Back at the station, Yuji tried to keep his distance. Ren didn’t mind. Distance gave him room to think. But Kaminoseki wasn’t just a place—it was a mood. A silence that pressed in from all sides. And Ren could feel the town watching him, quietly judging.
Later that night, Yuji knocked on his dormitory door.
YUJI Nakamura(MC)
You staying long?
Ren ICHIKAWA(Ml)
(Looked up from his laptops) As long as it takes.
YUJI Nakamura(MC)
(Hesitated in the doorway) The others—Tanimura and Suda—they were classmates. Minazuki Academy. School shut down ten years ago. You know it?
Ren ICHIKAWA(Ml)
(Paused) Yes.
YUJI Nakamura(MC)
You went there.
It wasn’t a question. Ren closed his laptop.
Ren ICHIKAWA(Ml)
Yes
YUJI Nakamura(MC)
(Folded his arms) So you’re not just here to solve this. You’re here because you knew them.
A beat passed.
Ren ICHIKAWA(Ml)
I didn’t say that, (Ren replied)
But the silence said everything.
.
.
.
Minazuki Academy was a carcass of stone and ivy. The once-prestigious art school now sat rotting on the edge of a cliff, its windows shattered, halls empty. Only the scent of mildew and dust remained.
Ren and Yuji made their way inside with flashlights and masks. The air was thick with age.
They found a filing cabinet in what had once been the staff lounge. Most folders were mundane—grades, schedules, reprimands. But buried beneath was a slim folder in lavender cardstock.
Comments