ADEP Chapter 2 Saying Goodbye (Patreon)

Kuoh Park, 2001, Two Years Later

The summer air shimmered above the asphalt, turning the quiet neighborhood into a sleepy mirage. Heat wobbled over the streets, hydrangeas spilled over garden fences in clusters of blue and purple, cicadas screamed from the trees, and the little park where the four children always gathered was still dark and damp in patches from last night’s rain.

The slide was beaded with tiny droplets, the sandbox smelled faintly of wet earth, and the metal jungle gym was warm under the sun.

Issei arrived first. He came barreling down the narrow path like a launched firework, shoes slapping the ground, a plastic model robot clutched in both hands as if it were made of glass instead of cheap plastic. “Guys! It’s finally done!” he yelled, nearly tripping over the curb as he skidded to a stop in the middle of the park.

He stood there, chest heaving, hair sticking to his forehead, and raised his masterpiece. The paint still had that faint chemical smell, and the panel lines he’d painstakingly drawn in last night made it look, at least in his eyes, like the coolest thing in the world.

The other two were just in front of him.

Sanae practically bounced down the slide, ponytail swinging so wildly it was a miracle she didn’t smack herself in the face. She hit the grass running, arms slightly out as if the momentum might launch her into the air at any second.

Sumireko followed at a much more controlled pace, hands tucked behind her back, steps measured. She wore her usual composed, vaguely unimpressed expression, but her gaze kept flicking toward the model in Issei’s hands.

“You actually finished it?” Sanae gasped, skidding to his side. Her eyes went wide, reflecting the little plastic giant. “Issei, that looks amazing!”

“It’s just a toy,” Sumireko said, edging closer, voice flat and smug. She pushed her glasses up with a knuckle. “…But for a normie, you did a decent job.”

“Thanks?” Issei blinked, not sure if he should be proud or offended. “It was really tough.”

He remembered staying up too late, hunched over his tiny desk, tongue sticking out in concentration as he tried not to snap any more parts. The smell of glue, the sharp sting when he’d cut his finger with the hobby knife, the way his eyes had gone blurry from staring too hard at the instructions.

“For you, maybe,” Sumireko sniffed, ‘I stayed up late thinking about trying one too but I’ll die before I admit it.’

Sanae shook her head, ponytail swaying like a metronome. She really had changed over the past two years. The girl who used to hover at the edges of conversations was gone; in her place stood a confident girl. Being around Issei and Irina had dragged her out of her shell bit by bit. Sumireko’s brazen confidence had rubbed off on her too. 

“Issei taught me how to paint panel lines!” Sanae announced proudly, puffing her chest out excited. “Next time I’ll build one too! A huge one! Maybe with missile launchers! And a magic cannon!”

“That’s not a real thing,” Sumireko said automatically.

“It should be!” Sanae shot back without missing a beat.

Issei grinned, the tiredness from running replaced with pure excitement. “It does sound awesome,” he admitted.

Sanae practically glowed at the praise, cheeks warming, shoulders straightening.

This was their normal. Their everyday.

Four kids laughing too loudly in a park playing games, having fun, arguing about robots, ghosts in school bathrooms, and whether miracles counted as “cheats”. But today wasn’t normal.

Today, every laugh felt a little too sharp around the edges. Because standing beneath the shade of the playground roof, half-hidden behind a metal pole, was Irina Shidou.

She was clutching a small suitcase with both hands—so tightly her knuckles were white. Her hair was the same short orange color. Her shirt was a little wrinkled, as if she’d dressed in a hurry. Her smile was small, fragile and forced. The kind of smile that tried very hard not to break.

“You guys came,” she said.

Of course they did. The world could’ve cracked in half, the sky could’ve fallen, the trains could’ve stopped running—none of that would have mattered. If Irina called, they would come running.

—-------------------------------------

Three days ago.

Issei sat cross-legged on the floor of the Shidou’s home, a half-finished hero manga splayed open on his lap. Sanae and Sumireko sat beside him, Sanae fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, Sumireko pretending to read over his shoulder while actually just listening for every creak and murmur in the next room.

Irina had been called in by her parents “for a talk.”

That was never a good thing. Muffled adult voices drifted from the sliding door to the adjoining room. Issei couldn’t make out the words, only the tones—gentle, serious, strained.

Irina’s voice came last. A startled, “W-what?” that made all three of them flinch.

Sanae’s hands clenched tighter. “That didn’t sound good,” She whispered.

Sumireko adjusted her glasses with a sharp push, though they hadn’t slipped. “…No kidding.”

The sliding door opened a few minutes later with the soft scrape of wood on track. Irina stepped out first. Her eyes were red around the edges.

