It took Yoshiki and Hikaru more than an hour to get to school by bicycle. That was just an ordinary part of their lives.

The terraced fields built with stone walls among the mountains always smelled of damp earth and manure. And it wasn’t just on the route to school—that’s how it was everywhere in Kubitachi.

In the summer, the cicadas were deafening. No matter where you looked, everything was faded, as if covered in a cloud of dust—the houses, the farm sheds, the cars, the street signs, the electric poles, and even the bugs and snakes that crawled and slithered down from the stone walls. Perhaps they’d been bleached by the harsh sunlight.

There were many elderly people and few children in Kubitachi. Hikaru had been the only person in the village who was Yoshiki’s age. Hikaru had always been by his side.

Indeed, Hikaru was all Yoshiki had.

And so…Yoshiki figured that whatever Hikaru was, having him by his side would be better than not having him at all.

“Oh, we used ta go out an’ eat this stuff sometimes, huh?!”

With a Yamazaki mincemeat cutlet before him, Hikaru looked like a child who was about to try one for the first time in his life.

He carefully held the oil-stained wrapper in both hands, slowly opened his mouth, and stuffed it with food. Indeed, he truly looked as if it was his first time eating a mincemeat cutlet.

The caramel-colored breading made a crisp, crunching sound. Light wisps of steam rose from inside the cutlet, and the golden juices from the meat glistened faintly.

Immediately after biting into his cutlet, Hikaru yelled out, “Whoooooa!”

When Yoshiki muttered, “You’re bein’ way too loud,” Hikaru didn’t pay any attention.

“It’s so dang good! Gawd, that crunch! I mean, I know this flavor, but…”

As Hikaru stuffed his mouth with the mincemeat cutlet, Yoshiki watched his friend’s overly exaggerated reaction to the food.

It most likely was delicious, but there was nothing particularly special about it, either. It was just an ordinary mincemeat cutlet from the ordinary Yamazaki Butcher and Deli near their high school. There probably wasn’t anything out of the ordinary about the recipe.

“Still,” said Yoshiki, “it’s strange that it’s new to you even though you remember it.”

“Yeah, that’s right. I got the same exact memories as him, but I never actually experienced any of ’em. I was never alive to begin with. So it’s my first time even feelin’ a clear sense of ‘me.’”

Hikaru had already stopped pretending to be Hikaru Indou. He was now speaking openly and matter-of-factly to Yoshiki about how he was Hikaru but also not Hikaru.

They had watched a movie in class earlier that day. It was probably the fifth time they’d seen it since elementary school, so while it was on, all their classmates were asleep with their heads on their desks.

Hikaru had been the only one staring at the screen with intense focus, and after seeing a woman in the movie victimized by her husband’s verbal abuse, he tearfully remarked how it was “all too sad.”

When Yoshiki cautiously asked why he was crying at the movie, Hikaru sniffled as he replied, “It’s in my memory, of course. But this is the first time I’ve seen it.”

First the movie, and then the mincemeat cutlet. They existed in his memories, but Hikaru’s eyes sparkled when he encountered them for the first time.

“…Ha-ha. You a ghost or somethin’?” Yoshiki asked him.

“I dunno. Naw, not a ghost, exactly. But I know fer sure I was some sorta messed-up ghoulie.”

As Hikaru chuckled and took a bite of his mincemeat cutlet, Yoshiki’s shoulders slumped, and he wondered if his friend really was “some sorta messed-up ghoulie.”

Then, perhaps enticed by the smell of fried food, a well-fed white cat slinked out from the shadows of the dry cleaner’s. The cat wasn’t quite a stray, but it didn’t exactly belong to Yamazaki’s owner, either—something of a pet and not a pet at the same time.

“Oh. It’s Mincey,” Yoshiki mumbled.

The cat mewed softly and snuggled against his legs.

No one knew who named the cat Mincey. He often appeared around Yamazaki and Kibogayama High School, possibly because he knew that people would feed him.

“Did he get fat again from all the food Yamazaki’s been givin’ him?” Yoshiki wondered.

“Yep. Sure looks like it,” replied Hikaru as he reached out to Mincey.

As soon as Mincey looked up, his fur bristled, and he hissed loudly.

He’d always fawned over humans who had food, but this time, there was clear hostility and wariness deep within his gold eyes.

With agility unsuited to a fat cat, Mincey disappeared back into the shadows of the dry cleaner’s, leaving Hikaru to just laugh at what happened.

“That cat can really book it, huh?!” he said. Then, pointing in the direction where Mincey had disappeared, Hikaru asked, “Ya see that?”

Yoshiki didn’t give him any kind of response.

“He was really upset. Maybe it’s ’cause of me. An’ all I was doin’ was eatin’ a mincemeat cutlet! That really ticks me off, y’know?”

Before Yoshiki knew it, Hikaru had finished his mincemeat cutlet. The fact that Mincey had threatened someone over something so trivial, and that Yoshiki had never seen the cat act that way before, left him feeling strangely ill at ease.

“…You wanna go anyplace else in town?” Yoshiki asked Hikaru. “The only other things around are that shabby diner or the Mion Mall, though…”

“Oh. You’ll go with me? Yer bein’ real nice to someone like me… As nice as you’ve ever been…”

“I ain’t bein’ nice. If I make excuses for myself, I can’t very well come down on others.”

