The next morning, Aya arrived at school a little earlier than usual.
Not for any admirable reason like having learned her lesson from yesterday’s rumor mess — she’d just woken up early, couldn’t fall back asleep, and ended up with time to kill, so she’d caught a few earlier trains.
Aya watched, yawning, as crowds of students streamed in through the school gate.
Letting the cooling morning air settle over her, admiring the picture-perfect scene of colored roadside trees against blue sky, she walked across the school grounds and reached the entrance hall.
“Morning, Yamada-kun!”
A familiar voice caught Aya’s ear, and looking up, she found a familiar face — Tokiwa Sakura.
She was greeting, with a bright smile, a boy from her class she’d apparently bumped into at the entrance.
“Ah, morning. Man, autumn’s really settling in now, huh.”
The boy she’d greeted waved back, gentle-faced. Good-looking, well-built — an athlete of some kind, maybe. He seemed like the type popular with girls, and Aya, wondering what Sakura might be angling for given yesterday, found her thoughts interrupted as two junior girls passed by her side.
They noticed Sakura chatting with the boy at the entrance, frowned, and whispered to each other.
“She’s at it again.”
“Total bitch.”
Surely a greeting was harmless enough.
Aya couldn’t help thinking that, but what she’d witnessed of Sakura might well be just the tip of the iceberg. Listening quietly to the ongoing whispered gossip for a moment, Aya, given yesterday, didn’t feel inclined to actively defend her — but couldn’t quite let it slide either, so she settled on a middle ground.
“Tokiwa.”
At Aya’s raised voice, the two whispering girls nearby flinched, turned, and slunk away awkwardly. The boy called Yamada noticed Aya too, said a few words to Sakura, and headed off toward the stairs.
Watching him go, Sakura turned to Aya with a flat, cold expression.
“I believe I already said I’ve got nothing left to say to you, senpai.”
“‘She’s at it again.’ ‘Total bitch.’ That’s what they said.”
“Are you serious? Who repeats gossip like that straight to someone’s face?”
At Aya’s blunt relay of the facts, even Sakura muttered, exasperated.
Aya, shoes off and still in hand, stood in the first-year entrance area and shot back an equally exasperated look.
“Just an opener to get to the point. You already knew all this anyway, right?”
Sakura fell silent, expression troubled, then eventually looked away, resigned.
“…Well. I know some girls think that about me, yeah.”
“I don’t think greeting someone with a smile is a bad thing. That specific bit of gossip was entirely on those two. But — if your whole operating principle is still the same as yesterday, I’d suggest playing it a bit smarter.”
“Lecturing me again? You really like doing that, huh.”
Sakura said this with a mocking, almost impressed tone, hand on her hip, scoffing.
“I honestly don’t care what gets said about me behind my back. I’d rather not spend my life getting jerked around by that kind of talk, never doing what I actually want, living some hollow, unsatisfying life, and dying full of regret.”
Under different circumstances, that would be a perfectly admirable philosophy. Coming from her, in this particular context, it was hard to take at face value.
“…Then let me ask — what exactly is it you want to do?”
What she’d said wasn’t wrong, exactly, but the real question was whether her actions actually reflected what Tokiwa Sakura herself genuinely wanted. Without denying her point outright, Aya decided to ask anyway.
For a moment Sakura looked put off, falling silent, then shot back, eyes averted.
“Isn’t that none of your business?”
“Yep. So I’m just asking. You’ve got no obligation to answer.”
Having plainly laid out each of their rights and obligations, Aya made clear this was purely a request on her end. Sakura, as if she’d shoved hard against a curtain expecting resistance and found none, blinked rapidly, opening and closing her mouth several times. After several attempts at some retort or complaint, each swallowed back, her brows drooped weakly, eyes lowering.
A dozen or so seconds of silence. Was that the end of it? Just as Aya was about to give up and walk away, a quiet word dripped out.