Behind her, her father, Shidou Touji, wore a priest’s collar and a tired smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Irina’s mother stood at his side, hands folded in front of her, worry etched across her face.

“Irina-chan,” her mother said gently, “do you want us to—”

Irina shook her head quickly. “I’ll… I’ll tell them.” Her gaze slid to the three kids on the floor.

Issei’s stomach dropped. He knew that look. It was the same look Irina had worn once when she’d confessed to breaking his favorite toy by accident. Except this time, there was no annoyed flush, no quick grin, no “But it’s okay, I’ll fix it.”

“Irina?” Issei said slowly, closing the manga without looking at it. “What happened?”

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. For a heartbeat, she just stood there, hands shaking at her sides, eyes shining too much.

Then she sucked in a breath and forced the words out. “My dad’s… been called back,” She said. “To his church. In Europe.”

The word hung in the air like something heavy and foreign.

“Europe?” Sanae echoed, blinking. Her world map was mostly made of stories and myths; Europe was a far-away place where saints and dragons and gods with impossible names did things in books. “Like… across the ocean Europe?”

Irina nodded.

“I’m being reassigned,” Shidou Touji said from the doorway, voice soft but firm, like someone trying not to scare small animals. “It’s… important. So we’ll be leaving soon.”

“We?” Sumireko repeated.

Irina swallowed. “Me and Mom too.”

Sanae reacted first. She shot to her feet so fast she nearly tripped over the manga on the floor. “No!” she blurted. “She can’t just go to another continent! That’s not fair!” Her voice cracked on the last word. She didn’t care.

Irina flinched, shoulders hunching. “Sanae…”

“That’s not even close,” Sumireko cut in, her own voice too calm, too flat. She stayed sitting, but her back was rigid, spine a straight line of rebellion. Her jaw tightened behind her glasses. “Europe…? That’s not even… anywhere near here.” It sounded stupid as soon as she said it, but the distance felt too big to articulate properly.

You couldn’t ride your bike to Europe. You couldn’t hop on a train after school and be in Europe by dinner. You couldn’t sneak out at night and throw pebbles at someone’s window if they were in Europe.

Issei didn’t say anything. He thought he would. He thought something would leap out of his mouth, like it always did—some loud objection, a bad joke.

Instead, nothing came. The room suddenly felt too small. The air thickened, heavy in his lungs.

Irina is leaving, some part of his brain whispered. ‘No, he snapped back at it. No, she’s not. She can’t. She promised we’d be friends forever.’

But the adults were there. And adults didn’t joke about things like this.

His gaze flicked to the table in the corner.

There were documents stacked there—papers with official-looking stamps, printed tickets with dates and times, a partially open suitcase with shirts already folded inside.

This wasn’t a maybe.

It was already happening.

His ears rang.

Shidou Touji knelt down so he was closer to their eye level. His smile was kind and apologetic all at once. “I know this is a lot to take in,” he said. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. The decision was made very quickly.”

“Can’t you say no?” Sanae demanded, eyes already glossy. “Can’t you tell them you have to stay? That Irina has school and friends and—and a life here?”

Irina’s mother stepped forward, kneeling beside her husband. “If it were just about us, maybe,” she said gently. “But this is… important work. And we want to stay together as a family.”

Sanae’s mouth opened, then closed. She knew what that meant. She thought of her own parents, of the way her mother sometimes looked at the old Moriya Shrine with a faraway gaze. Of whispered about obligations and “starting over.”

Sumireko stared at the tickets on the table as if she could burn holes through them with her mind. “How long,” she said, voice barely above a whisper, “are you going to be gone?”

Shidou Touji hesitated. That told them more than any number would have. “…We don’t know yet,” he admitted. “A few years, at least.”

A few years.

At ten, that might as well have been forever.

Issei swallowed, throat dry. His vision tunneled, focusing only on Irina.

Irina standing there in the doorway. Irina who had once punched a bully twice her size for stealing his card. Irina who always called him friend. Irina who laughed loud and bright, who declared she’d be a hero who’d stand beside him on every battlefield, real or imagined. Irina, who was staring at him like she was waiting for him to say something and she already knew he couldn’t fix this.

Irina was… Irina.

His first friend. The first person who had ever grabbed his hand. His first everything. And she was leaving.

His chest hurt. Not like falling and scraping his knee or getting hit in the stomach during dodgeball. This was something else—an ache rising from somewhere deep and unfamiliar. It felt like someone had reached inside and scooped something out, leaving a hollow space that the air couldn’t quite reach.

He stared down at his hands, flexing his fingers as if he might be able to grab onto something, anchor himself to the present before it slipped.

