Yahari Ore no Seishun Love Come wa Machigatte Iru - Volume 1 - Chapter 1

1

Anyway, Hachiman Hikigaya is rotten.

A vein popping out of her forehead, my Japanese language arts teacher, Shizuka Hiratsuka, read my essay aloud in a thunderous voice. Being forced to listen to it like that made me realize I still wasn’t that great at composition. That essay was a pretty transparent attempt to string together a bunch of long words in an effort to sound smart. It was like something a novelist whose books wouldn’t sell might do. So did that mean my poor writing skills were the reason she’d called me there, then?

Of course not. I knew that wasn’t the reason.

Ms. Hiratsuka finished reading the essay, put a hand to her forehead, and sighed deeply. “Listen, Hikigaya. What was the homework I assigned you in class?”

“Uh, it was to write an essay on the theme of reflecting on my life in high school.”

“That’s right. So why does this sound like the prelude to a school massacre? Are you a terrorist? Or just an idiot?” Ms. Hiratsuka sighed again, worriedly ruffling her hair.

You know, instead of calling her a teacher, wouldn’t it be a lot sexier to call her a disciplinarian? Just as that thought crossed my mind, said disciplinarian whacked me over the head with a stack of papers. “Listen up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That look in your eyes… You look like a rotten fish.”

“You mean loaded with omega-threes? I must look pretty smart.”

The corners of her mouth twitched upward. “Hikigaya. What exactly is the point of this smart-ass essay? If you have an excuse, I’ll hear it now.” The teacher glared at me so hard I could hear the sound of her gaze. She wasn’t half bad looking, so her glare had an unusually powerful effect. I was overwhelmed. She’s actually pretty damn scary.

“U-uh, well, I did reflect on my high school life, you know? High school students these days are lasically bike this, right?! It’s basically all true!” I fumbled with my words. Just talking to another human being was enough to make me nervous, and this was an older woman, which was even worse.

“Usually for this kind of thing, you reflect on your own life.”

“And if you’d indicated that beforehand, that’s what I would have written! It’s your fault for being vague when assigning the topic.”

“Don’t quibble with me, kid.”

“Kid? Well, I guess to someone your age, I am.”

A puff of wind went by.

It was a game of rock-paper-scissors, and her rock swung out with no warning. A splendid fist that held back nothing grazed my cheek.

“The next one will hit its mark.” Her eyes were serious.

“I’m sorry. I’ll write it over.” The optimal choice of words to express apology and repentance.

But it didn’t look like that was enough for her. Oh, crap. Was groveling on the floor really my only remaining option? I slapped my pants to try and get the wrinkles out, bent my right leg, and approached the linoleum. It was a graceful, fluid movement.

“It’s not that I’m mad at you.”

Oh, here it comes. This is it. It’s so annoying when people say this. It’s just like saying, I’m not mad, so tell me, okay? I’ve never met anyone who said that who wasn’t actually mad.

But surprisingly enough, Ms. Hiratsuka genuinely didn’t seem angry. Aside from that age-related stuff, at least. Returning the knee that had been on the floor to its former position, I looked at her.

Ms. Hiratsuka retrieved a Seven Star from a breast pocket that looked like it was about to burst and tapped the filter twice on her desk. It was something a middle-aged man would do. When she was done packing the tobacco, she flicked her cheap lighter and ignited the cigarette. She exhaled some smoke, an extremely serious look on her face as she fixed her gaze upon me once more.

“You haven’t tried joining any clubs, have you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Do you have any friends?” she asked, knowing full well I don’t have any.

“M-my motto is to treat everyone equally, so I have a policy of not keeping anyone particularly closer than anyone else!”

“In other words, you have no friends?”

“I-if you want to be that blunt about it…,” I replied.

Ms. Hiratsuka beamed with motivation. “I see! So you don’t after all! Just as I thought. I could tell the minute I saw those rotten, sordid eyes of yours.”

You saw it in my eyes? Then why ask?!

Ms. Hiratsuka nodded to herself, satisfied, before giving me a sheepish look. “Do you…have a girlfriend or anything?”

“Or anything?” What was that supposed to mean? What would she say if I said I had a boyfriend? “Not right now.” I tentatively included some hope for the future in my emphasis on the words right now.