That’s right. There’s nothing nice about me.

Just remembering that ominous thing that gushed and swirled outta Hikaru makes my throat tighten up like I wanna puke.

But I don’t want to be rejected by someone who looks just like Hikaru—I don’t want to be rejected by Hikaru. That’s why I can’t reject him.

That’s all there is to it.

“I ain’t sure what yer talkin’ ’bout, but either way, yer still bein’ nice ta me,” said Hikaru.

In line with Hikaru’s wishes, they visited a shabby diner and a shopping mall and circled around to a supermarket and drugstore.

Although all those places should have been in his memories—he and Yoshiki had even gone to some of them together in the past six months—Hikaru seemed to enjoy being there as Hikaru.

Kibogayama Town, where their high school was located, was still relatively lively, but as the two boys returned to Kubitachi Village at dusk, they began to hear the sound of cicadas.

The only other sound was the wind from the mountains gently caressing the heads of rice plants that were growing tall in preparation for autumn.

Compared to Kibogayama Town—which had not just a high school but a supermarket, shopping mall, and movie theater—there was nothing in Kubitachi. What it did have was a Shinto shrine, a community center, a town hall…a post office, and a small police station. It would be quicker to count what it had rather than what it didn’t.

“Oh, a dragonfly,” said Hikaru.

As they walked their bikes up a gentle slope, a dragonfly landed on Hikaru’s bike bell.

“It’s a summer darter. A typical red dragonfly. But it’s not that red yet,” Yoshiki explained.

“A red dragonfly, huh? In summer?”

“The one associated with fall is an autumn darter. This one’s a summer darter…”

“Huh. What’s the difference?”

“It’s annoyin’ to explain. Summer darters an’ autumn darters look nearly identical, but they’re different species.” As he spoke, Yoshiki felt a bitterness in the back of his throat.

Seemingly impressed, Hikaru sighed and said, “Huh. No wonder they call you Emil.”

Yoshiki wasn’t entirely sure who had given him the nickname “Emil” from the short story “Das Nachtpfauenauge” in their language arts textbook.

Yoshiki had never been an exemplary boy, nor was he particularly good at collecting specimens. It was just that at one point, he was influenced by something he saw online and started saying “I see, I see” as his standard way to indicate he was engaged in a conversation, and that somehow turned him into Emil. He couldn’t even remember if Emil actually used that phrase.

But Hikaru remembered those sorts of things.

There was also the time Yoshiki got another weird nickname after someone went around telling people that the moles on his face made the same shape as the Big Dipper. Yoshiki was sure that Hikaru remembered that, too. He didn’t know it, but he remembered it.

He looks just like Hikaru, but whatever he is, he ain’t Hikaru.

Yoshiki unconsciously gripped the handles of his bicycle.

This whole thing’s crazy. He’s crazy, and I’m just as crazy for accepting him.

His palms were damp with sweat, and he wanted to scream, “Just what the heck is that thing?!”

I’m so, so scared. Please, just stop already. You’re seriously creeping me out.

And as he wrestled with those fears, there was another thought in his mind.

But I don’t wanna be alone.

Even as he repeatedly apologized to someone in his own head, the thought remained.

“Oh! That reminds me!” Hikaru piped up. “So, I was thinkin’ next time, I could keep readin’ Master + Master at your place…”

Hikaru started to casually chat with Yoshiki, seemingly unaware of the struggle and turmoil happening within the boy.

“Sure. Fine with me,” Yoshiki replied. “Oh, so how far didja read?”

“Ron just left the island.”

“That’s barely anythin’ at all. You’re basically at the openin’ stage.”

If they were talking about the fairy tale of Momotaro, the old man wouldn’t have even gone to the mountains to gather wood—he’d still be lying in bed at home.

“All right. S’fine if you come over and read ’em next time you come by. But I’m missin’ volume three.”

“No worries. I’ll figure somethin’ out for that. But I was kinda wonderin’ why you got eleven copies of the first volume.”

Just as Yoshiki was about to explain that, a shrill voice launched at them from down the road. An ear-piercing scream that sounded like rough nails scraping against frosted glass.

It was Old Lady Matsuura, standing frozen with terror at the end of the road. Even though it was the middle of summer, she was wearing a long-sleeved sweatshirt. Now that it was evening, the temperature had cooled, but Yoshiki could still see from a distance that her forehead was beaded with sweat.

“Ah…ahhh… Whyyy…?” she moaned.

Her eyes, shriveled like dried grapes, trembled as she looked at them.

Actually, she was looking at Hikaru.

“Nounuki, don’t tell me yer down here nooow!”

As she wailed, Old Lady Matsuura’s hands, which were more wrinkle-and-bone than skin-and-bone, rattled, causing Hikaru’s eyes to widen.

“Whoa. The heck is that? Scary.”

“Eeek! Stay back! Go away! I said, git!”

Her voice wasn’t particularly loud. But the way she screeched, with a distorted quality that made it seem like she had forgotten how to scream, caused Yoshiki’s face to scrunch up with displeasure.

“Don’t pay her no mind,” he said. “I really hate this kinda stuff.”

Old Lady Matsuura would act like that sometimes and say strange things while wandering outside her house. The villagers felt bad for her because of that, and Yoshiki shared their sentiments, but being confronted by her like this was more than he could handle.

“Let’s go,” he urged Hikaru.