“Issei?” Irina’s voice shook.

He looked up.

She was crying now, just a bit, tears clinging to her lashes. She tried to smile, because that’s what Irina did when things were scary; she smiled and charged forward anyway. “I…” she started, then faltered. “…I don’t want to go either.”

The admission cracked something in the air.

Sanae bit her lip hard enough to hurt. Sumireko’s fingers dug into her skirt, knuckles white.

Issei wanted to say a hundred things. ‘Don’t go. Stay. I’ll talk to your dad or something. I’ll build a robot that can cross the ocean. I’ll—’ 

Nothing that came to mind made sense. So he just sat there. Silent.

The adults said a few more things—about letters, and calls, and how people who cared about each other could still be friends across distances. Promises about visiting “someday.” Practical talk about packing and flight times he barely heard.

The world had tilted.

Everything sounded far away, like he was underwater.

By the time they left the Shidou apartment that evening, the sky was washed in orange. The cicadas screamed louder than ever, as if trying to fill the spaces no one could.

Sanae walked with her head down, clutching the strap of her bag.

Sumireko stared straight ahead, jaw set, eyes hidden by the reflection on her glasses.

Issei trudged between them, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

None of them spoke.

They didn’t have the words yet.

All they knew was that in three days, their world would be smaller and nothing felt right at all.

—-------------------------------

They didn’t waste a second. The moment the awkward hellos were over, they ran.

They played tag until their legs burned and their lungs felt like they’d been scrubbed with sandpaper. They raced up the slide instead of down, shoes slipping on the metal as they clawed their way to the top, laughing when they tumbled back in a heap. They reenacted their favorite hero scenes, Issei shouting attack names, Irina posing with an invisible sword, Sanae waving her arms dramatically like she was casting divine spells while Sumireko yelled about “reality marbles” and “forbidden techniques.”

Sanae planted herself in the middle of the park, hands raised to the blazing blue sky. “Great wind goddess! Snake god! Or—uh—whoever’s listening! Give us a miracle!” She shouted at the clouds.

Nothing happened, obviously—no light from the heavens, no divine choir. But a breeze did pick up, cool against their sweaty faces, rustling the leaves overhead.

“See?” Issei pointed triumphantly. “A Miracle!”

“That’s just the weather,” Sumireko said, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

“You believed for a second,” Sanae accused, pointing at her. “I saw your face!”

“I absolutely did not,” Sumireko lied. Then she clapped her hands once, suddenly serious. “Alright. Before you go, we’re doing one last paranormal reenactment. I demand it.”

They groaned, but they followed her anyway as she marched them around the park, pointing dramatically at places she’d clearly chosen in advance.

“Here,” she declared, standing by the swings, “is where the ‘Cursed Evening Swing’ chooses its victim. On cold days, if you sit on it alone after sunset—”

“That’s just where you fell off and got a nosebleed,” Irina said.

“That was an omen,” Sumireko snapped.

They ended up acting it all out anyway—Irina playing the doomed protagonist, Issei as the overly dramatic ghost, Sanae as the panicking best friend while Sumireko narrated in an ominous voice that kept cracking.

They laughed. Too loud as if laughter could delay the morning. As if the sun would stay up if they just refused to let it set.

At one point, Issei grabbed Irina by the wrists and spun her, lifting her up off the ground. She shrieked and then broke into giggles, sandals kicking at the air as he hoisted her as high as his ten-year-old arms could manage.

“Behold! Flying sword saint!” he yelled.

“I’m gonna kick your face if you drop me!” She yelled back, but her grin was blinding.

Click.

Sanae snapped a picture with the disposable camera she’d bought that morning with carefully hoarded shrine-offering coins. She lowered it, staring at the viewfinder like she could already see the developed photo. ‘I’m gonna keep that one in my picture book,’ She thought, heart tight. ‘So it feels like we’re all still here, even when we’re not.’

Sumireko pretended she didn’t care about the camera at all, turning her head away with a scoff whenever Sanae raised it.

In reality, every time she noticed it pointing somewhere else, she casually drifted back into frame, adjusting her angle to be just to the side of Issei or Irina without making it obvious. ‘If memories are going to hurt,’ She told herself, ‘I’d at least like to be in them.’

When they finally burned through all their energy, they collapsed onto the grass in a tangled pile, the earth was cool through their clothes. The sky above was too blue, the kind that made you feel small in a way that didn’t usually bother kids.

Today, it did.

Irina lay on her back, arms spread out, fingers brushing the grass. Her suitcase sat propped against the park bench a few meters away, an ugly reminder that this wasn’t just another summer day.

