Chapter 21: Is This Reality?

Left the jewelry store.

“Is it raining?” Kamikawa Mitsu lifted her snow-white forehead and blinked her long eyelashes.

I was too busy chatting with classmates and didn’t notice it had started raining.

Mizushima Iori suggested: “The rain’s too heavy to stop anytime soon. Let’s go back to the jewelry store and buy umbrellas.”

Not long after.

They stepped out again, each now holding an umbrella.

“Let’s go.”

Mizushima Iori opened her umbrella and stepped out.

The rain fell heavily.

The sky was veiled in drizzle, dark clouds rolled, and thunder cracked sporadically.

The streets were emptier, the bustle gone, the atmosphere cold and quiet.

Kamikawa Mitsu’s mood remained untouched by the terrible weather.

When one’s heart is light, everything looks good.

That was Kamikawa Mitsu.

Raindrops struck the Japanese-style roof tiles, and to Kamikawa Mitsu’s ears, the sound was tinkling, crisp and pleasant.

She tilted her head slightly, gazing at the Japanese eaves along the street.

Rainwater splashed down, flowing into the gutter along the eaves, murmuring softly.

Two utterly different sounds on the roof converged.

She looked down at the ground.

Beneath the heavy rain, small puddles formed across the pavement.

Raindrops fell like pearls scattering on a jade plate, sparkling as they splashed, their sound like a rattle—muffled yet light, intertwined.

Listening to the symphony of rain sounds around her, like various instruments playing a beautiful melody, Kamikawa Mitsu stepped over a small puddle.

At that moment.

While chatting with Mizushima Iori and the others, Kamikawa Mitsu glanced toward the eaves of a corner building.

There sat an old homeless man.

He stood beneath the eaves to shelter from the rain, but the rain was too heavy and the eaves too narrow—he couldn’t escape much of it.

His hair was soaked halfway, his shirt shoulders drenched.

Due to his homelessness, his body was thin and frail, with nothing to shield him from the rain; he could only rub his arms repeatedly to ward off the cold.

“Achoo!”

The old man sneezed.

Too cold, he leaned toward the shop beside him, only to be shooed out like a fly.

With no choice, he returned to the eaves.

“Sigh.”

The old man sighed.

When will this rain stop? It’s so cold.

Will it rain all day? There doesn’t seem to be any real shelter here.

Huh~

Heaven seemed to be taunting the old man—a gust of wind blew.

The wind mixed with rain, biting cold in this season when autumn turns to winter.

The old man shivered, wiping rain from his face.

Will I freeze to death today…

“Hm?”

Suddenly, the grieving old man froze.

Where’s the rain?

Rain still fell before him, yet he realized none had touched him.

The old man instinctively looked up.

Above him, an umbrella had appeared out of nowhere, and beside him stood a girl—holding the umbrella.

He stared at the umbrella, then at the girl.

The old man was stunned, utterly astonished.

This girl wasn’t just coincidentally standing beside him with her umbrella covering him—she was deliberately shielding him.

His gaze fell to the girl’s shoulder.

The umbrella was small, and she had tilted it to cover him fully—her left shoulder was damp from the rain.

“Old man, take this umbrella,” Kamikawa Mitsu offered hers.

The old man froze.

This was the first time since his son had stolen his house and thrown him out—since becoming a homeless man—that anyone had given him an umbrella.

Even as he took the umbrella, he remained dazed.

“Goodbye, old man.”

Hearing this, the old man snapped back to reality and hurried to speak: “Um… you take your umbrella back. If you give me yours, you won’t have one.”

Kamikawa Mitsu smiled, pointing to Mizushima Iori and Komuro Mie, who were rushing over.

“It’s fine—I’ll share an umbrella with my friends.”

“Oh my god, Mitsu, why did you run off so fast? You were giving away an umbrella? You’re so…”

Mizushima Iori wanted to say Mitsu was foolish—after all, he was just a homeless man—but seeing the old man present, she held back the final words.

Kamikawa Mitsu seemed to know what Mizushima Iori was about to say and quickly spoke.

“Iori, let’s go. Aren’t we going for dessert?”

As she spoke, she squeezed beside Mizushima Iori, who had bought a large umbrella, and beamed—a picture of cuteness.

Just as Mitsu and the two girls were about to leave, and the old man opened his mouth to thank them—

“Hey, little girls, you’re going for dessert? We’re heading there too. Want to join us?”

A voice like a duck’s quack rang out.

From afar, five or six youths approached.

The speaker was a youth with a Japanese-style fringe.

One hand in his pocket, the other holding an umbrella, he strode forward.

His demeanor was thoroughly delinquent.

The other youths weren’t much better—each wore earrings, tattoos, or dyed their hair gold.

Seeing these six clearly street-hustling youths approach, the three junior high girls couldn’t help but fear.

They instinctively huddled together, trembling.

The six youths acted as if they didn’t notice their fear, surrounding them.

“Little girls, what kind of dessert do you like? Tell us. Don’t worry—we’re not bad people.”

The fringe-haired thug spoke with a flippant tone, flashing a smile he thought was refined.

“Oh, forgot to introduce myself—I’m Togashi Shinji. You can call me Shinji. These are my friends—he’s Nakata, that one’s Horii…”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re not bad guys.”

The other youths chimed in, then crowded forward to chat.

“What are your names, little girls? Don’t be scared—I just think you’re so cute, I want to treat you to dinner.”

“Dinner? Pfft, didn’t you just say you wanted dessert? Heh, I know a great dessert shop—I’ll take you.”

“I know a dessert place that’s amazing too.”

“Dessert? I love treating girls to chocolate bars.”

The last youth’s comment sent the other thugs into roaring laughter.

Their laughter was brazen, deeply lewd.

The three girls had never seen anything like this—they were terrified.

The three junior high girls huddled together, unsure what to do.

The rain still fell.

Torrential rain poured down, pattering incessantly.

Faced with the thugs’ encirclement, Kamikawa Mitsu felt fear—just like Mizushima Iori and Komuro Mie—her body trembling, legs weak.

At this moment, everything felt terrifying.

The thugs’ faces, their words—terrified her.

The once-pleasing symphony of rain sounds now no longer sounded beautiful; gathered in her ears, they became like a snare drum pounding erratically—noisy, grating.

Nii-san…

In her fear, Kamikawa Mitsu thought of Kamikawa Mitsu.

On the street, outside other shops, people had stepped out, watching this scene.

They were men and women, teenagers, adults, middle-aged.

Each pair of eyes held pity.

Most people just watched; only a tiny few tried to approach Kamikawa Mitsu and the others.

But as soon as they took a step forward, they were glared at by social thugs, shrinking back and abandoning their intent.

Or they were pulled back by those beside them, who shook their heads and whispered, halting their steps.

In the end, not a single person stepped forward to help Kamikawa Mitsu and the others.

Not one person.

They merely observed, whispering among themselves, gossiping.

And when Kamikawa Mitsu and the others looked toward them, pleading for help with their eyes.

Every one of them turned away, avoiding their desperate glances.

Either pretending not to see, or walking off outright.

Seeing this, Kamikawa Mitsu and the other two felt colder and more heartbroken than ever before.

……