“I see…” This time when she looked at me, her eyes were somewhat moist. I want to believe that it was just irritation from the cigarette smoke. Hey, stop that. Don’t point that tepid, patronizing gaze at me.

But seriously, what’s with this line of questioning? Does she think she’s in some kind of inspirational teacher movie? Next, are we gonna hear some line or other from the rotten delinquent? Is the dropout going back to her old school as a teacher? I sure wish she would go back.

After Ms. Hiratsuka finished pondering, she expelled a smoke-filled sigh. “Okay, let’s say this. You do your report over.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sure, this time I’ll just spew out some completely inoffensive paper, like something a pinup idol or a professional voice actress might write on her blog. Like Today I had…curry for dinner! What was the point of that ellipsis? Nothing that followed it was surprising at all.

Everything she’d said up until that point was to be expected. What came next was beyond my imagining.

“But still, you were callous, and your attitude toward me was hurtful. Were you never taught not to bring up a woman’s age? So I’m ordering you to do some community service. Wrongdoing must be punished after all,” Ms. Hiratsuka announced gleefully, her manner so perky I couldn’t imagine she was remotely hurt—actually, wasn’t she even perkier than usual?

Oh yeah…and the word perky just happened to remind me of another word—breasts. Much like my train of thought, my eyes strayed from reality and toward the teacher’s boobs, pushing up from underneath her blouse. How depraved. But what kind of person gets so giddy about punishing someone, seriously?

“Community service? What do you want me to do?” I asked timidly. Based on her demeanor, I expected her to order me to clear ditches or stage a kidnapping or something.

“Come with me.” She pressed her cigarette into an ashtray already filled to capacity and stood. She’d offered no explanation or preface to her order, so I paused. Noticing from the doorway that I wasn’t moving, she turned back to me. “Come on, hurry up.”

Flustered by her glare and furrowed brows, I followed.

The layout of the Chiba City Municipal Soubu High School building is fairly convoluted. If you were to examine it from above, it would look a lot like the distorted square of the Japanese character for mouth—or the Japanese letter ro. If you add in the AV building poking out underneath, the bird’s-eye view of our glorious school is complete. By the road stands the classroom building, and opposite that, the special-use building. Each facility is connected by a walkway on the second floor, and the whole thing forms the shape of a square.

The space surrounded on all four sides is the normies’ holy ground: the quad.

During lunch hour, boys and girls get together to have lunch and then play badminton to help themselves digest. After school, with the buildings growing slowly darker behind them, they talk of love and gaze at the stars, caressed by the sea breeze.

It’s all such bullshit.

From the sidelines, they were as cold as actors playing roles in some teen drama. And in that drama, I’d play a tree or something.

Ms. Hiratsuka was clicking briskly down the linoleum, apparently heading for the special-use building.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I mean, community service is a worthless activity, anyway. The word service isn’t something that should be popping up in everyday conversation. I think it’s a term that should be reserved for very specific situations—for example, a maid servicing her master. I’d welcome that kind of service with open arms, like, Woo, let’s party! But that kind of thing never actually happens in real life. Or rather, not unless you pay. And if you do pony up the cash and get to do whatever it is you’ve got in mind, it’s not exactly an activity bursting with hopes and dreams. Basically, service is bad.

On top of that, we were on our way to the special-use building. I was obviously going to be made to do something like move the piano in the music room or clean up garbage in the compost room or organize the book collection in the library. I had to take defensive measures before that happened.

“I’ve got a bad back, like…um…her…her…herpes? That’s it…”

“I’m sure you wanted to say a ‘hernia,’ but don’t worry about that. I’m not going to ask you to do physical labor.” Ms. Hiratsuka regarded me with infuriating condescension.

Hmm. That meant that she wanted me to look something up or do desk work. In a way, that sort of mindless busywork was even worse than manual labor. It was closer to that method of torture where you have to fill up holes in the ground and then dig them out again.

“I have this disease where I’ll die if I go into a classroom.”

“That’s some long-nosed sniper material. Are you one of the Straw Hat Pirates or what?”

You read shonen manga?!