“I’m gonna miss this,” She whispered, eyes tracking a slow-moving cloud. Her smile trembled at the edges. “Miss you guys.”

Sanae instantly sat up, knees digging into the grass. “We’ll write!” she blurted. “I’ll send you drawings! And pictures! And stories! And— and I’ll tell you whenever the shrine gets new visitors! And if a miracle happens, you’ll be the first to know!”

“And we’ll visit someday,” Issei added, forcing the wobble out of his voice by sheer stubbornness. He propped himself up on his elbows, trying to look confident, like a hero making a vow. “I’ll get on a plane and fly to wherever you are.”

Irina let out a small snort, even as her eyes shimmered. “Issei, you get motion sick on swings.”

“Th-that’s not the point!” He protested, flushing.

Sumireko turned away, arms crossing tightly over her chest. “…I’ll one day figure out a teleportation spell.” She muttered. “Then I’ll just show up in your living room. No plane needed.”

“You can’t just teleport into people’s houses!” Sanae yelped, scandalized. “That’s illegal! Or… rude! Or both!”

“I can if I learn how,” Sumireko said, chin tilting up. “Dimensional trespassing laws aren’t real yet.”

“That’s not how—”

Irina laughed again, cutting Sanae off. The sound started bright and familiar, the same laugh they’d heard a thousand times on a hundred afternoons. Then, halfway through, it cracked.

Her shoulders shook once. She sat up abruptly, as if staying lying down any longer would let the tears spill over.

Without warning, she threw her arms around the two closest to her—Issei and Sanae—dragging them into a tight, almost desperate hug.

Issei stiffened for a heartbeat, then clung back just as fiercely. Sanae squeaked, then wrapped her arms around both of them, fingers curling into the fabric of Irina’s shirt.

Sumireko hesitated. Then she huffed, rolling her eyes like this was all incredibly inconvenient, scooted forward, and wrapped her arms around the whole knot of them from the side. “It’s structurally unsound to hug like that,” she grumbled, voice thick. “You’re all going to fall over.”

No one believed her excuse.

Irina squeezed them tightly, as if she could imprint the shape of them into her bones before she left. “I really don’t want to go,” She whispered, so quietly it was almost lost under the buzz of cicadas.

And suddenly, the others couldn’t breathe.

The park blurred around the edges, but none of them let go.

—----------------------

It was time for Irina to leave.

The sun had dipped low enough that the sky was streaked with orange and pink, the shadows of the swings and slide stretching long and thin across the grass. The cicadas had quieted to a lazy hum.

At the edge of the park, by the rusted gate, a small car idled with a soft, steady rumble. The trunk was already closed. The backseat door hung open.

Inside, Irina’s parents waited. Her mother sat twisted in her seat, watching the park with worried eyes. Her father leaned out the window, one hand cupped to his mouth. “Irina!” he called gently. “It’s time to go!”

No more delays. No more pretending this was just another long summer day.

Issei lasted the longest. He tried, really, really tried to be strong today. To be the kind of hero he and Irina always played at being. To be strong for her, the girl who had spent so much of their early years charging ahead, punching bullies, laughing off scraped knees, and telling him, “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”

But as the car’s engine idled and the sky darkened by degrees, the park seemed to grow heavier around them. The air thickened. Every second felt loud.

Irina stepped back from their last group hug, fingers reluctantly releasing their shirts. “I…” She looked at each of them, one by one, eyes shining too bright. “…I guess this is goodbye.”

Sanae burst into tears instantly. There was no buildup, no warning. One second she was biting her lip, trying valiantly to hold it together; the next, the dam broke. She ran forward and threw herself at Irina, hugging her with both arms so tightly it almost knocked them both off-balance. “I’ll miss you so much,” She sobbed, words tumbling out between hiccups. “I don’t want you to leave, I don’t want anything to change!”

Irina staggered, then wrapped her arms around Sanae just as tightly, fingers curling into the back of her shirt. “It won’t change,” She said, but her voice was breaking too. “We’ll still be friends. Always. I promise.”

Sanae nodded against her shoulder, even though some part of her knew things were changing, that tomorrow there would be an empty space at school, an extra untouched cup at the shrine whenever she brought snacks. She clung harder anyway, as if she could physically hold Irina here just a little longer.

Sumireko didn’t cry. Not at first. She stood a few steps away, shoulders drawn up, hands clenched into fists so tight her nails dug into her palms. Her glasses hid her eyes, reflecting the fading light.

