After returning home, I immersed myself in writing, forgetting even to eat or sleep. Because my parents would scold me if I didn't go to school, I reluctantly attended, slept through the exams, and headed straight back to my computer as soon as I got home.

Because if I wasn't engrossed in something, my heart would remember the sadness, and I would start shedding tears again.

So it was less about a creative drive and more akin to self-defense.

To protect my body and mind, I continued this escapism under the guise of creation.

I stayed up all night writing through Wednesday and Thursday nights, and finally, on Friday morning, the story was complete.

It was the first time in my life I had ever been so absorbed in a single novel and written it all in one go.

The orange morning sun shone through the gap in the curtains, stinging my sleep-deprived eyes.

Even so, I felt such a profound sense of accomplishment that I couldn't even feel the fatigue of consecutive all-nighters.

In terms of polishing it, I probably should have set it aside for a few days before rereading it, but I decided to print the novel out exactly as it was. For some reason, I just wanted to bring it with me to school.

...Though calling it an offering feels a bit weird.

I wanted to show the freshly printed manuscript to her, the one who had looked forward to my novel more than anyone else.

Tossing it into my bag, I headed straight to school without even eating breakfast.

On the bus ride to school, I kept dozing off, nodding into light sleep again and again.

But why is it that naps taken when you're sleep-deprived always give you such dense, vivid dreams? Inside the bus, amidst fragmented images, I repeated a similar experience over, and over—and over again.

It was a bizarre space.

Portraits of musicians, guitars, white sculptures, and abstract paintings adorned the walls. Paints and brushes were crammed into the front of the room, yet right next to them towered a massive grand piano. Standing beside it was a high school girl who looked entirely too small compared to the piano. This high school girl looked exactly like a certain someone, and her body appeared faintly transparent, as if to assert that she was a ghost.

"This is goodbye."

The ghost, who looked exactly like that certain someone, said this with her usual wry smile.

Then, with a swirl of her pleated skirt, she turned her back to me and began walking away, her footsteps clicking. Seeing her back, a tightening pain shot through my heart. It hurt so much I couldn't breathe, I was so sad, yet terrified of something, and that fear bound my legs like thorny vines.

—No, my legs were actually bound by thorny vines.

When I moved my legs, the thorns dug into my ankles, tearing through skin and flesh, dripping blood.

Just from that, an intense pain shot through me, so sharp it almost made me scream out loud.

Even so, I forcefully tore away the thorns and desperately chased after the ghost's retreating back.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts—but more than that, I didn't want to lose her.

"Wait!"

Unable to bear it any longer, I screamed.

As if swallowed by my scream, the pain dominating me vanished, and my body began to move forward on its own. Before I knew it, the distance between her and me had stretched far beyond the size of the room. It was a room, yet it stretched out endlessly like a hallway, but I didn't question it at all, running mindlessly toward her.

"I don't want to let you go anymore!"

I reached out my hand.

I reached my bony hand toward her soft one.

In that moment, without a doubt, I was fearlessly acting the part of the protagonist.

And right before our hands touched, for a split second—a fear sprouted within me: What if I just slip right through her? Still, thinking Who cares!, I grabbed her hand with all my might.

"I want to stand by your side—even if I have to sacrifice everything else."

I pulled her hand, spun her body around, and pulled her into a hug just like that.

Her small body. I hugged it tightly, as if monopolizing the heat she radiated.

"Because I... for you, I—"

What interrupted the words I wanted to convey was her, looking up at me with an endearing gaze.

That time, when I closed my eyes, the thing I had expected from her.

Not a kiss on my ring finger, but on my lips.

That is what interrupted my words.

That tear-stained kiss was soft enough to melt me, and hot enough to burn me.

My body jolted from the shock—and I woke up from the dream.

"...What the heck kind of dream am I having."

Besides, waking up from a kiss... I'm not some fairy tale princess, I mocked myself.

When I touched my cheek, it was, sure enough, wet. And when I touched my lips, I felt as if her heat faintly lingered.

When I let out a sigh, that heat melted into the bus's air and vanished somewhere.

The dream I had just seen traced the ending of the novel I had finished writing. I never expected to dream it and relive it, which was why my heart was pounding so strangely.

At the same time, I was enveloped in an immense sorrow and regret, making it hard to breathe.

I had thought that if I just wished for her happiness—if I chose the right path—I wouldn't have any regrets. But that was naive. I had written this novel as if driven by a powerful regret. Because if I didn't, my fragile heart felt like it would be crushed under the weight of that regret.

