6:36 AM. The grayish-blue morning light seeped through the gaps in the sliding door’s paper, painting extremely fine silver-gray streaks of light on the tatami.
The stone lanterns in the courtyard had gone out at some unknown time, leaving only the dew on the bamboo fence reflecting the faint dawn light.
A thin layer of morning dew clung to the needles of the pine tree. Occasionally, a larger dewdrop slid from the tip of a needle, falling onto the moss-covered stone below, making an extremely soft plip sound.
Drip. In the deepest part of the Kurose family’s inner residence, in that fifteen-tatami room, the air was so quiet it felt almost solid.
Rinna lay on the freshly remade sheets, staring at the unlit washi paper pendant lamp on the ceiling, with only one thought in her mind.
‘I want to die.’
Not an exaggeration. She really wanted to die.
The cherry-pink yukata she had been wearing had been changed, replaced with a pure white cotton nightgown.
The nightgown’s design was extremely simple. No buttons, just a thin waist sash loosely tied at the waist. The overlapping front opening conveniently allowed for easy dressing.
The sleeves were wide, the hem reaching just to mid-calf, and the fabric was as soft as clouds dried in the sun.
Her underwear had also been replaced.
The underwear Rinna was now wearing fit perfectly—neither too tight nor too loose.
The waistband of the panties rested just on her hip bones, not leaving any red marks.
The cups of the bra supported the soft contours of her chest, neither too big nor too small. She mentally and instinctively estimated the size again, then immediately shook the thought out of her head.
In Hisaki’s room, there was underwear prepared especially for her, in exactly the right size.
That realization lingered in Rinna’s mind for several seconds before slowly dissolving.
But what made Rinna want to die the most was the sanitary pad.
Hisaki had helped her change it.
Rinna remembered clearly: after Rinna said, “I got my period,” Hisaki moved so quickly it was as if she had rehearsed it countless times.
First, she took an unopened sanitary pad package from the dresser drawer.
It wasn’t the ordinary kind you could buy at a convenience store, but a premium brand specifically for sensitive girls: unscented, ultra-soft top layer.
Then Hisaki took a clean cotton panty from the same drawer.
Then she walked to the bedside and knelt beside Rinna.
Rinna kept her eyes closed the entire time.
Tightly. As if she was shutting out the whole world with her eyelids.
She could feel Hisaki’s fingers moving gently around her legs. A warm, wet towel wiped the skin on her inner thigh. The cool sensation lasted less than a second before Hisaki’s palm warmed it.
Then came the sound of the wrapper being torn, the faint rustle of the pad being attached to the panty, and then the panty being carefully slipped over her ankles, up her calves, over her knees, and finally pulled up to her waist.
Hisaki’s movements showed no hesitation from start to finish, no pause.
It was as if she had rehearsed this whole procedure in her mind too many times, and now she was just converting memory into muscle action.
“It’s done, Rinna.”
Hisaki’s voice was so soft it was almost drowned out by the morning breeze outside the window.
Rinna didn’t dare open her eyes. She felt Hisaki’s fingers lightly touch her forehead, then Hisaki stood up to clean the soiled clothes.
Rinna finally cracked her eyes open. She turned her head and saw Hisaki crouching on the floor near the bed, folding the soiled yukata.
On the cherry-pink fabric, there was a patch of color slightly darker than the surrounding area. It wasn’t very large, but it stood out prominently on the light-colored cloth.
It was blood. It had rubbed off on her.
When she came out of the hot spring, before she even realized her period had already started, those bodily fluids and tissue fragments deemed useless by her body had already silently flowed out of her, staining the beautiful cherry blossom yukata.
Rinna’s cheeks blazed red. The heat spread from her cheekbones to the tips of her ears, from there down to her neck, even making the small patch of skin in her collarbone hollow feel hot.
She knew her face must be as red as a boiled shrimp now, but she couldn’t control it.
That shame was a physical reaction, belonging to the same system as accelerated heartbeat, sweaty palms, and a blank mind—it wasn’t something she could fight with willpower.
She watched Hisaki fold the soiled yukata and sheets, place them by the door, and then pull the call bell on the wall.
Less than a minute later, there were three light knocks on the door from outside.
Hisaki opened the door, handed the items to the person outside, and said a few words in a low voice.
Rinna couldn’t hear the content or tone, but when the maid outside took the items, her movements showed no pause, and her expression no change—probably the professional composure trained into the Kurose family to “show no surprise no matter what happens.”
Hisaki closed the door and turned around.
Her brisk walk stirred a very faint breeze, and her long black hair swayed slightly on her shoulders. Her face wore an expression Rinna rarely saw.
Her eyebrows drooped at the tails, her lips slightly pursed, and her dark brown eyes held a mixture of something hard to define—whether it was guilt, anxiety, or something else.
She looked like a large dog that had made a mistake, wanting to approach but not daring to, just circling in place.
“How do you feel…?”
Hisaki crouched beside the bed and gently placed her hand on Rinna’s lower abdomen.
When her palm touched through the thin fabric of the nightgown, it was warm, as if she had been warming it in her hand for a long time.
Her thumb made a small circle on Rinna’s lower abdomen, so light it seemed afraid of startling some sleeping animal.
Then she began to massage, using an extremely slow and even rhythm, pressing down slightly with the base of her palm, moving in clockwise circles.
Rinna’s body instinctively pressed towards the direction of Hisaki’s hand.
Not for any other reason, but because the temperature was so comfortable.
Through the skin and thin abdominal wall, the warmth gradually seeped into the cramping smooth muscles around her uterus, slowly soothing the twisted, knotted pain.
Though the effect was limited, it was still infinitely better than curling up under the quilt and enduring it alone.
Rinna looked up at Hisaki, who was crouched by the bed.
Hisaki’s face still wore that expression—guilty and anxious but not daring to show it, all those emotions compressed into the tiny crease between her brows, forming a thin vertical line.
Her eyes were a little red—not from crying, but from holding back tears, suppressing them so hard that the capillaries around her eyes were engorged.
An untimely thought popped into Rinna’s head:
‘Hisaki really looks like a little dog that got scolded by its owner.’
‘Ears drooping, tail tucked, eyes wet, staring at its owner, wanting to ask “Are you still mad?” but not daring to bark.’
Rinna was amused by her own metaphor for a split second.
But only for a moment. Because the next second, another dull pain struck her lower abdomen, like someone twisting the inside with a cold, wet towel.
Her eyebrows furrowed, her lips pressed into a line, and she swallowed back the grunt that rose to her throat.
“I probably… can’t go to school today.”