“It’s finally over,” Sakura sighed, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Tsubaki, I don’t have lab or meetings today. Want to go somewhere?”

“Sure! Where to?” Tsubaki asked. “I could go for a crepe. A real one. With strawberries and whipped cream and zero regrets.”

“Perfect,” Sakura grinned. “I’ve been craving one since last Tuesday.”

The two of them stood just outside their lecture hall, voices threading together like old songs. Around them, others lingered, some chatting about weekend plans, others packing up or scrolling their phones with a kind of practiced boredom that only grad students had perfected. It was summer, mid-July, when the heat starts to hum like background noise and everything smells faintly of asphalt. There was a departmental meeting later that day, which meant no seminars, no labs, no scheduled obligations. It was an unspoken invitation to exhale.

They were halfway to the door when it happened.

---

Sakura stopped. Not because she saw anything, but because she felt something. A jolt deep inside her chest, like her heartbeat had stumbled and forgotten how to get back on rhythm. It wasn’t just her. Across the room, several students had frozen too, blinking, shifting uncomfortably.

“Hey, Sakura—” Tsubaki began, her voice catching mid-sentence.

And then the floor opened up. Or maybe it didn’t. It wasn’t exactly the floor—it was a shadow, a slick blackness that surged from below, swallowing sound and light and sense. It enveloped the room in seconds.

Sakura reached out instinctively, trying to grab something, anything, but then her vision blurred, and everything slipped away.

---

When she opened her eyes, the ceiling above her was familiar. That was the first disorienting thing. The classroom looked untouched. The desks were where they should be, the lights still buzzed faintly overhead. For a second, she thought maybe she had fainted, or maybe they’d all hallucinated the same bizarre vision.

Then she saw Tsubaki.

“Tsubaki?!” she called out, scrambling over to her.

Her best friend groaned and opened her eyes slowly, as if waking up from a nap on a slow Sunday morning.

“Good morning, Sakura… what’s the rush?”

Sakura stared at her. “You’re kidding, right? Stand up. Something’s wrong.”

Tsubaki rubbed her eyes and sat up. “Yeah… the air smells weird. And the light… it’s off. Too pale, too cold.”

Together, they made their way to the window.

The schoolyard was still there. But beyond it, where rice fields should have been, was an endless expanse of forest. Wild, unkempt, unfamiliar. Trees like giants. Mountains that didn’t belong.

Sakura pressed her palm to the glass.

“No way,” she whispered.

“What… is this?”

There were no answers only wind that smelled like moss and something ancient. Sakura pinched her own cheek, but it hurt. Which, unfortunately, was not the kind of dream logic she had hoped for.

They stood there in stunned silence until reality demanded acknowledgment.

“What do we do now?”

---

In the hallway, they found more students, three women sprawled just outside the door. Kaede Tsukishima, their serious-minded class representative; Mamori Kanzaki, a ball of caffeine and cheer; and Kyoko Fukayaki, who never once in her life looked underdressed.

After a round of groggy wake-ups and several double-takes at the window, everyone had the same reaction: awe wrapped in dread.

Kaede adjusted her glasses like it was the only thing grounding her to reality. “First things first—we need to confirm what we’re dealing with.”

She raised a finger, as if outlining a lecture.

“One: This is not a dream. Unfortunately.”

“Agreed.”

“Two: We’re not in the same school we were in five minutes ago.”

“Also agreed.”

“Three: This is likely a form of… interdimensional or temporal relocation.”

Tsubaki blinked. “Bit of a jump, don’t you think?”

“It’s a possibility,” Kaede said, undeterred.

Mamori snorted. “Yeah, sure. And next you’ll tell us aliens dropped us here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kyoko said. “Obviously, we’re all just really, really attractive. That’s why we got isekai’d.”

“Let’s start searching the building,” Sakura said before Kaede could spiral further. “There are probably more students unconscious, and we should gather information while we still have sunlight.”

