The first thing Rina noticed was how quiet the town was. The bus dropped her off at the edge of a fog-draped street where old houses leaned slightly, like they were tired of standing. A worn wooden sign read "Sakuragaoka Town," but someone had scratched through part of the name. She dragged her suitcase along the gravel road, following the map her parents gave her. But the map was oddly vague. No landmarks, just a red X.
When she reached the school, it looked like something out of a painting—too perfect, too still. White walls, black-tiled roof, and a cherry blossom tree blooming out of season. The principal greeted her with a smile that never quite reached his eyes. "Welcome, Rina. We've been expecting you."
Her classroom was silent when she entered. Everyone turned at once to look at her. A few smiled. Most didn't react at all. Her desk was in the far corner, near the window. The girl next to it whispered, "You're sitting in her seat." But when Rina turned to ask who she meant, the girl just blinked and smiled like she hadn't said anything at all.
That evening, unpacking in her new room, Rina opened her locker and found a folded note with messy handwriting:
> "They'll be kind to you until you forget who you are."
No name. No explanation.
She laughed it off and crumpled it, but a strange cold settled in her chest. That night, as she lay in bed listening to the wind rattle the window, she heard a sound coming from behind her wall.
Crying. Soft, broken crying.
And then a whisper—hoarse and close:
> "You shouldn't be here. You took my name."
Rina sat up, heart pounding. Her room was empty. The window was closed. But her mirror had fogged over, like someone had just breathed on it.
Something had changed.
And she could feel it watching.
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