Why did I let Chifuyu pass on back then?

Why couldn't I just throw the "correct answer" away?

Why didn't I convey my feelings to her at the very end?

Countless regrets like these raced through me, burning my heart and pummeling my insides.

That's surely exactly why I ended up seeing such a pathetic wish just now.

The bus stopped at the stop in front of the high school.

The uniformed high school girls packed inside the bus were spat out in swarms. Becoming one of them, I dragged my heavy feet trudgingly, walking as if kicking the snow.

Even if I go to the music room now, I will never see Sunohara-san again.

Even so, just for today, I planned to take the manuscript in my bag and go to the music room. Because this novel was written entirely for the sake of that person who told me she loved the words I wrote.

In the classroom, Emiri had piled up manga magazines on her desk and was reading one of them. It was the final day of exams, so we were already entering the "going through the motions" phase; there was probably no need to cram anymore. Emiri and Madoka hadn't grilled me about what happened that day. Part of it was probably because I had been more engrossed in writing my novel than ever before, but they also chose not to touch on the subject.

I could tell that, in their own way, they had sensed something and were being considerate.

After a little more time passes and I've sorted things out internally, I plan to talk to them properly.

About the ghost I met in the music room.

My head was still dominated by sleepiness, and I felt like I would fall asleep the moment I sat in my chair. So before taking my seat, I headed over to Emiri to ask her about something that had been on my mind.

She welcomed me with an elegant smile.

It almost made me hallucinate a luxurious garden, morning tea, and the chirping of little birds.

"Good morning, Miyuki-san."

The mismatch between her soft smile and the manga books lined up on her desk was staggering.

"Morning, Emiri. Um... this is sudden, but do you know the Moonlight Sonata?"

"Beethoven, right? There are probably fewer people who don't know about the Three Great Piano Sonatas."

Unfortunately, hearing "Three Great Piano Sonatas" didn't ring a bell for me at all.

Emiri probably only meant it as a joke anyway, as she prompted me to continue with an "And so?"

"What kind of piece is... the Moonlight Sonata?"

It was a very vague question, but Emiri went "Hmm," and started seriously thinking about it for me.

"Apparently, his disciples described it as things like 'like a small boat rocking on the moonlit waves of Lake Lucerne in Switzerland' or 'a nightscape where the sorrowful voice of a soul can be heard from far away'."

"Ah, I might have heard the 'voice of a soul' one before."

When I answered, Emiri looked a bit surprised.

"Is that so? Actually, the former, 'like a small boat rocking on the moonlit waves of a lake', is more famous. After all, it was thanks to that remark that the piece started being called 'Moonlight'."

"Huh, I see. I always wondered why it was called Moonlight, so that was the reason."

"Other than that, let's see. If I recall correctly, this piece is also a love letter sent to a certain young lady."

"Eh—" a voice of surprise leaked from my mouth.

Because I never expected such a pinpoint word like "love letter" to come out of her mouth. True, it was a fact that I had been seeking something like that, but for it to actually become reality...

"I feel like later on, Beethoven referred to that young lady as his 'Immortal Beloved'."

—I agonized over finding the perfect song to dedicate to you.

I remembered Sunohara-san saying those words when explaining the Moonlight Sonata. I couldn't believe that someone who had "agonized over it" wouldn't know such an anecdote. Come to think of it, she had said some strange words at the very end. Could it be—the moment I thought that, my mouth was already moving.

"Emiri... what was that young lady's name?"

"I certainly don't remember it to that extent. Though if you look it up, I'm sure it'll come up immediately."

"By any chance, was it a name something like Giulietta Guicciardi?"

Hearing that name, Emiri clapped her hands together.

"Ah, yes, that's right. I'm pretty sure it was Giulietta."

"I see... so that's what it was."

...Immortal Beloved. That person never showed a single sign of something like that.

Learning that such a piece was dedicated to me in that way at the very end, my face instantly grew hot.

To make me realize this only when it's completely too late... that person is truly unfair.

Being informed of this now, what exactly am I supposed to do, and how?

I didn't know whether I should be happy or sad, but overcome with emotion, tears threatened to spill over.

—So the music I played will continue to live inside you, Miyuki, and it will continue to influence you.

I see. So that's how you made sure to leave a deep scar on my life.

A sob escaped me, and following it, all sorts of things felt like they were about to overflow.

"...Miyuki-san, are you alright?"

Emiri cast a bewildered look at me, as I had suddenly started crying.

"Y-Yeah, sorry."