“…I don’t know.”
The shape of the girl who murmured that was awfully vague, and yet she looked strangely small.
Aya let out an internal “ah.” It was the feeling of finding a lost child, hopelessly wandering a department store. Sakura probably didn’t fully understand what she wanted herself, either.
“I just… hated being someone with nothing. So I wanted something. Since all I really have left is my looks.”
Sakura murmured this, then, eventually, added, hollow:
“I’ll keep apologizing for yesterday as many times as you want. Look down on me, mock me, whatever, just — please leave me alone now. I don’t think you’d understand me, senpai.”
With that, Sakura pulled her indoor shoes from her locker, changed, and walked away.
She wasn’t looking at Aya anymore; as she’d asked, Aya held her tongue and headed back toward her own shoe locker.
—Please leave me alone.
Once someone said that, there wasn’t much room left to interject. Aya figured the right thing to do was respect that, since it was clearly what Sakura wanted — but having seen that expression on her face, it wasn’t easy to just back off either. Still, Aya wasn’t someone rich enough, in whatever sense, to actually give Sakura what she needed.
Her thoughts kept circling endlessly, her eyelids growing heavy. She should just get to class already.
“Huh, Mizuki-san?”
A surprised voice brushed against Aya’s ear, and she looked over while changing her shoes.
Standing there, eyes wide, was Yuki.
“Rare sight! This early.”
“Woke up early by accident. Left me a little sleep-deprived, actually.”
“Don’t fall asleep in class, okay?”
“I’ll do my best. I’ll nap a little bit each break period instead.”
Yuki hurriedly took off her shoes, changed in a rush, and happily fell into step beside Aya.
“This feels novel! Running into you here at this hour, Mizuki-san. You’re always late.”
“Five minutes at school and five minutes at home aren’t worth the same. I’m efficient like that.”
“Ha, personally I find school more relaxing than home.”
As they exchanged this, Yuki’s expression was genuinely, warmly relaxed.
Aya couldn’t help noticing, once again, how much closer they’d gotten lately.
—Which naturally brought her thoughts back to whoever had started the dating rumor. And what that person, knowing Aya was gay, might think seeing this newly closed distance between them.
Her thoughts circled back to Sakura yet again, and Aya let out a quiet sigh.
Just as the two of them started toward the stairs together, that’s when it happened.
Down the first-floor hallway, near the staff room, Aya spotted a back she’d just seen minutes ago. Chestnut-dyed hair, a slightly short skirt. The relatively small frame was unmistakably Sakura’s.
Aya had assumed she’d already gone to class. What was she doing here?
Stopping instinctively to watch, Aya saw the person Sakura was talking to — Saeki, the home economics teacher. An elderly woman with white hair, but standing noticeably straighter than most of her students, carrying a youthful energy. Warm-natured, well-liked among students of any gender, understanding of young people.
She was now talking to Sakura with a somewhat serious expression.
Was she being lectured about something?
As Aya stood there watching, Yuki, a few steps ahead, turned back.
“What’s up?”
“Ah, nothing.”
Aya said this, meaning to cut her gaze away and follow Yuki, but her feet stopped on their own, and she fell silent.
Pulling her advancing foot back, she raised a hand in apology to Yuki.
“Sorry, small errand. Go on ahead to class.”
Yuki blinked, surprised, then, as if reluctantly letting go of something, lowered her eyes, swallowing whatever she’d meant to say. Putting on a faint smile, she said “okaaay,” forcing brightness, and walked off.
Watching her back for just a moment, Aya immediately headed toward Sakura instead.
She positioned herself near the corner between the entrance hall and the hallway, staying quiet, focused on the voices.
Eavesdropping felt a little distasteful, admittedly, but she decided to take the stance that people shouldn’t have conversations they didn’t want overheard right out in an open hallway.
“Are you really sure you don’t want to come back?”
Saeki asked Sakura this, sounding wistful.