Well, I don’t hate doing repetitive tasks on my own. I just have to turn off a switch inside me and say to myself, I’m a machine. Once I’m at that stage, I’ll start looking for a mechanical body and then end up as a bolt.

“We’re here.”

The teacher stopped before a completely unremarkable classroom. There was nothing written on the nameplate by the door. I paused at that, thinking it odd, and the teacher slid the door open with a rattle.

Desks and chairs were stacked up casually in one corner of the classroom. Maybe it was being used for storage? The stack was the only thing differentiating this room from all the others. There was nothing special about it. It was extremely normal.

What made it feel so different, though, was that there was a girl there, reading a book in the slanting rays of the setting sun. The scene was so picturesque that I imagined that even after the end of the world she would still be sitting there, just like that.

The moment I saw her, my body and mind both froze. I was entranced.

When the girl noticed she had visitors, she bookmarked her paperback and looked up. “Ms. Hiratsuka. I thought I asked you to knock before entering.”

Flawless visage. Flowing black hair. Even wearing the same uniform as all the faceless girls in my class, she looked completely different.

“Even if I knock, you never reply.”

“You come in without giving me time to.” She cast the teacher a dissatisfied glance. “And who’s this addled-looking boy?” Her chilly gaze flicked toward me.

I knew this girl. Class 2-J, Yukino Yukinoshita.

Of course, all I knew was her name and face. I’d never spoken with her. I can’t help it. It was a rare occasion for me to speak to anyone at this school.

Aside from the nine regular classes at Soubu High, there’s also another class called the International Curriculum. The International Curriculum is two or three points higher than the regular classes on the bell curve and is composed mostly of kids who’ve spent time abroad or are looking to go on exchange.

Among that class full of standouts—or rather, people who just naturally drew the attention of others—Yukino Yukinoshita was particularly distinctive.

She was a straight-A student, always enshrined in the top rank on both regular and aptitude tests. And what’s more, she was always showered with attention due to her uncommonly good looks. Basically, she was so pretty you could even say she was the prettiest girl in school. She was famous here, and everyone knew about her.

And then there’s me. I’m so bland and ordinary, I don’t even know if anyone knows I exist. So there would be nothing to be offended about if she didn’t know me. But the word addled hurt a bit. Enough to make me start escaping reality by remembering that candy from a long time ago with a similar name. I haven’t seen it in a while.

“This is Hikigaya. He wants to join the club.” Prodded forward by Ms. Hiratsuka, I bowed lightly. I assumed she wanted me to introduce myself or something.

“I’m Hachiman Hikigaya from Class 2-F. Um…hey. What do you mean, ‘join the club’?” Join what club? What club was this?

Ms. Hiratsuka opened her mouth in anticipation of my question. “Your punishment will be to participate in this club’s activities. I won’t accept any arguments, disagreements, objections, questions, or back talk. Cool your head for a bit and think about what you did.” She handed down my sentence with the force of crashing waves, leaving me no room for protest. “Well, then, I think you can tell by looking at him, but he’s rotten to the core. That’s why he’s always alone. He’s such a pitiful soul.”

You can tell just by looking?

“If he learns how to be around people, I think he’ll straighten himself out a little. I’ll leave him with you. My request is that you correct his twisted, lonely character,” the teacher said, turning back to Yukinoshita.

Yukinoshita opened her mouth, looking annoyed. “If that’s the issue, I think you should just knock some discipline into him. Kicking would also work.”

What a scary girl.

“If I could, I would, but these days they make a little bit of a fuss about that. Physical violence isn’t allowed.” The way she said that, it was as if she were saying that psychological violence was allowed.

“I refuse. Seeing those lewd eyes of his brimming with ulterior motives, I feel a threat to my person.” Yukinoshita straightened her collar (though it hadn’t really been out of place) and glared in my direction. I’m not even looking at your overly modest chest. No, really, it’s true, okay? Really, really. I’m seriously not looking. It just happened to be in my field of vision and caught my attention for an instant.

“Relax, Yukinoshita. His rotten eyes and shady character are precisely what give him a good grasp of self-preservation and calculating risk versus return. He’ll never do anything that would get him arrested. You can trust in his mild, low-level creepiness.”

