Seika High School stood as a solid, three-story concrete block on the quieter edge of the residential district in their mid-sized city. The building had the plain, functional look common to many Japanese public high schools—wide rectangular wings connected by covered walkways, off-white pipes and ventilation ducts running along the exterior walls like exposed veins. Rows of large plastic windows reflected the gray afternoon light, some streaked with old rain marks that never quite washed away. The main entrance featured a low porch with metal railings, and the school grounds included a sand-covered sports field that turned muddy in bad weather. Inside, the hallways smelled faintly of floor polish and damp wood, lined with rows of faded blue lockers, some dented from years of student use, others decorated with peeling stickers or handwritten notes. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a flat, yellowish glow that made everything feel a little more tired by the end of the day.
The final bell had rung almost an hour ago. Most students had already hurried home or to club activities, leaving the corridors quieter, with only the occasional echo of distant voices or the scrape of chairs being pushed in. Outside, the rain poured steadily from a heavy slate-gray sky, turning the world soft and blurred. Puddles formed quickly on the asphalt paths and the flat rooftop, collecting in shallow dips where the surface had worn uneven over time.
Mimo stood alone on the school roof, face tilted upward into the downpour. She was a slim girl of sixteen with shoulder-length dark hair that now clung wet and straight to her cheeks and neck. Her school uniform—white blouse and dark pleated skirt—had soaked through completely, the fabric clinging to her skin and turning slightly translucent at the shoulders. Water streamed down her face in clear rivulets, dripping from her eyelashes and chin. She kept her eyes open despite the sting, lips parted just a little as if she were breathing in the cold, endless fall of rain. The low metal railing around the roof glistened with moisture, and beyond it the city stretched out in a haze of wet rooftops and distant streetlights flickering on early.
From the window of an empty second-floor classroom, Vey watched her in silence. Vey had a slender build, short messy hair partially hidden under the hood of their dark gray hoodie, and sharp but distant eyes that often avoided direct contact. They stood with hands tucked into their pockets, the classroom around them quiet and dim—desks arranged in neat rows, a blackboard still showing faint chalk traces from the last lesson, the air carrying the faint scent of old books and dampness from the rain seeping through window frames. Rain streaked the glass in constant flowing lines, softening Mimo's figure on the roof into something almost dreamlike.
The classroom door opened with a soft creak. Sorine stepped inside, shaking a few drops from her umbrella. She was about the same height as Mimo, with long straight hair tied back loosely and a gentle, thoughtful face that often carried a quiet determination. Her uniform blazer was still dry from staying inside, but her shoes left small wet prints on the linoleum floor.
"Vey, have you seen Mimo?" Sorine asked, voice carrying a note of mild worry. "She wasn't waiting at the usual spot after clubs ended."
Vey didn't turn right away. They simply raised one hand and pointed toward the roof visible through the rain-streaked window. "Up there. Standing in it again."
Sorine sighed softly, the sound almost lost under the steady drum of rain on the roof above. She adjusted the strap of her school bag and headed for the stairwell at the end of the hallway. The metal steps clanged faintly under her shoes as she climbed, the sound echoing in the empty stairwell. When she pushed open the door to the roof, a rush of cold, wet air hit her face. Rain immediately began soaking her hair and shoulders.
Mimo turned at the sound of the door, water cascading down her face. Her expression stayed soft, almost peaceful, despite the chill.
"Come inside," Sorine said gently, reaching out to take Mimo's cold hand. She pulled her toward the small covered overhang near the door, where the rain couldn't reach as directly. Once sheltered, Sorine used the sleeve of her blazer to carefully wipe Mimo's face and neck, drying what she could of the streaming water. Mimo's skin felt icy from the long exposure, but she didn't shiver or pull away.
"Why do you like standing in the rain like that?" Sorine asked, her voice quiet and close as she continued gently patting Mimo's wet hair back from her forehead. "You always come back soaked and freezing."
Mimo looked at her for a long moment, eyes half-lidded against the residual droplets still falling from her lashes. Then she simply smiled—small, private, and warm in a way that didn't quite reach full explanation. Instead of answering with words, she leaned in slowly. Their lips met in a gentle kiss, the warmth of it contrasting sharply with the cold dampness still clinging to Mimo's clothes and skin. Sorine's hands rested lightly on Mimo's waist, drawing her a little closer as the rain continued its steady rhythm just beyond the overhang, creating a soft curtain of sound around them.
