As the cafeteria filled with the clatter of trays and bursts of laughter, Saki’s gaze drifted toward the window. The sun hung high now, stretching long shadows across the school grounds. The courtyard appeared utterly ordinary in the daylight—no sign remained of the overnight campout except a few flattened patches of grass where the mattresses had lain.

That was when Mr. Hoshino’s voice rang out, unusually bright and almost cheerful for the stern teacher: “Regular classes resume! First period is mine—history. Everyone, be in the classroom with your textbooks in the next twenty minutes. Anyone late runs ten laps!”

The announcement hit like a shockwave. Students froze mid-bite. Some groaned in protest—“That’s not fair!”—while others choked on their food in sudden panic. Many had left their history textbooks at home, assuming the overnight courtyard sleepover would excuse a relaxed day. Those whose houses were nearby bolted like marathon runners, desperate to retrieve their books before facing Mr. Hoshino’s wrath.

Hensudo, in particular, panicked. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he sprinted toward the gate. Lily watched the chaos unfold with a quiet smirk, clearly enjoying the frenzy for the first time since arriving at the school.

Half an hour later—ten minutes past the start of class—the latecomers stumbled into the room, panting and disheveled. Mr. Hoshino cleared his throat pointedly and began the lecture without preamble.

Tison leaned toward a friend and whispered, “This guy really doesn’t know how to take a break.” A few snickers rippled through the back row, but Mr. Hoshino’s next throat-clearing was loud enough to silence them.

One brave student raised a hand. “Sensei, will we still get lunch at 10:30 like usual?”

Mr. Hoshino turned, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Always thinking of food first, hmm?” He nodded once. “Yes, lunch proceeds as scheduled.”

The backbenchers let out celebratory whistles—until Mr. Hoshino’s voice cut in sharply. “You three: break period cancelled. Write ‘I will never whistle in classroom’ two hundred and fifty times. Readable handwriting. You have thirty minutes.”

Their faces paled. Notebooks and loose paper appeared instantly as they hunched over their desks, scribbling furiously.

Mr. Hoshino resumed without missing a beat. “Today we discuss the end of Taishō Democracy, 1925–1926. The General Election Law of 1925 introduced universal manhood suffrage, granting all adult males the right to vote regardless of wealth or status. Yet, almost simultaneously, the Peace Preservation Law was enacted to suppress ideologies deemed threatening to the state.”

Lily, experiencing her first full class at this school, took notes with the wide-eyed enthusiasm of a curious child. Heads turned; no one else showed such genuine interest in the notoriously dry subject. Hensudo blushed at the sight of her diligence. Determined to look equally engaged, he copied the board with exaggerated focus and raised his hand.

“Sensei, could you explain the Peace Preservation Law in more detail?”

The backbenchers shot him murderous glares. Hensudo faltered, suddenly nervous under the scrutiny.

Mr. Hoshino’s eyes lit up. “An excellent question.” He turned back to the class. “The Peace Preservation Law of 1925 was a key instrument of ‘thought control’ in Imperial Japan. Passed by the National Diet, it targeted socialism, communism, anarchism, and any movement that might alter the kokutai—the national polity—or challenge the system of private property. It empowered the authorities to arrest and imprison those suspected of forming or joining such organizations, effectively stifling political dissent.”

Murmurs of complaint rose from students who now regretted Hensudo’s curiosity. Dave, scribbling furiously in his textbook, muttered curses and shot Hensudo a dark look. “I’ll see how much of a top student you really are, Hensudo. Fail this, and you’ll pay.” He cracked his knuckles for emphasis.

Michi snorted without looking up from her notes. “Sounds like karma. Someone’s about to get a beating.”

Hensudo’s blood ran cold—he knew Dave’s “beatings” were more psychological (and occasionally literal) than anyone cared to admit. Dave smirked wider.

Lily hid a smile behind her hand, eyes sparkling with amusement. Hensudo nodded along too enthusiastically. “Study is important. Respect.”

Yudashi caught Saki’s eye from across the room and raised an eyebrow—You good? She gave a subtle nod, tucking the purple handkerchief deeper into her sleeve. It remained her quiet anchor, a relic from simpler days before fragmented memories began resurfacing in her dreams.

Mr. Hoshino’s voice sliced through again. “Five minutes left. I’ll collect notebooks for checking by the final period—especially yours, backbenchers.”

The class scrambled to finish copying from the board. Saki, Lily, and Hensudo completed theirs first, their work neat and thorough. Jaws dropped around the room at the contrast to everyone else’s hurried scrawl.

The hallway outside felt quieter than usual as other classes proceeded smoothly. Junior students filed past toward the computer lab, their chatter a distant hum. Dave shouted triumphantly, “Done!”—only to shrink under Mr. Hoshino’s glare.

In the adjacent classroom, Ms. Tanaka’s monotone lecture drifted through the walls: the Meiji Restoration, a time of ghosts and rebirth, when old spirits clashed with the modern world.

