My head was pounding. Dry air filled my lungs. Something was... heavy. Not just heavy, though. Weighted. Pressing. Like invisible ropes coiled around my arms.
I gasped.
The first thing I noticed was the floor. Hard. Wooden. Polished, but old. There was a breeze, soft and dry, brushing against my bare chest. A loose pair of pants, airy and unfamiliar, clung to my legs. That was all I was wearing.
The ceiling above me was thatched straw. The beams were thick wood, dark with age. My brain struggled to make sense of the details.
Where was this? A classroom? A gym? One of those elaborate cultural booths from the festival?
No. This wasn't anything like the school back in Japan.
Then I saw the kid.
Small, maybe eight or nine. Pale golden skin. White linen robes. Hair tied into neat braids, decorated with silver beads that jingled faintly when they moved. She sat quietly near the doorway, mixing something in a carved wooden bowl. When she noticed I was awake, their eyes lit up. They smiled.
"You rise from Weaving-Sleep," the child said, in a strange, lilting accent. The words made sense, but the rhythm was off. Like an older dialect or something out of a folktale.
"Village-Mother says you're lucky."
"…Where am I?"
"This place is Tu'anhi. Home to Kin-Tent Sehna."
Tu'anhi?
That was definitely not in Kanagawa.
I sat up. Every muscle ached, my shoulders felt like they had bricks tied to them. My hands dragged beside me, unnaturally heavy.
And then I saw them.
Nine totems.
All different. Silver, gold, bone, wood, carved stone, oxidized copper. Each one etched with lines, loops, spirals. Not decorative. Intentional. Like tiny stories pressed into material.
I stare at them.
"What the hell…"
They sit there quietly. No heat. No glow. No pull. Just weight. A presence resting against my skin, inert but aware, like something waiting to be told it's allowed to breathe.
"Looms," the child said, pointing to my arms.
"…What?"
"Your Looms. There." They pointed again. "And Tools… many tools"
I blinked. "Many tools?"
The air shifted behind me.
I turned.
Floating in the room's back corner, like it had always been there, was a massive silhouette. A frame of old iron and ashy wood, hovering silently. Gears moved in slow rhythm. Sections folded in and out like a breathing machine, and as they expanded, they revealed a long black bag secured deep within the mechanical ribs. The body was somewhere between a loom and an oversized sewing machine — mechanical, ancient, and alive.
My breath caught.
That was mine?
Sort of.
The pieces were familiar—my old industrial sewing kit, the big frame loom I brought from Old Man Watanabe's shop—but fused into something new. Something impossible.
And suddenly, it all came rushing back.
It started with a prize.
The school's annual Loom and Thread Festival offered ¥500,000 this year. A lot of students saw it as a status competition. I just needed the money. Rent, tuition, utilities, survival. I had no family backing me. No cushion. Just hard work.
So I went to one of my part-time jobs. Watanabe's old weaving and antique shop. I begged him to let me borrow some looms from the back. Not the synthetic ones. The real ones. The kind with past history in them.
"Take care of them," Watanabe said, voice gravelly. "These looms are very precious kid."
I thought he meant it in a sentimental way. Maybe he didn't.
Nine looms. All different. Some fragile. Some heavy. Some beautifully strange. I spent three nights restoring them, polishing the dust off the past. I packed them into one massive bag.
I even fix a few old looms to share. Gave them to classmates who didn't have any. Seemed fair. I have spare looms anyway, so I didn't want to enjoy the festival while others didn't even get to play.
I set up near the stage just as the gym started buzzing with heat and motion. Colorful cloth everywhere. Spools clacking. Students showing off their designs and homemade kits. Noise, laughter, music.
And then… something changed.
One by one, the looms began to hum. A strange light. Not bright, but soft and deep, like light passing through fog. Threads moved by themselves.
Except there was no thread.
Nothing touched them.
They wove fabric from the air. A strange, shimmering cloth that didn't reflect light normally. Every layer folded the space around it. The more it wove, the more wrong everything felt.
Then the lines twisted.
Bent.
The gym blurred.
I remember screaming.
Then nothing but white.
Now I was here.
In a village with a name I couldn't place.
With Nine looms turned into totems and some enormous hovering nightmare behind me.
I looked at my hands again. They felt warm. Not hot. Not glowing. Just… real. Like they were waiting.
The child tilted their head, eyes wide.
"Name you?" the child asked.
I hesitated.
"My name? my name is Terashite Kouki."
The child says my name again, softer this time.
"Kou… ki."
There's a small, proud lift to their voice when they get it right. Then their expression shifts. Worry settles in as they notice me moving, pushing myself upright.
"You shouldn't yet," they say. The words come out uneven, old. They don't just reach my ears. They press.
I barely register it.
I'm still drifting. My head feels stuffed with cotton, thoughts lagging behind my eyes. I look around the tent, letting the details come to me instead of chasing them.
Wooden totems line the inner poles, carved with looping symbols that twist back on themselves. The canvas walls are stretched tight and patched over and over, like this place has been repaired more times than anyone remembers. Against one beam rest gigantic needle-swords, taller than me, metal dull and scarred, their tips biting into the floor. Near the entrance, tapestries sway gently. The threads catch the light and scatter it, subtle and soft. The opening itself glows faintly.
