Hani walked beside me without speaking, steps light, her mid-cut dark hair falling over her shoulders.
"I found it in my bag during last period," she said finally. "Didn't see anyone put it there."
The fog pressed against the windows, dulling the light. Room 722 waited at the end of the hall, its door cracked open.
I pushed it wider.
The room looked abandoned but not forgotten. A sagging desk buried under yellowed graph paper. A narrow sofa shoved against the wall. A table crowded with loose notes and dice. Shelves of battered mystery books lined the walls.
A girl with a blue headband stood by the table, sorting dice with practiced motions. She looked up with her sharp eyes.
"You both came." Her voice was lower than expected, with a husky rasp that didn't match her sharp features. She clapped once—sharp and loud—then seemed to register how eager that sounded. "I mean—good. That's good. Sit anywhere."
"You the one who left us the notes?" Hani asked.
"Yep. I'm Michiko Nagano. Call me Michi." She set down a die. "And if that phrase pulled you here, it's proof enough you belong."
So it was her. The second-year who'd aced the entrance exam.
"Belong to what?" I finally spoke up.
"The Mystery Club."
Hani and I looked at each other. Mystery. It wasn't our word, but it pulled at the same thread—the acacia tree on the hill, my riddle cards and her poems, scraps left in pairs under a loose root that neither of us ever cleaned out. Now the room felt heavy with everything we hadn't said since we were kids.
Her face went pink. She looked away first, then found something to say. "I heard that club shut down ages ago."
Michi nodded. "I'm restarting it. New genes."
"So what's 'Petals Around the Rose' about?" I asked.
Michi held up the dice. "It's the club's way in. No chitchat interviews. Just the dice and figuring out the truth. Spot the pattern, and you're good. You up for it?"
I dug the cube out of my pocket and shifted it. "Pass."
Hani shot me a look that managed to be both teasing and challenging. "Come on, Eiji. This is your thing, isn't it?"
Her eyes were on me, not the dice. That small smile hit me with a flash of summer nights when we were kids—her watching me crack a dumb riddle from the book we bought, cheering like my wins were hers. I tried to shove the thought away, but it stuck around.
Michi's voice dropped, steady and careful. She spun the tray slow, the dice glinting under the buzzing lights. "Petals Around the Rose. Name's important. I roll, tell you a number. You have to figure out the rule. Hint: it's always even or zero. That's it."
The dice just sat there, waiting.
I hated clubs and crowds, but the familiar itch kicked in—the feeling that a pattern was hiding right in front of me.
Fine. I'd play, just long enough to make the itch stop.
Michi rolled: [3, 6, 1, 4, 3]. "Four."
Hani jotted stuff down fast.
Another roll: [5, 2, 3, 6, 5]. "Ten"
Hani stopped writing, staring at the dice.
One more: [4, 4, 2, 6, 5]. "Four."
I eyed the dice, seeing how some faces mattered more, others didn't.
Petals. Rose.
It pulled at an old memory, like a game from way back, a voice teasing me when I got stuck. I followed the connections behind her numbers. The logic hovered, almost there.
Hani threw out two wrong guesses, her tone getting quieter—not so much annoyed at the puzzle as frustrated with herself for not keeping up. Her glance kept drifting to me between guesses. Michi smirked, like she could tell I was closing in.
"You figured it, huh, Eiji?" Michi asked, her eyes sharp.
If my deduction was correct, it wasn't about adding up. It was the dice's design, the visuals. The puzzle name was more than a hint—it twisted how you saw it, daring me to look beyond the obvious. I held back. Spilling it could show too much, or pull me in deeper.
Hani's notes stacked up, neat but shaky.
Another roll: [1, 4, 6, 2, 4]. "Zero."
I leaned back, clicking the cube. Michi's confidence covered something edgy.
"Club's been dead for years. Why drag it back now?"
She glanced at me, a flicker of amusement in her eyes.
"Because some mysteries don't stay buried. Better to have the right people around when they resurface."
I frowned. "Did you send the note to many people? Are we the only ones who showed?"
"Nope. I specifically chose you two."
I narrowed my eyes. "Us? Out of everyone?"
Michi's smile turned sharp. "Let's just say I've been watching. I need members that can spot patterns others miss."
Hani glanced at me. Her annoyance faded. Her eyes saw straight through me.
The memory flashed—she was stuck on the puzzle, and part of me wanted her to break through.
I looked at the tray and said, low enough for only her to catch, "Sometimes patterns aren't in what's there. It's in what's missing."
Michi raised an eyebrow, but I was talking to Hani.
Her eyes lit up, flicking back to the dice.
"Zero," she murmured. "Not every petal shows itself. Is that it?"
"One more roll," she said, voice steady.
Michi shrugged and tossed the dice: [3, 1, 5, 2, 5].
"Petals around the rose," Hani said under her breath. She leaned in, tapping the 1, 3, and 5. "The rose is that middle dot. Straight up. Three's got two petals around it. Five's four. One? Nothing. So ten."
No cheer, just quiet calm—like she'd caught hold of something she'd been reaching for. But she wasn't looking at the tray. She was looking at me. I watched her back—the fire in her eyes, her shoulders dropping easy. A small warmth hit me, quick and real, like echoes from those lost summers.
Michi grinned, voice alight. "Force won't crack a rose. Patience does. It's not tricks or numbers. It's seeing the truth hiding in plain sight, clear as day. The club's founder lived by that. Welcome aboard, Sakurai Hani!"
Hani's smile tightened my chest.
Michi turned to me. "And you, Eiji. You're sharper than you let on. You're in, like it or not." Her laugh dared me to bolt.
I didn't push back.
Hani's glow held me, a thread to a past I'd buried.
---
The sky hung gray as Hani and I walked home, her green bike rolling beside her, campus fading behind us.
Her steps were light, her voice still as soft as ever. "Mystery Club, huh? I'm glad something like that's still around."
I shrugged, hands in pockets, cube solid against my fingers. "Beats doing homework."
She hummed a few absent notes—something I didn't recognize—then caught herself. "I guess this school's not so bad after all."
Her smile faded, eyes going distant. "That puzzle... you slipped me a hint, didn't you? Just like old times. I'd get stuck, you'd say one thing, and boom—I'd figure it out." She gave a quiet laugh. "Funny. I never really cared whether I solved them. I just liked watching you figure things out."
The image came back clear—her bright laugh, our scribbled messes, her whoop when I cracked one while she cheered from the sidelines. I looked away, keeping my tone flat. "Nah. You got it yourself."
Hani stopped, eyes locked on mine, steady and open. "Those days stuck with me, Eiji. They're still part of us."
I didn't answer right away.
"Yeah," I finally said. "Maybe."
We reached the fork in the path.
"My turn's here." She pointed left, toward the coast.
"I'm heading this way." I gestured right.
I turned and started walking. Then she called out.
"Hey, Eiji! I'm glad we crossed paths again!"
Just like that, my chest tightened. I looked back and nodded, raising my hand in a wave. Somehow, I couldn't help but smile.
---
Morning came quiet the next day, the sky still heavy. I got to my desk early, the room empty, cube ticking softly in my hand.
A purple envelope sat there—no name, handwriting neat and bold. I tore it open, pulse quickening.
Whispered winds carry
Twisted guard sticks to our hands
Starlight calls you back.
A haiku. It felt too personal, like whoever wrote it had been tracking my every move. I stuffed it in my pocket, the riddle weighing on me as the school began to stir.
Who sent this envelope? And why did I feel like they knew me so well?