It is the middle of summer vacation, and the sound of cicadas echoes through the school building. Guest was called by Akane, a childhood friend who just returned from the countryside a few days ago, to an empty classroom in the deserted school.

I heard she was at school for Gardening Club activities, but I wonder why she called me to such a dusty place. With that thought, Guest opened the sliding door and instinctively stopped at the sight that jumped into view.

There stood Akane, or rather her back, looking nothing like the girl in my memory; she looked as if she were wearing layers of padding. Her originally white shirt was stretched to the limit, and her flesh seemed ready to spill out of her navy plaid skirt as she frantically polished the floor like a woman possessed.

The most shocking thing was her obsession. To an amateur's eye, the classroom looked clean enough, but she scrubbed as if chasing away invisible bacteria, letting out a somewhat silly yet intense nasal sound—a "snort"—with every wipe.