...17/09/2009 Thursday; Midday...
Fuuka kept her gaze fixed on the scenery ahead.
From up there, she could see the whole city — sunlight glinting off the glass of tall buildings.
The breeze blew gently, brushing through her hair, yet her eyes were distant, as if her mind had drifted months back in time.
She thought about everything the group had faced since then — the endless nights, the battles, the constant fear.
All of it had changed her, but even so... some wounds never truly healed.
"You know I disappeared for a few days..." she said quietly, her voice almost hesitant. "That's because... I was pulled inside Tartarus."
Hiro blinked in surprise, tilting his head slightly. "What do you mean?"
Fuuka tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes falling to the ground. "I used to be bullied by a girl. Natsuki Moriyama..."
The name sounded strange to him — hard to connect with anything cruel. He looked at Fuuka with disbelief and anger mixed in. It was almost impossible to imagine anyone hurting her.
But he stayed silent. Something in her tone told him she needed to say it.
"I used to think she was my friend," Fuuka continued, clutching her hands tightly in her lap. "But... one day, she and her friends locked me inside a locker. In the gym."
Hiro's eyes widened, his body leaning forward.
"What? How could they do that to you?" His voice came out harsher than he intended, edged with anger.
Fuuka shook her head, a bitter smile on her lips. "I don't know... maybe because of how I am. My parents always expect me to be perfect — like them. They're doctors... and I've always felt kind of out of place."
Hiro ran a hand over his face, exasperated. "That makes no sense. You'd never hurt anyone... and to be treated like that?"
She lowered her head, her eyes glistening. "I'm sorry..."
Hiro immediately shook his head, forcing a soft smile. "You don't need to apologize, Fuuka. You didn't do anything wrong."
For a moment, silence settled between them — only the distant sound of cars filled the air.
Then, Hiro tilted his head slightly, his tone gentler. "Go on... what happened after they locked you in the locker?"
Fuuka's breathing grew short, trembling.
The memories returned like shards of glass cutting through her mind — sharp, painful, impossible to push away.
The muffled sound of her fists pounding on the wood echoed again in her head.
"Please! Someone!"
Her voice had been hoarse, ragged. Each strike made her knuckles throb, the edges of her hands bruised and sore.
But the silence on the other side was absolute.
Nothing.
No answer. No footsteps. No sound.
The air inside the locker grew heavier, suffocating. The wood smelled of dust and despair. Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she pressed her forehead against the cold door.
"Why... are they doing this to me?"
That was when she heard it.
A bell.
The sound reverberated through the entire gym — slow, metallic — as if the air itself vibrated with it.
Fuuka jerked back, heart pounding. A shiver ran down her spine as the light outside changed — the deep blue of night shifting into a sickly green, almost fluorescent.
And then... the locker vanished.
Without warning, the floor gave way beneath her feet.
The world spun.
She dropped to her knees, disoriented, but the walls around her began to twist and warp — sliding, pulsing, breathing.
The ground beneath her started to rise, like an invisible elevator tearing through the ceiling and climbing endlessly upward.
"Wha... what's happening?!" she cried, her voice cracking.
Everything dissolved into darkness.
She raised her arms instinctively, but suddenly the floor disappeared, and her body was hurled forward. The scream tore from her throat, echoing into a void that seemed to stretch without end.
Then — impact.
Her body slammed against something hard, bouncing, spinning, until she hit her back against a pillar. Pain sliced through her like a blade, every muscle locking tight as the air was knocked from her lungs.
Groaning, she tried to stand. Her knees trembled. Her hands searched for balance on the cold, uneven surface.
Her gaze lifted.
The corridor before her was... alive.
The walls pulsed in shades of purple, as if made of translucent bones woven together. The surfaces moved with slow, rhythmic breaths, and the sound of something wet and distant echoed all around.
Fuuka took a step back, her heart racing, eyes wide with terror.
"W-Where... am I?" she whispered, her voice trembling with fear.
The wind on the rooftop blew gently.
She was still looking down, her fingers intertwined in her lap, her gaze distant — as if part of her was still trapped in that nightmare of memories.
The silence between them lasted long enough for Hiro to feel the weight of that memory lingering in the air. He leaned forward slightly, his voice low but steady.
"You mean... because you were inside the school when the Dark Hour started, you ended up being pulled into Tartarus?"
The question seemed to pull her out of her thoughts. Fuuka blinked, confused, bringing a hand to her forehead.
Only then did she realize she had been speaking out loud while remembering that moment.
She nodded slowly.
"Yes... When I was in there, time felt different. For me, it was only a few hours. I kept hiding from the Shadows, even before I awakened Lucia. But... I could sense them coming, like... something inside me was warning me."
Hiro kept his eyes fixed on her, listening to every word.
