Chapter 2 part 2

“Sis, you’re so late!”

As I open the sliding door and step into the living room, Yotsuha’s accusation flies to greet me.

“I’ll fix breakfast tomorrow!” I say by way of apology.

This kid hasn’t even lost all her baby teeth yet, but she seems convinced she’s handling life better than her big sister. I can’t show weakness by apologizing! I think, opening the rice cooker and scooping a gleaming white helping into my bowl. Whoops, is that too much? Well, never mind.

“Thanks for the food!”

I pour a generous dose of sauce over a smooth fried egg, pair it with rice, and put it in my mouth. Oh, yum. This just might be paradise... Hmm? I feel eyes trained on me, somewhere around my temple.

“So you’re normal today, are you?”

“Huh?”

Gran is watching me steadily as I chew my food.

“She sure was somethin’ else yesterday!” Yotsuha smirks at me. “Screamin’ all of a sudden like that.”

Screaming? Gran inspects me suspiciously, and Yotsuha grins (mocking me, I’m sure).

“Huh? What? What do you mean? What?!”

Seriously, what’s the matter with them? It’s creepy.

Ding-dong-ding-do oong.

Suddenly, the speaker over the door comes alive, deafeningly loud.

“Good morning, everyone.”

The voice belongs to my friend Saya’s big sister (currently employed by the Regional Life Information Section at the town hall). This place, Itomori, is a dinky little town with a population of fifteen hundred, so most people either know each other or at least know someone in common.

“Here are the morning announcements from Itomori.”

The slow stream of words from the speaker is clipped into phrases. “Here are...the morning anno uncements... from Itomori.” There are speakers outside, too, all over town, so the broadcast echoes off the mountains and overlaps with itself as if it’s being sung in rounds.

Twice a day, morning and evening, this disaster-prevention radio broadcast plays throughout the town. Every house has a receiver to faithfully relay the daily announcements about local events: the schedule for the sports meet, how to contact whoever’s in charge of shoveling the snow, yesterday’s births, today’s funerals.

“With regard to the Itomori mayoral election, which will take place on the twentieth of next month, the town election management committee

has—”

Click.

The speaker over the lintel falls silent. Gran can’t reach it herself, so she’s pulled the plug. She’s past eighty and wearing her usual traditional kimono, but even so, the gesture wordlessly conveys her anger. Even as I’m impressed by her chilly ire, I grab up the remote and turn on the TV without missing a beat. Picking up where Saya’s sister left off, the smiling NHK news lady starts speaking.

“We’re now just a month away from a visit by a comet that appears only once every twelve hundred years. For a few days, the comet is expected to be visible to the ***** eye. With the celestial show of the century just around the corner, JAXA and research institutes worldwide are scrambling in preparation to study it.”

There’s a line of text on the screen —Comet Tiamat visible to the ***** eye next month —and a blurry picture of a comet. Our conversation has lost its momentum, and the only noise comes from the three of us taking our meal and the NHK broadcast. Our soft clinks and clicks sound a bit guilty, like whispered chatter during class.

“... Just make up with him already, wouldja?”

Out of nowhere, Yotsuha says something tactless.

“It’s an adult problem,” I snap at her.

That’s right—this is an adult problem. Stupid election! Somewhere in the wind, a black kite gives a rather silly-sounding cry: Piiihyororo.

Saying bye to Gran in unison, Yotsuha and I head out the door.

The summer copper pheasants are crowing up a storm.

Traveling down the narrow paved path that runs along the hillside and descending several stone-walled stairways, we emerge from the shadow of the mountain into direct sunlight. Below us is a round lake, Itomori Lake. Its calm surface reflects the morning sun, glittering and glaring as though nobody’s watching. The deep-green mountains form their ranks under white clouds in a blue sky, and a little girl with pigtails and a red school backpack skips along for no reason. Then there’s me beside her, the dazzling, bare-legged high school girl. In my head, I try adding a grand string score to the scene as background music. Ooh, it’s just like the opening of a Japanese film... In other words, we live in the boonies—very Japanese and a few decades behind the times.

“Miiitsuhaaa!”

After Yotsuha and I part ways in front of the elementary school, a voice calls out from behind me. It’s Tesshi, pedaling his bike and looking cranky, with Saya seated primly on the bike rack and smiling.

