Most people's impression of the tragedies that befall them follows a familiar pattern.
They did something wrong, and then something terrible happened as a result.
But that wasn't how it was for Nagasaki Soyo.
She hadn't done anything wrong. Things simply happened.
Dusk — the quiet hour that belonged to Soyo alone.
"Mom and Dad have been… fighting a lot lately."
Dad hadn't come home in a week. Mom was coming home later and later every night.
Outside, the sun was sinking toward the horizon. Soyo's hope that her mother might make it back before dark was dissolving by the minute.
"It's okay… Mom will be home soon."
Would she? Soyo didn't know. But it was the only thing she could think of to soothe herself.
She was already in fifth grade — practically grown up. She was going to be the kind of child who didn't make her mother worry.
Mom worked so hard every day. If Soyo added to her burden the moment she walked through the door, she'd never be able to live with herself.
Her schoolbag was spread open on the dining table. Behind her stood the old, battered refrigerator and the leaky kitchen sink.
Little stickers she'd made with her parents were stuck to the wall beside her. Then the TV set, its surface crowded with small knick-knacks and odds and ends.
Homey, wasn't it?
Cramped, small, cluttered yet somehow ordered — every trinket tucked into every corner held a piece of Nagasaki Soyo's memories.
But those corners had been swallowed by darkness now. Only the small lamp overhead kept working, casting its warm, flickering orange-yellow glow.
That lamp was one of the few things that could still make Nagasaki Soyo feel warm.
Soyo was doing her homework.
The problems on the page weren't actually difficult. If she worked at a normal pace, she could finish everything in under an hour — and do it well, too. Perfectly, even. Full marks.
But she wasn't in any hurry to finish.
Homework was one of the few things she had to do. If she got it all done in one go, she'd have nothing left but to lie alone in bed with a picture book, waiting for Mom to come home.
But that bed was so cold. The apartment wasn't very warm either. And when you read by yourself, there was no sound at all.
It was better this way — sitting at the dining table, doing homework, listening to the soft scratch of pencil on paper. That felt safer somehow.
The other thing was that Soyo was trying to time it just right. She fantasized about it constantly —
What if, when Mom finally came home, there were still one or two problems left on the page?
Wouldn't that — wouldn't that be the perfect excuse to ask Mom for help?
It would be a tiny interruption, sure. But Mom had always been patient and gentle, just like a little kid herself. If there were a problem or two left to work through together… wouldn't that mean a little more time close to her?
"Pfft."
The moment she imagined her mother scrunching up her face trying to puzzle out the answers, Nagasaki Soyo couldn't help but laugh.
She still had nearly half a page left to go!
Mom, hurry up and come home!
It was just past six. Soyo had already eaten the frozen bread from the refrigerator with strawberry jam, so she wasn't hungry at all.
"Mom can probably make it back by nine for sure. Maybe she'll even come home early today?"
Since there was no hope of seeing her before dark, she'd just have to hope Mom made it back before she fell asleep.
But… what if she didn't come back at all? Mom had been so busy lately. Her hours were impossible to predict.
If only Dad were still home. If only…
Nagasaki Soyo's pencil tip faltered.
She lifted her head and could see the childish crayon drawing stuck to the bedroom door — the one she'd made during kindergarten.
It felt like a distant memory now. Back then, her parents hadn't fought every day. She'd been able to enjoy the same warm, ordinary daily life as any other child.
But then… at some point, for reasons she never understood, her parents started fighting all the time.
The grip on Soyo's pencil tightened, and tightened, until she nearly snapped it in two before she came back to herself.
Whenever her parents fought, Soyo would hide in her room and think.
She kept wondering — could their fights have something to do with her?
Was it possible that something she'd done wrong had made things worse between them? Or that she'd accidentally caused some kind of trouble at school, heaping more stress onto their shoulders?
No matter how hard she tried, Nagasaki Soyo couldn't figure out what she had done wrong.
Eventually, she had reasoned it out.
She hadn't made any mistakes. Things had simply happened.
"…Haah."
With a small sigh, Soyo picked up her pencil again.
Her legs were pressed neatly together, her back perfectly straight — she never forgot the manners her parents had drilled into her.
[Maybe… maybe her own etiquette had slipped somewhere, and that was why her parents were fighting?]
So their conflict was at least partly her responsibility after all… wasn't it? Was that how it was?
Knock knock knock —
Three rhythmic, unfamiliar raps at the door. Soyo was out of her chair in an instant.
Was it Mom? Was it…
[Wait. That's not right.]
Soyo's footsteps slowed. She pressed her cheek against the door and went very still.
[If it were Mom, she'd have her key, wouldn't she?]
Their home was in a rather out-of-the-way part of the city — so far from everything that even door-to-door salespeople never bothered. Getting to school meant a long train ride.
There were no passersby during the day, let alone at night. So who on earth could be knocking?
[Could it be a bad person?]
Before a child's imagination could run any further with that, the person outside spoke first.
"Hello there — is the Nagasaki child home? I'm a colleague of your mother's."
"Y-you're really my mom's colleague? What do you want?" Soyo, still pressed into the corner by the door, couldn't stop herself from answering.
"Heh heh, you are home after all, little one. Nothing to worry about — it's just that your mother, Miss Nagasaki, had a bit too much to drink tonight and fell asleep at my place. She absolutely refused to come home and planted herself in my bed, so I had no choice but to come look after you for the night on her behalf."
"B-but how do I know you're really her colleague? Umm."
Soyo was half-convinced, but she asked anyway.
"Well now…" The gentle, warm voice on the other side of the door continued.
"Your mother has a mole on her bottom, doesn't she? And one under her arm too. And her underarms are perfectly smooth, aren't they."
"!!!"
Someone who knew that much about Mom — she had to be a truly close and dear friend!
Nagasaki Soyo twisted the lock and pushed the door open inward.
"Thank you for trusting me, little one."
Before Soyo had even gotten a clear look at the person's face, a slender hand was already ruffling her hair.
Soyo squinted contentedly at the sensation, and only then remembered to actually look at who was there.
A sleek, long coat. A single braid draped over one shoulder. The figure before her carried herself with a striking, fully mature elegance.
But what left the deepest impression on Nagasaki Soyo were the rose-pink pupils gleaming beneath a curtain of snow-white hair.
Within them, you could almost make out faint rings of gold.
She was breathtakingly beautiful.
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