chapter 23
23: The Two in Adolescence
As you pass through the street with trees that bear pale pink flowers, you can see a gentle uphill slope.
The middle school building is beyond that, and this gentle but long slope mercilessly drains the energy of the students who rush up at the last minute to avoid being late.
On top of that, if the first period is social studies, the sleep-inducing voice of the teacher in charge adds to it, turning the study desks into pillows and the hard chairs into beds.
The faces of my classmates haven’t changed much since elementary school.
There are few new students from outside, so it feels like the sixth-grade class from elementary school has simply continued, except for Sheila not being there.
As a first-year middle school student, I had developed a habit of looking out the window.
Having lived for twelve years until now, I had started to think, “Maybe there are no enemies in this world after all?”
I used to think, “They definitely exist,” but now I’m only half-convinced.
Yes, I was tired of life.
Middle school. Arithmetic has become mathematics, social studies has been divided into multiple categories, and ancient languages have been added to the language curriculum. Physical education is now segregated by gender, and among the boys in the class, trading “found erotic images” has become popular.
But I just smile as I watch my classmates full of vitality. …Ah, how silly. What is the meaning of life? What is life? Why do people live?
I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t understand the motivation. Isn’t life just a purposeless existence, spending the moratorium until “death” without realizing the boredom?
Gradually, I became detached from everyone, spending lunch breaks on the rooftop, just staring into the distance.
The handrail of the suicide prevention fence is chipped and exposes its brown interior in places. The clean green paint is rusty and unsightly, somehow resembling a human being.
I vaguely understand the cause of this weariness.
I want to know. I want reassurance that this life is not meaningless. I want assurance that there is meaning to my struggle in this life, that it is something recognized by someone and deserving of acknowledgment.
But I can’t talk to anyone about my worries.
Transmigration to another world. A battle with an unknown—”existing” and even unassured “enemy.”
…Yes, this emptiness was caused by the absence of understanding.
At the age of thirteen, the fact of being “alone” weighs heavily on my heart.
Anna-senpai is busy with the student council, and I haven’t been able to talk to her lately.
The frequency of Milim visiting our house has decreased. We get along well when we meet, and we communicate frequently through our mobile devices, but she’s not someone I can confide my inner troubles to.
Sheila. I remember her, the one who’s no longer here.
Thinking back, she was the only one with whom I could have straightforward arguments. Until now, I hadn’t even been aware of it, but suddenly, the time I spent with her seemed precious.
But, well—I can’t say it, can I.
That I have a “past life,” that is.
There was no one on the rooftop. So I definitely muttered it out loud. Even if someone heard it, I didn’t deny the feeling of recklessness that it would be okay if someone did.
“A past life?”
So when I realized that someone had heard that voice, I just turned back with a resigned, indifferent, ambiguous smile.
There was a woman there, hiding her left eye with an eye patch, wrapping bandages around her elbow and above, and wearing a collar.
“Seems like you also have a ‘past life.’—A bloodstained past life.”
…The May wind blew fiercely, shaking the fence loudly.
That was the beginning of my encounter with Karina—
The “fate” of the “curse” bound by the “karma” from the “past life”—