That very glow pulls at me.
My legs move before my head catches up. I drift past the child, fingers brushing the curtain as I push it aside.
Sunlight washes over my face.
Warm. The sky is a clean, open blue. For a heartbeat, it almost feels like summer break.
Then the breeze slides in.
Cold. Not sharp like winter. Just strangely chilly, It creeps along my skin and I shiver, arms prickling as my breath stutters once in surprise. My eyes adjust.
A man passes me carrying a bundle of firewood. Broad shoulders, woven clothes, calm eyes. He nods, polite and casual, and keeps walking.
That's the first thing that really lands.
Then I start moving.
As I walk, the village fills in around me. Tents of different sizes spread across the clearing, each dressed with its own tapestries and charms. Hanging plants sway lightly in the breeze. Buckets stacked near low tables. Plates drying in the open air. With standing looms everywhere.
Metal shifts behind me.
I glance back.
The massive sewing loom floats there, gears turning slow and steady. My loom. It follows a few steps behind, not crowding me, just… there. Looming.
I turn forward again.
Students and Professors mingle with the locals. Some help weave, fingers clumsy but trying. Some carry water. Some tie knots with locals who patiently guide their hands. Children run between everyone, laughing, ropes looped around their arms as they practice patterns and tangles, tripping and getting back up without a care.
I look up.
Above all of it hangs a vast, translucent canopy, floating with no walls and no visible support. Sunlight pours through it. Wind passes freely. Long banners hang from its edges, knotted and patterned, swaying like charms. The whole village rests beneath it, sheltered.
Then I see them.
My classmates huddle around a fire near the center. Despite the bright sky, they cling to the warmth. Some cry openly. Some stare into the flames. Some press close to each other like they're afraid distance might make someone disappear.
"Kouki!"
Haru spots me, relief written all over his face. He looks exhausted, hair messy.
"Glad you're awake."
"Where the hell are we?" I ask, still scanning, still trying to force recognition where there is none.
Haru exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. His smile fades into something tight.
"Yeah. I… I have no idea either."
We walk toward the fire.
Kirameki Hikari sits quietly with a few girls, hands folded in her sleeves. She's not smiling. Not shining. Just still. When she notices me, she stands. She doesn't call out. Just looks at me like she's asking company.
I sit beside her.
Conversation hums around us. Weird looms. Giant metal needles. People talk about wanting to go home. Kaito laughs trying to calm everybody, calling it an isekai scenario, promising magic and happy endings like that explains anything.
Kirameki shifts closer.
Her fingers clutch my clothes. "I want to go home," she says, voice trembling. "I have so much to do."
Then she breaks.
She cries into my chest, shoulders shaking. No one looks away. No one blames her. I stroke her hair, slow and steady, pat her side until her breathing evens out and she goes slack against me, asleep in my lap.
"She's probably been holding that in since this morning," Haru murmurs. "Been helping calm everyone else down too… guess she's the one who needed it most."
I nod.
"Where are the others?" I ask quietly.
Yami stares into the fire, tossing twigs in. "Akira and Kagami are with the other Students along with Saito Sensei and Tanaka Sensei in the main tent. Talking with the Village-Mother about our situation."
Hotaru hugs her arms. "I hope everything goes well and they let us stay here."
Haru glances around the village, then back at me. His voice lowers. "While we wait, we should help around."
I nod, eyes already drifting to the locals working nearby. "Yeah. Sitting around isn't really my style when I'm in need of a favor."
Haru stand up,
asking the locals if they need anything, then comes back with ropes. I twist and lay it carefully, working one-handed while Kirameki sleeps against me. Others do the same, standing, asking, helping—anything to stay busy.
Dusk creeps in slowly.
Footsteps approach the fire.
Akira's voice cuts through the low murmur, steadier than I expect. "They're letting us stay. For now."
A breath I didn't realize I was holding finally leaves my chest.
Kagami steps forward next, bowing her head slightly toward the group. "Because everyone's been helping. They said yes easily, they'll be also teaching us their ways in exchange of helping around the village. As they appreciated our help."
A few people sigh. Some laugh quietly. Shoulders loosen.
"Discussion with the other groups and classes will happen tomorrow," Akira says. "With the Village-Mother too."
The tension doesn't vanish, but it eases. Enough.
Later, Kagami approaches the fire.
I'm still seated, rope across my lap, fingers moving on autopilot as I lay and twist it. Kirameki is awake now, resting against me, eyes red, silent. Her eyes follow my hands, then drift to the flames.
"You need something Kagami?" I ask without looking up.
No answer.
Kagami crouches instead. She looks tired. Not shaken—just worn down in a way that settles deep in the bones. She watches my hands for a bit, then the fire, then Kirameki leaning against me.
Kirameki doesn't shy away. She stays close, breathing slow and even now, eyes half-lidded as she watches. The worst of today has passed. At least for now.
I keep working the rope, fingers steady, familiar motion grounding me. The crackle of the fire fills the space words don't need to.
Behind me, the thing floats, gears turning slowly, patiently.