Chapter 1 — A Cloud in a Lunchbox
On the first rainy day of spring, Mio Aihara transferred to Hoshizora Middle School with a backpack full of stationery and exactly zero friends. The homeroom windows were pearl-gray; droplets ran like lazy minnows. During lunch she hid on the rooftop, because roofs were neutral ground—no cliques, only clouds.
When she opened her bento, something tiny sneezed. “Chu!”
Mio froze. Sitting between her onigiri was a puff of mist the size of a hamster, with button eyes and a swirl of rainbow when it moved. It stuck out a tongue like a drop and slurped a grain of rice.
“You… you’re not a tomato,” Mio whispered.
The cloud shook itself into a perfect little cumulus and bowed. A single raindrop popped up like a speech bubble and wobbled letters into shape: Pita!
“Pita?” She glanced around—no one else on the roof. The bell tower clock ticked. “Are you… lost?”
Pita bobbed and drifted toward the edge, peering over the city. The roofs shimmered, alleys steamed, laundry lines flapped like flags of surrender. The raindrop letters shivered again: Home?
Mio knew that feeling—the first day in a new class, all the desks facing the right way except yours. “I’m new here too,” she said. “Let’s look for home together.”
Back in class, the girl by the window kept staring at Mio’s bag. She had violet twintails and Band-Aid stickers on her cheeks like badges. “Hey transfer kid,” she whispered, “your backpack is raining.”
Mio looked: a damp halo. Pita’s eyes peeped from the zipper. “It’s… a humidifier!” Mio blurted. “Therapeutic!”
After school, Violet-Hair—who introduced herself as Hana Kisaragi, “ace of the track team and collector of cool things”—followed Mio to the music room. They found a third person there: Yuto, the quiet pianist whose earbuds were practically a lifestyle. He lifted one, listened to the tiny dripping, and smiled like he’d solved a puzzle.
“It drips in 4/4,” he said. “That’s adorable.”
“Okay, listen,” Hana declared, leaning in. “Either I just saw a baby cloud eat a rice grain, or I need more sleep. If it’s a baby cloud, we should start a club. If it’s sleep, we should start a napping club. I’m fine either way.”
Pita floated to the chalkboard tray, scooped a raindrop, and wrote two wobbly words: Find Home.
Mio’s chest warmed. “Then it’s decided,” she said, the words surprising her with their courage. “Let’s make a club to help Pita get home.”
Hana slammed both hands on the desk. “Name ideas!”
Yuto tapped the piano lid thoughtfully. “Something gentle. Something that sounds like rain on a roof.”
They watched the tiny cloud drift past the window, leaving a faint rainbow on the glass.
Mio raised her hand like in class. “How about… Pitter-Patter Planet Club?”
Pita cheered—thunder so small it was basically a hiccup.
And just like that, Mio had a club, a mission, and the softest roommate in the world.
