The first time I saw the red dots in the snow, there were no footprints.

  Only blood—neat, bright points—sinking down through the powder like someone had pressed a stamp into the cold.

  The thin snow that would soon become a real, lasting layer lay soft over a patch of grassland.

  On that white ground, vivid red dots ran forward in a line. The color wasn’t only on the surface. It had soaked deeper, too, as if the snow itself had been dyed from within. The dots were spaced with a strange, almost deliberate regularity.

  If someone had walked there, there should’ve been tracks.

  There weren’t.

  Just the red marks, lined up like a brand burned into frozen earth. The wind was weak. The snow’s surface was smooth, untouched. There was no sign of anything disturbing it.

  And yet the red was there.

  I drew in a breath. The cold stabbed down the back of my throat and made something deep in my chest ache. It was supposed to be a dream, but there was a smell—wet iron, faint blood, and the dampness trapped inside snow.

  Uneasy, I started walking toward the end of the red line.

  Each step sank my soles into the powder and sent a heavy, wet sensation up through my feet. The snow was soft, but it felt… sticky somehow. The sound of the sink came a beat late, like the world’s audio wasn’t lined up with the image.

  Ahead of me stood a child.

  She wore a white knit cap pulled low and a yellow scarf wrapped around her neck. The pleats of her uniform skirt trembled in a light wind. Dusk was dim, shadowing her face so deeply I couldn’t make out her features—yet her outline was unnaturally sharp, and where her eyes should have been looked darker than the rest.

  In her hand, a blade glowed a bruised crimson.

  The knife was small. Metal reflected a hard, cold light. The tip shifted by a hair, and the reflection slid along the edge. The same red as the dots lived on that blade, and I couldn’t tell if it was sunset caught in steel or something else entirely.

  And somehow, I understood.

  The understanding was the most terrifying part.

  —From now on, I would be the one making those red marks.

  My heart slammed once. My breath went shallow, my ribs tightening into a cage.

  I wanted to run.

  But my legs kept walking anyway.

  The red dots stretched forward like a guide line, like a rail, and my body followed.

  I turned around.

  The red dots were gone.

  All that remained were my own footprints pressed into wet snow. Fresh. The edges already melting, water pooling inside each print. The little surfaces trembled faintly in time with my breathing.

  That was when I woke up.

  Light leaked through the curtains, thin and pale, turning dust in the air into bright threads.

  Cold slid over my skin. The dampness of sleep sweat chilled all at once, and the sour smell clung to the back of my nose. My pajama armpits were wet. My heart was still racing.

  I shifted under the futon. The sheet stuck to me and peeled away with a small sound. The red dots from my dream clung to the backs of my eyelids like an afterimage.

  The house was quiet. I could hear the refrigerator’s low hum and the clock’s second hand ticking.

  Right. Today, I was “sick.”

  I’d faked it to skip school, so I stayed in bed in case my mom came home and checked. At some point I’d actually fallen asleep. As I lay there thinking, Great, now I won’t sleep tonight… my phone vibrated.

  Still under the blanket, I reached for it. The screen lit up, a white flash that briefly illuminated the corner of my dark room.

  A message.

  Hurry up. Get here. The place is—

  My fingers went stiff.

  The moment the words registered as something real, my chest tightened as if a hand had grabbed it.

  —If you’re not here by four, I’ll break the Uni—your little blue cube.

  I checked the time.

  Fifteen minutes.

  Mom wouldn’t be back from her part-time job yet.

  I threw off the covers and changed fast. The buttons on my uniform shirt wouldn’t go in cleanly; my nails snagged, a small sharp pain. My hands were clumsy, like they belonged to someone else.

  I yanked open my desk drawer.

  Something was hidden in the dark back corner. My fingertips found it, and the cold bite of metal seeped into my skin.

  A knife.

  When I lifted it, I saw faint etched patterns on the handle. I couldn’t just leave it out. I shoved it into my pocket. The fabric bulged and the weight pressed against my thigh.

  I forced myself to look normal as I walked through the living room.

  Food sat on the table. The steam was gone. I looked away and headed for the entryway. The moment I opened the door, cold slapped my cheeks and stung my nose. From the low, gray sky, wet snow fell in heavy clumps. It wasn’t powder. It was water and ice together, dropping onto my shoulders, melting instantly into cold trails.

  The meeting spot—the vacant lot—was close. A few minutes.

  It felt like forever.

  A thin layer of snow had started to settle underfoot. My shoes sank with a damp sound. I tried to steady my breathing, but it stayed shallow, wrong.

  This looks like my dream, I thought.

  Just thinking that made it feel like something was being shoved down my throat.

  The vacant lot opened the view a little. Shadows from houses stretched thin across the snow. The surface hadn’t been trampled yet.

  And there she stood.

  She had my face.

  My bones. My eyes. My exact proportions.

  Like looking into a mirror—except she was not behind glass. She was out here, at a distance, and her gaze felt too close.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  She wore my uniform. Water beads sat on her yellow scarf, reflecting light. One bead quivered—never quite falling, as if time had slowed around her alone.

