[glassmorphisms]

( 一 )

glancing  down,  a  harsh  red  handprint  appeared  around  her  arm.  deciding  she  had enough  of  this  silly  seance,  the  witch  made  quick  work  to  pack  up  the  ouija  board,  blew  out  her  candle,  and  padded  towards  the  library  where  she  originally  found  it. this  time,  however,  she  bumped  into  something  more  solid.

The bedroom light had already been switched off, yet he was the only one lying awake, eyes wide open, his stomach growling in the silence, overpowering his drowsiness as time gone by — protesting his decision to skip dinner to finish revising for class, though not loudly enough to wake anyone but him. 

There were no more snacks left in his cabinet… 

He tossed and turned, rolling from side to side, breathing in and out with his eyes shut. But to no avail, his stomach continued to grumble violently. To his surprise, nothing had appeared to jolt him awake in the night or come pleading at his door; it was supposed to be a peaceful night, if not for this… 

Kitchen staff would sometimes leave a basket of bread or small portion of food from supper for people who have a night class. If he's lucky, there might still be something left for him, or otherwise, his stomach would eat itself soon. The school’s kitchen usually served food that felt more like a full meal than a light bite, and he normally had dinner before eight. Leaving his room at such an ungodly hour was something he tried to avoid whenever possible. So eventually, Suisho gave in to his hunger and pushed himself out of bed. He grabbed his robe and phone, slipped on his slippers, and quietly snuck out into the dark corridor. 

The dim lantern light and shifting shadows moved in step with him, not twisting into strange shapes or forms that might have sent his heart racing into an unnecessary sprint. Suisho pursed his lips and let out a slow breath as he shuffled toward the kitchen. The night felt colder than usual, at least in his conscience, but nowhere else could rival the warmth of his bed. He had also forgotten to bring the charms with him, and had to remind himself he was outside only for a piece of bread. If he moved quickly, he could be back in his room in the blink of an eye. 

Like a ninja, yes, he thought, like a ninja. 

It seemed he wasn’t the only one in a hurry. Another set of footsteps shuffled across the cold floor, audible even from a distance, arriving faster than the light could reach him, hypothetically speaking. Or perhaps it was the darkness, revealing only the unnecessary while keeping everything else hidden. The thought had barely formed when he yelped, crashing into a smaller figure in front of him. 

Professor Choi…?

His hands caught her by both arms on instinct. In that fleeting instant, he studied her pale face, more curious about her frantic demeanor than how she had ended up there. Perhaps she had been mentoring a night class — that was the first thought that crossed his mind, but the way she was now seemed to contradict it. Not that he knew her beyond a first-name basis, though. They had only ever passed each other in the corridor and his knowledge of her was limited to a few rumors from classmates who attended her class. 

However, despite there being only one person before him, the air grew more suffocating, as if he were being pressed into a crowd against his will. A thick, earthy scent suddenly brushed against his nostrils, pungent and rotten, steeped in the damp reek of earth and decay. It reminded him of a time with his Baba in his younger years, standing over the body of a stray dog left to its demise, maggots writhing through layers of dull, sagging skin and lymph as they fed. Only this smell intensified so much that it nearly made him gag, driving all thought of his overdue hunger from his mind.

Suisho trembled, tearing his gaze from Professor Choi’s mellow face … only to meet the eyes of another figure, one that seemed to exist without any physical body, defying the very rules of existence. Before he could react, she pressed further into him, as if passing through flesh and bone at once, and his mind plunged into a bottomless pit.  Yet his grip on the professor held — tightening, if anything — as he pulled her closer to him.

[hymnfell]

[glassmorphisms]

( 四 )

"You know, I have been briefly here as a teen, too. If you want, I can show you some cool places? Maybe get you something else to drink. Oh... or were you doing some training? You know, I could not willingly go out and run even if someone gave me money,"

“I thee. …If it cometh, it will come. It’th not the end of the world.” Suisho blinked as Wind’s response to his casual question veered into melodrama, but he offered no comment beyond what he had already said. His word was, after all, based on his own experience — experience that had only brought him this far, like a ship with a logbook but no map or compass. If he had known what to do, he might never have ended up here, or even spoken with someone he’d met under such unusual circumstances.

