The next morning, Mayumi checked out of the apartment, packing everything she planned to bring into the car.
Her daughter, the well-behaved little Mizuki, did her best to help—hauling bags bigger than her head, panting from the effort.
Mayumi reminded her gently, "Mizuki, have you taken everything? We won't be able to come back if you forget something."
Little Mizuki counted the packages. "Nothing's left behind."
She turned and looked back at Takumi, who was preparing to leave for school. Their eyes met.
Over the past month, they'd already said everything that needed to be said. There wasn't anything more. Takumi simply offered, "Safe travels."
Mizuki's expression turned complicated. She hesitated, then called out, "Takumi!"
He stopped.
She continued, a little awkwardly, "Before I come back... could you maybe... try not to hang out with too many girls?"
Takumi gave her a bewildered look, full of disdain. "Do you think I'm that free?"
The adults around them burst out laughing.
Their laughter only made Mizuki more flustered. She fidgeted in place, cheeks burning, wishing she could disappear into the ground.
Takumi's father, Aizen, chuckled and chimed in, "Don't worry, Mizuki-chan. I'll keep an eye on him until you're back."
Mizuki lowered her head further. "Thank you... Uncle."
"You're welcome, haha."
Mayumi called, "Mizuki, say goodbye to Takumi. We're leaving."
Mizuki waved. Takumi waved back.
Then they each got into their cars and headed off in opposite directions.
But from the backseat, Mizuki kept glancing behind her until the road finally turned. Then she sat up straight, looked out the window, and smiled to herself.
Even though they were parting ways, she was already looking forward to seeing Takumi again a few years later.
He'd probably be really handsome by then—he already was now.
Despite the separation, Mizuki and Takumi didn't grow as distant as they'd feared in that first year.
Mizuki often called from her hometown to share little updates and ask about his life.
"Takumi! I showed Grandma the video of me winning the championship, and she said I was amazing! I told her it was all thanks to this boy named Takumi who taught me. She even said she wants to meet you if she gets the chance."
"Is that so."
…
"Takumi, are you going to school alone these days? Are you not... hanging out with other girls?"
"No. What do you think I do all day?"
…
"Takumi, Grandma was doing better, but she got sick again. Are you doing okay?"
"...I guess? I'm still growing like crazy."
…
"Takumi, I've been back for over a year, but time goes by so slowly. We're only in third grade. There's still fourth, fifth, sixth... When are we finally getting to middle school?"
A year passed, and their phone calls went from every few days, to once a week, then once a month.
By the time they reached fourth grade, the calls became irregular. Mizuki only dialed when something truly special—or upsetting—happened.
The thread of connection between them, like the telephone line, never truly broke.
It was a rainy day in the south.
Now nine years old and in the second semester of fourth grade, Mizuki got dressed for school. She had grown taller, more graceful—and her ponytail was longer, too.
Mayumi drove her to school.
When she arrived, the classroom buzzed with noise.
"Mizuki! Did you finish yesterday's homework? Let me copy it, quick!"
Mizuki handed over her notebook. "Don't copy it word for word, or the teacher will catch you."
"I know! Thanks, Queen!"
"Don't call me that..." she muttered.
Her personality hadn't changed much, but she still followed Takumi's advice faithfully: if someone messed with her, she fought back.
Literally.
More than once, she'd thrown a classmate in front of everyone with a perfectly executed judo back-throw. It frightened both boys and girls alike.
That's how she got nicknames like "Back-Throw Queen" or just "Queen."
Mizuki hated those names, but she couldn't stop anyone from using them. She had even complained about it to Takumi.
Maybe she just didn't know how to make friends.
Even though she transferred smoothly to the new school, she hadn't made any close girlfriends. She figured it was probably because she'd thrown too many people when she first arrived.
That day, after school at noon, Mizuki went to the cafeteria as usual, umbrella in hand.
It was still raining.
As she passed the small road behind the teaching building, she suddenly heard raised voices in the distance.
Curious, she glanced over, but didn't plan to interfere. Kids arguing wasn't exactly rare.
But then she saw a crowd of girls surrounding another—one with delicate features and bright eyes.
And something about the girl felt oddly... familiar.
After a moment of careful observation, Mizuki recognized the girl surrounded by the crowd—it was Rukia, a classmate from her own class. She remembered Rukia clearly: beautiful, composed, and, without even trying, incredibly popular with the boys.
"I already told you, it's his choice to come talk to me. What does that have to do with me?" Rukia, backed against the wall, spoke with a cool defiance that didn't waver despite the pressure mounting around her.
One of the girls snapped, her voice shaking with jealousy: "Liar! You did it on purpose! He and I have gone to school together since we were kids—he even said he'd marry me when we grew up! But now, he won't even look at me. He's always running to you!"
Another chimed in bitterly, "Same with my brother! He brings up your name every single day at home! Why's he always hanging around you?"
Rukia's expression hardened. "Why are you blaming me? Just because some boys talk to me doesn't mean I asked them to. Have you ever considered the problem might not be me—but them? Or maybe even... you?"
The group went wild.
"What's that supposed to mean?! That we're not good-looking enough for them?! That you're better than us?! You're just a seductress trying to steal them all!"
Things were spiraling fast—and that's when Mizuki jumped in.
"Enough! Stop fighting!" she yelled, pushing her way forward.
But she was a second too late. One of the girls had already clawed at Rukia's face, leaving a thin line of blood on her cheek. Her hair had come loose in the scuffle, falling into a messy tangle around her shoulders.
Still, Rukia wasn't the type to crumble. Even as she staggered slightly, she struck back without hesitation, leaving a matching scratch on her attacker's cheek.
Mizuki immediately stepped between them, shielding Rukia with her arms outstretched.
"Back off! Rukia's in my class—I can vouch for her. She's not chasing after anyone. She barely talks to the boys."
She turned, addressing Rukia with a softer voice, "Right? You usually eat lunch alone, don't you?"
Rukia met Mizuki's eyes. Slowly, she wiped the blood from her face and gave a small, quiet nod.
But Mizuki's intervention only lit a new fuse.
"Who even are you?!" one of the girls growled. "This has nothing to do with you!"
Mizuki raised her hands in warning. "Don't come closer. I'm serious. Don't touch me."
But someone lunged, grabbing a fistful of Mizuki's uniform.
Big mistake.
Mizuki moved in a flash—turning, lifting, and throwing the girl over her shoulder. With a heavy smack, the girl hit the wet ground, water and mud splashing in all directions.
She lay there stunned for a second—then started wailing. "It hurts! I'm telling my mommy!"
Mizuki crouched beside her, flustered. "Wait—are you okay? I know it hurts, but I'm careful. I don't throw people in a way that causes real injuries… I promise."
The rest of the girls, now pale with fear, stepped back, hesitated… then bolted without another word.
Behind her, Rukia stood completely still, stunned.
She had heard the rumors about Mizuki—the notorious "Back-Throw Queen" of their grade—but seeing it in person was something else entirely.
She hadn't expected the quiet, serious girl from class to move like that. To stand up for her. To fight like that.
But Mizuki, calm and cool as if nothing had happened, really could throw people like it was nothing.