The afternoon rush hour of Yagokoro Station was just beginning when the platform was dyed crimson.

“—The limited express train to Inaba is passing through on the number 3 platform. It is dangerous, so please stand behind the white line.”

The reason for the complete congestion of the station grounds was simply that it was 5:30, the closing time of the neighboring Yagokoro High School and the offices in the surrounding area. The station caught up in rush hour was confused by the various conversations mixed together.

“—Ah, oh yeah, isn’t it today? The voting day for the Midnight Site? Are you gonna do it?”

“Of course. It’s more exciting than the usual boring variety shows, you know? So what’re you gonna vote?”

“There’s no choice but guilty. There’s no room for sympathy, right?”

However, was it some characteristic of the Japanese? The line of people waiting for the arrival of the trains was orderly. That was why a girl with a body clothed in the uniform of Yagokoro High School was conspicuous even among the crowd as she moved unsteadily to the head of the line.

As the people kept an eye on her incomprehensible actions with the thought of “Is she cutting?”, one of the girls lined up, a female student wearing the same uniform, burst out in an irritated voice to the girl who had jumped to the front row, “Hey, you! What do you think you’re doing, cutting?” However, the female student’s words of protest did not continue.

The moment she saw the girl’s expression, her voice disappeared.

She had a face pale as a sheet and devoid of life. She wandered with her eyes unfocused and staring at empty space. It was as if not just the female student’s complaints, but even the noise of the station, did not enter the girl’s ears.

Finally, with unsteady footsteps, the girl trespassed beyond the white line. Waiting expectantly in front of the girl’s loafers was a steep drop like a crevasse. That was the boundary line between the platform and the track.

“H-hey! It’s dangerous, so please stand behind the white line!”

A flustered station worker whose eyes had stopped on the girl raised his voice, but the urgent shout was sadly swallowed by the thunderous roar of the limited express train with a long body like a dragon passing through the platform. There was a sudden realization. The girl’s figure was not on the platform.

—In the next moment, the screeching sound of the train’s brakes split the scarlet sky like the scream of a dragon.

The crowd became noisy, demanding to know what had happened and the like. It was instantaneous. The platform was completely enveloped in pandemonium. The girls screamed, the boys grumbled, the elderly chanted Buddhist prayers, the children trembled and cried and shouted. The everyday scene of the station grounds bustling in the afternoon rush hour had in one moment changed to the very picture of Hell.

The fresh crimson scattered across the track was the color of despair. Already there was no longer the figure of a girl. The girl had become a single flower. A flower of fresh blood. That flower redder than the setting sun was the merciless proof that a single young girl’s life had disappeared from this world.