You stood at the base of the long staircase, black blindfold secured firmly over your eyes. The familiar weight of your school uniform settled on your shoulders—dark jacket, pleated skirt, the crisp collar that still felt new even after months of wearing it.

Your father had dropped you off with a dramatic wave and a promise to bring back souvenirs from his mission trip, citing something about a special-grade curse in Okinawa that "wouldn't take more than a day to handle."

The stairs stretched upward, impossibly long, as they always did. A figure was already making their way down—loping, eager, unmistakably energetic even from a distance.