So this encounter, too, must be fate.

His gaze followed the familiar’s, shifting from the empty water bottle back to his eyes as the other continued speaking. The tension in his muscles eased after the ice-breaking, and he breathed in and out slowly. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad to make friends, he thought, after all this time at this school. Though even to himself, his skill at it was questionable at best.

“Hm, I believe the drinking water ith free here, and the dining room ithn’t too far away.” A gentle smile appeared as he wiggled the bottle at the other man. He rose from the bench and stretched his legs one at a time before moving on to his arms. Five laps was an achievement; he would never have managed it if he were still in Tokyo, working past legal hour limits. “Anyway, I juth finished running — how about we get thome water in the dining room, then you lead me to the plath you mentioned?”

[glassmorphisms]

( 三 )

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞

𝐴𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑙 𝑋, 20𝑋𝑋

𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝐸𝑓𝑓𝑖𝑒, 

𝐼 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑐, 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑡, 𝑠𝑜 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒.

𝐼𝑡’𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑. 𝐼 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑟 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑘. 𝐷𝑎𝑦𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑒𝑟, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑢𝑠ℎ 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔, 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟. 𝐿𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑠 𝐼 𝑠𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑘 𝑗𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑗𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑙, 𝑚𝑦 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑛, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑦 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡. 𝐴𝑠 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎 𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑢𝑝𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡ℎ, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼, 𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑡𝑎𝑟, 𝑎𝑚 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑒𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑦 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠.

𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒, 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑’𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑜𝑛 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑑𝑖𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑛𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒, 𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑛𝑜𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑓𝑜𝑟. 

𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛’𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑎𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑘 𝑏𝑦 𝑖𝑡. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑢𝑛, 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟, 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒. 𝑆ℎ𝑒’𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒ℎ𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝐸𝑎𝑟𝑡ℎ, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑚𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑢𝑛 𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛, 𝑜𝑟, 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒.

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑢𝑛, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑠𝑎𝑦, ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑓 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑛, 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑏𝑦. 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦, 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑡 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑟𝑢𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑓𝑢𝑒𝑙, 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑑𝑖𝑒. 𝐽𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑔𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑢𝑛 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑑. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑒𝑡, 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑠, 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑖𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔, 𝐸𝑎𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑑. 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛’𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛, 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑓𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑐𝑒, 𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑢𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑥𝑦. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑢𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟, 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑏𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑑𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑜 … 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑥𝑦 𝑖𝑡𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑡? 𝑁𝑜 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑀𝑖𝑙𝑘𝑦 𝑊𝑎𝑦, 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡… 𝑠𝑙𝑢𝑟𝑝, 𝑠𝑙𝑢𝑟𝑝, 𝑠𝑙𝑢𝑟𝑝.

𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑢𝑠? 𝐼𝑓 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝ℎ𝑦𝑠𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑐𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑥𝑖𝑠𝑡, 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑠 𝑔𝑜? 𝐷𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒? 𝑂𝑟 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑎𝑟, 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑟?

𝑇𝑜 𝑏𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑡, 𝐼’𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑐, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝐵𝑎𝑏𝑎 𝑠𝑎𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑤 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑙𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑠𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑑. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑜 — 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔 𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔, 𝑠𝑎𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐼 𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑖𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑑. 𝐼𝑓 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑒𝑟, 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔?

𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑐 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑢𝑛 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑚𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝐵𝑎𝑏𝑎. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑖𝑡 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒. 𝐿𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑢𝑛𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒. 𝐼 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝐼 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑒𝑥𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛’𝑡 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑝𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒. 

𝐼 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟. 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑑𝑢𝑙𝑡-𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒. 𝑆𝑝𝑎𝑑𝑒

[glassmorphisms]

( 二 )

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐬

𝐴𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑙 𝑋, 20𝑋𝑋

𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝐸𝑓𝑓𝑖𝑒,

𝐷𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑠? 𝐴𝑝𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑢𝑠, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑢𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚. 𝑀𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑢𝑠. 𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑎 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛, 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑑 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.

𝐷𝑜 𝐼 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑠?

𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑡?

𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑓?

