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My consciousness seems to drift gently, and that alone makes me realize this is a dream.

…Again?

Ever since I was reincarnated into this other world, I’ve been having more dreams about the past.
They say you don’t have dreams when you’re in a deep sleep, so does that mean my sleep has been shallow since I was reincarnated? Or maybe vampires just dream a lot?

Since I know it’s a dream, I’m not surprised by the scene before me.
A room where everything exists as it should, yet is completely cut off from the outside world.
A being who can never set foot beyond the iron bars, permitted to breathe only here. That is who I was back then.
Feeling an air of profound nostalgia, I see the same things that my dream self is seeing.

“That’s unpleasant. Please don’t stare at me like that.”
“You’re the one who’s looking at me, though?”
“For the living to gaze upon the dead is a beautiful act filled with emotion, but isn’t it repulsive for the dead to gaze upon the living? It’s not like you’re my ancestor.”
“Hmm. Is that so?”

Both my words and hers are predetermined. This is because it is a matter of the past that has already passed.
The living person on the other side of the iron bars is someone who possesses the achievements and power necessary to be allowed to live in the house of Kuon. Her name is Kuon Aoba-san.
In my memory, she is wearing a kimono so resplendent it could be called extravagant. It is a furisode adorned with multicolored flowers, so dazzlingly vibrant that it hurts the eyes—so much so that I can no longer tell which color serves as the base.
Wearing that kimono, she exudes an air as if she were standing in a flower field.

She made the two bells attached to the kanzashi in her black hair jingle softly as she placed the blade against the flower she held in her hand.
With every movement of her slender fingers, the blade trimmed away what was unnecessary. The flowers, stripped of their excess, were arranged in their proper places, eventually forming a single work of art.

To me, it simply looks beautiful, but I’m sure it’s the kind of thing anyone would appreciate.
She set the finished piece aside and smiled.

“What do you think? It’s not every day you get to see my art all to yourself, is it?”
“I don’t know anything about the art of flowers. Besides, since I’m dead, I’m not supposed to voice my opinions.”
“True, I suppose.”

Her eyes, as she chuckled softly, held no sarcasm. She’s a mysterious person.
Most of the people who come here look at me with contempt. They confirm that they don’t want to end up like this, and then they leave.
A small number of the people who come here look at me with pity. For some reason, they seem to be more heartbroken than I am about how things have turned out, and they, too, leave.

She is neither of those. She’s part of an extremely small group, even smaller than the minority.
Whether out of a whim or something else, she visits my cell like this time and again, arranging flowers before leaving.
The finished arrangements are cleared away before they wilt. I’m sure even that is on Aoba-san’s orders.

“So, as a dead man, do you have anything to say?”
“……I prefer something a little less flashy. Sakura, or something like that.”

What I said was my true feeling. I wondered if it might offend her, but I didn’t care. After all, she was the one who told me to speak.
The arrangement beyond the iron bars was flashy, as dazzling as the clothes she was wearing. It was vibrant, eye-catching, and beautiful. Even within a dream, it seemed to shine.

I’m not an expert on flowers, so I don’t know what kind were used. Even so, I can tell that Aoba-san’s work is amazing.
Otherwise, I couldn’t call myself a member of the Kuon family—and even without any knowledge, I can tell at a glance that it’s something special.
It’s just that it’s a little outside my personal taste.

“Hehe. Is that so?”

Her reaction was the opposite of what I expected. Far from getting angry, she laughed.
Her laughter rang out like a bell as she rolled toward the iron bars.

“Aoba-san?”
“Come a little closer.”
“Okay.”

It’s not that I didn’t have the right to refuse, but I had no reason to. I approached the iron bars.
The fact that I paused for a moment to wonder what would happen if I didn’t approach her here was typical of me in a dream.
In my dreams, I move on my own, and besides, this had already happened. Even if I did something different from reality, it wouldn’t change reality.

So I knew what would happen next—how she would take my hand from behind the iron bars and what she would do.
A faint sound echoed through the quiet room—the soft, tactile sound of our tongues touching.

I’m not surprised. This is the second time. But this time, I was a little startled, and as proof, the scene opened up. It was because I’d widened my eyes.

“It actually tastes pretty good, doesn’t it?”
“I didn’t think you had a thing for kissing dead people.”
“As long as you’re over here, you’re not quite dead yet.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“……Have you had any experience with this?”
“At least as far as I can remember, I’ve never done it or had it done to me.”
“Hehe. That’s good.”

Just a moment ago, she was calling me a dead person, and now she’s suddenly treating me like a living one.
I can’t figure out how this person thinks. No matter how many times we meet again in my memories, I don’t think I’ll ever understand.
Still, even if I don’t understand the meaning of her emotions, I can tell what emotion is behind her expression. What I saw in her expression at that moment was joy. She smiled as if a flower were blooming.

“You’re just like a flower bud.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes… I wonder what kind of flower will bloom.”
“It withered before it could bloom.”
“No. Just like a flower bud buried under the snow, I’m sure it will bloom. Not here, but somewhere else.”

Her body heat faded as she stood up.
I still don’t understand the meaning of her words or the emotions behind them—neither the me from back then, nor the me now, watching this replay of the past.

“I’d love to see you bloom.”
“I don’t think that’s possible. I can’t leave this place.”
“Yes, yes. But the world does change, just like the seasons. …It’s about time your waitress arrives. What was her name again? That… little girl.”
“It’s Ryuko-chan. Mizushiro Ryuko.”
“Ah, that was her name. I’ll take my leave before the water spoils the mood.”
“I see. Goodbye, Aoba-san.”
“……I’ll come back again.”
“Feel free.”

She deepened her smile, though I couldn’t tell what was making her so happy.

“Since sakura can’t be cut down so easily, let’s go see the blossoms together someday.”
“That’s true. If the opportunity arises.”

That day would never come. Even as I thought that, I replied to her.
The world spilled away like falling petals, and my consciousness began to drift. The end of the dream was near.
The last smile I saw on her face was a faint sakura pink. What emotions were hidden behind that expression?
The back of her hand, slightly damp, and a faint warmth. That sensation, like a lingering fragrance, faded into the distance.
Were those words a promise to her?
Along with that question, my consciousness drifted away.