Teiichi alone in the club room.
Same old dusty shelves. Same teacup — hers — still untouched. Same air, but thinner now.
Yuuko was gone.
Not disappeared the way she used to tease him. Not hiding in mirrors. Not lurking in corners.
Gone.
Kanade slept now. A faint spiritual pulse somewhere in the school — but calm. She had her name. Her place. Her memory.
Teiichi had nothing but silence.
Until the wind blew the door open on its own.
And for just a moment, he heard a voice.
"Still brooding, Teiichi?"
His heart leapt. He turned — nothing. Just dust. Just wind.
But on the mirror, a line had appeared. One he didn't write.
"Thank you."
He smiled through the ache in his chest.
"I'll always remember you," he said, touching the glass gently.
And behind him, for a moment, a soft, golden figure relaxed against the windowsill — arms crossed, smiling as if she never went away.