  I opened my mouth.

  It took a second for the sound to feel like it belonged to me.

  “How was today?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer. Her lips didn’t move. Her expression didn’t change.

  She only extended her arm slowly and held out her hand.

  Palm up.

  A demand.

  “You didn’t forget our promise, did you?”

  It should’ve been my voice.

  It was the same pitch, the same shape—but rougher, like grit caught in the throat. I tried to nod and couldn’t quite make my neck obey.

  “O-of course,” I said, words coming out ahead of my body. I pointed at my pocket and tried to smile. My face twitched, caught halfway.

  Her eyes didn’t waver. She barely blinked.

  Like a machine observing.

  Then she gave a small nod—still blank-faced.

  It felt like a signal.

  My hand moved. I pulled the knife from my pocket.

  Metal met air and a cold shine bloomed along the blade. The etched pattern on the handle scraped my fingers with a gritty texture. I held it in my right hand. I raised my left hand as if I was going to cut myself, forcing my eyes to follow it.

  I did it naturally.

  That was what scared me.

  Like my body already knew the choreography.

  In the next instant, I changed direction.

  I drove the blade into her stomach.

  Cloth tore.

  There was resistance as the knife went in—then suddenly none, a sickening give. The sensation of cutting something transmitted up through my wrist, deep into my bones.

  Her eyes snapped wide in shock.

  But she didn’t scream.

  Her mouth didn’t even open.

  There was no warm rush, no wet splatter. No blood.

  I tried to look and couldn’t. I squeezed my eyes shut on reflex.

  Then I turned and ran.

  My feet kicked snow up behind me. Cold wet flecks slapped my shins. My own breathing roared in my ears, loud enough to drown thought.

  (Yoshida. Yoshida. Yoshida…)

  I repeated his name in my head. If I kept saying it, maybe this would feel less real.

  It didn’t help.

  Melted snow soaked into my uniform, making my back heavy. I didn’t know how long I ran. Eventually I realized I was in a park at the edge of town.

  Playground equipment sat under a coating of white. Metal parts reflected dull, blackish light. The bench was painted over in snow. At some point the snowfall had stopped, leaving only a strip of sunset along the horizon.

  I stopped and gasped. My sleeves clung to my wrists. The cold reached my core. For a moment, the thought flashed: I’m going to catch a cold.

  Then I shook my head hard. Not important.

  The shadows on the fresh snow looked wrong—flat, like ink on paper. They were real shadows, but they didn’t match the feel of the ground. I looked down.

  My footprints were there.

  They looked like the only proof reality still existed.

  As I started walking again, I saw it.

  A red dot, tucked near the edge of the lot.

  This was a park.

  There shouldn’t have been any—

  But the red dots continued, leading deeper across untouched white. Just like my dream. Like my dream had speared into the real world.

  My legs nearly folded. I spun away, throat tight, no sound coming out.

  She was there.

  The girl I’d stabbed stood in front of me.

  In her hand was the knife.

  The blade looked clean.

  From a distance, the tear in her uniform wasn’t even obvious. My voice wouldn’t come. I swallowed, my throat scraping.

  And then my mouth opened anyway.

  “Go back to Planet Pe!” I shouted. “Right now! Just go!”

  The words came out dry, brittle.

  She stared, expressionless, and shook her head. She slid the knife back into the pocket of her uniform with an almost careful, polite motion.

  Then she reached into her other pocket and took out a small, transparent cube that glowed pale blue.

  She held it on her palm for me to see.

  Inside, tiny glyph-like shapes swapped and flowed in three dimensions, smooth as video, too perfect to feel real.

  My eyes locked on the light. Not because I wanted to look, but because looking away felt worse.

  She made a face that was almost sad.

  Not naturally—more like she was assembling “sadness” from instructions.

  Then, without hesitation, she crushed the cube.

  The transparent shell warped with a wet crunch.

  The light inside snapped back, like something being yanked away at speed.

  And then it went out.

  I tried to scream. Only a ragged breath leaked from my throat. Pain bloomed in my chest. My stomach cramped. My lips shook.

  “A promise,” she said.

  Her voice was rough, but cold and clear.

  It felt like the supports inside my body vanished. The ground didn’t crack, but I collapsed anyway, knees sinking into snow.

  The cold was so intense it seemed to reach my brain a moment late.

  And then—

  Two days of memories slammed into me all at once.

  Two nights ago—Yoshida stepped in front of me. A horn, a blur of headlights, then that dull impact like someone hitting a wet board. His bag skidded across the road. My own scream came out a heartbeat late, like my body had to ask permission.

  At the hospital, everything was white and sharp-smelling. In the ICU he lay under tubes and wires, fenced in by monitors that kept beeping as if they could replace his breathing. I stood there staring at my hands, empty.

  That night I went home and prayed up at the winter stars. I didn’t believe in prayers. I only knew I’d break if I did nothing.

  That was when it appeared.

