Japan suffered catastrophic destruction, claiming countless lives in an instant. The disaster struck without warning—even claiming the life of a newborn infant in one of the hospitals, along with numerous innocent civilians. Across the nation, helicopters patrolled the skies amid thick clouds of smoke and ruin. A survivor, barely clinging to life, recounted that the devastation had been caused by an eleven-year-old girl. How could a child be responsible for such widespread destruction?
[Six years later]
Japan had rebuilt itself remarkably. The cities and streets once again pulsed with life and vitality, as though the tragedy of six years earlier had faded into distant memory.
In the city of Kunshi, during the final examination period at Kunshi High School, students worked in focused silence. When the bell rang, teachers began collecting the answer sheets. As soon as the instructors departed for the staff room, the classroom erupted in relieved chatter. Students discussed their answers, teased one another, dashed through the corridors, and playfully chased their classmates.
Amid the lively commotion, one student remained quiet at her desk, calmly packing her bag. She stood and walked out, surrounded by the laughter and giggles of her peers. A girl approached her and asked, "Excuse me, what was your exam code?"
She turned and replied softly, "Mine was Code A."
"Could you tell me the answer to Question 2?" the girl continued.
"It was Tokyo Tower," she answered.
The girl returned to her friends and teased one of them for marking the wrong answer. Meanwhile, the quiet student continued downstairs and reached the school grounds, where she sat alone beneath a cherry blossom tree. She gazed at a purple fur handkerchief, her eyes filling with tears that she struggled to restrain.
A girl approached from behind. "Hey, what's wrong?"
She quickly wiped her tears, tucked the handkerchief into her bag, and turned with a forced smile. "Nothing."
"By the way, I'm Michi," the girl said, extending her hand for a handshake. "And you?"
"I... I'm Saki. Saki Minamoto," she replied, but she did not take the offered hand.
"Why won't you shake hands with me?" Michi asked gently.
"You... you shouldn't touch me," Saki murmured.
"What, are you an alien?" Michi joked lightly, hoping to coax a smile. "Just kidding!"
Saki managed only a small, uncertain smile, unsure how to respond.
"Come on, Saki, stand up," Michi urged.
Saki was taken aback; it had been years since anyone had treated her with such genuine kindness, as though she truly mattered. "W-why are you being so kind to me?"
"Being kind to others is simply the right thing to do," Michi replied with a warm smile.
Your memories must have been altered, Saki thought silently. Aloud, she said, "I should head home; it's getting late."
She stood, brushed off her skirt, and walked away alone into the lengthening shadows of the unforgiving city. Michi watched her go for a moment before turning and leaving in the opposite direction.
Saki kept her gaze lowered as she walked. On every street she passed, people hurled the word "curse" at her and threw trash in her direction. This was her daily reality—endless insults, mockery, and suffocation. A group passed by and jeered, "Hasn't your bodyguard shown up yet, Ms. Curse?" before tossing soda cans at her. As always, Saki endured it in silence.
She reached her apartment with weary, faltering steps. Upon entering, she closed the door, set her bag on the broken study table held together with cello tape, changed her clothes, and prepared for a bath. She sat in the tub, staring at the cracked tiles, pretending to relax.
Later, without eating dinner, she opened her journal and wrote:
29 September 2030 10:30 p.m.
Dear Diary,
Today was the same as every other day—until, for the first time in years, someone spoke to me with kindness, as though I actually mattered.
Goodnight, Saki...
As she finished, her pencil slipped, and exhaustion overtook her. She fell asleep on her worn, dirty mattress, tears soaking into it. From a rusty drawer, she retrieved a small pendant and gazed at it, tears streaming down her face. She buried her face in the thin, patched blanket she had used for years, whispered goodnight to herself, and drifted into sleep.
-------------------------XOXO---------------------------