Then Irina gently let go of Sanae and turned toward her. She looked at Sumireko with those same bright, fearless eyes she’d had the day they met in class, the moment a boy and girl who’d marched over to Sumireko’s desk and said, “Your occult stuff is weird, but it’s kinda cool. Let’s be friends.”

Now those eyes were wet.

Sumireko’s mouth trembled. “I hate this,” she said quietly. Her voice came out rougher than she meant it to. “I hate that the world is big and stupid and that countries exist and trains can’t just go everywhere and—and—” Her throat closed around the words.

Irina smiled sadly, that particular twist of her lips that said she agreed. “I know.”

Sumireko finally broke. Tears spilled over, streaking down her cheeks before she could turn away. She made a frustrated noise, half a sob and half a growl, she took three quick steps forward, dragging Irina into a fierce hug.

“I’m gonna figure something out,” she mumbled into Irina’s shoulder. “Teleportation. Dimensional Gates. I don’t care. Just—just don’t forget us, okay? Don’t you dare.”

Irina laughed weakly, hugging her back. “I couldn’t forget you if I tried.”

Then, at last, Irina turned to Issei. The boy who had been her first friend.

The idiot who always believed she could be a hero and somehow made everyone around him start believing too. The one she’d secretly promised herself she’d marry when they were “grown up” —which, in her ten-year-old calculations, meant “taller than the couch. 

Issei stood a little apart, feet planted, fists trembling at his sides. He’d watched Sanae and Sumireko have their moments, jaw clenched, teeth digging into the inside of his cheek. His chest hurt so much he was surprised he could still breathe.

Irina stepped closer. “Issei,” she said softly. “You’re crying?”

“No,” He said in reflex. He absolutely was. Tears were already sliding down his face, dripping from his chin. He sniffed hard, tried to scrub them away with the heel of his palm, but they just kept coming. “I don’t want you to go,” He choked, the words finally tearing themselves out of him. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair at all.”

All the unfairness of the last three days spilled out in that one line—every sleepless night, every moment staring at the ceiling thinking how he could change this.

Irina’s expression crumpled. She stepped forward until she was right in front of him and reached up, cupping his cheeks in both hands. Her thumbs brushed away his tears, even as more fell to replace them.

“Heroes don’t always get to win,” she whispered. “But they never stop trying.”

He stared at her through the blur, breathing uneven. Then he swallowed hard, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat. “Then… I’ll keep trying,” he said. “I’ll get strong. And someday, I’ll find you again. No matter how far.”

It was a childish oath. Impossible and dramatic. But he meant every word of it.

Irina smiled brightly through her own tears. “Then I’ll be waiting,” she said. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his for a brief, trembling second.

When Irina finally pulled away, Issei’s hands lifted automatically, fingers stretching out as if to catch her, to hold onto just one more second.

But she was already stepping back, breaking the contact. She bent, picked up her small suitcase, and straightened again. Irina looked at all three of them, Sanae with her red-rimmed eyes, Sumireko with her wet glasses, Issei with his blotchy cheeks.

“Goodbye.” She said quietly. Then she turned and walked away.

Her shoes scuffed softly against the path as she crossed the park, suitcase wheels rattling over cracks in the pavement. Her father stepped out of the car to help her with the door. Her mother waved once toward the park, eyes shining.

None of the kids waved back. They just stood there. They watched until Irina’s figure was swallowed by the car, until the door shut with a dull thump. Until the engine’s rumble deepened and the car pulled away from the curb.

They followed it with their eyes until it turned the corner and disappeared. Only then did they realize how quiet the park had become.

The streetlights flickered on one by one, bathing the empty swings in pale yellow. The cicadas finally fell silent, as if even they thought this was a moment that didn’t need noise.

Issei, Sanae, and Sumireko remained where they were for a long time.

Then, slowly, they gravitated toward each other. No one said anything clever. No one tried to make a joke.

Sanae reached for Issei’s sleeve. Sumireko brushed against his shoulder. He lifted his arms, awkward but earnest, and pulled them both in. They stood there in the middle of the little park, three kids clinging to each other in the cooling air, as the night settled around them like a heavy, unfamiliar blanket.

—------------------------

Two months later 

Usami’s Residence

The night was heavy and humid. In a small bedroom, lit only by the faint orange glow of a streetlamp leaking through the curtains, Sumireko Usami tossed and turned in her futon.

Her dream was a mess.

She was standing in the park again, Irina’s back getting farther and farther away no matter how fast she ran. The car stretched into an endless tunnel, the road warped, the sky split open to show a swirling, impossible void. It was then that Issei and Sanae were also leaving as both abandoned her. She quickly tried to move and yet she couldn’t reach anyone. Her hand stretched forward, fingers splayed, and the world bent—

She jolted awake with a gasp. “—gh!” Her heart hammered against her ribs like it was trying to escape. Sweat clung to her back, her bangs stuck to her forehead. For a few seconds, all she could hear was the thud-thud-thud in her ears.

