Plum Blossoms in the Music Room

Sora woke in a school corridor with a schedule in her name and a room full of people who acted like they knew her life better than she did. She was a tokusatsu prop designer, so her hands still knew how to judge weight, cracks, paint, and the way a fake wound had to catch light to look real. That skill made her useful in a place where every small object seemed to matter too much. A worn pair of school sneakers stayed in her satchel. A bento case with last year’s stamp stayed in her shoe locker. A strange coat-check tag stayed hidden in her bag. When Sora tried to ask the wrong questions, the people around her answered as if the missing parts had already happened once. The girl she trusted mo...