[At Night, in the House]
"Ahhh! My mind is going absolutely crazy from thinking about it!"
I pressed both palms against my skull as though physically restraining my thoughts from
escaping, and stared at the ceiling of my room as if it owed me an explanation.
[A Few Hours Earlier]
As I had made my way home from school that afternoon, anxiety and tension had
accompanied every step. Worries about the upcoming examinations consumed my
thoughts—alongside the deeply unsettling matter of somehow being ranked second in my class
when I had very clearly spent the last semester sleeping through most of it.
Taking a slow breath, I had tried to calm my racing mind and observe my surroundings
more carefully. That was when I noticed it: a peculiar, unsettling unease that seemed to hang in
the air like humidity before a storm. The people around me were not quite right. Their
expressions, their interactions, their energy—all of it was subtly off in a way I struggled to
articulate.
And then, as I stood on the pavement outside the convenience store with a can of cold
coffee in my hand, it struck me with the blunt force of a textbook to the face.
Tomorrow was my birthday. The 25th of November. Again.
But I distinctly remembered celebrating my birthday just days ago—or had I? I pulled out
my phone with slightly unsteady fingers and checked the date. The screen displayed the 24th of
November without apology or explanation.
How was that possible?
[Present]
Overwhelmed by the spiralling impossibility of the situation, I sat bolt upright in bed. And
then, with the sudden clarity of a lightning strike, the memory returned—vivid, sharp, and
undeniable. The wishing tree. The ancient bells. The white light. The darkness.
I had visited the tree on my birthday, made some sort of wish, lost consciousness, and
woken up in a world that had quietly rearranged itself around me. My family. My academic
ranking. The date itself. Everything had shifted.
Determined to get answers, I resolved to return to the tree the very next day.
[In School — Examination Day]
The teacher distributed the examination papers with the quiet ceremony that teachers
reserve for such occasions. I stared at the sheet before me, took one long breath, and began to
write.
To my profound astonishment, the answers came to me with fluid, almost alarming
ease—as though they had always been sitting there inside my head, simply waiting for the right
moment to be useful. My hand moved across the page with a confidence I had never in my
academic life possessed. A slow, slightly suspicious smile crept across my face. First place was
beginning to feel like a genuine possibility.
"Sakura, wasn't today's exam ridiculously difficult?" Yua complained as students filed out
of the room afterward, rubbing the hand she had used to write furiously for the past hour.
"Hmm," I replied, in what I hoped was a suitably sympathetic tone. "It was challenging,
certainly. But I think it went all right."
Yua squinted at me. "You are dangerously calm for someone who was ranked last three
weeks ago."
I opened my mouth, closed it again, and settled for a noncommittal shrug.
Yua suggested we celebrate the end of exams with a trip to the karaoke bar. I declined
politely, citing other obligations—which was technically true, since 'confronting a centuries-old
magical tree on a mountainside' is, by any reasonable definition, an obligation.
Without wasting another moment, I slipped out of school and retraced my steps up the
mountain path. The forest closed around me as I climbed, the familiar sounds of the city fading
away beneath the rustle of ancient leaves.
When I finally stood before the wishing tree, I planted my feet and crossed my arms.
"Right. I know you can hear me," I announced to the air. "Show yourself. I am trained in
martial arts—well, I attended three classes before I quit, but the point stands—and I am not
leaving until I get some answers."
Silence. The bells on the branches swayed gently. Somewhere in the dark above me, an owl
expressed its opinion of my ultimatum.
Night had fully fallen by the time I heard it—a voice materialising from somewhere within
the tree itself, carrying an unmistakable note of dry amusement. "You should have asked for
help sooner."
"Who's there?" I demanded. "Show yourself!"
The sky crackled. Lightning split the darkness in three places at once. The ground hummed
beneath my feet.
And, for the second time in as many days, the world went dark.