“None of that was complimentary in the slightest,” I protested. “You don’t mean all that, right? It’s not about calculation of risk versus reward or self-preservation. Why can’t you just tell her that I have common sense?”

“A low-level creep… I see…”

“She’s not even listening, and she’s convinced!”

Perhaps Ms. Hiratsuka’s persuasion had borne fruit, or perhaps my low-level creepiness had won her trust. Either way, Yukinoshita communicated her decision in a very undesirable manner. “Well, if it’s a request from a teacher, I can’t just refuse… I will comply.” She acquiesced as if the idea was really unpleasant.

The teacher smiled in satisfaction. “I see! Then I’ll let you take it from here,” she said, excusing herself briskly.

Then there was me, left behind, standing there.

Frankly, I would have been much more at ease if she had left me all alone. My usual solitary environment calms my soul. The tick, tick, tick sound of the second hand of the clock seemed awfully slow and excessively loud.

Come on, come on, is this for real? Suddenly a rom-com development? This is making me royally anxious here. I’m not complaining about this situation as a premise, though.

Unintentionally, some bittersweet memories from my middle-school days came back to me.

It was after school, and two students were alone together in a classroom. A gentle breeze rippled the curtains, slanted sunlight flowing in, and there was a boy who had worked up his courage to confess his love. Even now I can remember her voice in every detail.

Can’t we just be friends?

Oh man, what a crappy memory. And forget being friends—I’d never even spoken to her after that. In the aftermath, I’d developed an impression that friends are people who don’t even talk to each other. I guess what I’m trying to say is, even if I were to end up alone with a beautiful girl, I’d never be part of a rom-com.

But having endured such advanced training for this very situation, I’m not falling into that trap again. Girls only ever show interest in hot guys (LOL) and normies (LOL), and once they have, they engage in impure relations with said individuals.

In other words, they are my enemies.

I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to avoid ever feeling that way again. The easiest way not to get involved in a rom-com plot is to make girls hate you. Sometimes you must lose the battle to win the war. If you want to protect your pride, you don’t need people to like you!

And that’s why instead of greeting her, I decided to threaten her with a glare. I’ll kill her with my wild-beast eyes! Grrrrr!

Yukinoshita looked at me like I was a piece of garbage. She narrowed her large eyes and let out a cold sigh. And then, in a voice like the murmuring of a clear stream, she spoke to me:

“Don’t just stand there growling like some animal. Sit down.”

“Uh–ah–okay. Sorry.”

Whoa, what was that look in her eyes? Was she a wild beast? She’d definitely killed five people, just like those animals that chomped on Tomoko Matsushima. She even made me reflexively apologize. I didn’t have to go so far as to try to intimidate her. She already considered me an enemy. Terrified to the core, I deposited myself in an empty chair.

Yukinoshita left it at that and, without showing any interest in me at all, had at some point opened her paperback again. I heard the soft slide of a turning page. She had a book cover on it, so I couldn’t see what she was reading but figured it was something literary. Like Salinger or Hemingway or Tolstoy or something. That’s the kind of impression I got from her.

Yukinoshita sat there like a princess, looking very much the top student and also in no way less beautiful than her reputation purported. However, as is usual with people of that race, Yukino Yukinoshita was an individual who lived apart from the crowd. Living up to her name, she was the snow under the snow. No matter how beautiful she was, she was untouchable and unattainable: You could only fantasize about her beauty.

Frankly, it had never occurred to me that I would be able to get close to her through an unfathomable series of events like this. If I bragged to friends about this, they’d be envious for sure. Not that I had any friends to brag to.

So what was I supposed to do with this gorgeous princess before me?

“What?” Perhaps in reaction to all my staring, Yukinoshita furrowed her brows in displeasure and looked up at me.

“Oh, sorry. I was just wondering what’s up here.”

“What?”

“Well, I got dragged here with no real explanation,” I replied.

Instead of clicking her tongue at me, she showed her ill humor by vigorously snapping her paperback shut. She glared at me as if she were looking at an insect, gave a sigh of resignation, and spoke.

“Okay. Then let’s play a game.”

“A game?”

“Yes. A game to guess what club this is. Okay, so what club is this?”

