This was not even an option in the polls, but I've been posting it on another site and have been meaning to bring it over. Please note that several sections have been heavily edited to accommodate site rules, and if you would like to read this as it is intended to be read, come check it out on my Archive of Our Own account listed on my profile.

Thanks!

There's an urban legend told in Nagano about a high school girl who vanished without a trace.

It's the kind of thing that would have been whispered by a storyteller to their friends on a summer night, their faces lit only by candles, shadows dancing on the walls around them. But the people of the modern era don't tell stories like they used to, so instead, it's the kind of thing that's posted on message boards to be gawked at, a lonely ghost story passed through electric currents rather than by word of mouth. If one were to look for it online, they might find the latest incarnation altered from its last retelling to suit whomever is passing it along now.

"Have you ever heard of Sanae from Class 1-B?" they might write, "She was an odd girl from Nagano. They say she was bullied all the time because she could see and hear things that nobody else could."

There will be some debate at this point; someone has doubtlessly heard the story, and usually has a thing or two to add, details about the bullies, the method of torment, rumors of death or suicide, maybe even a vengeful ghost thrown in somewhere. Someone else will insist that it's just a story, duh, everyone knows that, and a less fantastical version will be introduced to appease them.

And now and then, someone will wisely say that most stories have a grain of truth buried somewhere at the bottom. For some, it's only that such a person existed. For others, only that such a disappearance once took place.

What these people with their virtual ghost stories don't realize is that there is a version of the story, long-forgotten in favor of newer and more colorful ones, that is completely true, though it's unlikely they'd believe it if they heard it. The only one who can dispel the rumors now is Sanae herself, but she can't, and she never will.

Not for lack of trying, though.

It's just not something the others understand, the girl thinks as she catches a bus in the outside world.

She's okay with that, though. There are some things that she doesn't understand about her new friends, like why Marisa insists on stealing things that she could just ask to borrow, or why Youmu adamantly refuses to learn anything about the outside world, claiming "disinterest." This is her Thing That Others Do Not Understand, even though she always thought homesickness was universal. Maybe it's because she hasn't left Japan and they think homesickness is only for those who travel overseas, but sometimes she just needs to slip through the boundary between worlds when no one's looking and spend a few days elsewhere.

The bus pulls to a stop and she gets on, depositing her fare and finding an open seat in the back. The outside world marches on, leaving Gensokyo far behind. She always feels frozen in time when she comes back because everything changes but her. She sees a year of fashion trends pass before her eyes, sees pop culture phenomenon reach the top of the charts only to fall into obscurity weeks later, sees the people around her go through life, from school to clubs to home. She wonders what kind of life she would have had if she had stayed in this world of digital connections and modern heating.

The girl gets off somewhere downtown, the blue skirt of her old school uniform swishing around her legs, and shopkeepers smile at her because she looks like she belongs there. It's important to her.

Really, that's what this is about—belonging. But if her homesickness is not understood, she doubts the real answer will make any more sense. She can picture Reimu's face if she were to say it, the curious raising of one brow as she says, "But you do belong here," as if it should be obvious to everyone. And the girl wishes it was, but even if it's obvious to everyone else, it's not obvious to her. She's never felt quite right, not in Gensokyo and not in the outside world, but these moments as she strolls down the sidewalks and nobody looks at her because she doesn't seem out of place, this is as close as it gets.

It's then that she feels it, and it stops her in her tracks and freezes her blood in her veins. It's crackling the air she breathes and wrapping around her body, almost suffocating, and she stops midstride to get her bearings.

She feels it—she feels the presence of a youkai.

The girl breaks into a sprint to follow the trail, all thoughts of belonging set aside because she has a duty to fulfill and people to protect, no matter what world it is. There are times when she feels out of touch with the world she inhabits, or out of place compared to the people she's with, but being a shrine maiden has always made sense.

She finds herself rushing past arcades and strip malls, but when she reaches a storefront display overrun with vines and flowering plants, she feels it at its strongest. The canopy hanging over the door has "Happy Hana" printed in a curly, playful-looking font, but the feeling she gets in the doorway is foreboding. She enters with caution, walking past rows of potted plants.

"Oh!" she hears someone gasp behind her, and turns to see a young woman wearing a dirt-covered apron, "A customer! Can I help you find something?"

"No, I…." the girl glances around. It's here; she can feel it. But she's not sure where. "I'm just looking."

The woman's smile falters. "Oh," she says again, disappointed, "Well, that's alright." The girl wanders back towards the counter, and she slowly walks down the aisles. Times like these make her wish she knew more about youkai. She can feel its aura all around her, dark and oppressive, but she can't figure out where it is. In frustration, she returns to the counter.

"You have such a nice store," she says, and the shopkeeper startles to attention, "Do you run it all by yourself?"

"Yes," the woman replies with a proud smile, "It used to be my mother's, but I was more than happy to take over. It's been here for a long time, so many people know it." She pauses. "But…lately, it hasn't been doing so well. Customers stop by the window, but they never come in anymore. I don't know. Maybe it's me?"

The girl knows she can walk away. It's really not her problem, after all, because all the youkai has done is give the store an eerie feeling. But she looks at the young woman standing behind the counter and sees the dreams in her eyes and the sad smile on her face, and she decides that she will make it her problem. It's been so long since she's helped someone without any strings attached or expectations, a long time since she's helped someone as just a regular girl rather than a hero.

It's about belonging again. She hopes that's okay.

"Are you looking for part time help?" she asks.

"I'd love to hire you," the shopkeeper says sadly, "But I can't. I just don't have the money."

"Then take me on a as volunteer instead," she insists, hands on the counter. The woman stares speechless. "Please," she says, "You told me about your store, and I really want to do whatever I can to help."

"You'd really do that?" The woman's eyes are shining and she looks like she might cry. The girl nods, and her eyes widen when the shopkeeper reaches across the counter to grab her hands. "Thank you…thank you!" she says, "I promise, if I can turn my luck around, I'll pay you back. What's your name?"

The girl is surprised that, with as much as she wants to belong, it feels kind of nice to be a stranger again. In Gensokyo, everyone knows her name, but here, she's just another girl, and she doesn't mind so much. "Kochiya, Sanae," she introduces, "It's nice to meet you."