Seishun Buta Yarou Series - Volume 7 - Chapter 1.3

3

When they got to Rio’s house, she’d said, “Don’t worry, my parents won’t be home till after New Year’s.”

True to her word, the next few days, there was no sign of either one.

Her father worked at the university hospital, so he had a room rented nearby to crash at. Her mother ran an apparel shop that worked with a lot of overseas brands, and she was often away on trips to Europe, laying in stock.

This mean Sakuta could stay at Rio’s without worrying what anyone thought. He’d spent the time in a daze.

The one thing he had managed to accomplish was that call to his dad and Kaede. He’d let them know where he was and warned them that things could get ugly around their apartment, and Kaede should stay with their grandparents for the time being. Rio had been standing by, reminding him what he needed to say.

And they’d taken his word for it.

It turned out that his friends’ fears were justified as the next day, there were a number of news vans parked outside his place. Yuuma had gone to check.

“This could last a few weeks,” he’d said when he came by to check on Sakuta.

Sakuta was in a corner of Rio’s enormous living room, listening like this was someone else’s problem. He was on the carpet by the windows, gazing absently through the glass. He’d spent most of his time here since his arrival. It seemed pointless to sit anywhere else.

He didn’t know when he was sleeping and when he was awake. He might not have slept at all. He was just staring into space, occasionally reacting to external stimuli. In those brief moments, the remaining shreds of his mind and consciousness allowed him to regain some notion of identity, to remember his own name.

The rest of the time was spent as if in a dream, trapped in a world of fiction where everyone else knew how to play their roles. Sakuta alone sat on the sidelines, doing nothing.

None of it felt real. There was no part of this world that could possibly be real.

Rio didn’t try to cheer him up. She never laid any false platitudes on him. She just said ordinary, everyday things.

“Azusagawa, what do you want for lunch?”

“Bath’s ready. You go first.”

“Maybe you should lie down for a while.”

“Sounds like the weather’s going to be nice tomorrow.”

Even if he didn’t respond, her attitude never changed. She never once got annoyed and simply tried to be there for him.

And she took on the least pleasant task.

The night of the twenty-seventh. After dinner.

“Her wake was tonight apparently. Family only,” Rio said, looking grim. “There’s a service at a funeral home in the city tomorrow.”

“……”

He didn’t manage a response. His shoulders may have twitched slightly.

“The school’s bussing us all there.”

“……”

“I’m going with Kunimi.”

“……”

She hesitated. “You coming?” she asked. She thought it was important for him to think about this, no matter how hard it was for her to say.

“I… No.”

It had been so long since he’d spoken, it didn’t sound like the words came from him. The voice was robotic, containing no trace of emotion.

“Okay. Sounds like a lot of work colleagues’ll be there. Which means tons of cameras, so…”

That wasn’t why he’d said no. He figured Rio knew that. But she offered a different explanation precisely because she did understand. She carefully tiptoed around the real reason.

“But you—,” she began. Then she broke off. “No, never mind.”

“……”

“……”

For a while, she stood next to him, not saying anything.

December 28. The morning of Mai’s funeral service. It was cold and cloudy. Layer after layer of thin clouds blocked out the sun.

Yuuma came to pick up Rio just after noon, in uniform. Rio was wearing hers, too. Sakuta was used to seeing them in those outfits, but it felt wrong. Probably because despite all of this, Sakuta remembered that it was winter vacation.

“Um, Azusagawa…,” Rio said before she left.

“……”

In the end, she decided not to finish her thought. Same as last night. The only difference was that this time she hesitantly tried again.

“Azusagawa…”

Sakuta spoke up, cutting her off.

“Take care.”

He chose a phrase that made it clear he wasn’t coming. He spat the words out, like he was covering his ears, intent on not hearing anything else she might say.

“Okay,” Yuuma simply replied. He and Rio walked away.

Sakuta watched them go, feeling slightly relieved.

When they were out of sight, he closed the door. Then he promptly went back to his spot in the living room.

“……”

Sakuta knew what Rio had been trying to say. His heart was slowly starting to work again. The more time passed, the more the real world was trying to call him back. That was why he could tell what Rio had left unspoken.