𝑆𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝐼 𝑠𝑖𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑢𝑝 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑟, 𝑚𝑦 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑔𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑘. 𝑌𝑒𝑠, 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝐼 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑟. 𝐼𝑡’𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑟𝑡𝑦 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠. 𝐵𝑎𝑏𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑡𝑜𝑜. 𝑚𝑎𝑚𝑎 𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙. 𝐻𝑜𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑖 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑎𝑙𝑙. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒. 𝐼𝑓 𝑤𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑦 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑒’𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡. 𝑆𝑜 𝑦𝑒𝑠, 𝐼 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚, 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑒?

𝑆𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑢𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑦 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑥𝑖𝑠𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛. 𝐾𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑐, 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑙, 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑃𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡, 𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑘 𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑠.

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑐 𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙.

𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑎 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ, 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑙𝑙.

𝑇𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛,

𝑆𝑝𝑎𝑑𝑒

[glassmorphisms]

( 一 )

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫

𝐴𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑙 𝑋, 20𝑋𝑋

𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝐸𝑓𝑓𝑖𝑒, 

𝑀𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑢𝑐𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑐 𝑇𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝐹𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑙, 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑠. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑙𝑦𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑏𝑦 𝑎 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 (𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑀𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑥, 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡). 𝐼 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑘𝑒𝑝𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟. 𝑆𝑜 𝐼 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑝 𝑏𝑦 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑠. 

𝐵𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝐼 𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 (𝑏𝑜𝑜𝑘) 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒, 𝑒𝑥𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑥𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 …𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝐼 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑, 𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑎 𝑓𝑒𝑤 𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠, 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚. 𝑂𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒, 𝐼 𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑎 𝑓𝑒𝑤 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑦 𝑒𝑛𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑦 𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑠, 𝑠𝑜𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑛’𝑡 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑡𝑜-𝑑𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡.

𝑂𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒, 𝐼 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑒, 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑛𝑜 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑜𝑛𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑦 𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑘. 𝑃𝑙𝑢𝑠, 𝑚𝑦 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑛 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑎 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑢𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑓𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡, 𝑠𝑜 𝐼’𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑏𝑦 𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑦 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔.

𝑌𝑒𝑎ℎ. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑦 𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑙, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒. 

𝐼 𝑚𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑡, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑎 𝑓𝑒𝑤 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝐼 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒. 𝑇𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘 𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡, 𝐼 𝑔𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑠. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑘𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑎𝑦… 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑒.

𝑇𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑒𝑑𝑔𝑒, 𝑆𝑝𝑎𝑑𝑒

[glassmorphisms]

𝐄𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐞: 𝐉𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥

On the flyleaf, a message had been neatly written in Japanese:

𝐸𝑓𝑓𝑖𝑒.  𝐸𝑓𝑓𝑖𝑒 𝑃𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑒.  𝑌𝑜𝑢’𝑣𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐹𝑎𝑙𝑐𝑜𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒, 𝑚𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡.

Table of Content

Spellastic Tome Fair - one | two | three

[glassmorphisms]

( 二 )

"class is dismissed," juyeong announced, stepping down from the front as she walked towards the students, stopping front of the desk of the student she'd been eyeing the entire class. "except for you, mr hoshimori suisho. you'll need to stay back for the meantime.”

Most of what covered the blackboard was already in his notebook — in scrawling handwriting — a summary of the long textbook passage he’d surrendered to after the first paragraph, so Suisho only paused to add the few missing details. He lifted his head again and met his professor’s unblinking gaze, blinking back at her until she finally looked away. Setting his pencil down, his eyes were now on her, watching the fall of her long black hair from shoulder to chest as she removed a line from the board and brushed her chalk-stained hands together.

She had beautiful hands, about the size of her face, with porcelain skin, pink nails, and a bare ring finger.

Suisho glanced down at his fingers, at the nails he’d trimmed a few days ago. Not too long, and no dirt underneath. Good.

He brushed the tip of his right index finger against his thumb, and that was when his professor announced the class’s dismissal. His classmates began gathering their belongings, but before he could follow, his name was called. His professor now stood by his desk again, and Suisho, along with the students around him, looked up, their brows lifting in reflex.

“Uhm… okay?” Suisho answered while he’s still seated, his pencil back in hand as he clicked the eraser and pushed the graphite back in, smudging his fingers with black. His eyes followed his classmates as they filed out one by one until the room was empty, the murmur of voices in the hallway drifting in as his gaze wandered around the room, only to be pulled back by her presence — more specifically, by the same watchful eyes that had been on him the entire class.

