August 15th, a scorching midsummer day. Shota Murata, a high school sophomore, was flipping through an old diary he had stumbled upon in the storage shed of a shrine. The diary contained a curious statement: “Follow the instructions in this diary, and you can repeat your summer vacation forever.” The words seemed like a joke, yet they carried an inexplicable allure.
Following the diary’s initial instructions, Shota rang the shrine’s bell at a designated time the next morning and peered into an old well. Suddenly, his vision blurred, and before he knew it, August 15th began again.
“This is… yesterday all over again,” he whispered in disbelief.
For the first few days, Shota reveled in the loop. He ignored his summer homework, embarked on new adventures with friends every day, and indulged in every whim. But as the same day repeated for the 10th, 20th time, a gnawing unease crept into his heart.
“Something’s… off,” he muttered.
Everyone around him repeated the same words and actions like programmed dolls. Deviating from the diary’s instructions triggered an eerie silence that blanketed the world. Once, when Shota ventured to a distant city against the diary’s guidance, the scenery distorted as if reality itself were on the verge of collapse.
“This isn’t just a game…”
Eventually, he fixated on the diary’s final page, where a cryptic message awaited: “August 32nd. On this day, head to the exit of this world.” Resolving to uncover the truth, Shota made his way to the shrine deep in the mountains.
The shrine stood desolate, like an abandoned relic. In its overgrown depths, he found himself before a small sanctuary. A pristine wooden plaque hung on the door, bearing the inscription, “Return to where you belong.” With trembling hands, Shota opened the door, and blinding light engulfed him.
Within the light, Shota saw the figure of his late grandfather. The old man’s gentle eyes crinkled as he smiled and spoke.
“Shota, I created this diary in the past, so you could move forward. But if you continue now, you’ll never return to reality.”
A sharp pang tightened Shota’s chest. “But… just a little longer, this summer—” His thought was interrupted by his grandfather’s voice echoing through the light.
“Look ahead, Shota. Don’t fear the end of summer.”
When he awoke, Shota found himself sitting on the stone steps of the shrine. In his pocket, a torn piece of the diary remained, with a single word written on it: “Welcome back.” He stared at the paper, then let out a deep breath.
On his way home, the cicadas’ song struck him as strangely nostalgic.
“Another summer is ending,” he murmured.
Though he lamented the fleeting, irreplaceable days of summer, Shota took his first step toward what lay ahead.