You should say good-bye.

Something like that anyway.

Even thinking those words was like a nasty screech piercing his brain. It was physically revolting. His blood seemed like it was boiling. He couldn’t breathe. He could feel his bile rising as something ate away at him from the inside.

Sakuta raised his voice in denial. “I don’t wanna…!”

He screamed to protect himself.

“Why the hell would I?!”

Rejecting the very idea helped him stave off the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He crouched down defensively and curled in on himself, retreating further into his shell.

He pulled in his shoulders, back, neck, and knees. Even his fingers were balled up. They were so tight his fists hurt. His nails dug into his palms, leaving red marks.

This was the only way he could withstand the anguish crashing into him. He stayed like that, enduring, until the moment passed. Seconds, minutes, maybe hours.

An unintelligible groan seeped from his throat.

“I should have…”

…died in that accident.

He got halfway through the thought when a female voice interrupted.

“This is where her funeral’s being held.”

Not a loud voice. Soft, like a conversation in a library.

The speaker was on the TV in the living room. Nasuno was playing with the remote on the table.

“Stop…”

Sakuta snatched it away from her. His finger moved to the green button, trying to switch the TV off, but…he didn’t press it. Couldn’t.

The girl he wanted to see more than anything else was on the screen.

“On this rainy afternoon, crowds are flocking to Mai Sakurajima’s funeral service.”

As the reporter spoke, the camera showed Mai’s mother holding her memorial photo. Sakuta’s eyes locked on Mai’s face.

There were countless flowers already placed on the stand. White ones. He didn’t know what they were called.

The camera pulled back, showing the whole venue. The space was big, but it was already packed tight with row after row of mourners. It looked like thousands had shown up.

A man in a funeral suit stepped up before the stand. A famous movie director, one even Sakuta recognized on sight.

His voice quivering, he began reading a memorial speech.

“Mai Sakurajima. Mai—I can call your name, but you’ll never turn toward me with a smile anymore. We parted, looking forward to the next time we would be working together, and it pains me more than I can express that this is how we meet again. You were just six years old when we first met. Even then, you were already an actress. I’ll never forget it.”

He kept breaking off, fighting back his emotions. He was well into his sixties, but his voice was choked with tears. By the time his speech ended, they were streaming down his face. He didn’t want to say good-bye. Every part of him made that clear.

And it wasn’t just the director.

The entire hall was overwhelmed with grief at this unexpected, all-too-soon loss. There was no solace to be found. That much was obvious, even through the TV screen.

The next speech was from a veteran actress, one who’d played Mai’s mother on a morning soap back when Mai was still a kid. By the time she reached the mic, she was already sobbing, and delivering any coherent remarks at that point was well beyond her.

Her costars came running in to support her. Everyone was crying, saying their good-byes to Mai.

Sakuta watched it like it was a movie.

Trying to convince himself it was just something happening on the other side of the screen that had nothing to do with him.

After broadcasting the service live for a while, the TV cut back to the studio.

The anchor was a man in his forties, solemnly watching over the broadcast on a monitor. Next to him was a woman serving as coanchor and a row of cultural commentators and former politicians, all watching in silence, at a loss for words.

The anchor sighed softly. The camera caught a hint of tears in his eyes. He took a long breath, turned toward the cameras, and began to speak.

“I’m sure the majority of you are already aware, but four days ago, on December twenty-fourth, Mai Sakurajima passed away in a tragic accident. She’d been acting since early childhood and was still only eighteen years old.”

The coanchor took over.

“Mai Sakurajima first came to fame on the morning drama Kokonoe. She won praise for her acting talent and went on to appear in many movies and TV shows. I’m sure all our viewers knew her.”

“She was a household name,” a man on the panel agreed.

“She certainly was,” the coanchor said with a nod At this point, Sakuta finally recognized her as Fumika Nanjou, a reporter he’d met several times before. She normally wore much brighter colors, but she was wearing a dark-blue suit for the occasion. “As our coverage of the service has confirmed without a doubt, she was adored by her industry peers and fans alike.”

