Thus concluded the second page.
“Hrrmmm…”
I cocked my head and read it over and over. It wasn’t really horror, and it was hard to call it fantasy horror—it was difficult, even, to call it a story. If it were anything, it was sort of memoir-ish. Or it was a simple reflection, or it was just words she’d randomly strung together.
Nagato’s story, eh…?
As I was reading it, I thought of something else. Something that happened during December of last year, something I’ll never forget, no matter how long I should live. That other Nagato, there in the literature club room—could she have been writing a story? All alone on that ancient computer?
I don’t know how Haruhi interpreted my silence and my thoughtful face, but she snatched the paper out of my hands.
“Then there’s the last page, the third one. The more you read it, the less sense it makes. I’d like to hear your thoughts.”