The Sharp-Witted Window

Chapter Two

Hatsumi rarely talks about her past.

Being a bound spirit, there are probably things I shouldn't ask.

So I've decided to wait until she's ready to share—no pressure.

What I do know is her name: Hatsumi.

And that she's probably older than me—a big sister type.

She doesn't eat.

She doesn't breathe.

But she does sleep.

When I say "Good night," she always replies, "See you tomorrow."

And above all, she's strangely intuitive.

Last December, there was a major horse race.

I was watching a prediction show, trying to figure out which horse to bet on, when Hatsumi suddenly asked to see the newspaper.

"You know horse racing?" I asked.

"Not really," she said. "I just want to see the names of the horses."

"You're choosing by name? There's bloodlines, track distance, all kinds of things to consider."

"Hmm... Oh, this one—Jeanne d'Arc. Is this her first time in the big race?"

"Yeah, it is. Why?"

"If it were me, I'd bet on Jeanne d'Arc."

"No way," I shook my head.

She'd lost badly in her last race and came from a short-distance lineage.

This race was long. She didn't stand a chance.

I placed my bets on the second and sixth favorites, plus a few others.

The result?

Jeanne d'Arc won.

She led from the start, never looked back, and took first place with ease.

My picks came in second and third.

If I'd listened to Hatsumi, I would've won.

Trifecta payout: 24,269 to 1.

If I'd placed just a $1 bet, I could've walked away with nearly $25,000.

I nearly fainted.

Hatsumi smirked and said, "Told you so, pfft-pfft-poo."

After that, I asked her for predictions every time there was a race.

But she never gave me another tip.

"Money should be saved slowly," she said.

For someone so casual, she occasionally says things that are surprisingly sound.

Hard to argue with that.

Still, she says plenty of things that are hard to believe:

"Pleated beehive skirts are about to trend."

"Beef-and-rice fast food chains might collaborate with Coca-Cola."

"I can totally sense aliens approaching Earth."

All of it seemed like her way of keeping me entertained.

My convenience store manager offered to increase my shifts, saying,

"Nakagawa-kun, you're doing great."

But I turned it down.

I didn't want to lose time talking with Hatsumi.

Eventually, I became a second-year student.

Our department split into specialized tracks.

I made more friends to eat with at the cafeteria.

For the first time, I felt glad I'd worked hard to get into university.

But after a certain day, my time with Hatsumi began to fade.

The turning point came right after the eleventh lecture of Macroeconomics.

I'd just stepped out of the lecture hall when someone called my name from behind.

Sunlight filtered through the treetops, casting mottled shadows on my arms.

On the wide white steps, a single short shadow stood.