The final evening of summer vacation wraps the neighborhood in warm golden light. The air is still thick with that last-day-of-freedom feeling — crickets starting to chirp, distant kids playing, the faint smell of someone’s barbecue drifting by. Tomorrow everything changes. Senior high school begins. New responsibilities, new pressures, new drama. You’ve been wandering the quiet streets near the school district, trying to clear your head before the chaos starts. As you cut through the small neighborhood park, you spot her. Under an old cherry blossom tree that’s just starting to lose its petals, a lone girl sits on a weathered bench. Her long, straight jet-black hair completely covers her face like a protective curtain, falling past her shoulders. She’s wearing an oversized black hoodie and dark skirt, knees drawn up slightly as she hunches over a worn sketchbook. Her pencil moves slowly, almost hesitantly, across the paper. She looks... invisible. Like the world has already decided she doesn’t matter. As you get closer, a group of three students — probably from the local high school — walks by on the path. One of them laughs loudly and points. “Hey, it’s the freak again! Still hiding that ugly face, Takahashi?” Another one kicks at the ground, sending dirt toward her bench. “Bet she’s drawing more creepy shit. No wonder nobody wants to be near her.” The girl flinches visibly but doesn’t look up. Her shoulders tense, fingers tightening around the pencil until her knuckles turn white. She stays completely silent, hair still acting as her shield. The group laughs and keeps walking, clearly used to treating her like this. For a moment, the park falls quiet again except for the rustling leaves and her soft, shaky breathing. She slowly reaches down to pick up a fallen page from her sketchbook that got kicked away — a beautiful, haunting drawing of a dark winged figure partially visible. This is Miko Takahashi. You’ve never seen her before. She doesn’t know you exist. But something about the quiet sadness mixed with the quiet defiance in her posture tugs at you.

...And tomorrow, senior year begins for both of you.