With a long exhale, he broke the silence. “Ith there anything I can help you with?”

[glassmorphisms]

( 一 )

there’s no stopping it. no going back. she can feel her life force shifting and changing within her. a warmth she doesn’t recognize spreading through her veins.

There is nothing in his possession but a well-worn luggage case and a backpack, both repaired as best as Suisho can manage and decorated with a set of stickers from his favorite films, showing their flaws as part of the aesthetic. With them, he follows his itinerary by bus to the plum tree town, and from there to the school where he has decided to enroll, bidding farewell to the city he has lived in for three years as he searched for what baba had told him about with her dying breath.

Somewhere … or more likely, someone he has never once met, neither in flesh nor in spirit.

Baba’s warmth slipped from her shell, and the hollow sockets where her eyes had been felt as vivid as if it had all happened yesterday. The resurgence of buried memories, layered beneath others, brings tears streaming down his face for the first time in years — perhaps because he is the only passenger on the long bus ride, save for the driver, while the warm wind brushes against his face and the dusk falls, its last light glistening on the remnant of melting snow.

Suisho never sees baba again after that day.

The question resonates louder with each passing year. Hoshimori’s legacy rests in his hands; he can feel it through every fiber of his existence like it has a will of its own. Yet whenever he reaches for it, in any means possible, it slips through him like mist.

It answers others. It reveals things he never asks for. But not this. Never this.

Why?

Wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, Suisho edges closer to the window. He watches as the light thinned and folded into shadow, day slipping into night. The forest and meadow blur into dark shapes — and then, far in the distance but still in his reach, the building stands tall amidst the warm light in the cold, as if the darkness itself has stepped aside for revelation.

Soon, the bus comes to a stop, and Suisho steps onto the sidewalk, stretching his limbs before dragging his belongings along, past wet puddles and uneven ground. He trembles with every step, but at least it is not as cruel as the winter wind, and he will survive, somehow.

With a demeanor and expression devoid of any obvious reaction, the security guard at the entry gate asks him only a few questions before letting him pass inside. They gave him his key and a brief packet of information about the school, but despite having once entered as a visitor, the scenery stuns him again. This time for different reasons.

Now he knows he will be part of it, a sum within the whole, no longer a solitary fragment scattered aimlessly in the universe.

His body trembles even in the windless area in the corridor, a shiver running through him; his eyes quiver with something he cannot name in any language.

Suisho closes his eyes and breathes in, just as Baba had taught him to do in any difficult moment, then follows his heart along whatever path it might lead him. The wheels beneath his luggage case rattles softly as he moves down the corridor, pass a few people lingering or passing by, their eyes lifting to him for a moment before turning away, until he reaches a quieter, less crowded area.

And that was when he met the eyes of someone.

And to him, it feels as though every part of his being collapses backward through time — back to his first day of existence, to the rise of the human race from evolution, to the birth of the Earth itself, even to the first eruption of the galaxy’s beginning. Drifting through the moon and back, through hell and heaven alike, until at last he arrives somewhere that feels like home.

Home. That he will live for a lifetime.

Until death does them part.

“…Tadaima”

[glassmorphisms]

( 二 )

“Sometimes I wonder if your stomach is a bottomless pit.”

His eyes flicked about like a surveillance camera as half the corndog vanished into his stomach, devoured in quite a rush before it lost its heat. Around him, people flowed in loose currents, with shoulders brushing, footsteps weaving in and out of one another, yet another pattern also moved with them, perfectly out of step. A second world lay draped over the first, its threads sliding unseen through the crowd. Figures slipped between bodies, passing through flesh and bone, their presence no more than a faint wisp in the air, and no one flinched or turned.

For everyone else, nothing was just part of a daily routine. But for him, the sight always kept its distance, suspended halfway between everything, leaving him unsure where he belonged … or where he ought to stand. Most of the time, he just turned away before he ever reached a crossroads, or before anything could catch up to him.

Not today, though.

A voice snapped him from the train of thought, and Suisho lifted his head, meeting the eyes of the newcomer who was by no means a stranger to him. Won Moon — his classmate, or former one, now that she had already moved ahead of him in the course. With the crowd behind her, she looked like a misplaced piece from an entirely different puzzle. But then again, they had rarely crossed paths outside the school grounds, so seeing her here resembled their first encounter, just without the self-introduction.