Playing a game alone with a girl…

Now this was coming off as some kind of kinky setup, but Yukinoshita radiated no aura of temptation. She was more like a honed knife, sharp enough that if you lost, it might cost you your life. Where did that rom-com atmosphere go? This is a gambling apocalypse!

The force emanating from her bested me, and I broke into a cold sweat, casting my eyes around the classroom for clues. “There’re no other club members?”

“No.”

Could you still have a club without any members? I had serious doubts about that.

Honestly, there were no hints. No, wait. If you were to look at it from another angle, there were only hints. I’m not bragging or anything, but having been almost entirely devoid of friends since I was little, I’m pretty damn good at games you can play on your own.

I’ve got a fair amount of confidence in my skill with puzzle books, riddles, and things of that nature. I think I could win the All-Japan High School Quiz Championship. Well, okay—I couldn’t gather enough members for a team, so I couldn’t go to the event…but still.

There were a number of clues I’d managed to discern already. Assembling my hypothesis based on that, the answer should have presented itself.

“A literature club?”

“Hmm? How did you come to that?” Yukinoshita replied with mild interest.

“It wouldn’t need a specialized room or any kind of equipment, and even with only a few members, the club wouldn’t be disbanded. In other words, it’s a club that doesn’t need financial support. Furthermore, you were reading a book. You were showing me the answer all along.”

Perfect deduction, if I do say so myself. Even without some bespectacled elementary school student to tell me, “Huh? Something’s not right!” I could figure out this sort of thing before breakfast.

Even Princess Yukino seemed impressed as she made a quiet mm-hmm noise. “Wrong.” Her laughter was brief and derisive. Ooh, that kind of got on my nerves!   Who’d called her a paragon of good conduct, a flawless Superhuman? More like Demon Superhuman.

“Then what is it?” I asked, my voice tinged with irritation.

But Yukinoshita, seemingly unperturbed, announced that the game would continue.

“I’ll give you the biggest hint. Me being here, doing this, is a club activity.”

So she’d finally given me a hint. But that didn’t give me any answers. In the end, it only led me to back to my same conclusion—that this was an arts and literature club.

No, wait. Wait, wait, calm down. Stay cool. Stay cool, Hachiman Hikigaya.

She’d said, There are no club members aside from myself.

But the club still existed.

In other words, that had to mean that there were ghost members, right? And so the punch line was that the ghost members were actual ghosts. And in the end, it would be a setup for a rom-com between me and a beautiful ghost girl.

“An occult research society!”

“I said it was a club.”

“A-an occult research club!”

“Wrong. Haaa…ghosts? What nonsense. There’s no such thing.” The way she said it wasn’t even slightly cute. Not like Th-there’s really no such thing as ghosts! I-I’m not saying that just because I’m scared, okay! She considered me with eyes that held me in the deepest and most sincere contempt. Eyes that said, Go to hell, moron.

“I give in. I have no idea.” How could I figure out something like this? Give me something easier! “Why’s a raven screwing around with a writing desk?” Anyway, that’s not trivia; that’s a riddle.

“Hikigaya. How many years has it been since you last talked to a girl?”

The question came completely out of the blue, destroying my train of thought.

She’s so rude.

I’m pretty confident in my memory. I remember the minute details of conversations that anyone would forget. So much so that girls in my class have treated me like a stalker. According to my superior hippocampus, the last time I’d talked to a girl had been in June, two years earlier.

Girl: It’s seriously hot right now, huh?

Me: More like humid, eh?

Girl: Huh? Oh…yeah, sure, I guess.

The end.

Something like that. I mean, she hadn’t been talking to me. It had been a girl sitting diagonally behind me.

I remember people to an uncomfortable degree. Even now, every time I remember that in the middle of the night, I want to yank the covers over my head and scream, Aahhhhhhh!

While I’d been off on that particular bad trip down memory lane, Yukinoshita had launched into a loud proclamation. “Haves giving things to Have-nots out of the goodness of their hearts is known as volunteering. Giving aid to developing nations, running soup kitchens for the homeless, and letting unpopular guys talk to girls… Lending a helping hand to people in need. That is what this club does.” At some point, Yukinoshita had stood and, from that vantage, was naturally looking down on me.

