Though she has never been in a sports club, Kyoko runs with unexpected speed and grace. Admittedly, few of the other runners are taking the first-year girls relay seriously, but she looks like she could be a track star. I am sitting on the edge of the bleachers' front row, leaning forward in anticipation as she takes the baton in a successful hand-off. I tug at my T-shirt, still damp from my earlier race, and try not to stare too much at the fascinating movement underneath hers.

Tsukino, from class 1-B, runs in the lane next to Kyoko's. She has fallen behind, but she successfully makes the hand-off to Miyamoto (or is she now a Patrick?) who sprints away. A giant rock flashes from a ring worn by the former student council vice president. I wonder if the rumors of her secret marriage might be true. I glance at her grinning gaijin boyfriend (?) speaking from the side of his mouth with the guy next to him. With wide eyes and a wide-open mouth, his friend stares at the first-years' Takane No Hana—the (formerly) unattainable flower—as she races up beside Kyoko.

They bounce together side by side for a few paces inviting comparison. Neither Kyoko's beauty nor her forms come up short. The only thing Miyamoto has over Kyoko is her long legs. Frankly, she's too tall for my tastes. But those long legs carry her away and she leaves Kyoko behind. The girls' team for our class comes in second which still boosts our overall score.

I meet Kyoko as she leaves the track. "You were great!"

Kyoko blushes. "But I came in second."

"Even so, you were able to keep up with her most of the race and she's in a sports club. The third-place runner was half a lap behind."

Kyoko looks away, scratching the back of her head and laughing in happy embarrassment. Seeing a row of tables set up at the edge of the field, she says, "I'm hungry. Let's get lunch."

We stand in line until we are handed disposable bentos, then find a quiet spot to eat together. We chat happily until Shimura, searching the crowd with an anxious expression, approaches us. "Have you seen A-chan?"

Kyoko looks around. "No, I haven't."

I ask. "Is something wrong?"

"Yamada-chan said she saw Akiyama-kun in the gym holding hands with a girl from his class."

Kyoko gasps. "Does A-chan know?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out. I know she's been worried. I hope she's going to be alright." Shimura runs off.

"Poor Himura." Kyoko shakes her head and hands me her empty bento. "Shimura tried to warn her something like this might happen."

"I can't understand how a guy can do something like that," I mutter.

"Can't you?" Kyoko asks as we rise and throw away our trash. "Guys do it all the time."

With growing irritation, I shake my head as we leave for the couples' obstacle course. "If his feelings change, he should tell her. But if he truly understood her and liked that person, his feelings wouldn't change!"

Kyoko gives me a puzzled look. "Really?" Her face slowly brightens. "That's another thing I like about you. You're such a sincere person. How could I have ever doubted you?"

The heat rises in my face.

A scowling culture club member hands me a pair of contestant placards with our number on them to stick to our shirts. "Don't think, just because you have a hot girlfriend, you can act so cool."

Kyoko beams at him. "You think he has a hot girlfriend?"

"Um..." This time, the culture club member blushes and hurriedly leaves.

The student council cultural chairman is shouting the rules of the relay race into a bullhorn but her distorted words sink beneath the buzz of nervous excitement. Nearly a dozen couples have gathered at the course while the entire school watches. Pockets of laughter have already started.

Kyoko stands so close beside me that she overwhelms my senses. The perfume of her hair, the warmth of her soft skin as her arm brushes against mine, all make my heart hammer.

This is my girlfriend. I suddenly remember the panicked joy that followed my kokuhaku.

Another culture club member kneels and zip-ties our ankles together, tightening it with a jerk.

"Oh!" Kyoko glances down with a surprised giggle.

The club member wraps another tie around our knees, forcing us to stand leg-to-leg and hip-to-hip.

 "Ah!" Kyoko staggers and clings to me as she starts to topple, nearly pulling me down.

I tuck her under my arm, holding her up. Even after she regains her balance, she continues to cling to me, leaning her head against my chest, the side of one ample breast pressing softly against me. My head is swimming. Can this be real? Am I dreaming? I squeeze Kyoko, reassuring myself with her solidity. She squeezes back and grins up at me.

The contestants mill about talking. The race organizers shout at the crowd trying to find registered contestants that haven't signed in, or identify contestants who have but and aren't on the list—all while trying to ensure everyone has their placards and are standing in the correct place. Part of me wishes they would never succeed so that Kyoko and I could remain this way forever.

A shadow falls across us as if a cloud is passing over the sun, but the sky is clear. I blink, trying to clear my vision. The color slowly drains away. If it weren't just past noon, I would think it was that moment when dusk fades into the full darkness of night.

