Prologue: The End of Our Third-Year Summer
Come to think of it, youth is something like a well-crafted mystery novel.
For those of us caught in the midst of it, we can’t even clearly understand what we’re experiencing.
Only after everything ends, when it’s too late to take anything back, does the full picture finally come into view.
“We were such idiots back then, but man, that was fun, wasn’t it?” — looking back while saying things like that, people can finally recognize it clearly as youth for the first time.
It’s as if a brilliant detective stands beside us, logically unraveling the mystery with perfect clarity.
Our third-year summer is ending.
For us, it carried with it the weight of a small turning point.
Having finally found some peace, I was studying in the library when Rio Iwama gently tapped my shoulder.
“Hey, got a minute?”
In her whispered voice, mindful of our surroundings, I sensed a different waveform than usual. The slightly elevated tone I’d hear when she’d obtained unexpected data or discovered a rare insect. As always, I nodded silently.
We moved to the vacant lot behind the biology room. A small mound of grass rose up like an ancient burial mound — perfect for sitting and resting. We sat down side by side in our usual spots on the slope.
“It’s such nice weather, I wanted to get some fresh air,” Iwama murmured, as if making an excuse.
As we chatted about nothing in particular, we heard the desperate cries of an evening cicada from the direction of the mountain behind the school. And when our conversation naturally broke off, Iwama pulled out a white envelope from her bag.
“Um, Del-chan, this is…”
Her voice, usually so crisp it practically bounced, wavered today.
I took the envelope. Nothing was written on it. I looked at Iwama to confirm what it meant.
For some reason, she averted her eyes.
“Sorry for suddenly giving you something like this. But, how should I put it… in a way, it’s like returning the favor…”
I thought about checking the contents and turned it over, but it was firmly sealed with glue. I’d need scissors to open it, I thought, when Iwama added more.
“I actually wanted to give it to you much earlier, but… I thought it wouldn’t be right while you were working hard at club activities. So, it might be too late now, but at this timing…”
It didn’t make much sense. It was taking on the appearance of a guessing game about what could be inside.
Iwama’s ears had turned faintly red. Noticing my gaze, she casually covered her ears with her hand.
“Um, well then, I’ll head back!”
Before I could ask if it was okay to open it here, Iwama left, leaving me alone.
When I returned to the library, Iwama’s bag was already gone. Had she already left?
I carefully cut the seal with scissors, then, taking only the envelope, moved to the deserted local history section. Somehow, I felt it would be better to take out the contents where no one could see.
What emerged was a postcard-sized laminated paper. On fine white paper, a magnificent pressed flower in pale pink was sealed within. In the silence, I stared for a while at that ephemeral color.
That was all that was in the envelope. However, from the texture, I could tell there was a sticky note on the back. When I turned it over, characters were written in fountain pen on a simple pink sticky note.
I tried using a film that reflects UV rays, but I’d appreciate it if you could store this somewhere out of direct sunlight as much as possible, so the pigments won’t break down from the light.
READ THE ORIGINAL TRANSLATION AT LOCALIZERMEERKAT.GITHUB.IO
That was all. Not even a signature.
I felt a sense of familiarity in the priority of information — writing not a message but handling instructions.
That’s just how we’ve always been.
In the end, I couldn’t definitively determine what the pressed flower meant.
Still, of all flowers, this one… nostalgic memories came flooding back.
Looking at the modest pale pink, I began to reminisce about days that seemed like ancient history now.
The story of the beginning — of the days we would someday call our youth—
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