“…Just a dream,” she muttered hoarsely, forcing herself to breathe slower. “Just… a dream. Get a grip, Usami.”

She quickly grabbed her glasses up from the little box by her pillow and shoved them onto her face.

And froze.

Her pillow wasn’t touching the bed. Neither was the corner of her blanket. Or the notebook she always kept at arm’s reach. They hovered, actually hovered about two centimeters above the bed, trembling in the air like someone had pressed pause on reality.

Sumireko stared, her brain blanking out for a solid second.

Then gravity remembered its job. Everything dropped in slow motion, pillow, notebook, and her blanket falling back onto the bed with soft, mundane thumps.

Silence.

Sumireko’s fingers shook as she reached out and poked the pillow, just to be sure it hadn’t somehow grown springs. “…Okay,” she whispered. “Either I’m still dreaming… or…”

Or. The word hung in the air, sparking like a fuse.

Her eyes widened behind her lenses. “No way,” she breathed. “No way. Did I…?”

She replayed the last few seconds in her head. The fading echo of the dream, the way her whole body had jolted as she woke, the sensation of something rushing out of her like a shout without sound.

Her heart kicked up again, but for a completely different reason. “I did it,” She whispered, each syllable trembling with disbelief and glee. “I did it. I awakened. I— pff— hah—” The laugh started in her chest and exploded out of her mouth like a firework.

“YES!” She hissed, practically vibrating. “I knew it! I knew it! Take THAT, boring reality!”

She grabbed her notebook and hugged it to her chest, rolling onto her back and kicking her feet in the air like a little kid. “Usami Sumireko, psychic genius! Future paranormal detective! Hah! Who’s ‘weird’ now, huh?” Her “whisper” had very quickly turned into a full-volume celebration.

“SUMIREKO!” Her mother’s voice shot down the hallway like a bullet. “It’s the middle of the night! Go to sleep!”

Sumireko flinched so hard she nearly threw the notebook. “Sorry!” She squeaked reflexively, then clamped a hand over her own mouth.

The apartment fell quiet again, aside from the faint hum of the fridge and the distant sound of a car passing outside.

Sumireko lay there for a moment, heart racing, staring at the ceiling. Then, slowly, she lowered her hand. “…Okay,” She whispered, much softer. “No more screaming. Experiment time.”

She sat up cross-legged on the futon, set the notebook in front of her, and took a long, steadying breath. Her fingers curled, hovering over the air above it.

Focus, she told herself. Just like in the dream. Reach out without moving. Push without touching.

She narrowed her eyes, staring at the notebook as if she could drill into it.

Her mind felt… different. Buzzier. Like a radio that had finally tuned into a station that had always been there, just out of reach. There was a weird tingling behind her eyes, a pressure at the base of her skull.

“Move,” she murmured.

Nothing happened.

She frowned. “Okay. Rude.”

She tried again. Over and over. Adjusting how she focused, how she breathed, how she imagined the push. Minutes crawled by. The clock on her bedside table ticked loud in the silence. Then, finally the corner of the notebook twitched.

Just a little. Just once.

Sumireko’s breath caught. “…Again,” She whispered.

This time, it lifted.

Barely a centimeter, barely a heartbeat, but it lifted. It dropped a second later, but that didn’t matter.

She grinned as a slow wide almost feral smile grew. “That’s it,” she breathed. “That’s it. I knew it. I knew I wasn’t just some weirdo with too many books.”

All the times people had rolled their eyes at her stories, called her wierd, told her to “grow out of it already”—they flashed through her mind like slides.

She laughed under her breath, head tilting back. “Joke’s on you,” she muttered. “I am the main character.” From that night on, something in Sumireko Usami shifted.

She still waved off comments at school with a smirk, still called herself an “esper” half-jokingly—but now, there was a steel core under the theatrics. A quiet, sharp arrogance that didn’t care if people believed her or not.

Because she knew. Her powers were real.

The world was weirder than everyone pretended and if anyone called her a delusional chuunibyou again? She’d just smile, push her glasses up, and think: You have no idea how right I am. She can’t wait to show Issei and Sanae tomorrow.

—-----------------------------

Kuoh

The next day after school, Issei and Sanae walked side by side through the quiet residential streets of Kuoh, backpacks bouncing lightly with each step.

“Why did Sumireko tell us to go to her home?!” Sanae complained

“Well, she did say it was too ‘sensitive and reality-shattering’ to show at school,” Issei muttered, doing air quotes with his fingers.

