018. What kind of family are you people?

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The two of them packed up their things and walked out of the classroom side by side.

Outside the classroom, Sachiko Toyokawa stood in the corridor, watching her classmates gradually leave the room.

At Moon Forest Academy, parking at the school gate was prohibited. Even students who were picked up by car had to walk a certain distance away from the school before getting into the vehicle to go home.

Originally, Sachiko intended to wait for Mutsumi Wakaba and walk with her to the designated pick-up point agreed upon with the family driver before parting ways. But instead, she saw Mutsumi walking out side by side with Uzuki Nagumo.

A big question mark appeared in her mind.

Uzuki, of course, also noticed Sachiko standing in the corridor. However, he didn’t understand why Sachiko wasn’t getting into her family’s Maybach but was standing there instead. Seeing her silhouette backlit by the setting sun, lost in thought, the two greeted her together before continuing toward the school’s exit.

———

The Wakaba household.

Following Mutsumi’s lead, Uzuki returned with her to the basement they had visited last time.

Passing through the dimly lit stairs, which required careful footing, he casually asked, “Do you usually go home alone?”

Mutsumi’s steps didn’t falter at all, showing that she often came here.

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes by car.”

Only then did Uzuki understand.

The Wakaba family, after all, was a rising star in the entertainment industry. Though they hadn’t seen her parents this time, a maid responsible for cooking opened the door and greeted them with a smile.

Before the incident, Sachiko was picked up daily by a Maybach. Although the Wakaba family might not have the deep roots of the Toyokawa Group, they were certainly no ordinary household.

Mutsumi added, “Minami-chan takes the car.”

This statement puzzled Uzuki.

He tentatively asked, “Is it because your mother is too busy, so the driver often has to pick up Ms. Minami first?”

Mutsumi nodded.

???

!!!

Uzuki suddenly realized how deeply ingrained his traditional family values were—he had assumed parents always cared attentively for their children.

He recalled how, in his previous life, some parents worried about their children’s safety long after they became adults—an extreme case—but the Wakaba family was clearly at the opposite end of the spectrum.

No wonder Mutsumi’s whereabouts after school were sometimes so unpredictable—sometimes she was suddenly in the family basement, other times dragged by Nagasaki Soyo to tour the Asuka Mountain battle site.

This… slight concern… counted as concern, at least.

Uzuki massaged his forehead involuntarily.

After descending the stairs, the two arrived again at the spot where they first met.

The basement lighting was dimmer than upstairs. Mutsumi went to the corner and picked up her guitar, then stood quietly, looking at Uzuki.

Meeting her gaze, Uzuki read a hint of expectation.

The next moment, he tilted his head.

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Seeing Uzuki’s eyes shift to her guitar, Mutsumi began to play softly.

The piece was called “Poem of the Wind.”

Technically, the composition wasn’t difficult; the fingerings and playing style were basic practice material. The true challenge wasn’t how to play it but how to evoke the sensation of the wind in motion.

Uzuki listened quietly, refraining from interrupting, allowing her to finish the entire piece.

Mutsumi’s technique was impeccable—intonation, rhythm, vibrato, slides—every detail was executed flawlessly.

But the melody was too steady, lacking the true feeling of the wind, almost mechanical.

When she played the last note, Uzuki spoke:

“Your technique is solid, but… do you think this sounds like wind?”

Mutsumi looked up at him.

Uzuki thought for a moment, then rephrased: “Wind doesn’t flow evenly all the time.”

He stretched out his hand, gently tracing the air:

“It changes. It comes to sudden stops, then bursts stronger. It refracts, swirls, and twists through different terrains…”

…

“Wind is free, unbound.”

Mutsumi lowered her gaze, thoughtfully staring at her guitar.

“Try to imagine,” Uzuki continued,

“If you stand on a mountaintop, the wind blows from all directions. You’ll feel it fluctuate; it’s never the same strength or direction forever.”

He smiled.

“So when you play this piece, you can try to let it be freer.”

Mutsumi was silent for a few seconds, then nodded gently, lifting her hand again to pluck the strings.

Uzuki listened, nodding, “Yes, just like that.”

Her fingertips continued to move over the strings, the melody growing smoother. She constantly adjusted the rhythm, attempting to capture the true essence of the wind.

Gradually, the wind began to blow.

She seemed finally to feel something. Her fingers were no longer restrained but moved freely as she pleased.

The guitar’s sound intertwined between reality and illusion.

Just as Mutsumi immersed herself in the music,

Suddenly,

Her consciousness violently tore apart.

In her perception, the world seemed divided into two parallel spaces.

In one space, she still sat in the basement, still playing the guitar, still hearing Uzuki’s voice.

In the other, she sat cross-legged.

Not far before her stood an old television,

Its screen flickering with fuzzy static, emitting a low hum.

Mutsumi looked around.

Behind her stood a row of dolls, all hidden in shadow, arranged neatly, each resembling a chibi version of herself.

But these dolls were all pale and lifeless, silently watching her.

Mutsumi stared at them, her expression unchanged.

She wanted to read something from their faces, but their features were hollow and soulless, as if already dead.

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“Mutsumi…”

A voice came from beside her.

She slowly turned her head and saw another doll resembling herself.

It sat beside her, smiling at her.

The doll tilted its head and whispered softly:

“Mutsumi… I feel like I’m losing the meaning of my own existence.”

Her voice was ethereal and gentle, like a whisper scattered by the wind.

Mutsumi gazed at the “other self” before her, a trace of confusion in her eyes.

Her lips parted slightly, as if to say something, but in the end, she only stretched out her hand.

A little closer…

A little closer…

The distance was very close, but Mutsumi stopped just before touching.

The doll’s smile remained, but its gaze began to dim.

It was a strange feeling.

As if a person’s light was slowly fading, losing color, gradually blending into the darkness.

Behind her, the silent row of dolls continued standing motionless in the shadows.

Suddenly,

At that moment, the entire conscious space trembled.

It was as if something was violently pounding against the outer walls of the house, causing fine cracks to appear on the walls.

The doll’s body shuddered.

Her once dim eyes instantly shone brightly again; the smile on her lips deepened, as if awakening.

She smiled gently, with a hint of ambiguous joy.

“Looks like…”

“Mutsumi still needs me after all.”

She slowly stood up; the surrounding shadows seemed to ripple with her movement, like invisible waves, making her appear even more ethereal.

“And it seems that for some unknown reason, even some of my memories have been erased.”

She looked up at Mutsumi.

“Last time, I think I misunderstood you.”

“You’re the best, Mutsumi. How could I ever blame you?”

She smiled meaningfully:

“It’s because our memories… have been clouded.”

Suddenly!

Mutsumi’s consciousness jolted sharply, like surfacing from the depths of a dark lake.

Abruptly, the voice in her ears became clear.

The strange sensation of splitting vanished, the images in her mind recombined, and before her still lay the familiar basement, her guitar in her hands.

The strings still trembled slightly, the final notes lingering.