A light breeze rises bearing an unseasonable chill and the scents of blood and rotting flesh. A feeling of dread enfolds me even before the first sounds reaches my ears. It is a low rumbling tone, more felt than heard, like when someone with powerful bass speakers drives by blasting their tunes. The sound grows louder, forming words that seem to come from everywhere and nowhere as if the earth itself were groaning beneath my feet.

"Iiii..."

"Zaaa..."

"Naaa..."

"Giii..."

"Did you hear that?" I ask Kyoko.

Kyoko's reply is muffled by cheering onlookers urging us to begin the race. "Hear what?"

The contest organizers shout at us and make pushing motions to line up the contestants. It appears the race is about to start. We take a step toward the starting line and nearly stumble over each other.

"Our bound legs first," Kyoko suggests.

We soon find our rhythm. I watch other couples continually fall with some pride at our teamwork. We really can work together. Maybe we'll even win this thing.

The moaning sounds grow louder. The vibration reaches up from the ground—not into my feet—but into my bones. A chorus of wordless voices joins the first voice whose words grow clearer.

"Izanagi!"

Kyoko and I wait at the starting line while other stumbling couples try to regain their feet. The vibration grows to the level of a small earthquake.

"Release me!"

I stagger. Kyoko grabs me. "Careful."

"Can you feel that?"

Kyoko blushes and slides her hand from my hip. "What?"

"Are we having an earthquake?"

Kyoko stares pensively into space. "I don't feel anything."

The air grows heavy with the weight of an invisible presence and the chorus of ghostly groans draws near. At irregular intervals, explosive shock waves punctuate the shaking as though someone were pounding on an enormous door anchored in the foundations of the Earth.

"Izanagi! Release me!" The voice echoes with fury and despair. It's clearly a woman's voice.

"Release me or I shall smash the gates of Yomi!"

The earth leaps beneath me as if someone dropped an office building nearby. I am nearly thrown off my feet. Though no one can feel it, still they sense something and everyone's heads swivel, searching.

"The dead shall rise to consume the living..."

The voice screeches like the claws of an ancient beast dragged across the chalkboard walls of the world. I know who it belongs to. I think I've always known.

I bend and tug at the plastic strap binding our knees together. "I have to go."

Kyoko gives a startled cry. "Why? What is it?"

"I need to help."

"Ah!" No longer holding each other up, Kyoko loses her balance and falls, snapping the tie between us.

"...and the dead shall outnumber the living!"

I yank at the zip tie around our ankles leaving smears of blood on the plastic band. It stretches but does not break.

Kyoko writhes on the ground, her ankle twisted in the strap. "Ow! That hurts!"

"I'm sorry!" With a desperate jerk, I use all my strength to snap the plastic tie. "I'm sorry. I have to go help or something very bad may happen."

"What? Where?"

"Just wait here," I call back over my shoulder and race away. "I'll be right back!" I sprint across the school yard bouncing off bystanders, knocking one poor girl to the ground as I collide with her.

Reaching Shizuku is the only thought on my mind.

I follow the heads of the other students who, with puzzled expressions, turn toward the gymnatorium. The hysterical screams of a younger female voice echo from within.

I burst through the doors. Half a dozen anxious faces look to the stage at the far side of the large room. A teacher, with a frightened tail of students following, creeps toward it. A series of wooden panels, doors to the storage spaces inside, line the front of the stage. Folding chairs and table and other items are usually stored inside. Since many of these were used in the sports festival, all the doors are unlocked except for one which rattles violently. The lock had been removed, but the steel hasp is pinned in place by means of a screwdriver stuck through the locking ring. I pass the cringing bystanders and race toward the stage.

"Letmeout!Letmeout!Letmeout!" The cry rises to a wordless shriek.

The ground leaps under our feet, throwing us to the floor. I scramble on my knees to the shaking screwdriver and pull myself up with it. I yank it free and fling it away, flip up the hasp and yank the door open. I gag, the stench of Yomi nearly makes me lose my lunch.

A dark shape cowers against the far corner. I can just make out a head and a pair of shoulders. I step aside to let in a little light and it turns toward me, exposing glimpses of a pale face beneath the long jagged black shroud of disheveled hair. Her large dark eyes, rimmed with eyelids turned red and swollen from her desperate sobbing, widen. Eight angry furrows run down the length of her face where she had clawed at it.

In a dark rush, she shoots toward the opening, her clawed hands reaching for me.