The classroom buzzed with the chatter of students, but one conversation hung in the air, drawing the attention of two nearby.
"Senjougahara-san? What happened to Senjougahara-san?" The voice came from Araragi Koyomi, curiosity painting his features.
"Well, I was just wondering," he continued, a hint of intrigue dancing in his tone.
"Hmmm." Hanekawa Tsubasa, the class president with an air of all-knowing wisdom, adjusted her glasses, her braids framing her face as she replied, "You know, Senjougahara Hitagi is an interesting, unusual name."
Eighteen years ago, on a warm May afternoon at Naoetsu Private High School, Araragi had posed this question. He was eighteen, a third-year student, and this moment felt both fresh and distant, like a dream he could barely grasp yet could not shake off. It was the very day it all began, a turning point marked by a fall from the top of the stairs, a chance encounter that had long echoed in the corridors of his memory.
"That's a place name, you know?" Hanekawa had said, her voice steady and informative.
"Ah," Araragi had replied, momentarily caught off guard. "A place name?"
"Yes. Senjougahara is a location in Japan," Hanekawa continued, her tone casual. Back then, Araragi had the good sense to skip any idle chatter, eager to delve deeper into the nuances of her name.
"Um, well, no, that's not what I meant. I'm talking about her first name," he insisted, shifting the focus back.
Now, six years later, reflecting on that moment felt almost surreal. In the time that had passed, not only had Hanekawa's name faded from his life, but her entire existence had slipped away into the shadows of bygone days. The thought lingered, a bittersweet reflection of how transient names and identities might be, especially for someone like Hanekawa, who had been a wanderer between families, her sense of self fluid and changing.
"Something like Sekigahara or Dannoura? Or Horaga Pass?" Araragi chimed in, the skewed sensibility of youth bubbling to the surface.
"Hmmm. I guess Senjougahara isn't exactly the kind of place where a battle took place," Hanekawa replied, her brows raised slightly in amusement.
"Is that so? And where is it, anyway?" Araragi asked, his youthful ignorance showing through. He hadn't yet studied for his entrance exams and didn't even know where Sekigahara lay on a map.
"It's Tochigi Prefecture," she said matter-of-factly.
"Tochigi Prefecture?" Araragi echoed, confusion etching his features.
To clarify, Hanekawa added, "Would it be easier if I said Nikko?"
"Nikko…" Araragi began, the name tinged with a charming nostalgia, yet he still felt a tremor of unease. Even the word "Nikko" was laden with memories he had yet to confront, remnants of a time when a different part of him still grappled with the shadows of his past.
"Senjougahara is in Oku-Nikko. It's in the upper left corner of Tochigi Prefecture if you look at the map," Hanekawa continued, her voice steady, guiding him through the maze of unfamiliarity.
"Wait, I remember now. Don't call it good until you've seen Nikko, right?" Araragi grinned, trying to recapture the buoyancy of the moment, even as he was aware that he was still so naive.
"That's right," Hanekawa replied, a smile creeping onto her lips as she realized she was teaching him not just geography but lessons of life.
Looking back, he could hardly believe that this studious classmate had been shining her light on him, even amidst the mundane chatter about school festivals, which now felt so distant and trivial.
Araragi could almost hear the echoes of their conversation, "It's like seeing Naples and then dying… so what kind of battles were fought in Oku-Nikko? There doesn't seem to be anything there." The words, uttered with youthful bravado, illustrated his ignorance and naiveté.
Now, as his mind wandered to those yon days, he mused how opinions had shifted. "Of course, there's nothing there," he thought, yet Hanekawa had pointed out treasures of the landscape—Lake Chuzenji, Kagengon Falls, Futarasan Shrine, and the famed Nikko Toshogu Shrine, a World Heritage Site drawing an earnest connection to the past.
"I see… but aren't World Heritage Sites actually not that common?" he remembered questioning, fully digging into the conversation even as it crumbled with the disaster of his own immaturity.
"That's because there's a history of them being designated as such, to be carefully preserved, just like everywhere else," Hanekawa explained, offering wisdom that felt far beyond their years.
Now, years later, Araragi chuckled at their youthful ignorance. He'd grown in knowledge and awareness, though questions lingered. As he traversed life's winding paths, memories of Senjougahara, of Hanekawa, and the fleeting nature of names and identities melded into a tapestry he wore like a cloak—heavy with nostalgia yet brightened by the hope of tomorrow.