The sky was a flawless blue, stretching wide from the early morning on—
and yet, Mako's steps felt unbearably heavy.
No—not just her steps.
Her entire body felt weighed down, as if made of solid lead.
The reason sat squarely on her right shoulder.
Gin.
Originally, Gin was supposed to be a non-physical being.
Something without mass. Something that shouldn't weigh anything at all.
And yet, simply being aware that he was there created a strange pressure, an invisible burden that drained her far more than it should have.
"So?" she asked irritably over her shoulder.
"Why are you coming with me?"
"I told you yesterday," Gin replied breezily.
"You and I are connected now. Whether we like it or not, we can't separate."
"Yeah, yeah. Right. That again…"
Mako grimaced, her reply dripping with obvious displeasure.
For the record, earlier that morning, she had tried cutting Gin's tail with a pair of scissors—just to see if it would work.
It didn't.
There was no resistance at all. The scissors sliced through empty air, as if the tail both existed and didn't—nothing more than an illusion.
Gin had sighed in exasperation at the sight.
And worse, her mother—who witnessed the attempt—had muttered anxiously,
"Do you think she's acting strange because she lost too much blood from that nosebleed the other day…?"
"…If there were anything I could do, I would've done it already," Gin said flatly.
"The fact that I haven't should tell you everything."
Sighing, Mako continued down the street with Gin still perched on her shoulder.
This was the school route leading to Ikawa Central Middle School—nicknamed Chūchū by the locals.
Ahead of her, girls in sailor uniforms and boys in black gakuran jackets walked in loose groups. Most of them carried nothing at all, aside from the occasional small sub-bag stuffed with gym clothes.
In this day and age, all textbooks and learning materials were installed on personal electronic data devices.
No paper textbooks. No notebooks. Not even pens.
Student backpacks had already become relics of the past.
Naturally, schools officially permitted students to bring their devices.
But—
(I don't have mine…)
Mako's device was broken, leaving her empty-handed.
Normally, she should've been panicking about how she'd survive today's classes.
But right now, that concern paled in comparison to the presence sitting on her shoulder.
(…What if someone can actually see Gin?)
She glanced nervously at the other students' faces.
If someone pointed him out—what would she even say?
But no one paid them any attention.
Each student walked on at their own pace, completely unconcerned.
"…Somehow, that's kind of sad too," Mako muttered.
"What nonsense are you spouting now?" Gin replied.
"Nothing—wait."
Mako suddenly narrowed her eyes.
Ahead of her, around several students' bodies, something shimmered—like heat haze in the air.
But it wasn't warmth.
It was a faint, pale-blue electronic flicker, unstable and unnatural.
"H-Hey… that thing—"
"What is it?" Gin asked, turning his gaze forward as well.
"…Hmm. Yes. There's a digital fluctuation coming off a few of them."
"Digital… fluctuation?"
"Is—is that bad?"
"That's what humans would call a precursor to Virtual Syndrome."
"…Virtual Syndrome…"
Mako swallowed hard.
She knew enough to understand how terrifying those words were.
"Then shouldn't we do something about it?!"
She instinctively appealed to Gin—
But he brushed it off.
"At that level, it's common in this era. And it's not severe enough to panic over yet. Leave it be."
"…R-Really?"
Mako glanced back at the students.
They were laughing. Talking. Walking normally—completely unaware.
(…Am I the only one who can see this now…?)
A strange sense of isolation crept over her, as if she alone had become something other.
Mako gave a small shrug, pretending she hadn't seen anything, and continued toward school.
But then—
(Wait… why can I even see this in the first place?)
The question surfaced mid-step.
"What's wrong?" Gin asked from her shoulder.
(It's probably his fault, she thought.)
Mako shot him an irritated glare.
"Noooothing at aaaaall~," she replied, her voice dripping with resentment.
And with that, she trudged onward toward middle school—
her steps heavy beneath a perfectly clear blue sky.