“Hurry up and get off,” Tesshi grumbles.

“I’m fine right here. Don’t be stingy!”

“C’mon, you’re heavy.”

“And you’re rude!”

This early in the morning, and they’re already teasing each other like a married couple in a comedy skit.

“You two get along so well.”

“We do not!” they chorus.

They deny it so earnestly it’s funny, and I giggle. My mental soundtrack switches over to a jaunty guitar solo. The three of us have been friends for a good ten years—petite Saya, with her braids and straight-across bangs, and tall, skinny Tesshi with his burr cut and general lack of style. They always look like they’re fighting, but given how their conversation is always perfectly synced, I secretly think they might make an excellent couple.

“Oh, Mitsuha, you did your hair properly today.”

Saya, who’s gotten off the bike, touches the area around my hair cord, grinning. My hair’s fixed the same as always: two braids looped up and tied together in the back with the cord. My mom taught me how, a long time ago.

“Huh? What about my hair?”

Her comment sparks a recollection of the comments that sort of got lost in the shuffle at breakfast. I did it “properly” today—does that mean it was weird yesterday? As I’m trying to remember what happened, Tesshi leans in, looking concerned. “Hey, you did get your grandma to exorcise you, didn’t you?”

“Exorcise?”

“Yeah, I swear you got yourself possessed by a fox!”

“.. .Excuse me?” I frown at the unexpected remark.

Saya speaks up for me, sounding disgusted. “Would you quit blamin’ everythin’ on the occult already?! Mitsuha’s probably just stressed, that’s all. Right?”

Stressed?

“Huh? Wait, hold it—what’s all this about?”

Why is literally everybody worried about me? Yesterday was... I can’t remember off the top of my head, but I’m pretty sure it was just a regular day.

...Hmm?

Wait, was it really? Yesterday, I...

“—And most importantly!”

A deep voice from a megaphone erases my questions.

On the other side of the road, with its rows of vinyl greenhouses, a little crowd of a dozen or so people is gathered in the ridiculously big municipal parking lot. Standing at its center, holding a microphone, is my dad, taller and bolder-looking than the rest. The banner he wears diagonally across his suit jacket proudly proclaims, Incumbent—Toshiki Miyamizu. He’s stumping for the mayoral election.

“Most importantly, economic revitalization, in order to sustain the village restoration project! Only when we have made that a reality will we be able to establish a safe, worry-free community. As the incumbent, I intend to refine the community planning I’ve been involved with and see it through to completion! I will lead this region with new enthusiasm, creating a local society in which everyone—from our children to our senior citizens—can relax and enjoy fulfilling, active lives. I have renewed my resolve to make this vision my goal...”

It’s such a skillful speech that it’s almost overbearing. It leaves me cold— this campaign address sounds like it belongs on TV, not in a parking lot surrounded by fields. The whispers I hear from the crowd— “You know it’s gonna be Miyamizu again this term anyway, ” “It sounds like he s been spreadin ’ lots of cash around” —make my mood even darker.

“Hey, Miyamizu.”

“...Mornin’.”

Wonderful. The greeting comes from three classmates I’m less than fond of. Even in high school, they’re part of the flashy “in-crowd,” and they snark at us —the “drones”—over every little thing.

“The mayor and the contractor,” one of them says, shooting a deliberate glance at my orating father. When I follow suit, I see Tesshi’s dad standing next to mine, beaming. He’s wearing a jacket from his construction company and an armband that says Toshiki Miyamizu Supporter.

The guy looks back at me, then at Tesshi, and continues. “Their kids are all buddy-buddy, too. Did your folks tell you to hang out together?”

This is so stupid. I don’t even answer—I walk faster, trying to get out of there. Tesshi’s expressionless. Only Saya looks bothered and a bit flustered.

“Mitsuha!”

Suddenly, a loud voice booms out. Yeep! My breath catches in my throat. I don’t believe this. My dad lowered his mic midspeech to shout at me without the aid of electronic amplification. The whole crowd turns to look at me.

“Mitsuha, straighten up!”

I turn beet red. It’s so unfair that I almost start crying. I want to run, but I desperately fight back the urge and stride away instead.