“Welcome to the Service Club. We’re happy to have you.”

Her words didn’t sound in the least bit welcoming, and hearing her made me tear up a bit. She hit hard, right where it hurt, and kicked me while I was down.

“As Ms. Hiratsuka says, great people have an obligation to help the less fortunate. I have been entrusted with this and will fulfill my responsibility. I will correct your problems for you. Be grateful.”

I guess what she was implying some sort of noblesse oblige? Which meant something about the duty of nobles to help the poor or whatever.

Yukinoshita, standing there with her arms crossed, was the picture of an aristocrat. And actually, when you considered her grades and her appearance and all that, calling her an aristocrat wouldn’t even have been an exaggeration.

“You broad…” I just had to say something. I had to explain to her using the best words I could that I was not someone to be pitied. “Listen, this might be weird to say about myself, but I’m not so shabby at academics, either, you know? On the aptitude test for humanities, I was ranked third in Japanese in my grade! I’m one of the smart ones! If you leave out the part about me not having a girlfriend or any friends, I’ve got pretty high specs, basically!”

“That part at the end included some rather fatal deficiencies, you know… But your ability to deliver it in all confidence is somewhat amazing in its own right…you weirdo. I’m creeped out already.”

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear that from you! You freaky chick.”

She really was a freak. At the very least, she was nothing like the Yukino Yukinoshita I was acquainted with through hearsay. Though having never actually spoken to anyone, I’d really just overheard it…

I guess I considered her an aloof beauty. At that moment, she wore a cold smile. To elaborate, it was sadistic. “Hmph. Based on what I’ve seen, the reason you’re all alone is that rotten personality and those twisted sensibilities of yours.”

Yukinoshita clenched her fist as she spoke passionately. “First, since you clearly feel so uncomfortable here, let’s give you a place to belong. Did you know? Just having somewhere you belong can save you from a tragic end like becoming a star and burning out of existence.”

“‘The Nighthawk’s Star’? How obscure can you get?” Someone with lesser academic prowess than myself, ranked third in Japanese, would never have gotten that reference. Plus, I like that story, so I remember it well. It’s so sad, it actually brings a tear to my eye. Especially the part where nobody likes him.

Yukinoshita’s eyes widened in surprise at my retort. “That’s unexpected. I didn’t think an average, mediocre high school boy would be reading Kenji Miyazawa.”

“Did you just slip in a remark implying my inferiority?”

“I’m sorry. That was going too far. It would be correct to say below average.”

“You meant you were going too far in the positive direction?! Didn’t you hear the part about me being ranked third in my grade?”

“Bragging over a mere third-place ranking alone marks you as an inferior individual. Trying to demonstrate your cognitive abilities through your grades in a single class alone is imbecilic.”

How rude could you get? She was treating a boy she’d only just met as an inferior being. The only other person I can think of who does that is a Saiyan prince.

“But ‘The Nighthawk’s Star’ suits you. The appearance of the nighthawk in particular.”

“Are you saying I’m disfigured?”

“I couldn’t say that. The truth can be too painful to hear sometimes after all…”

“You basically just said it…”

Yukinoshita’s expression turned serious as she patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t avert your eyes from the truth. Look at reality…and a mirror.”

“Hey, hey, hey! It might be weird for me to say this about myself, but my face is well proportioned. My own sister’s even told me, ‘If you only kept your mouth shut…’ It would be more accurate to say that my face is the only good thing about me.” That’s my sister, all right. She’s got sharp eyes. The girls at this school really have no taste compared to her!

Yukinoshita pressed her hand to her temple as if she had a headache. “How dumb are you? Beauty is an entirely subjective measure. In other words, here, where you and I are the only people present, what I say is the only truth.”

“Y-your logic is ridiculous, but for some reason, it kind of makes sense…”

“And even without taking into consideration your difficulties, when a boy has rotten fish-eyes like you do, it’s inevitable he’d give off a bad impression, anyway. I’m not commenting on your individual features. It’s your expression that’s ugly. It’s proof that your heart is twisted.”

Says the girl with the cute face and all that nasty stuff on the inside. She had a look in her eye like that of a hardened criminal. Maybe we were both what they call the utterly uncute.