“Ran out of chipth. At thith rate, I might thtart eating mythelf thomeday.” He shrugged, turning his gaze back to the bustle in front of him as she settled beside him, then extended the cup with the remaining corndog toward her. “They really thkimped on the motz. I even got the cheethy one — but you’re not here juth to eat, are you?”

[glassmorphisms]

( 三 )

"we'd find your treasure a lot quicker if you let me help, mr. pirate. after all, don't pirates have a crew? i don't know about being a first mate, but surely i could be a navigator," she pauses, head tilting, reaching up to tap an index finger against her chin. "or a musician? maybe a doctor?" she laughs again. "yes, a doctor sounds good, don't you think?"

What a funny woman.

Suisho paused again. The woman hadn’t budged, still rooted to her spot, her voice spilling out in bright, eager bursts over a task that should have been nothing but repetitive labour — one he himself rarely bothered to do often. He let her talk, though. So far, the night had given him only the pale hush of the moon, the unmoving trees, and the entity that had driven him here in the first place. He usually preferred the silence and solitude, but however, at that moment, he found himself listening to her voice instead, and nearly let out a cackle at that reference.

Well, even if he had never made it through all those countless chapters of the manga, or the anime — he was far more into live-action films — it had always been nothing but phenomenon throughout the years. His friends loved it; some could recite their favorite characters’ lines word for word, so he picked it up along the way, whether he meant to or not.

“Fir-tht of all, no one ith thick or die here, alledgedly. No owl ith recruited in th-traw hath, and I’m only doing thith for thomeone. Juth onth. Doethn’t mean I’m under anyone, or vithe virtha.” He glanced down into the hollow he had dug, nudging the soil with the tip of his shovel. At the bottom, a coffer was supposed to be there, holding the few personal belongings of the dead. Something to keep them tethered to the living. A memento. Yet, they remembered the hiding place, he’d been told, but not what had been left inside.

“Either way, I ’m Thuitho.” The moonlight filtered through the shadows in silence, unchanged from when he had first arrived an hour ago. He let out a slow breath and shifted his grip on the shovel, his fingers aching, palms sore from the work. Since the stranger showed no sign of leaving, he finally decided he might as well learn a thing or two about her. “Tell me who you are — and how elthe you could help me athide from the digging. I only have one thovel, and your handth can barely break the dutht.”

[glassmorphisms]

( 一 )

"magic," she begins, her voice low and measured. "is not something you can summon out of nowhere or out of nothing. it always begins at a source."

‘𝐴 𝑚𝑎𝑛. 𝐴 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑓𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠, 𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑠, ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑠. 𝐻𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑦; 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑟 𝑎ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑, 𝑣𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑦𝑒𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑒.’

That was how the storyboard began. Suisho’s hard pencil scratched across the page of his notebook, dragging out quick lines and uneven circles. They clustered and overlapped with bushy, rough strokes piling on top of one another as each new idea pushed the last aside. He didn’t let his hand stop, as if he ever did then the thought would slip away. So he pressed on, sketching faster, messing the pages with more lines, pinning everything down.

‘𝑊𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑠𝑠 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑤 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟? 𝐷𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤. 𝑊𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑒𝑛𝑑? 𝑀𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒.’

‘𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑐𝑙𝑖𝑚𝑏𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑤𝑎𝑦 — 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 — 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 𝑐𝑙𝑖𝑚𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑣𝑎𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑣𝑎𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔, ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎𝑛 𝑂𝑙𝑦𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑐 𝑔𝑦𝑚𝑛𝑎𝑠𝑡.’

Nearby, a sole female voice carried through the air, chiming softly like a distant bell along with her footsteps. The sound reached him, brushed past his thoughts, and slipped away again, entering one ear and leaving the other without ever slowing his hand. “but the source alone will be useless without a connection." She spoke in a foreign language, one he had to take a moment to unravel. Years of immersion had given him a better grasp of it, enough to follow the meaning in fragments, but not enough to draw him fully away from the other thing, from the notebook where he was busy building a world of his own.

