They escaped.
But the world didn't become safer.
Teiichi and Yuuko stood under the rotten sakura tree in the courtyard — the one that hadn't bloomed since she died. The night sky stretched above them, brittle and too quiet. As if the stars themselves were holding their breath.
"She stayed behind," Teiichi whispered.
Yuuko nodded, her eyes far away. "Kanade doesn't want to be remembered. She wants to replace."
"...Replace what?"
Yuuko shut her eyes. "Me."
The wind changed. No leaves. No rustling. Just… moving.
Teiichi attempted to rationalize it. "Why would she—?"
"Because she believed she died forgotten," Yuuko cut in, speaking softly. "And then she saw someone like me — someone loved. Remembered. Mourned."
She glanced at him. "She believes I stole that."
Teiichi's mouth went dry. "But you didn't even know."
"I know now."
Then the world blinked.
Not seen. Not heard.
Memory.
Teiichi blinked — and the courtyard was altered.
Sakura had bloomed above. The school seemed new again. Students were laughing in the distance. It was then. Some other then.
Yuuko stood next to him. Still ghost. Still her. But the location… alive.
"What is this?" he asked, gazing about.
Yuuko took a step forward, and her voice echoed strangely. "This is what the school remembers. A living, dying memory."
Then her voice fell. "But it's not mine."
From the darkness in front, Kanade emerged. Not monstrous. Not angry.
Just young. In her retired uniform. Clutching books against her chest.
"This was my last day," she said softly. "I waited for someone who never arrived. I got stuck in. They forgot I was alive."
Teiichi felt it. That oppressive, wordless shame that memory cannot delete — the kind that takes hold.
"I cried out for help," Kanade went on, eyes still fixed on nowhere. "But no one heard me. Not even the spirits. Because no one cared to remember."
She faced Yuuko directly now.
"But they remembered you. They murmured your name. Prayed at your shrine. You were a tragedy."
She took a step closer.
"I was a mistake."
Yuuko remained silent. Just moved forward… and opened her arms.
"I'm sorry," she said, voice like fallen leaves. "I didn't ask for their memory. But I'll share it with you, if that's what it takes."
Kanade stared.
Something cracked in the memory. A sky no longer sky, a tree no longer real. The illusion peeled.
And Kanade screamed — not rage.
Grief.
Everything shattered like glass.
Teiichi blinked again and—
They were back in the real courtyard.
Kanade was gone.
Yuuko collapsed to her knees, spent. "The school won't release her. She's too strong now."
Teiichi dropped down beside her. "What can we do?"
Yuuko faced him, speaking in a childlike voice.
"Kanade doesn't desire peace. She wants permanence. And she'll delete me to achieve it."