The late afternoon sun had slipped beneath the treeline by the time Souta Minakawa climbed the narrow staircase to the school's rooftop. The concrete terrace offered a sweeping view of Hoshinaka Village: white-tiled rooftops glinting faintly in the fading light, cobblestone streets winding past modest homes, and—beyond them—the dense wall of pines that seemed to press ever closer. A whisper of wind teased the loose strands of Souta's hair, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and pine needles.
Ryoko Shibata was already there, standing at the low parapet and gazing toward the forest's edge. She folded her arms, her figure quiet and composed against the growing twilight. When Souta appeared, she turned, offering a nod that was polite but guarded.
"You asked me to meet here," she said quietly, her voice carrying a note of urgency. "I want to understand what's happening."
Souta led her to a pair of folding chairs set near the corner of the rooftop. They sat side by side, backs straight, as the last rays of sun gave way to dusk. Below them, the village lights flickered on, and beyond the rooftops, the silhouettes of the pines darkened to a velvet shade.
"I've spoken with Mrs. Fujimoto, Mr. Daisuke, and Shigeru-san today," Ryoko began, pulling out her notebook. "They all described… strange occurrences: wind chimes spinning when there was no breeze, radios playing a melody on their own, dogs refusing to cross certain paths. And then I saw Yamada, Kana, and Takeshi in class. They were so focused—almost locked into something I can't explain."
Souta nodded, steepling his fingers. "Those incidents are connected, but not in the ways most people think. What I'm about to share hasn't left my lips before—and it's important you understand it clearly."
Ryoko set her notebook on her lap. "I'm listening."
Souta took a breath. "Last year, I discovered an object—something that ordinary science can't fully explain—near the old shrine on the mountainside. When I touched it, I felt a spark in my mind and a surge of… potential. The object activated a system of sorts: a network beneath the forest and the village that can enhance cognitive abilities. It's not supernatural—think of it as ancient technology that interacts with living minds, amplifying curiosity and focus."
Ryoko's brow furrowed. "So it's a kind of AI or… bio-tech interface?" She folded her arms more tightly. "Why didn't I know about this?"
Souta's gaze turned to the ridge. "It was meant to remain hidden until certain conditions were met. I was the first to trigger it. Then I shared a simplified version—a subsystem—with three students: Yamada, Kana, and Takeshi. They see it only as a 'learning support tool'—a way to track tasks, earn points, and strengthen their understanding. They don't know the system's full scope. They'll describe it as a discreet aid, nothing more."
Ryoko flipped through her notebook. "They think it's just… academic incentives?"
"Yes," Souta confirmed. "But that system connects them to the same network that lies beneath the forest floor. Until now, it was dormant—nothing active stirred. But something changed. Over the past day or two, the network's 'signal' has grown stronger. It's affecting the environment: villagers report wind chimes moving without wind, electronics acting unpredictably, animals behaving oddly, children having vivid, similar dreams. That's what you've witnessed."
Ryoko's eyes widened. "So it's not just random coincidence. This… network, this system—whatever it is—has begun to awaken on its own?"
Souta nodded, fingers tracing the sunlit concrete. "Exactly. It's drawn to those who carry even a fraction of its connection. Yamada, Kana, and Takeshi felt it first—dreams of glowing roots, that pull toward the pines. They don't understand it fully. They see strange things and chalk them up to imagination or stress. That's why I need your help."
Ryoko pressed her lips together. "What can I do? If they don't know the truth, how can I guide them?"
Souta turned to her. "You're the one they trust implicitly. If you notice them slipping—talking about dreams or wanting to venture alone into the forest—you can redirect them to normal activities: meetings, study sessions, chores. Keep them grounded. Meanwhile, I'll confirm what the network is doing and how strong it is. When you see the first signs—a question about the forest, a sudden spell of daydreaming—redirect them. Show them a gentle boundary. Tell them there's nothing more to see for now."
Ryoko folded her arms and nodded, determination sharpening her gaze. "I will. But there's more. We need a plan if they insist on exploring deeper. They're smart enough to figure out there's more going on."
Souta exhaled slowly. "I agree. Once the network's waking is undeniable, I'll share the next step with you—how to let them know just enough to keep them safe. But until that moment, we maintain the façade: a special academic tool, nothing more."
Ryoko glanced toward the ridgeline, where the pines stood silent. "We're walking a fine line. If I see any of them talking about… beyond-ordinary experiences, you'll be there to intervene?"
"Every time," Souta promised. "And I'll prepare a controlled demonstration soon. Show them why restraint is necessary before their curiosity leads them too far."
Ryoko reached into her coat pocket and tapped her notebook. "Understood. One more question: how did you choose them—Yamada, Kana, and Takeshi?"
Souta's gaze drifted upward, recalling the moment he first saw them. "Each of them showed remarkable focus and a hunger to know more. Yamada with plants; Kana with psychology; Takeshi with machines. Their talents aligned with the network's purpose: to cultivate minds that could shape a better future. But they're only the beginning. If the system continues to awaken, it will seek out others. When that happens, I'll need a trusted partner to help evaluate readiness—and I want that partner to be you."
Ryoko's expression softened at his words. "I won't let you down." She tapped her notebook again. "Keep me informed of any changes—events, dreams, glitches—no matter how trivial they may seem. I'll do the same."
Souta nodded, gratitude shining in his eyes. A distant crow cawed from the forest below, followed by a chorus of other birds—an unsettling symphony that seemed to echo the network's stirring. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sound wash over him.
"How long do we have before I tell them more?" Ryoko asked quietly, her posture tense with concern.
Souta's voice was calm, yet laced with urgency. "Not much longer. Their subtle changes today show they're already sensing something. Tomorrow, I'll finalize my read on the network's strength. If it's grown past a certain point, I'll need to include them in a controlled way. For now, we hold the line and guide them away from that ridge. Tonight, we rest. At dawn, we prepare."
Ryoko exhaled, meeting his gaze with determination. "Then we start fresh tomorrow. Together."
They sat in companionable silence as the sun slipped fully below the horizon, and the forest's hush settled around them. In the distance, the pines seemed to shimmer under the faint glow of starlight. Souta felt the cool air brush his skin and heard the faint rustle of leaves—an invitation, a warning, an echo of something vast and ancient awakening beneath the pines.
Below, the village lights blinked on one by one, casting golden reflections on the rooftops. Ryoko and Souta remained on the rooftop, guardians of a secret they could scarcely comprehend, determined to protect those caught in the web of a power that had slumbered for centuries.