“Very true,” the anchor said. “I actually met with Mai for a different program during the shooting of her final film in the days before the accident. The filming took place in Kanazawa, Ishikawa Prefecture…”

He paused, looking up and blinking several times. Then he put his fingers to his eyes, as if fighting something back. Sensing Fumika’s eyes on him, he said, “I’m okay,” and recovered.

“My apologies. She was really…such a sweet young girl,” he continued. “While that footage was filmed for a different program, we thought we’d change those plans and show it to you now, along with highlights from Mai Sakurajima’s career. If you would?”

With that signal, the screen went black.

Then it faded in on a scene from the morning soap that had introduced the world to Mai Sakurajima. She was only six, grinning from ear to ear. Playing a precocious kid who regularly eclipsed the adults around her. Impish but never annoying—people couldn’t help but love her for it.

In interviews from her child-actress heyday, she always answered questions from adult interviewers with a poise you’d never expect from someone still in elementary school. There’d been a poll asking mothers which child actors they most wanted as their kid, and Mai had come in first by a landslide. When they asked her about it, Mai had joked, “Now I really can’t do anything naughty.” The adults all laughed.

The next clip was a big jump forward.

It was several years later, and Mai was in junior high now. Her face had matured, leaving no trace of the child actress behind.

The scene was from a horror film Sakuta had seen before. She played a mysterious, fragile girl. Footage from the making-of showed the director saying, “She can smile with just her eyes.”

It was true—in scene after scene, Mai could captivate the audience with her gaze alone. This film had launched the second phase of Mai’s career.

These were snapshots of Mai’s life from a time before Sakuta had ever met her. Back when he only knew her as the famous actress Mai Sakurajima.

Other clips covered how she’d started working as a fashion model, and the first photobook she’d released had sold like wildfire.

And then she’d shocked the world by announcing a hiatus.

Only returning to work this year.

She’d tackled TV shows, movies, commercials, model work—and everyone had thought it was only a taste of what lay ahead.

As the narration wrapped up, they began playing footage of Mai filmed only a few days prior. It opened with her open expressions of delight at being reunited with some Kanazawa citizens she’d met on location.

“Oh, Mai! I didn’t think we’d see you again so soon!” said the portly woman running the tea shop. She had a warm, friendly smile.

“I know!” Mai said. She then offered an explanation that threw a little shade at the man with her. “Usually, we film these things closer to the film’s release, making it a nice little trip down memory lane—but here we are, not even a month later.”

“Sorry,” the man said. He was the anchor from the news. “We were told this was the only gap in your schedule—and of course, our staff leaped at the opportunity.”

Without missing a beat, he said the production staff were responsible for the somewhat awkward timing. Mai and the anchor got ready for the teahouse shoot.

Scenes like that would usually not survive the final edit, but today, they were using everything. There was even footage of them discussing who should sit where. This showed Mai in her natural state, with a genuine smile.

When they finally did sit, they were facing each other.

“Did you come here regularly during filming?”

“At least three times a week.”

“That often?”

“The director’s got a major sweet tooth. He really liked the green tea anmitsu here but was too self-conscious to come alone, so he always invited me along. Pretending like he was just keeping me company.” She laughed happily. “So I got him to pick up the tab.”

“Speaking of sweets, it looks like they’ve got a number of treats for us today.”

The portly woman served up the famous green tea anmitsu. Mai’s was the regular size, but the anchor got the kind of bowl usually reserved for ramen.

When he looked shocked, Mai said, “That’s the plus-size one. The director’s favorite.”

They began eating, talking as they did.

“It’s been several months since you returned to work—does anything feel different this time?”

“I think I’m more willing and able to enjoy each job on its own merits.”

“Were you not enjoying it before?”

“I didn’t mean— You know I did! I just wasn’t able to relax and have fun like I am now. I was putting too much pressure on myself.”

Mai thought about this for a minute.

“I suppose enough time has passed. The real reason I was so stressed out then was because I was constantly fighting with my mother, who was also my manager. I’m grateful to her now. It was her hard work that got me all those opportunities and let me meet so many amazing people.”

“And your mother?”

“I’m not about to admit it to her face, so…this’ll have to do,” she said, deliberately turning to the camera.

