When we boarded the midnight bus to Kazamino, it became clear to me that we were not simply going to church.

I glanced at Sakura-san's steady back but chose to say nothing. Then, I looked at Homura-chan. Had she known this would happen all along? As always, she gave neither indication of expectation nor surprise. Nothing was hidden from me, but still I understood nothing. It was nonetheless a comfortable boundary to straddle.

Despite the cold weather, Homura-chan headed up towards the open-air upper deck. As she climbed the stairs, Sakura-san stopped her.

"Oi, Homura," she said.

Homura-chan stopped and turned back to look.

"How come you wanna go up? Cold as hell tonight."
"Do you not like the wind?"
「ひどい寒さだ。それに、どうも気が滅入る」, she said in English, before affectedly laughing to herself, 「いやぁ、こころが病める⋯⋯といったんだけどさあぁ」

Then without warning, Homura-chan took a step down. Sweeping away Sakura-san's forelocks, she bent down slightly and put a bare hand on her forehead.

Homura-chan smiled warmly.

"It's bitter cold, isn't it? Since we're already so cold anyways, why not we enjoy the cool air and take in the sights while we still can? Maybe that will help."

And she went on ahead without waiting for her reply, disappearing from us.

After the initial shock, Sakura-san grumbled inaudibly before looking into the lower deck. There was no one. She stared blankly for a bit longer before wandering the aisles. I directed my gaze towards Sakura-san, unsure of where to go. She, however, did not seem to notice me. She seemed to have forgotten me.

Eventually, she sat down. Opening a window beside her, she let what little pale moonlight there was into the dim interior. Her face turned pale. And just like that, she settled into the silence.

I thought I had something to tell Sakura-san, but nothing came to mind. Standing at the back, I watched her for a while longer before sitting beside her.

Sakura-san was staring out at the blurry scenery, her cheek resting on a palm. I took out a magazine from the seat pouch in front of me and began to flip through it.

In its pages were the contents of a dizzyingly fast world that I was going to be a part of one day. I flipped through furiously. Nothing it said interested me. Or rather, all I could feel was a penetrating sense of premature decay.

One headline printed in soft and gentle colours caught my eye: Japan is dying.

I found it strange that such a statement could ever be seen on a magazine of lively, worldly affairs.

The rest of the article focused on the meagre ways Japan could be saved. It was not as spectacular or engaging as I had expected it to be. But as I read, I recalled Homura-chan's words to me on the hilltop.

"Where then do you escape to? Faith? Madness? Death? Love?"

And then a single statement slowly dawned on me: Japan is dying; I am dying. It was an undeniable fact that was always in the background of my world. Yet, only at that moment did I truly connect with that reality. I had discovered the living truth beneath it.

In my mind, I repeated time and time again: I am dying, I am dying. Yet, I did not feel agony or fear of any sort. Only a peaceful feeling rocked my heart. Is it strange? It must be strange. It must be because, for a long time, I was already dead. Where then do I escape to?

Looking at my hands in the pale moonlight, I could not help but think they were like candles burning softly in the daytime, willingly fading without fear or resistance from the visible world.

Then a voice came.

"Mami."
"Yes?"
"Mami."
"What is it?"
"Mami."
"Sakura-san?"

I raised my head and saw. She was looking at me.

"Mami."
"What is it, Sakura-san?"
"Mami."

I turned back to my magazine then.

"Mami."

"Mami."
"Do you have something to tell me?"
"Not that."
"Then?"
"You…"
"I?"

She tried to pick up what she wanted to say but trailed off. Then, she sighed.

I lifted my head away from the magazine and glared at her, but she had already turned back to face the window. It was frustrating. It was suffocating. There was nothing I could do. There was nothing I could say. Coward, I thought, you are a coward. And I was a coward. Having given up on myself, I gave up on the world around me. Such were my thoughts at the time.

Holding my burning throat with a hand, I tried to go back to reading, but I could no longer concentrate on the text.

"Aahhh, gets so cold, say, whatcha reading so focusedly about, hm? Hm? Hmmm?"

I tried my best to ignore her.

Craning towards me, she read out, "Japan is dying? Ufufu."
"What's so funny about that?"
"Ain't it obvious? I mean, it's such a simple thing."
"What is?"
「人生の真ん中で、我らは死のうちにある」
"Again with the obscure English."
"In the midst of life, we are in death. That's what it means. Everything is everdying."
"That's just a matter of perspective."
"That's what you always say. Ah, look!"
"Look where?"
"The next page!"

She pointed her finger at a small column of poems. Specifically, she was looking at a Chinese poem about drifting clouds and a clear moon – a realm of changeless acceptance and infinite calm. I could not quite understand it.

"Beautiful, ain't it?"
"Mm, splendid."
"And the next one, see?"

She was referring to a death poem, whose author was unknown.

My life
came like dew
disappears like dew.
All of Mitakihara
is dream after dream.

"Kinda like a children's song, isn't it?"
"A children's song?"
"Or a rap."
"Mm. Maybe."
"Whaddya mean maybe?"
"Nothing much. That's all I meant, really."

I must have offended her in some way because afterwards, Sakura-san raised her head and gave me a long, steady look. Then she turned away and spoke with the utmost quiet and calm.

"… in spite of what you'd like others and yourself to think, you're not a very sensitive or kind person, are you, Mami-san?"
"What do you mean by that?" I said, shocked.
"You're a bully," she said, "You're cruel. Of us all, you're the most cruel."

I could not answer her. My ears started to burn. I looked at her helplessly, as though I had been gutted.

She continued.

"I mean, you're always like that, you know. Always. You've never really understood anything. You've never changed," she said, "Every time I ask for snacks, you don't treat me. You don't even spoil Nagisa, you know. Like, it wouldn't kill you to just lavish on others, yea?"

Hearing such a trifling argument, the vice-like grip on my heart began to relax.

"So?"
"Y'know, just sayin', I'll be in your care from now on?"
"I don't take freeloaders."
"I wanna drink your miso soup everyday from now on?"
"Mattaku, mou."

Sakura-san giggled at my exasperation.

"So, that's why, I'm just saying – you don't look after yourself well. So... take care of yourself, yea?"

I assumed then that Sakura-san was expressing a normal interest in my affairs and that her turbulent mood was simply due to her fickle nature. I could not have guessed that her words implied much more than appeared on the surface.

Afterwards, Sakura-san complained that she was feeling bored and dragged me to the upper deck. There, Homura-chan was smiling as she leaned her back on the railing and watched the world go by. Sakura-san stormed right up to her and recited the death poem to her, insisting on its singalong quality. To my surprise, Homura-chan started joyfully singing a hayafue melody to the poem. Sakura-san jumped in next with a children's song tune. Not to be outwitted, I joined with a catchy vocal line I remembered from an idol song my parents used to like.

〜 my life 〜
〜 came like dew 〜
〜 disappears like dew 〜
〜 all of mitakihara 〜
〜 is dream after dream after dream after dream 〜

It was horrible to listen to, but that made for a better performance in all. Together, we sang heartily and had so much fun playing around that the bitter cold wind buffeting against us no longer bothered me.