The roof door banged open again with a louder clang. Kairo and Tsubaki stepped out, shaking water from their folded umbrellas. Kairo was a bit taller than average, with neat short hair and an analytical face that often looked thoughtful or slightly furrowed in concentration. Tsubaki had a lively presence, shorter with shoulder-length hair that framed a rounder, more expressive face, currently flushed from the climb and the rain.
"Why wasn't Vey with you guys?" Kairo asked, brushing a few wet strands from his forehead as he looked between Sorine and Mimo.
Sorine broke the kiss but kept one arm loosely around Mimo's waist. "Vey's still down in the classroom. They were watching from the window. Let's go get them so we can all head home together."
The four of them descended the stairs, shoes leaving damp prints on the linoleum that would dry slowly in the humid air. They found Vey exactly where they had been, still standing by the window with that familiar distant expression. Vey adjusted their hoodie slightly as the group entered, then picked up their bag without much comment.
Outside the school gates, the rain showed no sign of stopping. It fell in a consistent, heavy sheet, turning the sidewalks into glossy mirrors that reflected the gray sky and the occasional passing car headlights. The group walked under two shared umbrellas—Sorine and Mimo huddled under one, Kairo and Tsubaki under the other, with Vey stepping close enough to stay mostly dry. The streets glistened with puddles, and the air carried the clean, sharp scent of wet asphalt mixed with faint exhaust from distant traffic. Trees lining the sidewalks dripped steadily, their leaves heavy with water, and the overall atmosphere felt muted, as if the rain had pressed everything into a quieter, more introspective version of the city.
As they turned onto a narrower residential street lined with modest houses and small apartment buildings, they spotted Teacher Ren Fushiwara walking toward them from the mouth of a side alley. Ren was in his late twenties, with neatly combed dark hair, a calm and composed face, and sharp eyes that always seemed to notice more than he let on. He wore a dark coat buttoned against the weather, shoulders slightly damp.
He stopped when he reached them, his expression serious but steady. "Be careful on your way home tonight," he said directly, voice clear over the rain. "There are new cases of serial killings reported in the city. Bodies have been found with throats slashed open and abdomens cut wide, organs pulled out and left exposed. The police aren't releasing many details yet, but the pattern matches earlier incidents. Stay together, avoid empty alleys after dark, and don't linger in isolated spots."
Vey's gaze drifted past Ren into the dark alleyway he had just emerged from. The narrow passage ran between two tall buildings, shadowed even in daylight and now deeply gloomy under the heavy rain. Water streamed down the walls and pooled on the ground, creating shallow flowing currents. Near a pile of discarded cardboard boxes and an overflowing trash bin, a human figure lay sprawled awkwardly on the wet concrete—limbs twisted at unnatural angles, a dark, spreading pool of liquid extending from the torso area. The heavy rain made details blurry, but the shape looked disturbingly still, clothes darkened and clinging.
Before Vey could step closer or ask anything, the others gently tugged them along. "Come on," Tsubaki said, linking her arm with Vey's. "We shouldn't stay here. It's getting late and the rain's only getting heavier."
As the group continued walking, Tsubaki's cheeks took on a slight flush that wasn't entirely from the cold. "Honestly… I have a bit of a crush on Ren-sensei," she admitted quietly, glancing back once. "He always seems to know things before anyone else does. Like he's quietly looking out for us in his own way, even if his warnings are kind of intense."
Kairo gave a small, half-amused shrug but didn't tease her much. The conversation stayed light as they walked, though an undercurrent of unease lingered beneath the patter of rain on umbrellas.
They reached Tsubaki's small apartment building first—a modest three-story structure with potted plants on some balconies now dripping wet. She waved goodbye and hurried inside. Next came Kairo's family home, a simple one-story house with a small front garden turned muddy by the rain. Finally, they arrived at Mimo's place—a quiet two-story home with an overgrown garden where weeds poked through the wet soil. Mimo kissed Sorine softly on the forehead under the umbrella, her lips still cool from earlier. "Text me when you get home," she said with her usual gentle smile, then waved as she disappeared inside.
Now only Vey and Sorine remained, sharing the umbrella as they retraced part of the same route. The rain continued drumming steadily, turning the streets even darker. In the distance, sirens began to wail—sharp and urgent, growing louder as they approached the area near the alley. When they passed the same narrow passage again, blue and red police lights flashed against the wet building walls. Yellow crime scene tape had been strung across the entrance, fluttering slightly in the wind-driven rain. Officers in dark raincoats moved around the scene, setting up barriers and speaking into radios. A black body bag now lay where the figure had been, the plastic surface glistening as rain drummed on it relentlessly.