Saki’s pen froze mid-sentence. Ghosts. The word pulled her back to the dream—Hisato’s retreating figure dissolving into fog, his name a silent scream in her throat. She hadn’t dwelled on him in years. Not since the accident that left her with nothing but this handkerchief and memories too painful to touch.

A note slid across her desk: Bored yet? Bet I can make this interesting. -D

She glanced at Dave, two seats away, who winked. Another note landed from Michi: Ignore him. He’s plotting something stupid.

Saki stifled a small grin, the knot in her chest loosening just a fraction. But as Ms. Tanaka continued about samurai honor and vanished eras, Saki’s thoughts drifted. What if Hisato wasn’t merely a dream? What if the phantom bullet—the ache that wasn’t there—was a warning?

The bell rang, snapping her back. Lunch passed in a whirlwind of cafeteria noise, but the afternoon shifted to PE under Mr. Sato’s watchful eye. He stood on the field like a sentinel, whistle at the ready. “Team drills. Pair up.”

Dave claimed Michi instantly. “Partners in crime?”

She rolled her eyes but stayed put. “Fine. No slacking.”

Hensudo approached Lily, cheeks pink. “Uh… team up? If you’re okay with it.”

She nodded, braid swaying. “Sure. What’s the drill?”

Yudashi paired with Tison, leaving Saki without a partner. She scanned the field, heart sinking—until Mr. Sato pointed. “Saki, with me. Demonstration.”

“Great,” Dave muttered, snickering. “Spotlight time.”

The drill was straightforward: dodgeball with zones marked by cones. Hitting a cone deducted points. “Focus,” Sato barked. “Anticipate. React.”

He threw the first ball—gentle speed, precise arc. Saki sidestepped smoothly and returned it with force, striking Dave square in the face as he mocked her from the sidelines.

Michi let out a low whistle. Dave stood stunned. I… lost to Saki? Seriously?

“Nice,” Sato grunted. “Again.”

Dave retreated to the bench, suddenly cheering for Michi instead.

The class watched the volley. Saki’s focus narrowed to the ball’s path, the dream momentarily fading. Then—a flicker. Fog crept in at the edges of her vision. Hisato’s voice echoed: Run, Saki!

She froze. The ball slammed into her shoulder.

“Ow!” She rubbed the spot, reality crashing back.

Sato frowned. “You all right? Looked distracted. That’s why focus matters—even after one good hit.”

“Sorry… just spaced out.”

He studied her a moment longer.

PE continued in a blur. Dave “accidentally” nailed Michi, earning a vengeful glare. Hensudo tripped spectacularly while trying to impress Lily; she helped him up with a laugh. Yudashi dodged effortlessly, earning cheers from a girl in the stands. Dave mocked, “Don’t let it go to your head.” Yudashi only smirked.

As the group headed to the lockers, Saki lingered on the field. The sun dipped low, bathing the sky in warm oranges and pinks—a sunset she remembered sharing with Hisato years ago, when he’d promised to shield her from every evil.

She unfolded the handkerchief carefully. Faded embroidery read: H & S…

A shadow fell across her. “That’s pretty,” Lily said softly. “Family heirloom?”

Saki startled, folding it away. “Something like that. An old friend gave it to me.”

Lily tilted her head. “It must be special. You seem… off today. Everything okay?”

“Bad sleep. Weird dreams.”

“About what?”

Before Saki could reply, Dave’s shout echoed from the entrance. “Hey! Everyone, check this out!”

He waved his phone. The group gathered around a grainy video posted on the school’s anonymous forum: midnight in the courtyard, thick fog, unnatural shadows darting among the sleeping bags.

“Ghost hunt gone wrong?” Michi quipped, though her tone held caution.

Hensudo leaned in—and blushed furiously when he spotted himself asleep, arms wrapped around Lily. She choked and hid her face. Dave shot him a mischievous grin.

Tison frowned. “Who filmed this? And why post it now?”

Dave snickered. “Our boy Yudashi, obviously.”

Saki’s blood turned to ice. In the footage, a silhouette lingered at the fog’s edge—a boy, back turned, just like her brother. “Zoom in.”

Dave obliged. The figure flickered, then vanished. But for an instant, his profile sharpened: sharp jaw, messy hair. Gisan.

“No way,” she whispered.

Lily gasped. “What is that? It looks like… a person.”

Mr. Hoshino appeared behind them, expression stern. “Delete it. Now. School policy—no unauthorized videos.”

“But Sensei—”

“Now.”

Dave complied, grumbling. Hoshino drew Saki aside. “You recognized something. What was it?”

She hesitated. “It… reminded me of someone. Gisan. My… brother.”

His gaze softened slightly. “Be careful what you chase, Saki. Some ghosts are better left buried.”

The words lingered as the group scattered for the day. Saki walked home alone through Tokyo’s bustling streets—children on bikes, rushing salarymen, takoyaki vendors calling out. Yet her mind remained elsewhere, tethered to a past that refused to stay silent.