The crowd is whispering. “He’s even tough on family.”

jacket proudly proclaims, Incumbent—Toshiki Miyamizu. He’s stumping for the mayoral election.

“Most importantly, economic revitalization, in order to sustain the village restoration project! Only when we have made that a reality will we be able to establish a safe, worry-free community. As the incumbent, I intend to refine the community planning I’ve been involved with and see it through to completion! I will lead this region with new enthusiasm, creating a local society in which everyone—from our children to our senior citizens—can relax and enjoy fulfilling, active lives. I have renewed my resolve to make this vision my goal...”

It’s such a skillful speech that it’s almost overbearing. It leaves me cold— this campaign address sounds like it belongs on TV, not in a parking lot surrounded by fields. The whispers I hear from the crowd— “You know it’s gonna be Miyamizu again this term anyway, ” “It sounds like he s been spreadin ’ lots of cash around” —make my mood even darker.

“Hey, Miyamizu.”

“...Mornin’.”

Wonderful. The greeting comes from three classmates I’m less than fond of. Even in high school, they’re part of the flashy “in-crowd,” and they snark at us —the “drones”—over every little thing.

“The mayor and the contractor,” one of them says, shooting a deliberate glance at my orating father. When I follow suit, I see Tesshi’s dad standing next to mine, beaming. He’s wearing a jacket from his construction company and an armband that says Toshiki Miyamizu Supporter.

The guy looks back at me, then at Tesshi, and continues. “Their kids are all buddy-buddy, too. Did your folks tell you to hang out together?”

This is so stupid. I don’t even answer—I walk faster, trying to get out of there. Tesshi’s expressionless. Only Saya looks bothered and a bit flustered.

“Mitsuha!”

Suddenly, a loud voice booms out. Yeep! My breath catches in my throat. I don’t believe this. My dad lowered his mic midspeech to shout at me without the aid of electronic amplification. The whole crowd turns to look at me.

“Mitsuha, straighten up!”

I turn beet red. It’s so unfair that I almost start crying. I want to run, but I desperately fight back the urge and stride away instead.

The crowd is whispering. “He’s even tough on family.”

“That’s the mayor for you.”

I hear my classmates snickering. “Ooh. Harsh.”

“I kinda feel a little sorry for her.”

This could not be worse.

The background music that was playing in my head a minute ago has disappeared, and I remember that this town, without a soundtrack, is an absolutely suffocating place.

With a sharp tak, tak, tak, the teacher writes a short poem on the blackboard.

Please don't ask me "Who goes there?" I'm waiting here for my love, in the September dew.

“Tasokare , ‘who goes there?’ This is the origin of the term tasogare, or twilight. You know the word twilight, don’t you?”

Speaking in a clear voice, our teacher, Miss Yuki, writes Tasokare in big letters on the blackboard.

“It’s evening, not quite day or night. It’s a window when outlines blur, making it hard to tell who people are. When you might meet something that isn’t human. It’s a time when people encounter demons or the dead, and it has another name that reflects this. They say, though, that even before that, it had other names.”

Miss Yuki writes the two terms on the board, but it looks like she’s just shuffling around the same letters.

“’Scuse me, teacher! Question! What about half-lightl ”

Somebody speaks up, and I think, Yeah, that’s right. I know twilight, of course, but the word I’ve heard people use to mean evening ever since I was little is half-light. When Miss Yuki hears this, she smiles gently. You know, our classics teacher is much too pretty to be teaching at a country high school like this.

“I expect that’s local dialect, isn’t it? I hear the elderly people in Itomori still use ancient Japanese words here and there.”

“’Cause this here’s the sticks,” proclaims one of the boys, and people start giggling. He’s not wrong. Sometimes Gran uses words that make me want to ask her what language she’s speaking. Some of her expressions were abandoned by most of the rest of Japan a couple of centuries back. Idly pondering, I flip through my notebook, and then—on a page that should be blank—I see something written in big letters:

Who are you?

...Huh?

Hey Guys its Me Atenzep I hope U liked this novel and pls like and share and subscribe me. It really helps me a lot and motivates me write these novel this novel takes time cuz its very long and need time to write my final exams are coming too so yeah thats why stop writing

Bye see u next time : )

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