The day of the cultural festival dawned with a sky of impossible blue, a perfect, crisp autumn day that seemed tailor-made for the event. The entire town of Mizube felt charged with a gentle excitement. From her window, Himari could see streams of students and parents heading towards the school, carrying boxes of decorations, platters of food, and rolled-up banners.
The familiar routine was different today. There was no hurried breakfast. Instead, she helped her grandmother pack the bakery's contribution—dozens of miniature versions of the "Mizube Morning Sun" and "Mizube Melt" cheese bread—into large, flat boxes.
"Be careful with the apple pastries, Himari-chan," her grandmother fussed. "The icing is still setting."
Uncle Kenji arrived, his van parked outside, and they loaded the boxes carefully. "Today's the day, sunshine! Our bread is going to be the star of the show." His cheerfulness was a little too forceful, and Himari noticed the way his eyes scanned the street, as if looking for someone, before he got into the driver's seat.
The school grounds were transformed. Colorful paper lanterns hung between trees, each class's booth was a burst of noise and activity, and the air was thick with the smells of frying takoyaki, sweet candy apples, and the general cacophony of a hundred simultaneous conversations.
The Class 2-C café, "The Melting Pot," was a resounding success, thanks in no small part to the beautiful menu board that stood proudly at the entrance. Himari, stationed at the front as planned, was soon swept into a pleasant chaos of taking orders and making change. The work was a blessing. It required all her attention, leaving no room for the nervous anticipation that had plagued her since she'd turned down Kawabe.
She saw him occasionally, in the back, diligently serving curry under Riku's direction. Their eyes met once across the crowded booth. He gave a small, professional smile before turning back to his ladle. The distance between them felt vast, a chasm measured in polite smiles and unspoken words.
During a brief lull, Hana appeared, still in her volleyball jersey after the demonstration match her club had put on.
"It's a hit!" Hana exclaimed, grabbing Himari's arms. "The café is the most popular spot! And your menu board! People are taking pictures of it! You're famous!"
"It's just a menu board," Himari laughed, but she felt a surge of pride.
"Don't be modest! Oh, by the way," Hana lowered her voice. "Those two weird city boys are here. I saw them near the haunted house. They're just… walking around. Not eating anything, not going on any rides. Just watching."
A flicker of the previous day's unease returned. Why would tourists be interested in a high school cultural festival? She pushed the thought away. Today was for celebration.
The morning flew by. The bakery's pastries sold out within the first hour. During her lunch break, Himari wandered the festival grounds with Hana and Takumi. They tried their hands at goldfish scooping (Himari was surprisingly adept), laughed at the terrible ghost stories in the haunted house, and bought silly headbands from a stall. For a glorious hour, she was just another student, lost in the simple joy of the day.
It was as they were walking past the main stage, where the school band was preparing to play, that Himari saw them. The two boys. They were standing off to the side, near the fence that separated the school from the surrounding forest. They weren't talking. They were just observing the crowd, their postures relaxed but their eyes constantly moving, scanning. And then, the taller one's gaze locked onto something across the courtyard.
Himari followed his line of sight. A new group of visitors had just arrived through the main gate. Among them was a girl. She was petite and stylish, with hair cut in a sharp, modern bob and clothes that, like the boys', screamed of Tokyo's trendy Harajuku district. She moved with a confident, almost theatrical grace, her head turning as she took in the scene with an expression of mild, amused curiosity.
But it wasn't her style that made Himari's breath catch. It was a feeling. A sudden, inexplicable jolt of recognition, deep and visceral, like the sound of a forgotten song. She had never seen this girl before in her life, yet something about her—the angle of her chin, the way she held her shoulders—felt unnervingly familiar.
The two boys, noticing the girl, exchanged a brief, almost imperceptible nod. It was a gesture of acknowledgment, not of threat. The taller one then subtly shifted his position, his gaze sweeping the area around the new girl, not staring at her directly, but clearly including her in his field of observation. They were watching over her.
"Who's that?" Hana whispered, her eyes wide. "She looks like she's from a magazine."
"I don't know," Himari said, her voice faint.
The girl's eyes continued to roam the festival until they, too, found Himari. For a long, heart-stopping second, their gazes met across the bustling courtyard. The girl's expression shifted from casual curiosity to a sharp, focused intensity. Her head tilted slightly, as if trying to place a difficult memory. A faint frown appeared on her perfectly made-up face.
Himari's heart hammered against her ribs. She felt exposed, as if under a spotlight. She quickly looked away, turning her back to the girl.
"You okay, Himari?" Takumi asked, his monotone voice laced with rare concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I'm fine," she managed to say, forcing a smile. "Just… a little dizzy from the sun. I should get back to the café."
She practically fled back to the safety of the "Melting Pot" booth, her mind reeling. Who was that girl? And why did she feel such a strange connection to her? The joy of the festival had evaporated, replaced by a cold, creeping anxiety.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. She performed her duties mechanically, her smile feeling plastered on. She kept expecting to see the stylish girl appear at the café, but she never did. The two boys also seemed to have vanished.
As the festival wound down and the sun began to dip behind the mountains, the classes started cleaning up. Himari was wiping down tables when Kawabe approached, holding two paper cups of hot chocolate.
"You looked like you could use this," he said quietly, offering her one. "It was a long day."
The simple kindness undid her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. "Thank you, Kawabe-kun."
They stood in silence for a moment, watching the dismantling of the festival.
"I'm sorry about before," he said, not looking at her. "I didn't mean to make things… complicated."
"You didn't," she whispered. "It's not you. It's… me. My life is just… complicated."
He nodded, accepting this without pushing. "Okay." He finished his hot chocolate. "Well. The menu board was a huge success. Thank you for that."
He gave her one last, sad smile before walking away to help Riku carry the large propane stove.
The walk home with her uncle was quiet. The van was filled with empty boxes and the lingering smell of sugar and bread.
"You're quiet, sunshine," Uncle Kenji said, glancing at her. "Tired?"
"A little," she admitted.
"It was a good day," he said, his voice thoughtful. "A normal, good day. Those are the best kind." He paused. "I saw those two boys again. They left just before the end. Got into that sedan and drove off towards the highway."
Himari didn't respond. She was thinking about the girl. The one who had looked at her with such strange, piercing recognition.
That night, as she lay in bed, the images of the day played behind her closed eyelids: the laughing crowds, the menu board, Kawabe's sad smile, and the face of the unknown girl. The festival, which had promised an escape from the ordinary, had instead pulled back a curtain, revealing a world of unsettling questions just beyond the edges of her quiet town. The parentheses had closed, and the ordinary rules had returned, but they felt more fragile than ever.