Sorine's face paled visibly. She grabbed Vey's arm a little tighter and pulled them forward more quickly. "I can't deal with this kind of horror stuff," she said, voice tight with discomfort. "Murders, bodies left like that… all that blood and whatever else they do to people. It makes my stomach turn just thinking about it. Why does this keep happening around here? It feels like the whole city is getting heavier somehow."
Vey remained quiet, but their thoughts kept circling back to Ren Fushiwara—his calm, direct warning and the way he had emerged from that exact alley only minutes earlier.
That night, the rain showed no sign of letting up. It drummed continuously on rooftops, windows, and streets, turning the entire city into a wet, reflective haze under the streetlights.
---
In a forgotten, dimly lit corner of the city—where an old side street met an abandoned lot—three figures stood exposed to the downpour.
One sat motionless on a rusted metal bench, his tailored black suit completely drenched, water streaming in steady sheets off the smooth white mask that covered his entire head. Pale skin showed at the neck and wrists above black gloves, which rested calmly on his knees. Rain pooled around his dress shoes on the cracked pavement.
Above him, balanced precariously on the crossbar of a streetlight pole, the small child figure swung her legs casually back and forth. Her long black hair hung wet and straight past her shoulders, clinging to the simple boys' clothing that was now soaked through—oversized white shirt and dark shorts. An identical smooth white mask hid her face completely, raindrops sliding down its blank surface as she tilted her head slightly from side to side.
A third figure moved with deliberate calm in the deeper shadows of the narrow side street a short distance away. She too wore a tailored black suit and black gloves, the fabric glistening with rain and darker stains. The same smooth white mask covered her head. In front of her, a teen boy—no older than seventeen, backpack still slung awkwardly over one shoulder—stumbled backward, eyes wide with raw terror, mouth opening in a silent plea.
She struck with practiced precision. One gloved hand clamped firmly over his jaw to hold his head steady while the other drove a sharp blade upward under his ribs in a swift, angled thrust. The steel punctured a lung; he let out a wet, gasping choke as bright blood immediately bubbled from his mouth and nose. She twisted the knife viciously and yanked it sideways, slicing a wide, ragged gash across his entire abdomen. Intestines spilled out in heavy, steaming loops—purple-gray coils slick with blood and fluids—hitting the wet pavement with loud, wet slapping sounds that mixed with the rain. The boy screamed hoarsely, his hands clawing desperately at the protruding mass as more organs began to slide out: sections of stomach and liver glistening wetly in the dim light. Blood sprayed in warm arcs with each movement, soaking the front of her suit, the ground, and the boy's clothes. He collapsed to his knees in the growing puddle, gurgling and coughing as he tried in vain to shove the slippery, warm coils back inside his torn belly. His fingers only slid through the bloody mess, spreading it further across the concrete. Rain mixed with the blood into pink rivulets that flowed into the gutter. With one final, deliberate slash, she opened his throat in a wide fountain of dark red that gushed outward, mixing instantly with the falling rain. The boy pitched forward face-first into his own spilled viscera, body twitching once, twice, then lying still amid the gruesome tangle of exposed organs and pooling blood.
The masked woman stood over the body for several long seconds, breathing steady and even. Then she reached up with a gloved hand and slowly removed her white mask.
It was Mimo. Her face, now bare to the rain, showed faint splatters of blood across her cheeks, lips, and forehead. She tilted her head upward, letting the raindrops fall directly onto her skin. They washed away some of the crimson streaks in thin pink trails that ran down her neck and disappeared into her collar.
"Why did you stay around?" she asked the other two figures, her voice light and casual, carrying easily over the rain.
The man on the bench and the child on the streetlight remained completely quiet, rain continuing to pour over their masked forms without interruption.
Mimo stood fully, wiping the blade clean on the boy's soaked jacket before slipping it into a pocket. She began walking out of the alley, her shoes splashing through the bloody water that now covered parts of the pavement.
The child on the streetlight called after her in a light, sing-song voice that cut through the downpour. "Why do you look up when it rains?"
Mimo paused for the briefest moment, then simply smiled—small, private, and unchanged. She continued walking out of the alley and into the night without another word, the rain steadily cleaning the last visible traces of blood from her face as her figure disappeared around the corner.