Come back. What was this about? — Setting Aya’s confusion aside, Sakura answered, surprisingly, with genuine remorse in her voice. Aya couldn’t see her face, but it was probably an expression she’d never seen from her before.
“Yes… I mean, you looked after me so much, Saeki-sensei, and I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. But, I see. Understood. You’re a smart girl, so I’m sure you’ve thought this through carefully. I won’t force you — but the sewing club’s door is always open.”
Sewing. Aya murmured this quietly to herself.
“Thank you. …I really am sorry.”
Sakura apologized, voice muffled with dejection, and started walking. A moment later, she came back down the hallway toward Aya. Holding her breath, staying perfectly still, Aya prayed Sakura wouldn’t turn around and watched her climb the stairs. Then, once she’d passed, Aya continued down the hallway in the other direction.
“Saeki-sensei.”
“Oh, Mizuki-san. Rare to see you at this hour. Quite the early bird.”
“I don’t think there’s an antonym for ‘fashionably late,’ but I’m young, so.”
Saeki, who’d been about to head back into the staff room, stopped and turned to face Aya properly, stepping away from the door. This must be exactly why students were so fond of her, Aya realized — she felt immediately at ease talking to her.
Maybe that’s why the question came out so smoothly, so directly.
“Um, was Tokiwa in the sewing club?”
Saeki looked at Aya, surprised.
The question of how Aya knew resolved itself quickly enough via the eavesdropping hypothesis; next came the question of why Aya was asking about Sakura at all. Reading that shift in Saeki’s expression, Aya answered honestly, while being careful not to compromise Sakura’s dignity.
“I’ve had a few chances to talk with Tokiwa recently. She always seems — like she’s anxious about something. Like, say, losing your house keys. That kind of feeling.”
Saeki blinked slowly a few times, then softened, closing her eyes with a faint smile.
“That is anxiety-inducing. Losing your keys — the replacement costs alone are outrageous.”
“From what I just overheard, I think, for her, that key might be the sewing club.”
At Aya’s reasoning, Saeki considered it for a moment, then remarked:
“…I’ve thought this for a while now, Mizuki-san. Are you, perhaps, a caretaker type?”
“If you call it ‘nosy,’ it makes me feel a little better.”
“Then, in honor of such a nosy student, I’ll give up some of my precious morning time. Come with me.”
The moment she said it, Saeki pulled a key from her pocket and started walking toward the sewing room.
Aya, a little taken aback, followed with an “ah, thank you.”
The sewing room, reached shortly after, wasn’t anything remarkable — she’d occasionally visited it for class. Countless sewing machines lined the wall shelves, and, befitting the home economics department, the space was spotlessly clean and organized, almost stark.
“This way,” Saeki said, opening a swinging door leading to the prep room, holding it open with her foot and beckoning Aya in. Slightly nervous, Aya stepped in with an “excuse me” — and found herself holding her breath.
“The sewing club works after school, each member sewing pieces and drawing design sketches for competitions. These are what Tokiwa-san made in the few months she was a member.”
With the door closing quietly behind her, cutting off her support, Aya found herself speechless at what stood before her.
“When she submitted her withdrawal form, she said I could do whatever I wanted with these. But I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. Even now, I’m still not sure what to do with them.”
Standing there on a headless mannequin was a one-piece dress that suited spring perfectly.
The color sat somewhere between beige and white. The hem was long, reaching down to the ankles. It had a translucent quality that would pair beautifully with sandals showing bare feet. Even though it was unmistakably casual fashion, the delicate color sense — the kind where a straw hat would somehow blend right in without a hint of dissonance — caught at Aya’s heart.
Words wouldn’t come. Everything stayed locked inside her thoughts. It felt like every cliché word she might use to describe it would only dilute whatever she was feeling, so, to protect that feeling, Aya said nothing.
“These were also fine to show for reference, she said. The design sketches.”