I'm fine. Just as I was about to say that, a flying kick exploded in front of us. Fortunately, it was just a flying kick hitting the air, meant merely as intimidation, but it still startled us greatly.

To the point that even Emiri, who rarely broke her composure, actually made her body flinch.

"Hey Emiri, I don't care who you are, I won't forgive anyone who makes Miyuki cry!"

And her usual rapid-fire speech rained down.

The one who had arrived was a terribly misguided Madoka.

"Eh, ehh?! No, this was just Miyuki-san on her own; all I did was talk about Beethoven!"

"As if Miyuki would ever be interested in something like 'Beetho-bae'! Emiri, you forced your 'Beetho-bae' trivia on her, and since Miyuki was already emotionally unstable, it made her cry! That has to be it!"

"No, I don't have some weird fetish for forcefully reciting musician trivia to my friends."

Emiri looked over at me as if pleading for help.

Realizing that if I left it like this, Madoka's rampage would just continue, I hurriedly stopped her.

"Madoka, you really don't need to worry that much, I'm fine. Emiri and I were just talking."

"...Really?"

She asked in an unstable voice, as if forcefully suppressing her agitated heart. Knowing that the extent of her emotional turbulence directly reflected how much she worried about me, I felt a mixture of guilt and happiness.

"Yeah. I'm really okay. And... thanks for the other day."

"Well, fine, if Miyuki says so, I'll believe it. Oh, right, sorry for doubting you too, Emiri."

"I'm fine with it, but..."

Her gaze peered at me, seemingly worried about my condition. But I felt like adding any more words would just be exhausting, so I just offered them a smile and headed to my seat. I had no confidence that I managed a proper smile, so I might have ended up making them worry even more.

Taking my seat, contrary to my earlier prediction, I was now completely wide awake.

Because I never expected to receive a time-delayed confession of love like that.

Hugging my own body with both arms, I slumped over my desk just like that. If the me from that day had known the feelings poured into the Moonlight Sonata, would anything have actually changed?

—No, nothing probably would have changed.

Even if I had realized it was a confession of love, I probably wouldn't have been able to say anything. Because Sunohara-san herself hadn't shown the slightest hint of it. I would have likely pretended not to notice as well.

And then, just like now, I would repeat my regrets over and over again.

Thinking, I shouldn't have let her pass on back then.

I am that kind of terribly backward-looking person.

If I could fall asleep right now, would I be able to see a dream similar to the one I had on the bus?

A rehash of that day—would it show me the "what if" that I'm yearning for?

Being backward-looking, I can only envy the "me who chose a different option" in that way.

—I don't know if I'll see that dream, but I'll just sleep.

When I leaned my consciousness toward sleep, my sleep-deprived head easily sank into a slumber.

However, right before I could dream, the warning bell rang, waking me up in a half-baked state.

In the classroom hazy with sleepiness, I felt an unpleasant sensation, as if dream and reality had mixed together.

My heavy head and eyelids barely managed to tell me that this was reality.

I heard the sound of the proctor entering the classroom. There was still some time before the start, but they probably intended to pass out the answer sheets early. The murmuring exchanges between students and the teacher reached my ears like events happening far away. I didn't want my sleep interrupted midway, so I raised my head, planning to pass the answer sheets back first before going back to sleep. However, the moment I raised my head, my movements froze, and I scattered the papers all over the floor.

"Sunohara... san?"

Because I saw the figure of Sunohara-san in her one-piece dress beyond the podium.

Was I still half-asleep? Or was even this still the middle of a dream? I rubbed my eyes over and over, but her figure didn't vanish; rather, it only seemed to become clearer.

The student in front of me was looking at me in annoyance, but I didn't care about that at all.

—Whether this is a dream or reality, it doesn't matter.

Because the regrets I repeated to death over these past three days had etched these feelings deeply into my chest.

Kicking back my chair as I stood up, I stumbled unsteadily toward her.

"Sunohara-san."

I called her name once more.

She started to open her mouth, but from my perspective, words were no longer necessary.

So I stopped right in front of her and embraced her body just like that.

Because I had decided that the next time I saw her, I would absolutely never let her go.

—Is this a dream, is it reality, or is it the world of a novel?

Or perhaps, all of those have melted together, intricately entangled within me, and what spreads out before my eyes is a world belonging only to me. An illusionary world born as a result of thinking about her too much.

If that's the case, then so be it. If this is a world of madness, I even think I want to immerse myself in it.

Wrapped in her warmth, her scent, and her atmosphere, I sank into a deep darkness.