"And how did you get out?"
Fuuka lifted her gaze, a hint of relief softening her tone.
"Sanada-senpai, Arisato-kun, and Junpei-kun found me. They said I had been trapped there for a whole week."
Hiro blinked, surprised.
"A week...? But to you, it was just a few hours?"
She confirmed with a small nod.
Hiro ran a hand over his face, trying to process that. The idea of time flowing differently inside Tartarus left a bitter taste in his mind — and a cold feeling spread in his chest.
If the S.E.E.S. had been even a little later... what would've happened to her?
Fuuka averted her eyes, her voice growing softer.
"That's why... I never really learned much. My parents were always busy, hardly ever home. And I... didn't have any friends to teach me or talk to about how to get better at the things I was bad at."
Hiro watched her quietly for a moment, his gaze gentle. He murmured almost unconsciously:
"Fuuka..."
She looked back at him, a small smile forming on her lips — not of joy, but of quiet gratitude.
"But when I joined S.E.E.S..." — she took a deep breath, her smile widening a little — "I didn't feel alone anymore. With all of you, I..."
Her eyes shimmered with sincerity.
"I feel safer."
Fuuka's words echoed in Hiro's mind — warm, genuine. He felt his chest tighten, a rare comfort blooming inside him, the kind that comes when someone shares a true piece of themselves. A faint smile curved his lips.
"I'm glad you feel that way," he said softly. Then, after a pause, his expression grew more thoughtful. "But..."
Fuuka tilted her head slightly.
"But what?"
Hiro crossed his arms, his tone curious.
"Why are you still friends with Natsuki? I mean... she bullied you. Locked you in a locker. And because of that, you were pulled into Tartarus."
Fuuka blinked, her gaze faltering before dropping to the concrete floor. For a moment, the wind seemed to steal away any words she could find. The memory of Natsuki — and everything that happened — was a weight she carried in silence.
She drew a slow breath, then lifted her eyes to Hiro.
"When everyone rescued me from Tartarus... it was a full moon night. So..."
Hiro raised an eyebrow, already guessing.
"You all fought a Shadow Arcana?"
Fuuka nodded.
"Yes. The Emperor and the Empress. But... in the middle of the battle, Natsuki appeared there."
Hiro's eyes widened.
"What?! She was pulled in too?"
Fuuka rubbed her cheek, her eyes distant, a shadow of sadness crossing her face.
"She was drawn to Tartarus. When I disappeared... she thought I had taken my own life. She blamed herself for everything. And when she showed up there... all she did was apologize."
A chill ran down Hiro's spine. Natsuki's guilt, Fuuka's fear, their fates crossing paths in a place like Tartarus... none of it felt like coincidence.
"So... she regretted it," he murmured.
Fuuka closed her eyes and nodded slowly.
"Yes. And I... couldn't ignore that. In the end, I forgave her."
Hiro let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh, shaking his head.
"Only you could forgive something like that, Fuuka."
She looked away, a faint blush rising to her cheeks.
"Well... I just can't be cruel to anyone."
Silence settled again, gentle and light, broken only by the distant cries of seagulls. Hiro lowered his gaze, staring at his hands.
"You have a kind heart, Fuuka," he said with a small smile.
Fuuka giggled softly, but the sound faded when she noticed Hiro's distant look — not empty from sadness, but something deeper.
There was weight there, something trapped between what he said and what he couldn't put into words.
"What is it, Hiro? Did something happen?" she asked, her tone gentle.
Hiro exhaled a long breath, his eyes still on the ground.
"Sort of."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers intertwined. For a moment, silence swallowed his voice. But in his mind, the voices came back — Mitsuru in the hospital, her father, Takeharu Kirijo, and... his mother's name. Sophia Mikoshi.
Even though it had only been mentioned once, it wouldn't leave his mind.
Why? Why did that name echo inside him like an old wound torn open again?
He drew in a breath.
"When I went to visit Mitsuru in the hospital... I ended up meeting her father. He told me some things I can't get out of my head."
Fuuka turned to him, curious.
"What things?"
"You mentioned your parents..." — Hiro scratched the back of his neck. — "And it reminded me of something. Takeharu Kirijo knew my mother."
Fuuka blinked, puzzled.
"Your mother?"
Hiro nodded slowly.
"She died right after I was born. And because of her death... my life wasn't easy."
The words came out heavy, dragging. He closed his eyes, and old memories began to surface.
The sharp sound of a door slamming.
The echo of a child's cries.
Small fists pounding on wood.
The memory cut through him like a blade. He was ten years old. His father was shoving him into his room, his face twisted in anger and despair.
The words still echoed like ghosts.
"You killed her! It's your fault!"
TO BE CONTINUED...