Sanae sighed. “That just means she’s being dramatic again. Last time it was a ‘cursed vending machine’ that just ate her coins.”

“It was suspicious,” Issei defended weakly. “It beeped weird.”

They stopped in front of a modest apartment building. Issei looked up at the second floor balcony that had a few small potted plants and what looked like a wind chime shaped like a pentagram. They climbed the stairs, and before they could knock properly, the door opened a crack.

A single brown eye peered through. “You’re late,” Sumireko said, voice low and theatrical. “The stars don’t wait forever, you know.”

Issei looked at his phone. “We’re… five minutes early.”

The eye narrowed. “…You’re late emotionally.” Then she cleared her throat and opened the door all the way. “Ahem. Anyway, welcome to the sanctum of the Secret Sealing Club president.”

Sanae stepped in first, taking off her shoes. “You came up with that name this morning, didn’t you?”

Sumireko ignored her and gestured grandly. “Enter. And prepare to have your perception of reality permanently altered.”

Issei followed, shutting the door behind them.

Sumireko’s room was small, but every inch of it screamed occult nerd. Posters of constellations, magic circles, and old astronomical charts covered the walls. A corkboard above her desk was pinned with photos, sticky notes, and bits of string connecting them like some detective drama. A stack of thick books sat near the bed—titles about psychic phenomena, folklore, and “hidden dimensions” in English and Japanese.

In the corner, a cheap plastic skeleton wearing her spare blazer and hat stared at them with a fixed grin.

“…You gave it your uniform,” Sanae said flatly.

“It’s club attire,” Sumireko said. “For our honorary member, Mr. Bones.”

Issei looked around with wide eyes. “Your room has gotten even cooler since last time…”

Sanae shot him a look. “Cool? It looks like a conspiracy theorist exploded.”

“A stylish conspiracy theorist,” Sumireko corrected, planting her hands on her hips. “Now sit. The demonstration is about to begin.”

They both dropped onto the floor cushions in front of her desk, glancing at each other in mild confusion and curiosity.

Issei leaned toward Sanae and whispered, “What do you think she’s gonna show? A haunted pencil? The cursed vending machine’s revenge?”

“Knowing her?” Sanae whispered back. “Maybe she found another ‘mysterious shadow’ that was actually a cat.”

Sumireko cleared her throat loudly. “I can hear you, you know.”

They straightened immediately.

She stepped behind her desk, back straight, eyes shining with that familiar, dangerous excitement. But there was something different this time—a quiet confidence, like she was holding onto a secret she knew would shock them.

“All right,” she said. “You two have mocked my investigations long enough.”

“We don’t mock them—” Issei started.

“Yes you do,” she said, cutting him off. “But that’s fine. Because today… I’m going to show you something that will erase all doubt.”

She raised her right hand over the desk, fingers spread. Her expression shifted—less hammy acting, more focused. The room, usually noisy with their nonstop commentary, went oddly quiet.

Issei and Sanae watched as she took a slow breath.

“Behold,” Sumireko said softly, “the birth of a new era.”

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the book on her desk, the thick one about ESP and psychic research—shivered.

Issei blinked. It wasn’t the wind; the windows were shut. The air felt strangely heavy.

Suddenly the book rose.

Not a trick of the eye, not a wobble from the desk, it lifted off the wooden surface, floating a few centimeters in the air, pages fluttering as if an invisible hand had grabbed the spine.

Issei’s mouth dropped open.

Sanae’s eyes went wide, her green irises reflecting the impossible.

The book slowly turned in the air, rotating once, twice, like it was posing for them.

Sumireko’s bangs stirred in a breeze that didn’t exist. Then, with a small, controlled motion of her fingers, she lowered her hand. The book descended with it, as if attached by a string only she could see, and settled back onto the desk with a soft thump.

Silence.

Issei’s brain supplied a lot of words. None of them made it to his mouth. “…No way,” he finally breathed. “No way. No way no way no way—”

Sanae’s hands were pressed to her chest. “That… that wasn’t magnets… right? Or strings? Or—”

“Magnets don’t make the air feel like it’s humming,” Issei muttered. He stared at the book like it might jump again.

Sumireko, for a full second, tried to keep a straight, cool expression. Then she broke into the smuggest grin they’d ever seen on her. “So?” She said, unable to keep the laughter out of her voice. “Still think I’m just playing as an occult obsessed girl?”

“That was real,” Sanae whispered. She looked up at Sumireko, eyes sparkling. “You actually… you really did it. That was telekinesis, right? Real psychic power?”