No one argued.

They tried their phones. No service, just a blinking digital clock and a useless browser. The only thing that worked was the timer.

---

Their search revealed more students scattered throughout the school, each waking in confusion but relatively unharmed. Everyone had remained close to the place they lost consciousness, as though whatever phenomenon pulled them in had politely respected classroom boundaries.

One unsettling pattern began to emerge.

Kyoko’s joke wasn’t as much of a joke anymore.

All the girls who had reawakened were, to put it bluntly, beautiful. In the way that made you pause. The kind of beauty that came in all styles and colors, but was unmistakably present. No one voiced it directly, but it hung in the air like a strange, aesthetic conspiracy.

The group divided responsibilities: some interviewed the newly woken, others took stock of supplies. And when they finally reached the faculty room, they found a few professors. All women. All relatively young. All just as confused.

That’s when the doors opened again.

And in walked Haruna Ichinose the kendo club captain, student council president, and the kind of person whose presence rearranged the gravity of a room. By her side: Ren Kiryu, vice-president, archery club captain, and known for her unflinching calm.

“Looks like it wasn’t just students,” Haruna said smoothly. “Good to see you, Sakura.”

“Haruna-senpai!”

“We’ve accounted for all the third-years,” she continued, addressing the professors. “No injuries, just confusion. Twenty-two of us, including faculty. Sakura, how about first-years?”

“Er, I… forgot to count,” Sakura admitted, cheeks flushing. “But I think it’s close. Around twenty.”

“Understood,” Haruna nodded. “Let’s get everyone to the gym. We’re running out of daylight.”

Sakura turned to the window. The sun had begun to dip below the horizon. The clocks all read 5:00 p.m., but it looked more like evening. The sky was the color of low tide.

“Alright,” Haruna said. “Sakura, gather the first-years. Ren, take the second-years. I’ll handle the rest.”

---

Later, in the gym, Professor Sayuri Kubo stood in front of the gathered students. There were seventy-three in all. She was only twenty-eight, with a daughter barely past toddlerhood waiting at home, but in that moment she wore calm like armor.

“Everyone,” she began, “based on what we know, it’s safe to assume we are no longer on Earth. There are two moons in the sky, both significantly larger than our own. The sun is unfamiliar and likely sets earlier. That said… we are alive. And that means something.”

She gestured to the overhead lights, still glowing. “We have power—at least for now—likely thanks to solar energy. The plumbing appears to work. The buildings are intact. There is still hope.”

Sayuri’s voice was soft, but firm. No one questioned her optimism, no one wanted to.

“For now,” she concluded, “we’ll all sleep here in the gym. We need to stay together. Please help carry futons and food. Tonight, we observe. Tomorrow, we plan.”

---

The sun dipped. Crackers and bottled water were passed around. Futons lined the floor. Conversations flickered quietly across the gym, a tapestry of half-whispers and uncertain laughter.

Sakura and Tsubaki laid their futons side by side, like they’d done at sleepovers when they were thirteen.

Staring at the ceiling, Tsubaki whispered, “What’s going to happen to us?”

Sakura thought for a moment. “I don’t know. The professor said we might go home tomorrow… but no matter what happens, we’ll face it together.”

Tsubaki smiled faintly. “Thanks. It kind of feels like an impromptu sleepover, doesn’t it?”

That made Sakura laugh, really laugh, for the first time since it all began.

“You’re weirdly positive.”

“It’s a defense mechanism. Let’s keep talking until we fall asleep.”

“Deal.”

All around them, soft voices threaded through the gym, but none with the same ease and warmth as theirs. It was like their words knitted a small bubble of safety between them. Eventually, the air grew cooler, and the exhaustion caught up.

“I’m getting sleepy…” Sakura murmured.

“Mmhm… see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Tsubaki.”

---

Translations Provided By: Kinsei Translation – kinseitranslation@gmail.com

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