  The blizzard beyond my window flashed, and a harsh, chemical light flooded my room. Snow seemed to spill indoors for a second. The air turned dense with cold. Something pressed against me—contact without sound—and a needle-sting hit my fingertip.

  The light thickened into a shape.

  A naked girl stood there with my exact body: my skin, my hair, my bones. Only her eyes didn’t fit, the light behind them sliding past mine instead of meeting it.

  She spoke.

  “…I am Ma, from Planet Pe. I came to observe Earth. For two rotation cycles, while I remain, I will grant you one wish, as far as I am able.”

  The words were Japanese, but the rhythm wasn’t human. The cuts between sounds were too clean. No breath.

  “I will watch your school for two days. After that, you will use this knife to harm yourself once more, and give me one drop of blood. That blood is the key that will release this form. Now. Speak your wish.”

  A knife appeared in her hand—metal, sharp—and she put it in mine. The handle’s etched pattern matched the one I’d hidden later. The moment I touched it, my fingers went numb with cold. When I looked down, a thin line of blood had already surfaced, bright as paint.

  I was shaking. I still took her to the hospital.

  In Yoshida’s room, Ma produced a small transparent cube that glowed pale blue—Uni—and held it over him. Inside, tiny glyph-like shapes swapped and flowed in three dimensions.

  “This Uni will sustain the individual’s life activity.”

  The next day, Yoshida woke up.

  That miracle is what bound me.

  The price is what dragged me to the vacant lot today.

  I knelt and squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head left and right, but my snow-chilled body wouldn’t cooperate.

  She came closer.

  There were no footsteps, yet the distance vanished.

  An arm wrapped around me, pulling me into a hug. I felt contact through fabric. I felt body heat—thin, hollow warmth.

  Pain flared in my ring finger.

  Sharp. Short. Like a single dot.

  I tried to yank my hand back. My finger wouldn’t move.

  Then her presence disappeared.

  “Thank you,” a voice said from above. “I have learned about the young, violent emotions of Earth humans.”

  I opened my eyes.

  Something like golden fragments rose into the air at the edge of my vision. They swirled upward like a reverse snowfall—scattering, splitting smaller and smaller—until they dissolved into the color of night.

  When I tried to stand, my legs wobbled.

  On the snow, blood dotted the surface—little points, dripping from my ring finger. The snow drank them in, pale red spreading outward.

  It looked like the red dots from my dream.

  After that, I don’t remember how I got home. Turning the key is a blur. I only remember walking and hearing my shoes press into wet snow, and each step leaving another red point behind me.

  That night, under my blanket, sleep stayed shallow. The dream’s red dots overlapped the real ones. I clenched my hand, checking my ring finger. It felt like something remained under the skin—an alienness lodged there.

  It didn’t hurt.

  It just wouldn’t go away.

  The next morning, my mother fussed over me as I left for school.

  The snow that had threatened to become permanent had already melted, leaving only patches in the shade. The sky was thin and gray. The classroom felt distant, like it was behind glass: chairs creaking, chalk dust, someone coughing.

  Normal sounds.

  Today, they felt far away.

  Right after I entered, my phone rang—Mom.

  The vibration hit my palm and my whole body locked. I didn’t even have room to greet my friends. I grabbed my bag and bolted.

  Outside air burned cold in my lungs. I hailed a taxi and headed for the hospital. Patches of leftover snow slid past the window. The city should’ve looked real, but through glass it felt like a film set.

  All the while, I rubbed my ring finger again and again.

  At the hospital I rushed a nurse and entered a general ward. The door opened on disinfectant and bedding.

  Yoshida was talking with his mother.

  When he saw me, his expression flickered into surprise—then he smiled, bright and ordinary. That smile looked like the most real thing I’d seen in days.

  “Akiko-chan,” he said. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

  “Idiot!”

  My throat went hot. Tears threatened, and I blinked hard to stop them.

  “It’s weird,” he said with that same easy smile. “I feel completely better. Once the tests are done, they say I might be discharged today.”

  “Really?”

  With his head wrapped in bandages, he nodded like it was nothing. The motion looked dazzling.

  And then—

  From somewhere in the room, I heard my own voice.

  Rough. Dry.

  “…The nano-treatment by Uni is already complete.”

  The fluorescent lights seemed to flicker, just barely.

  I stumbled back and held my breath.

  I couldn’t tell where the voice came from. The corner of the room, the ceiling, the shadow behind the curtain—everything looked dimmer all at once. Yoshida’s mother tilted her head in confusion. Yoshida kept smiling like he hadn’t heard a thing.

  Only I had heard it.

  Without thinking, I traced the place where my ring finger should’ve been cut.

  There was no scar.

  No mark.

  No proof that blood had ever flowed.

  I shook my head and looked out the window.

  Under the gray sky, thin snow still lingered.

  In that field of white, I remembered the dream’s red dots.

  And one thought rose, quiet and nauseating:

  Had his “observation” really ended?

  Had his “learning” ended?

  My ring finger tingled once—then again—like something trying to call back.

  (FIN)