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Having concluded our dream-like vacation at the villa, and pulled back to reality, I once again picked up the broken pieces of Yamashita's glasses. Fragments of a shattered black-rimmed frame. They awaited my ability as the final clue.
"Momota..." I murmured the name, touching the pieces of the glasses.
Instantly, my vision distorted. Memories far older than expected surged like waves.
---Into the Memory---
From Showa to Heisei. As the era changed. A primary school classroom. By the window, a boy adjusted his black-rimmed glasses. His name was Takejiro Momota. Seven years old. Unusually small for his age. An inconspicuous presence. But he harbored a secret he couldn't tell anyone.
"This... changed too," the boy muttered. An eraser he placed on his desk suddenly glowed blue. It became capable of erasing incredibly well, even oil-based magic marker. The ability to imbue touched objects with mysterious power. A special talent he was born with.
"Don't tell anyone." "Don't show anyone." "Don't misuse it". The boy repeated these words to himself. A pure heart overwhelmed and frightened by the power he possessed.
In the empty classroom after school, Momota continued his experiments. A pencil gained the ability to draw any sketch he imagined. His backpack became so light it felt weightless, no matter how much he put inside. But he never used it on other people's belongings, nor did he use it in front of others. That was young Momota's vow.
"My power only changes my own things into something with a modest power". The weight of those words. A pure determination. All of it was etched into these black-rimmed glasses.
However, after this, something would change. Something would distort the boy. The memory was still continuing. I delved even deeper, seeking the truth, searching for the beginning of the darkness.
I delved deep into Takejiro Momota's memory.
Inside the grounds of an old shrine. Under the large camphor tree of the shrine. Amidst the scattered dappled sunlight, a girl in a white yukata cried alone. Her name was Saya Tsukishiro. The only daughter of the chief priest, and the same age as Momota.
"Why are you crying?"
"My mother..." Saya wiped her tears as she replied, "went to the sky."
"Don't cry," Momota desperately searched for words. "In the sky, there's a beautiful light."
"Light...?" Saya stopped crying and looked up at Momota, puzzled.
"Yes. It's a special light that only I can see."
"What kind of light?" Saya's eyes began to sparkle with curiosity.
"Shall I draw it for you?" Momota picked up a tree branch from the ground and began to draw the trajectory of the light. Though the lines were clumsy, he desperately tried to convey the world he saw.
"Wow..." Saya was engrossed in the patterns Momota drew.
"I want to draw too!" That was the beginning. Saya would listen to Momota's stories and then start drawing the world of light from her imagination. She expressed Momota's unseen world in her own interpretation.
"No, it's more like this."
"Then, maybe like this?"
After school, the two would always meet at the shrine grounds. Momota would describe the mysterious world of light with words, and Saya would eagerly draw it.
I delved further into his memories. A small boy, still with an innocent face, was playing in an old sandbox. Beside him was a black-haired girlâSaya Tsukishiro.
"Takejiro-kun, look! If I arrange these pebbles around it, it looks like a real castle, doesn't it?" Saya's voice was full of innocent joy. The soft light of dusk gently illuminated her black hair.
"Y-yeah... it's really beautiful, Saya-chan..." Momota adjusted his thick black-rimmed glasses and helped arrange the stones with his small hands. There was a hint of nervousness in his movements. Occasionally, he would steal glances at Saya's profile, and when their eyes almost met, he would quickly avert his gaze. His cheeks were faintly flushed.
"Takejiro-kun, you really pay attention to the details. I think that's amazing," Saya smiled gently. There was no hint of teasing, only pure admiration in her eyes.
At her words, Momota's cheeks flushed even redder. But a small, happy smile played on his lips. The faint emotions conveyed by his expression and abilities, the pure joy of this moment, were painfully clear. The soft, still unspoken feelings that drifted between them. These would later highlight the depth of the darkness that would consume Momota.
Behind the two, sitting on the edge of the sandbox, the setting sun cast a crimson glow. Soon it was time for Saya's father to pick her up. Momota remained in the sandbox until the end, gazing sadly alone at the sandcastle where their footprints were etched.
At that sight, I felt a pang of pain in my chest. No one yet knew what fate awaited this innocent boy. The shining memories before me seemed to emphasize that cruelty even more.
Saya Tsukishiro. How much Momota cherished her was evident from his memories. Her memories were particularly abundant as I reviewed his past.
In the classroom after school, Saya Tsukishiro carefully placed an old paintbrush on her desk.
"This is my mother's paintbrush," Saya's voice, as a fourth grader, held a mix of pride and sadness. "But I can't use it well. I want to draw well, but...".
Takejiro Momota, from behind his black-rimmed glasses, gazed at his friend's wistful expression. Saya's mother had passed away when she was young. The earnest desire to draw with her mother's keepsake brush floated keenly in Saya's eyes.
"Um..." Momota opened his mouth with a slight hesitation.
"Can I cast a spell for you?"
"A spell?"
"Yes. A spell to help you draw well". Saya looked puzzled but nodded. Momota checked his surroundings, then slowly reached for the brush.
"Close your eyes," When Saya closed her eyes, Momota quietly touched the brush, pouring his special power into it.
"Please. May Saya-chan's feelings, and her mother's feelings, be imbued in the painting..." Momota used his power, murmuring softly. A gentle green light enveloped the brush. A small voice, probably inaudible to Saya, but audible only to me who was viewing the memory through his ability.
"Okay, it's done," When Saya opened her eyes, Momota smiled, looking a little tired.
"Now it's fine. You'll surely be able to draw wonderful pictures".
"Really?"
"Yes. Because Saya-chan can become as good at drawing as her mother". At those words, Saya's face lit up.
"Thank you, Takejiro-kun!" In the twilight glow streaming through the classroom window, Saya immediately took up the brush and opened her sketchbook. Her initial hesitant brushstrokes gradually took on a definite brilliance.
Momota sat next to her, watching silently. He had used his secret power for the first time. It might have been wrong. But seeing Saya's happy expression, it felt like the right choice.
"Look! It's so easy to draw!" The flower painting Saya drew possessed a mysterious vitality. There, indeed, was a glimpse of the shining talent passed down from mother to daughter.
Against the backdrop of the sunset sky, their two small backs stood side by side, leaning together. The world was still pure, and the future was filled with light.