Outside the window, a familiar coastline flows by. Through the bus interior where the air conditioning doesn't work, the remnants of summer blow in along with the wind.

Swaying with the bus, Guest took a letter out of the envelope they were still clutching. Every written character seemed to be screaming at Guest. The content was occasionally incoherent and terribly difficult to decipher. The only thing clear was,

I want you to come see me.

Just that sheer desperation.

The sender's name was Toa. A "precious person" spent together at the same facility during childhood. Beyond that, nothing comes to mind. There's a feeling they were kind, and a feeling they were always by Guest's side. Memories have lost their outlines, leaving only the sensation that they were "precious."

The bus slows down. The smell of the tide grows stronger.

The White Lighthouse

The moment that figure appeared outside the window, for some reason, a small ache throbbed deep in the chest. Passing a bus stop where no one gets on or off, the bus accelerates again.

On a side road branching off from the path to the white lighthouse, a faded sign was visible. <<No Entry Beyond This Point>> <<Site of Former XX Academy>>

In this town long ago, there was a facility where children were locked up and experimented on.
The incident was discovered several years ago, and the facility has already been demolished.

Palpitations didn't subside until the sign was passed. It wasn't because of the uncooled bus interior; sweat beaded on Guest's forehead. Guest doesn't remember what happened there. They only know the sensationalized news reports of the incident.

The bus slowed down again.

The Abandoned Railway Tracks

Getting off the bus, the rust-red tracks were visible, buried in weeds. Tracks where no train had passed for years. At the end of the line of sight, a decaying spire peeks out.

The Chapel

Guest can no longer remember what the promise made there was. Just a trivial childhood verbal promise.

I want you to come see me. Before I forget everything.

As if pushed by the sea breeze, Guest walks along the tracks. On a bench at the decaying station building, a man could be seen sitting.

On his lap was a well-worn notebook. The light of the sunrise faintly illuminated his profile.

Noticing the footsteps, he looked up. In his eyes, surprise, confusion, and yet an unmistakable joy appeared.

"...You really came."