“We’ll see what our director thinks,” the anchor said with a laugh. “Speaking of your newfound relaxation…”

“Yes?”

“Do you think you’re enjoying work more because of anything new in your life?”

“……”

That was a leading question, and Mai glared at him. But he was conveniently looking elsewhere as he broached the topic.

“I mean, what else could it be? You know what I mean, right?” he asked, almost winking. “Of course it’s that very special someone!”

Mai bowed her head, suddenly very formal. “I certainly caused a lot of problems for everyone,” she said. The news of her boyfriend had caused a media frenzy. The anchor’s show had covered it in great detail.

“You can’t blame us for doing our job,” the anchor said.

“No, of course not,” Mai assured him. Her smile was polite and not much else.

Normally, that would have been the end of that topic. Few people could pry further when faced with the prospect of Mai’s wrath.

But this anchor was not so easily daunted.

“Do you think having someone like that has changed you?” he asked.

Instead of evading the question, Mai admitted, “I feel like it’s actually caused more problems.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I said as much during the press conference. This is all new territory for me, so…I’m never sure of myself.”

“Really? Mai, I know you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.”

“You have some very strange ideas about me.”

“You’re a terrific actress, you’re even more beautiful in person—I think I’m hardly alone in assuming you have this boy right where you want him.”

“Well, I do.”

“I thought so!”

“But I think I’m the one madly in love here.”

She said this like it was nothing…and blushed a moment later.

“Wha—?”

The anchor almost did a spit take but turned it into a cough at the last moment.

Mai recovered her composure and leaned back into her chair. As if remembering the cameras, she turned toward them.

“You definitely have to use this,” she said. Likely to the director sitting off-screen.

This smile of hers was genuine.

A smile full of life.

And with that, the screen faded to white.

Nothing but white.

The words In memoriam appeared, and then the screen went blank.

As black as if Sakuta had turned the TV off.

Then a crying face came on-screen.

Not an actor.

Not a cut to a commercial.

The TV remained dark.

He knew the face looking back at him.

How could he not?

It was Sakuta’s reflection.

Tears flowing from both eyes, down his cheeks…

Quietly dripping into his lap.

He hadn’t shed a tear after the accident, at the hospital, or when he’d heard the results of her surgery. Not a single one after Mai’s mother went after him, or when he heard Nodoka’s sobs. Even when he was alone, Sakuta hadn’t cried. He hadn’t been able to.

Four days had passed, and it was only hitting him now.

Only now did it catch up with him.

Seeing Mai acting so normal forced him to face the truth. He had no choice but to admit how precious those moments were—and how he would never have them ever again.

He finally had to acknowledge what he’d been refusing to accept.

 “We did everything we could. My condolences.”

He’d known from the moment the doctor said those words. That knowledge had been inside him all along. He’d been well aware of what had been trying to claw its way out.

He knew what it was called.

Sakuta knew.

Everybody knew.

Every person alive knew.

This was grief.

It was slowly rising up, confronting him.

He’d tried not to see it, but it was reaching out and threatening to engulf him.

So Sakuta screamed out loud.

“Go away!”

He leaped to his feet and turned away. Covered his ears to block it out. That wasn’t enough. He ran out of the living room and into the hall, almost taking a tumble in the entryway, but then got his shoes on and was out the door.

He didn’t dare face this grief. He couldn’t even admit it existed. Dealing with it head-on was out of the question.

Acknowledging it would mean admitting Mai was dead. By denying his grief existed, Sakuta was trying to refute the fact of Mai’s demise. To will her death out of existence.

He had to run.

As far as he could, away from Rio’s house, out of her neighborhood.

There was still snow left on the edges of the road.

The snow that had fallen that day.

That stirred up memories of the accident and sent a storm barreling through his chest.

A wordless rasp escaped him.

He brushed aside his tears and ran on, trying to leave his grief behind.

His breath ragged.

His lungs screaming.

His feet almost gave out.

But Sakuta just kept running as fast as he could.

If the grief caught up to him, it would all be over.

If it grabbed ahold of him, then Mai was gone forever.

That single belief drove him onward.

As long as he didn’t accept her death, then Mai still lived.

