FUKUDA

FRAMES 15–19.

FACES ON THE ROLL.

The orca girl Hazuki finds at the Toyosu fish market at dawn on her way home from the night shift. They stand side by side at the auction window without talking, which suits them both.

The lion lecturer at the old shogi club by the station. Hazuki sat down across from her without asking, has the one face she can't read, and has beaten her twice.

The cow girl in Textile Design. In the campus Lawson she turns the cartoon-cow milk cartons to face the wall, and Hazuki turns them back. Hazuki asked why once and got the whole answer, twenty minutes of it, which is the kind she likes.

The squirrel in marketing, who says a lot from a safe distance. She asked the oracle whether to keep running Soma's errands and got a flat no in front of three people. Risa hasn't forgiven the audience. She keeps asking anyway.

The crow girl from Music stares Hazuki down every time they pass, for no reason she can name. Hazuki finds it interesting rather than rude, stares back, and privately envies how much Yuri's face shows.

The mouse girl in illustration feeds anyone who sits still long enough, and Hazuki sits very still. She keeps turning up, eats, says "good" and leaves, and Miyu still can't tell whether that was a compliment.

The Polish beaver in food science expects the worst from every day. Hazuki fixed the wobbly leg of her lab stool without being asked and told her the worst usually doesn't come. Emilia isn't convinced. The stool stopped wobbling.

The panda brat in architecture wants a reaction out of everyone. She has spent a month trying to get one out of Hazuki's face and got nothing. Hazuki's tufts, though, go straight up every time Ling walks in.

The goth goat with dry comebacks and no patience for nonsense. They share a bench without talking, which suits them both. Mavis is the only person who has asked Hazuki a question as strange as Hazuki's own.

The wolf in product design shoots digital, hundreds of frames of her hiking club. Hazuki shoots one roll a week, and asked her flatly why she's in none of her own photos. Rikka still thinks about it.

The shark-girl med student wants her headphones and a quieter day. Hazuki wants a corner with one way in. They found the same library corner. Neither has said a word, and neither has given it up.

Hayato's border collie, sent after anyone who walks out of his frame. Hazuki has exactly one question for her: why she comes when he whistles. Ritsu has never answered it. Hazuki considers it still open.

The rabbit in sociology lives on gossip, and the live breakup is the best gossip of the term. Kurumi keeps asking what Hazuki really said to Mai. Hazuki keeps telling her the exact words, which ruins it.

The little sheep in the leather jacket argues properly. Hazuki says the first true thing and won't defend it. Fuka finds that infuriating and keeps climbing to the same rooftop to argue with her anyway.

The queen bee's table is the one the cafeteria watches. Melissa asked the oracle for advice once, loudly, as a joke. Hazuki answered seriously and was right. Melissa hasn't laughed about it since.

A tall horse girl who keeps strangers where she can see them. Two tall girls, both always checking the door. Satsuki respects that Hazuki can look behind her without turning around, and would like to know how.

The tiger gyaru brings a laugh into most rooms and wants Hazuki in her photos. Hazuki stood in one, flat-faced, holding a peace sign perfectly still. Hinata printed it and keeps it on her phone case.

The bat heiress who hears lies. Hazuki has never told one near her. Akari keeps taking the seat beside hers in the library, next to the one steady heartbeat in the room, and Hazuki lets her.

The gentle deer girl likes a quiet place and an unhurried conversation. Hazuki is perfect at the quiet and bad at the conversation. Shiori doesn't mind. Half of a good afternoon is still a good afternoon.

The otter likes mischief when someone will play along. Hazuki plays along with a perfectly straight face, which makes every prank twice as good. Nagisa can never tell if she's enjoying it. Her tufts are.

The raccoon engineer, confident with her hands and not with strangers. She came to fix the manga café's drink machine at three in the morning, and Hazuki held the flashlight. Neither said much. It worked.

The white cat who spent years without a safe home. Hazuki knows someone who backs into corners when she sees one. She leaves food where Kaya will find it, and never watches her eat it.

The moth works the library's overnight shift; Hazuki works the manga café's. They text at four in the morning: Luna's long and warm, Hazuki's all lowercase, hours late, sometimes only a photo.

The pale fox in economics keeps a careful distance from most people. Hazuki keeps the same distance and asks one question a week across it. Yuzuha answers about half. The rest stay open.