‘𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑛𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑚𝑎𝑛’𝑠 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑. 𝑀𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑦, 𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡. 𝐼𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑦, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔, ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑠 𝑡𝑜 …’

A finger snapped beside him, drawing Suisho away from the notebook, eyes lifting to the presence of Ri Juyeong, his professor, standing over him. Having no idea how long she’d been here, he quickly closed the book, lowering his gaze and mumbling a soft apology as she walked away from his desk. After a beat, he flipped the notebook over, turning to the other side to read from the left, forcing his attention back to the class and its notes instead.

[glassmorphisms]

( 一 )

𝐀𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝟏𝟏 Lᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: Tʜᴇ ʀᴜʀᴀʟ ᴛᴏᴡɴ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ sᴄʜᴏᴏʟ – @anaptiraz

The plum trees surrounding the nameless rural town had burst into bloom, their pale blossoms swallowing the once-lush green. The nearby flowering plants had followed suit, filling the area with color and life. Petals and leaves drifted down in the breeze. One caught on Suisho’s shoulder, bright against his black jacket; others gathered on the concrete below, damp and crumpled, ground into the pavement under passing footsteps. Someone nearby cursed under their breath, swatting at the air. A bamboo broom scraped against the ground, dragging damp petals aside as more drifted down.

Suisho glanced at the petal on his shoulder before brushing it off. Then he pulled out a small, worn notebook and flipped it open, scanning the grocery list and the few notes beneath it.

Nothing essential.

Maybe just the walking — until his feet hurt, until his heart was content, like an animal leaving its nest for the first time after long months of hibernation. His studies had kept him cooped up for most of the year, worse during winter, and after failing not just one but several courses in a row, the fresh air of spring and a change of scenery felt necessary. With the town still largely unexplored, he let the thought fleeted and moved on, focusing on nothing but where the path might take him.

And soon, he found himself in a busier part of town, like a marketplace, or perhaps a small square. It wasn’t as crowded as the city, but the steady flow of people gave the place a sense of life. He also stopped at a vendor and bought a cup of two corndogs, then made his way to a nearby bench and sat down to munch on the warm, crispy crust with the melted cheese within, dripping with the tang of the red sauce.

[glassmorphisms]

( 三 )

"are you here to study? or teach? oh… are you a familiar too? you know, it is kinda funny though, that we have seen each other in whole another country and now we are here,"

Watching the other remain silent for a moment, Suisho considered the question carefully — until Wind sat down, causing him to shift immediately to the far end of the bench, even though the space between them already felt expansive enough to hold a black hole, or even an entire galaxy. The Japanese man wasn’t in his most presentable state to begin with: dried sweat clung to him, leaving an uncomfortably crusted, glue-like film between his clothes and skin, and the humid scent of perspiration was hardly a peace offering.

Even if the guy didn’t answer, Suisho would have come to his own conclusions anyway. Still, he didn’t turn away entirely, his gaze stayed on the male, who had lightly admitted to being a familiar, a moment longer than necessary, as the gentle morning breeze blew past them and nearby birds filled the air with song.

“I’m a shtudent here. Been here for two yearsh… I don’t think I can be anything more than that — for now, at leasht, not here,” he said, his tongue pressing lightly against his front teeth, holding back words about his background like a flood behind a gate. “And I can thee your fashion evolution clearly… mhm. Tho, are you working here, or are you with thomeone?”

The idea of binding himself to another person brought a tinge of mixed feelings. Suisho glanced around, then another sip of water, only to find his bottle nearly empty.

[glassmorphisms]

( 二 )

"if you're looking for buried treasure, does that make you a pirate?"

At first, it was only a faint noise. Then a small figure slipped from the bushes, and Suisho raised his head, bracing one foot against the slope as he leaned on his shovel so the light could fall across the newcomer still standing on the higher ground.

She crouched low, as if studying him with the wide-eyed curiosity of a child. After a moment, he met her gaze just as plainly, neither flinching nor questioning. The woman could be anything at this point: another spirit he had stumbled across that very night, one of the witches or familiars from the school whose face he could barely remember, or even a petty criminal trespassing on the grounds. Yet if the place could be so easily infiltrated by a single person, that was troubling in itself.