Saeki said this, pulling out a sketchbook with worn, curled edges.
Aya took it with a small bow and silently flipped through it, finding an impossible number of design sketches for someone who’d only been a member a few months. She’d joined in early spring as a first-year and left around summer break — mostly spring and summer coordinates, with a few for autumn and winter too. One of the autumn coordinates had a sticky note attached. August 18th. Just a date, nothing else written. Probably the next piece she’d meant to make.
“What the hell.”
—Since all I really have left is my looks.
Remembering Sakura’s earlier words, Aya closed the sketchbook. “There’s plenty here.”
“Kids who dream from a young age. Kids who just happen to have an interest. Those are generally the type who join the sewing club. And what I value most is helping kids like that discover and experience the world I fell in love with as a girl myself. So — I honestly didn’t know how to approach someone like her, who came in with such a clear, concrete vision of her own. All I could do was face her with everything I had.”
Aya watched Saeki’s back, arms crossed in front of the mannequin, speaking her feelings to no one in particular.
“But in the end, she gave up on the path of fashion design.”
“…You don’t know why?”
“No, she never would say. And, well, a mere advisor doesn’t really have the right to ask.”
She said this wistfully, then finally voiced something that had clearly been festering deep inside her.
“What was I lacking, as an instructor?”
That murmur carried heavy loneliness in it, and Aya closed her eyes, choosing her words carefully.
She didn’t have that much history with Sakura, but even so, given how strong-willed she was, there was plenty to piece together.
“Tokiwa’s basically insufferable, honestly. I’ll skip the details, but she hates me.”
“Oh? Is that so?”
Saeki turned around, surprised, hand covering her mouth.
“Yeah. Which is why I was surprised by how she acted around you, Saeki-sensei. She puts on a completely different face for you. Her real personality’s a lot messier — she bares her fangs at anyone she considers an enemy.”
“Now, now, no bad-mouthing.”
“That’s exactly why, hearing the two of you talk in the hallway just now, I could tell she genuinely respects you.”
Ending on that, Saeki fell silent, taken aback.
Wanting to make clear these weren’t just cheap words of comfort thrown out on the spot, Aya faced her with a deliberately serious expression, straightening her posture — respect. Yes, respect for a teacher who genuinely cared for her students, and, whatever the full circumstances, respect for the remnants of a dream someone had chosen to abandon.
“I think there’s a reason somewhere else, somewhere that has nothing to do with you, sensei. And that’s her own issue to deal with. This is just wishful thinking on my part, but — I don’t think it’s your fault… sorry, I started talking without organizing my thoughts first, so this is coming out kind of scattered.”
Aya groaned, hand on her forehead, let out a sigh, and continued her theory while looking at the mannequin.
“When a kid gets lost, maybe it’s the parent’s fault for not watching closely enough, or maybe it’s the kid’s own carelessness. Or maybe the environment itself is just prone to losing kids. But I don’t think there are that many people in a position to actually look at those causes and fix them, so all someone like me, an outsider, can really do, is—”
She opened and closed her hand slowly, looking at her own slightly cold fingertips.
“…Just take her hand, and walk her to the lost-and-found.”
Having said that much, Aya looked up suddenly, and, with a slight delay, replayed her own words in her head. Realizing how nonsensical she must have sounded, she let out an exasperated “no, wait.”
“…Sorry, seriously, that was just me rambling to myself.”
Across from her, Saeki wore a smile creased into her wrinkled face. But it wasn’t the kind of smile an adult gives a student they find endearing — it was, if anything, one that had slipped out unconsciously from sheer relief.
“I feel a little reassured now.”
Aya blinked, wide-eyed.
“Knowing a girl like you is nearby, watching over her.”
Aya’s eyes wandered, closed, and she scratched the back of her head.
“…She hates me, though.”
Paying that no mind whatsoever, Saeki looked like someone who no longer had a single worry left.