That’s what he wanted to think.

More than anything, he wished for that to be true.

Clinging to that delusion was all he had left. There was no other option. He had to do what he could to protect it.

But he knew none of that was real.

Because he knew better, he had to deny it.

Because he knew better, he had to run.

The sand grabbed his feet and knocked him down. The beach caught him gently.

He didn’t remember anything about the run. But he knew these waves and the salty smell and the sea breeze.

When he opened his eyes, he was on the beach at Shichirigahama.

He’d walked this beach with Mai. Seen it out the window every day. So many memories in these sands.

“……”

The tears he’d fought off were flowing again.

He had to get away, but he was too tired to stand. Too worn out. He was gasping for air. It didn’t seem to be getting better.

He was pathetically, horribly sad.

“…Help,” he croaked. His voice was filled with raw emotion. “Somebody, anybody…”

He was shivering in the cold. It was the end of December, and the sea breeze was chilling him to the bone. He was wearing only his gym tracksuit. Far too thin to protect him from the elements.

“Somebody, save Mai!”

Oblivious to the cold, Sakuta was yelling at the ocean.

“Please!”

Begging.

“Save her!”

Hitting it with everything he felt.

“I’ll do anything! Just save Mai! Save her! Please…please!”

But nobody answered. No one came.

“Save her… Help her… I’m begging you…”

He knew nobody could grant this wish.

But it was all he could do.

“I’ll…I’ll do anything! Just bring Mai back to me!”

Grief had caught up with Sakuta, and now it was smothering him. He was being pulled deeper and deeper into a whirlpool of darkness, crushing his very heart.

He had lost everything. Sakuta could feel himself shattering.

Wrung out.

Only a husk remained.

No light of hope.

Despair was all he could see.

It wasn’t long before he couldn’t even see that.

But he could hear one sound.

Footsteps on the sand.

They came closer and stopped in front of him.

“Stand up, Sakuta,” a gentle voice called.

“……”

At first, he didn’t believe his ears.

“Saving Mai is your task.”

This couldn’t be real.

“You know I’m right.”

It couldn’t be. This wasn’t happening.

But his unconscious mind knew the truth, and despite his fatigue, he lifted his head.

Her dress fluttering in the breeze.

Her warm smile.

“…How?”

The breeze snatched his whisper away.

“How are you here, Shouko?”

He didn’t get it. It didn’t make sense, but his whole body was trembling. Not from the cold or from the grief. But because big Shouko was here. That simple fact had him shaking with joy. The tears started flowing again.

“Oh! You haven’t heard yet.”

“Heard what…?”

For little Shouko to survive her condition, she had to have a transplant. But Sakuta was supposed to be the donor—and he hadn’t died. He’d assumed that doomed Shouko’s future, too…but here she was in front of him. She still existed.

“This here…” she said, putting her hands on her chest like she was cradling something precious, “…is Mai’s heart.”

“?!”

“It wasn’t announced officially, but…the day of Mai’s accident, by sheer chance…she became my donor.”

“…Mai is your…”

“Yes.”

“She had a card, too?”

“She did.” Shouko nodded.

“B-but then…the future changed?”

Originally, it had been Sakuta’s heart.

“……”

This, Shouko didn’t answer. He didn’t think she could. If this Shouko existed because of Mai’s heart, then she was a different Shouko from the one who’d received Sakuta’s and had led a different life.

Could he even call them the same person? But before he could ask, Shouko dropped a bombshell.

“Come. We’ve gotta save Mai.”

“…Come…where?”

“Obviously—to the past!”

“……We—”

Before he could say “can’t,” she said, “We can.”

She looked him right in his eye.

“Who is it you’re talking to, Sakuta?”

Of course she thought that was funny. She was totally right, of course. Shouko being here at all proved time travel was possible in some form. Her presence proved what she said was real.

“Don’t worry. Leave this to me.”

She held out her hand, looking like she’d just thought of the best prank ever.

Sakuta shook his head.

Then he stood up on his own power.

“That’s my Sakuta!”

He wiped his tears.

“Now come with me,” Shouko said.

Her smile seemed thoroughly satisfied.