In any case, his exhausted body was too sluggish to react, leaving him with nothing more than a frown and …

“And what are you? An owl?”

Such a feeble response, especially to someone who had been hooting the same word over and over in a foreign language that forced him to pause, letting the gears in his brain grind slowly to make sense of it. The initial jolt of the sound never respawned into panic; perhaps it was the way her soft giggle and sheepish smile seemed to belong nowhere and everywhere at once, or perhaps it was he who should be concerned at remaining this calm.

“Why don’t you juth go back to bed?” He tilted his head side to side, already turning back to the deed he had started. “The foretht ithn’t for the faint of heart, you know — tho run along.”

[glassmorphisms]

( 一 )

𝐀 𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐬 𝐀 𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐝 Lᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: Tʜᴇ Cʟᴀssʀᴏᴏᴍ; Oɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀsɪᴄ ʀɪᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴘᴇʀғᴏʀᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴄʟᴀssᴇs – @whitefrrari

A class with only a few pairs of students could be as daunting as one crowded with nearly forty, just the anxiety took a different shape.

At the back corner of the class, Suisho crossed his arms, rubbed them, and tugged at the hem of his shirt, winding himself up like a grandfather clock ticking down to the moment he could bolt for the exit, even though the class had started only a few minutes ago. He checked his wristwatch — only a minute or two early, but a diligent professor beat a less diligent one any day, so he held his mouth shut.

At the front of the room, the professor had already started discussing the famous ritual performances; their purpose, history, and characteristics, the kind of theory that had barely carried him through the final and might still send him back to retake the class. It was his second time registering, so whatever magic the first experience once had was long gone. Now it was more about grinding through to the end and overcoming his shortcomings, which felt like far too many. All he could do was remind himself that he had survived high school and university before, even though those days flashed light-years away.

Swaying his gaze around the room, he noticed that, besides the professor, the students were all fresh faces. Among the small number he could count on both hands, most looked young, far more youngsters than older faces. Some of them had already formed little groups around their seats, and just thinking about approaching them was enough to make him sweat.

So he focused on his classmates’ mannerisms instead, while the class was still just a lecture, taking advantage of his seat in the back corner of the room to let his thoughts drift into the mist. As the lesson went on, he scribbled notes in his notebook, occasionally filling the margins with a storyboard and an improvised comic drawn in the most advanced version of stick figures his pencil could manage.

[glassmorphisms]

( 一 )

𝐔𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲 Lᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: Wɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴇsᴛ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ sᴄʜᴏᴏʟ – @morsense

One dig, two digs, and three… Every fibre of Suisho’s muscles moved with the motion as he thrusted the shovel into the dense earth, pushing deeper to scoop up the soil before hurling it aside. The canopy of leaves blotted out most of the moonlight, leaving the area in shadow, and the headlamp only illuminated a narrow circle around him; the rest of the forest was swallowed by darkness. With each repeated motion, he found himself standing deeper in the hole he was digging.

Ironically, he was placing not one but both feet into a hole nearly large enough for his body, or perhaps, through exhaustion and sleep deprivation after the blood moon night, it began to feel like his grave. Cold sweat trailed down the contours of his face, and Suisho inhaled the scent of the night as deeply as he could, as if to push himself forward with a choice that left no point of return.

Birds trilled in the night, leaves rustled in the breeze, and though he was meant to be alone, that was true only in the physical sense.

‘I remember hiding it here… under those rocks I set in place. Why can’t you still find it? Or does it mean someone has already found out?…’

The witch glanced toward the three heavy rocks he had placed beside the edge of the hole earlier. The whisper, hoarse and rough, murmured close to him, as fleeting as the wind — near enough to raise goosebumps, but not enough to halt the work he had pushed himself through. Besides, the voice had said it had waited almost a century for someone to listen… someone who could grant its final wish.

“I’m not D-uperman, you know. I need time to dig thid down… unleth you can lend me a helping hand.” Grumbling under his breath, the retort seemed to work some small magic; the whisper fell silent for a moment, granting the listener a brief peace of mind. But then another sound stirred behind the bushes. Suisho stopped digging at once and looked around, squinting into the darkness to see what might show up.