But for real, were my eyes really that fishlike? If I were a girl, I’d spin that into something positive, saying something like Huh? Do I look that much like the Little Mermaid?

While I drifted through my escapist fantasy, Yukinoshita swept back the hair on her shoulders and announced triumphantly, “I don’t like people who boost their egos through such superficial metrics as grades or looks, anyway. Oh, and I don’t like that rotten look in your eyes, either.”

“Enough about my eyes already!”

“Indeed. There’s nothing you can do about them at this point, anyway.”

“It’s about time for you to apologize to my parents.” I could feel my face twitching all over the place.

Yukinoshita’s expression fell as if she regretted her words. “You’re right. That was a mean thing to say. Your parents are surely suffering the most.”

“Fine! My bad! Or rather, my face is bad.” When I pleaded to her on the verge of tears, Yukinoshita finally sheathed her sharp tongue. I was now enlightened to the fact that there was no point in saying anything to her anymore. And while I indulged a vision of myself meditating cross-legged at the foot of a linden tree and attaining nirvana, Yukinoshita continued the exchange.

“Now your practice conversation with an actual person is complete. If you can speak with a girl like me, you should be able to speak to most ordinary people.”

Smoothing down her hair with her right hand, Yukinoshita’s expression beamed with accomplishment. And then she smiled. “Now with this wonderful memory in your heart, you’ll have the strength to go live your life alone.”

“Your solution to my problem is beyond bizarre.”

“But that in and of itself isn’t sufficient to satisfy the teacher’s request… I have to address the root of the matter… What if you quit school?”

“That’s not a solution. That’s just like putting a Band-Aid on a pimple.”

“Oh, so you’re aware that you’re a pimple?”

“Yeah, because everyone calls me a pain in the butt—and shut up!”

“You’re so annoying.”

I smiled at last, having said something witty, and Yukinoshita glared at me with eyes that asked, Why are you alive? I’m telling you, she’s got a scary look.

Then it got quiet enough to make my ears hurt. In actuality, they probably also hurt from all of Yukinoshita’s insults. The rude sound of the door being roughly pulled aside rang through the room, breaking the silence. “Yukinoshita. Sorry to interrupt.”

“A knock…”

“Sorry, sorry. Oh, don’t worry about me—do go on! I just dropped by to see how things were going.” Ms. Hiratsuka leaned against the wall of the classroom, smiling coolly at an exasperated Yukinoshita. She looked back and forth between the two of us. “I’m glad you two seem to be getting along.”

Why and where the hell did she get that idea?

“You keep working on fixing that twisted character of yours and correcting those rotten, sordid eyes. I’m going back now. Go home by the time school is over, you two.”

“H-hold on a minute, please!” I reached for the teacher’s hand, trying to stop her. Immediately, I was wailing, “Ow! Ow, ow, ow, ow! Uncle! Uncle, uncle!” as she twisted my arm. I frantically tried tapping out until she finally let me go.

“Oh, that was you, Hikigaya? Don’t stand behind me like that. I’ll end up using my moves on you rather ungently.”

“Are you Golgo or what?! And you meant accidentally, right? Don’t do it ungently!”

“You sure have a lot of questions for me right now. Is something wrong?”

“There’s something wrong with you! What do you mean, correct me? You’re making me sound like a juvenile delinquent! What the heck is with this place, anyway?” I demanded.

Ms. Hiratsuka went hmm and put a hand to her chin, briefly adopting a thoughtful expression. “Yukinoshita didn’t explain it to you? In short, the goal of this club is to stimulate personal transformation and resolve people’s worries. I guide students here who I believe are in need of change. Think of it as the Hyperbolic Time Chamber. Or would it be easier to understand if I just called it Revolutionary Girl Utena?”

“That’s needlessly difficult to understand, and those examples give away your age.”

“Did you say something?” She shot me a murderously cold look.

“No.” I muttered quietly, hunching my shoulders.

Seeing me like that, Ms. Hiratsuka sighed. “Yukinoshita. It seems you’re having trouble correcting him.”

“The problem is he isn’t even aware of his own issues,” Yukinoshita replied, indifferent to our teacher’s pained countenance.