Issei scooted closer to the desk, staring at her like she’d suddenly stepped out of a manga. “Sumireko, that was—that was so awesome! How did you do it? When did this happen? Can you lift other stuff? Can you lift me?”

“Hold on, one at a time!” Sumireko said, but she was clearly enjoying every second, shoulders pulling back, chin tilting up. “Yes, it’s real. No strings, no magnets. This is the culmination of my tireless research into psychic phenomena, concentrated talent, and exceptional genius.”

Sanae leaned forward. “When did it start?”

“Last night.” Sumireko said, dropping into her chair and spinning it once before stopping, letting her cape flare for maximum effect. “I was having a weird dream and a headache. When I suddenly woke up and things moved on their own as it was floating in the air until it dropped. At first I thought it was just wind or earthquakes. Then—”

“Then you realized it was you.” Issei said, eyes shining.

Sumireko blinked, then smiled. “Exactly. I finally focused, calmed my mind, tried that old spoon-bending stuff from TV… and the book lifted.” She looked at her hands, flexing her fingers with a little thrill. “I’ve been practicing ever since. Today was the first time I’ve done it this calmly in front of someone else.”

Sanae suddenly grabbed her hands. “That was amazing,” She said, sincerity pouring out of her. “Sumireko, that’s—this is like something out of a fantasy story, but it’s real. You did that.”

Sumireko flushed a little at the open praise, though she tried to keep her smirk. “Well, of course I did. I’m not just some random weirdo muttering about spirits behind the school. I told you the world’s hiding secrets.”

Issei’s brain finally caught up to the most important thought. “…Do you think we can do it too?”

Both girls looked at him.

Issei’s eyes were wide and hopeful. “I mean… if you awakened some kind of hidden power, maybe everyone can, right? What if Sanae or I have something like that too? Maybe I can shoot fire or something.”

“You just want to be a hero.” Sanae groaned, but there was a small smile on her lips. “But… if Sumireko can do it… why not us?”

Sumireko leaned back, folding her arms, the perfect picture of a smug little sorceress. “To be honest? I don’t know if you can. This might just be the manifestation of my natural potential. A once-in-a-generation psychic genius—”

Sanae’s grip on her hands tightened. “But we can try… right?” Sanae said, voice soft but fierce. “If there’s even a chance, I want to know. If you can do something… beyond normal… I want to see if I can too.”

Issei nodded quickly. “Yeah! Even if we don’t get cool powers, I at least wanna say I tried. And if we do, we can be like a superhero team!”

Sumireko stared at them for a long moment. They weren’t scared of her. They weren’t backing away. Their eyes were full of awe, curiosity, and a little envy—but no fear. Warmth curled in her chest.

“…Fine,” She said, pretending to think very hard about it. “As the founding president of the Secret Sealing Club, I suppose I can allow two honorary members.” She pointed to the cushion across from her. “Sit down. Cross-legged. Back straight. We’re going to see if you two have any talent.”

Issei and Sanae quickly did as they were told, sitting opposite her, forming a rough triangle on the floor.

“Okay,” Sumireko said, pulling a pen to herself with a tiny telekinetic tug and dropping it in the center between them. “Lesson one. Focus. Don’t think about tests, or homework, or what’s for dinner. Think about this pen. Imagine it moving. Don’t force it. Don’t strain. Just… will it.”

Issei stared at the pen like it owed him money. “Move,” he whispered. “Move. Move. Move. By the power of me, move—”

“Don’t chant,” Sumireko said. “You’ll just give yourself a headache.”

Sanae closed her eyes instead, palms resting on her knees, breathing slowly. She tried to copy how Sumireko had looked—calm, centered, like the world was sliding into alignment with her will.

The clock ticked softly on the wall.

The three kids held their breath and tried to touch something invisible. The pen didn’t budge.

“Nothing,” Issei groaned after a minute, slumping. “I knew it. I’m just normal.”

“Hey,” Sumireko said, frowning. “It took me forever for my powers to arrive and to get anything to move. If you got it in the first five minutes, I’d be the jealous one.”

Sanae peeked one eye open. “…Can we keep trying?”

Sumireko smiled slowly. “Yeah,” she said. “We’ve got all afternoon.”

And so they did.

They spent hours in that small, cluttered room trying to make pens even twitch with their mind. Balancing erasers on their fingertips to feel the energy. Arguing about what they would name their super team once they all awakened powers.And laughing when Issei swore he felt something every time his stomach growled.

By the time the sun dipped low and painted the room orange, nothing else had floated.

Done. Tell me what you think and if I made any mistakes.This commission was brought to you by Deus Ex Mima. So be sure to thank him.