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V5 Story I – Part 03

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Translator: Kell

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We walked through the quiet dormitory. Since classes were in session, there were no students around. The only sound was our footsteps on the stairs.

Stone statues adorned the railing of the staircase.

“Time seems to have stood still,” Mayuzumi said, stroking the head of a small bird sticking its beak out.

It was as if everything was in a hundred-year sleep.

Mayuzumi had met with the headmaster on the first floor of the high school. I was waiting on the hallway, so I had no way of knowing what the conversation was about. But the look on Mayuzumi’s face suggested it wasn’t anything pleasant.

For her, it was probably boring.

“The academy has 80 students divided into four classes per year level,” the teacher explained as he led the way. “480 students in total for both middle and high school. Four students share a room in the middle school dormitory, while two students share one room in high school. However, the units on the fifth floor are private rooms.”

We passed through the fourth floor and headed for the fifth floor. On the railing near the landing, an elaborate owl was casting an intelligent gaze in the air. Fine scratches marred its golden eyes.

Mayuzumi brought her face close to its beak, and said, “Private rooms? Are you sure they’re not isolation rooms? Ideologies are very contagious.”

“Private rooms are provided to students whose situation necessitates one,” the teacher replied with a sour look on his face.

In other words, girls who were threats to other students were gathered on the fifth floor.

On the fifth floor railing was a lone crow spreading its wings.

“So, where’s the room of the girl who committed suicide?” Mayuzumi asked, poking the red eyes with her nails.

Doors lined the amber-polished corridor. I counted a total of twenty on both sides. Room numbers were engraved in gold letters on each door.

At the far end of the corridor was an odd sight.

One door was covered with white flowers. Countess flowers, mostly lilies and orchids, lay as tribute. A damp, sweet fragrance drifted through the air. Flowers touched the door in mourning.

The ornamented door looked like a tombstone.

“This room was occupied by a student named Kousaka Tsubaki,” Mayuzumi said softly. “She slit her wrists.”

Breathing a sigh, the teacher approached the door, avoiding the flowers. He pulled a key from his breast pocket.

“Please don’t lay flowers on my body,” Mayuzumi said. “Wasn’t that her last words?”

The girl seemed to have loathed flowers.

Yet the door to her room was full of them.

“Her last words are kept secret from the students,” the teacher said. “That’s why they come to offer flowers behind our backs. Growing flowers is a popular activity in the academy. Many students own potted plants, and we even have an actual greenhouse. They have no trouble procuring flowers, so even if we forbid it, this happens.”

The teacher unlocked the door. He aggressively picked up the flowers in the corridor. Most of them were white. The girls must have had a tacit understanding to offer white flowers to the dead.

My eyes momentarily caught the color red, searing onto my retina.

Buried in the soft white was a single crimson.

There was a red flower among the white ones. Small veins ran through thick petals like blood vessels. The color soon disappeared, blanketed by the white.

“Please wait,” I said, curious. “This flower—”

There was a creak.

Mayuzumi pulled open the door and stepped on the petals. Her back was turned to me.

I stopped whatever I was trying to say. Mayuzumi did not need information about the red flower. She didn’t care about the trace of red among the whites.

“Let’s go, Odagiri-kun,” she said.

Her black silhouette disappeared behind the door.

I followed her into the dimness.

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Click.

When I turned on the light, crimson filled my vision.

Mayuzumi, holding a red parasol, was standing in front of me. She rested the parasol on her shoulder and looked around. The room, about thirteen square meters in size, was neat and tidy, furnished with a desk and a bed. Textbooks were lined up on the desk, and a bag lay beside the chair. A pot with no flower sat by the window. All her belongings remained here.

“The school is going to dispose of the belongings at the request of the family. No one wants to take any of the things here,” Mayuzumi said. “In short, this room is like a coffin. Everything here buried with the casket.”

The teacher did not enter the room, presumably to leave everything to us. I looked around. The belongings left behind were blanketed in a chilly silence.

A ray of discomfort crept into my head. I felt my head ache as I studied the items that the girl used before her death. Her belongings would never be in anyone’s hands again.

It might seem normal at first glance, but what if that wasn’t the case?

“Mayu-san, are the students in this academy shunned by their parents?” I asked.

Looking at the school’s policies and the belongings here made me arrive at that conclusion.

“About half of them, it seems,” Mayuzumi replied readily. “As for the rest, their parents decided that they want their children to grow up in an isolated environment. This is a confined space. For better or worse, it’s away from the mundane.”

A tightly-controlled space was to some a cattle pen, to others paradise.

I surveyed the room once more. The child in my stomach cried. Calming it down, I suppressed the memories that rose in my mind.

Even in death, no one wanted to accept her.

She was different from the girl who committed suicide. I couldn’t treat their suffering on the same level. And the circumstances were different for each of them. Yet I couldn’t help but feel sorry.

This room was too bleak.

A red parasol twirled, interrupting my thoughts. A moment later, a bloodstain appeared on the floor.

A vivid red sprang up on the wooden flooring. The edges of the bloodstains rose a little, and the red formed a smooth curve, quivering from the air blowing from the past.

It wasn’t blood.

Red petals.

Torn petals were scattered on the floor, cutting through the room like some guidepost. They appeared to be bloody footprints of someone walking. The trail led to a door other than the entrance.

Mayuzumi suddenly closed the parasol, and the crimson marks instantly vanished.

Mayuzumi strode boldly to the door. She grabbed the doorknob and pulled it open.

Inside was a bathroom dyed a pale blue—the washroom, bath, and toilet all combined in one space. The cracked tiles were chilly, the empty bathtub dry.

There was not a single drop of water in it.

Mayuzumi opened her parasol once more.

A red shadow fell on the tiles. I sat under the parasol so as not to interrupt her. Red and pale blue combined, creating an ominous hue. The parasol, filling the cramped space, drew a refined circle.

My ears caught the sound of water.

At the bottom of the tub, in the center of the morbid white, a drop of water emerged.

It wobbled under the light.

Splash.

The droplet increased in size. Heaving like a living creature, the water grew. As though winding back time, the water level rose, filling the tub.

The mirror-like surface glittered under the fluorescent lamp.

Splash.

The smooth surface stirred. A drop fell on the water, creating silvery ripples.

Water dripping from the tip of her hair disturbed the surface.

Splash.

Another drop.

Red flowers floated on the surface of the water like small boats. Soft petals, pushed by the waves, moved gracefully, dancing as they brushed against milky skin.

The water was cold.

I didn’t touch it, but I could feel it.

Haa… Haaah…

I heard heavy breathing.

There was someone in the bathtub.

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