
He still wasn't used to her short hair, cut just half a month ago—after seeing her with long hair for years.
When she first mentioned wanting to cut it short, Auntie Yaeko and his mom had worried she was being bullied. They even secretly investigated, only to find it was a misunderstanding.
Yuzuru had simply wanted a change in style. With warmer weather coming, she also found long hair too troublesome.
Naturally, they never told her about their investigation—otherwise, she'd laugh about it forever.
"I gave Hachiko a day off, so no walk today. Let him rest." Yuzuru waved her hand without looking up.
"Woof…" Hachiko lay on the tatami nearby, whimpering softly.
Ever since being picked up from kindergarten, he was no longer young—you could hear it in his bark.
"Yuzuru came here to borrow your junior high textbooks." Miyamura Shizuka, seated on the sofa, lowered the TV volume and explained, glancing at the two at the doorway.
Akira moved to the coffee table and sat.
"Mom, are you sure I even kept those textbooks?"
"I know you don't," she said lightly, "but that doesn't stop me from keeping Yuzuru here to watch TV with me."
"…," Akira was speechless. That explanation was worse than none at all.
"Do you really need them, Yuzuru? I remember Futaba Publishing sells copies."
Yuzuru stood, waving her hand.
"No need, Akira. I already found my sister's old textbooks. I only came because I was curious what a study ace's notes look like."
She explained her reasons, then led Hachiko home. To be blunt, her request had been more about bored teachers than necessity.
As the last train rumbled across the elevated bridge, someone stood on the platform, photographing the blurry moon.
In the aftershock of the vibrating tracks, the neon sign of a 24-hour video store stretched and distorted his shadow, turning it into a swaying ginkgo leaf in a river of ink.
The scent of oden drifted from behind the warm curtain of an izakaya, mingling with the white breath of commuters pouring from the station.
"Akira, I'm going to bed now. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
Click.
Only after the door closed did he pull his gaze back to the lit computer screen.
After a moment of thought, he picked up his phone, unlocked it, and searched for the email address of the Futaba Publishing editor he had his eye on.
His eyes landed on a headshot of a girl with round glasses and braided hair, her email neatly listed beside it.
Following the same process he'd used two years ago, Akira submitted the first volume of Anohana: The Flower We Saw That Day, murmuring to himself:
"Whether you can grasp the password to wealth depends on your choice."
Meanwhile, in the house next door, Nishimiya Yuzuru said goodnight to Yaeko Nishimiya in the living room and quickly returned to her room.
Closing the door, she went straight to her desk, pulling her sister's old textbook from her bag.
She opened it to the first page, where four large characters read "Miyamura Shouko." Without hesitation, she took out her camera and snapped a photo—for evidence.
Evidence that her sister had been giving something away for free.
And that, without doubt, could be used for a little "blackmail."
For example, when eating something delicious, she could force her sister to give her half.
Earlier this afternoon, when she came home with Hachiko and stumbled across the textbook in the storage room, she had been astonished.
And she was certain her sister had completely forgotten about it. Otherwise, there was no way Shouko could have been that calm.
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