The braided kumihimo cords slid smoothly through her fingers, over and over again.
Miyamizu Mitsuha had spent the entire day in silent repetition, twisting, folding, and weaving the cords with practiced precision. It was meditative work—soothing even—but the silence in her heart only grew heavier as the sun dipped below the mountains. When the last thread was tied off, and the final braid set aside, dusk had already fallen across Itomori.
She returned home in near darkness.
Sliding open the door to her room, she immediately reached for the diary left behind by the stranger—by Yukima Azuma.
She had no idea who he really was, no face to the name, and yet…
Each entry pulled her in.
The diary chronicled seven days of his life—seven days in her body. Some were mundane: a visit to a café. Others startled her: he had saved a girl named Yuki, a complete stranger. A few days later, he'd even visited her home.
Azuma's notes were sparse, but they carried a curious rhythm. They weren't the clinical observations of someone just logging data—they were filled with personality. Dry humor peeked out between the lines. A certain bluntness underscored his descriptions, but also a gentleness.
Mitsuha felt like she was reading a lightly written short story. A strange, enchanting light novel about a life that—somehow—was also her own.
When she reached the final entry, her fingers lingered on the page.
And then she picked up a pen.
Her handwriting, smooth but slightly hesitant, trailed over Azuma's final words.
[Hello Yukima Azuma, I am Miyamizu Mitsuha.]
[First, I want to apologize to you. I'm sorry for treating this like a dream and acting recklessly.]
[Regarding the damages I have caused, I am willing to compensate fully, though it may take some time to make things right.]
[I have read through the notes you left behind. It was an incredible experience… I can't think of any other words to describe it.]
[Having gone through this, perhaps we should set some rules that both of us must follow. But I feel that I am not in a position to criticize you.]
[From now on, I will also record what I have experienced.]
After writing down her message, she carefully placed the diary next to her pillow, along with the freshly braided kumihimo cord—its orange-red hue glimmering faintly under the low light.
Then, without changing into pajamas, she lay down on the tatami mat.
Her heart wouldn't quiet.
Would she switch again tonight?
She wasn't sure if she was more anxious or hopeful. She only knew she didn't want him to hate her.
That thought lingered until sleep finally claimed her, somewhere between two and three hours later.
When she opened her eyes again—
She nearly rolled right off the bed.
Or rather—the mattress.
It wasn't the soft tatami beneath her back. No, this was too springy. Too warm.
Her drowsy gaze darted upward.
The ornate ceiling, lined with decorative beams, came into view.
Her pulse spiked.
She bolted upright.
It had happened again.
The room around her was modern, expensive-looking, and unfamiliar. Dark wood paneling. Leather-backed chairs. Furniture that practically screamed, Don't touch me.
She had never been in a boy's room before.
She sat perfectly still, hands in her lap, afraid to move.
Just then, something caught her eye near the pillow—a notebook. Brand new, still crisp. Clearly placed there with intention.
Reaching for it, she hesitated, her fingertips trembling.
Then, steeling herself, she picked it up.
She opened the cover and read the first line:
[Miyamizu Mitsuha, welcome to Tokyo.]
She blinked.
Once. Twice. Three times.
That was it? No angry rant? No complaints about the money she'd spent?
She let out a long breath.
He… wasn't mad.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she turned the page.
[Are you thinking about money? Of course, I noticed, but it's fine. You probably still don't understand the situation.]
[Most of the things you bought, I've already returned. As for the things that couldn't be returned, well, I can still use them.]
[I'm not blaming you, so don't blame yourself anymore. Now, turn to the next page of the notebook.]
She stared at the words.
He's… too nice.
She turned the page again.
[Do you think I'm super nice?]
Her lips twitched.
The warmth in her heart twisted into a different kind of emotion.
She smiled—wry and bitter.
But the tension in her chest loosened.
Then—
"Can you read my mind!?" she burst out.
And as if to answer her:
["Were you thinking, 'Can he read minds!' right?"]
Her cheeks puffed slightly in protest.
"Hmph."
Even as she pouted, her heart grew lighter.
She flipped to the next page—
This one was full of text. Gone were the teasing jabs. In their place was something else entirely.
A travel guide.
[Such a rare opportunity—being a guest in Tokyo—please enjoy yourself.]
[Here are some of my favorite places…]
[The cinema in Ginza gives you free popcorn if you book online.]
[Meiji Shrine is crowded, but weddings sometimes happen there—worth seeing.]
[Ochanomizu is calm and charming on holidays.]
[Sensouji's candy apples are great, but the vegetarian food? Not so much.]
[Toyogasaki Academy—my school—is also open for tours.]
Mitsuha's hands tightened slightly on the notebook.
Each note, each recommendation… wasn't just a place on a map.
It was a window. A trace of him.
Though they'd never met, she could almost see the way he smiled as he wrote it.
The casual confidence. The quiet generosity.
Closing the notebook gently, she made a decision.
She would follow his advice.
Not to sightsee. Not to explore Tokyo.
But to understand him.
When she stepped out of the house, Shiratamaru leapt down the stairs with a sleepy "nyan" and padded up to her.
She crouched and scratched its head.
"I'm really sorry about last time," she murmured. "For hugging you too tight… and sniffing you too much."
Shiratamaru blinked, confused, but accepted the apology with another soft meow.
Then, with a small smile, Mitsuha opened the door and walked out into the summer streets.
She had no real destination.
But her fingers hovered over her phone.
Toyogasaki Academy… She might as well see where he studied.
After fumbling with the map app, she followed the subway route, switching lines once, and then exited near a gently sloping street.
Lined with cherry blossom trees, the hill must have looked breathtaking in spring.
But now, only green leaves whispered in the summer breeze.
When she reached the academy gate, she stood still for a moment.
The school looked like something from a movie—sprawling, elegant, and modern.
She walked in.
A grand fountain shimmered in the sunlight, koi fish darting beneath its surface. A massive bulletin board on the left brimmed with club ads and summer announcements.
She was halfway around the koi pond when she heard it:
"Azuma-san!"
She turned.
A girl with soft brown hair and a warm, composed presence walked toward her.
Kato Megumi.
Mitsuha recognized her instantly. One of the girls from Azuma's phone wallpaper.
She forced a smile.
"Kato-san, hello."
Megumi blinked. "Kato-san?"
Strange. Azuma usually just called her by name.
"You came to pick something up too?" she asked. "Or are you in one of the summer clubs?"
Mitsuha hesitated. "U-Umu. Something like that."
They climbed the steps to the lecture hall.
Mitsuha stole glances at her companion.
Kato Megumi was cute—really cute—but it puzzled her how someone so radiant could feel… so ordinary at first glance.
Eventually, they arrived at classroom 1-E.
Megumi walked in confidently, retrieving books from her desk.
Mitsuha stood awkwardly near the doorway, unsure where Azuma's seat was.
"Not grabbing anything?" Megumi asked.
"Eh… I already took everything home," Mitsuha improvised.
Another brief pause.
Megumi's brows twitched.
But she said nothing and led them back toward the hall.
Just as they reached the door—
Megumi stopped.
She tilted her head, just slightly, hair sliding behind one ear.
"Azuma-san," she said quietly.
Mitsuha blinked.
'She's really cute,' she thought again.
But then—
Megumi's voice turned cold.
"You… who are you?"