It was Sunday, the 7th of November 2010. The day Tsubaki died.
Tsubaki had died some time around 18:00, her death being one of the numerous serial killings that had gripped the city in a wave of fear and blood. The date felt heavy, like the rain that had finally eased into a thin, persistent mist. The friend group had decided together that today was the day they would visit Tsubaki's family for consolation.
Time had passed. They weren't the same students that were nonchalant to Ren-sensei's warning on serial killings. They met at the usual intersection near the park, all four of them — Sorine, Vey, Kairo, and Mimo. The air was cooler now, carrying the sharp scent of wet leaves and damp concrete. Sorine looked the most composed, though her eyes still carried the exhaustion from her time in the repeating hallway. She wore a simple black coat over her clothes, her long hair tied back neatly. Vey stood with their hood half-up, hands in their pockets, the familiar distance still present but softened by shared grief. Kairo arrived last, looking pale and tired, the psychological scars from the observers and his guilt still visible in the shadows under his eyes. Mimo was her usual gentle self, carrying a small bouquet of white flowers she had picked up on the way.
They walked together in near silence toward Tsubaki's family home, a modest two-story house in a quiet residential neighborhood. The street was lined with trees whose leaves had begun to turn, and the mist made everything feel muted and distant.
When they arrived, Tsubaki's mother opened the door. She was a woman in her late forties, eyes red-rimmed from weeks of crying, her face drawn with the kind of grief that doesn't fade quickly. She invited them in with a trembling smile.
The living room was simple and warm, filled with family photos — many of them featuring Tsubaki's bright smile. A small altar had been set up in the corner with incense, a framed photo of Tsubaki, and some of her favorite snacks. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and fresh tea.
The process of consolation began slowly, as it always did in these situations. They removed their shoes at the entrance and bowed deeply to Tsubaki's mother and father, offering quiet words of sympathy. "We are so sorry for your loss," Sorine said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "Tsubaki was like a sister to us. She brought so much light."
Kairo bowed lower, his voice barely above a whisper. "She always made us laugh. Even on the rainiest days."
Vey spoke next, their tone steady but sincere. "We will never forget her."
Mimo placed the bouquet of white flowers gently on the altar, her movements graceful and respectful. "She was loved by all of us."
Tsubaki's mother hugged each of them in turn, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. "We were worried that the friends Tsubaki loved so much wouldn't show up, but I'm so very glad you did." Tsubaki's mother started to sob.
They sat together on the tatami mats, drinking the tea her father prepared. The conversation moved through the traditional steps of consolation — sharing fond memories of Tsubaki, talking about how she used to tease Kairo, how she always noticed when someone was having a bad day, how her laughter could brighten even the gloomiest classroom. They cried together, the parents thanking them for coming, for remembering their daughter.
After the tea and stories, they moved to the small altar. They lit incense sticks one by one, the fragrant smoke curling upward. Each of them bowed their heads and offered silent prayers.
Sorine spoke first, her voice soft but clear. "Tsubaki… we miss you every day. Please watch over us. Protect us in this rain-and-blood-soaked town. We're trying to stay together, but it's getting harder. Give us strength."
Vey followed, their prayer shorter but sincere. "We won't forget you. We'll keep fighting whatever this is."
Kairo's voice cracked as he spoke. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed us. I'll try to be braver. Please forgive me."
Mimo's prayer was the quietest, almost a whisper. "Rest well. We'll carry your light with us."
After the prayers, they sat in silence for a while longer, the incense smoke drifting lazily through the room. Tsubaki's mother held Sorine's hand tightly, thanking them again for coming.
As they were preparing to leave, Sorine turned to the group, her voice hesitant. "My mom… she's scared. She keeps talking about moving out of the town. She says it's not safe here anymore. The killings, the disappearances… she doesn't want to lose me too."
The others nodded quietly, understanding the fear all too well.
They stepped back out into the light mist, the visit leaving them drained but a little closer. The friend group walked home together under shared umbrellas, the weight of grief still heavy, but the bond between them strengthened by the shared ritual of consolation.
The town remained quiet under the gray sky.
---
Night had fallen completely, and the city was quiet except for the steady return of the rain.
Mimo stood alone in her bedroom, the only light coming from a small desk lamp. She held her hands up to the glow, palms facing her. The skin was still raw and reddened — ugly burns from when she had deliberately pressed both hands into a hot pan of oil days earlier. She had done it right after the park murder, the mother and child by the kiddie slide. The pain had been sharp and immediate, but necessary. Fingerprints were evidence. Evidence was a chain. She had melted away the old prints to make herself clean again.
She stared at the damaged skin for a long moment, expression blank. Then she reached for the pair of thin black gloves lying on the bed. She pulled them on slowly, carefully stretching the fabric over the burnt palms until they fit snugly. The gloves were the same ones she wore with her killing attire — smooth, unremarkable, perfect for hiding what she had become.
The rain outside began to fall harder, drumming against the roof and windows.
Mimo turned off the lamp. The room plunged into darkness. She moved silently through the house, slipping out onto the small balcony and climbing the narrow ladder to the flat roof of her family home.
She stood at the center of the roof in full attire.
The black suit clung to her body, already soaked through. The smooth white mask covered her entire head, rain streaming down its blank surface in rivulets. Water poured off the edges of the roof in thick sheets, but she remained perfectly still, face tilted upward toward the dark sky.
The rain bathed her completely — cold, heavy, relentless. It ran down the mask, over the suit, soaking every inch of fabric until she looked like a statue carved from shadow and water.
She looked up.
There was no expression beneath the mask. No joy, no sorrow, no hunger. Just emptiness. The same blank, lifeless stare she had worn while killing the mother and child, while standing over the bodies in the store, while washing blood from her hands afterward.
The rain continued to fall, harder now, washing over her like it was trying to cleanse something that refused to be cleaned.
Mimo stood motionless on the roof, a silent figure against the stormy night sky — wet, masked, and utterly lifeless.