Why did I suddenly feel like I wanted to bolt? It felt like that time in sixth grade when my parents found out I had a porno mag and lectured me over and over about it.

No, that’s not what I should be thinking about right now.

“Um…you keep talking about my correction or transformation or reformation or girl revolution or whatever and having fun chattering away together without me, but I don’t really want any of that,” I said.

Ms. Hiratsuka tilted her head to the side, dubiously. “Oh?”

“What are you talking about? If you don’t change, you’ll be in deep trouble, socially speaking.” Yukinoshita regarded me as if her argument were as sound as No more war! Abandon nuclear weapons! “From what I can see, you are markedly lacking in humanity. You don’t want to change that? Have no desire to improve yourself?”

“That’s not what I mean. Like…um…I’m saying I don’t want to talk about myself to people who are telling me, ‘Change! Change now!’ If I changed just because someone told me to, that new person wouldn’t even be me, anyway! And besides, the self is just—”

“You just can’t see yourself objectively,” Yukinoshita interrupted, preventing me from snatching a quote from Descartes in an attempt to sound deep. It would have been a great line, really. “You’re just running away. You can’t move forward if you don’t change.” She cut me down in a single stroke. Why was she so sharp? Were her parents sea urchins or what?

“What’s wrong with running? You keep saying, ‘Change, change!’ like the village idiot who only knows one word. What’ll you do next? Face the sun and say, ‘The brightness from the west is too harsh and keeps bothering everyone, so today, please set in the east!’?”

“That’s just sophistry. Don’t shift the conversation. The sun isn’t even what’s moving, anyway—it’s the Earth. Do you not know Copernican theory, either?”

“It was obviously a metaphor! If you’re calling that sophistry, then what you’re saying is sophistry, too! In the end, I would only be changing to escape reality. Who’s the one running now? If you’re really not running, then you wouldn’t change. You’d make a stand right there. Why can’t I affirm who I am at present and who I was in the past?”

“…If that were true, then no worries could be solved and no one could be saved.” The moment the words no one could be saved came out of her mouth, Yukinoshita’s outraged expression became truly bloodcurdling. Reflexively, I flinched. I was almost ready to break into an apologetic S-s-s-sorry!

In the first place, words like save aren’t really something a high schooler usually says. I had no idea what it was that drove her to feel so strongly about this.

“Calm down, both of you.” The sound of Ms. Hiratsuka’s level voice relieved the current stormy atmosphere…or rather, the storm that had been there from the start. I looked at the teacher’s face, and she was honestly grinning and joyful. She looked like she was having fun.

“This has gotten entertaining. I love developments like this. It’s sort of like Shonen Jump! Great, right?” She was getting excited about this for some reason. Though a grown woman, her eyes sparkled like a little boy’s. “Since time immemorial, the way of shonen manga has been to resolve a clash of perspectives on justice by means of competition.”

“Uh…what are you talking about?” I was talking, but she wasn’t listening.

Our teacher unleashed a boisterous laugh, faced us, and loudly proclaimed: “So let’s do this. You’re going to guide the lost lambs who come to you. Save them according to your individual principles and prove their veracity as much as you see fit. Who can serve others the best? Gundam Fight! Ready? Go!”

“No.” Yukinoshita refused bluntly. Her gaze conveyed an iciness equivalent to what she’d been leveling at me a moment earlier. Well, I felt the same way, so I figured I’d nod. Plus, G-Gundam is old.

Discovering her students’ shared feelings on the matter, the teacher bit her thumbnail in frustration. “Ngh… It would have been easier to understand if I’d said ‘Robattle,’ huh?”

“That’s not the issue here…” Medabots? That’s way too obscure.

“Teacher, please stop getting carried away in a manner unbefitting your age. It’s really painful to watch.” Like hurling an icicle, Yukinoshita flung her sharp, frigid words at our instructor.

That seemed to cool Ms. Hiratsuka down, and after the color of shame faded from her face, she cleared her throat as though it had never happened. “A-anyway! The only way you can prove that you are righteous is through action! I told you to compete, so you’re going to have a competition! You have no right to refuse.”

“This is complete tyranny…”

She’s an utter child! The only adult part of her is her chest! Oh well, I just have to pretend I give a crap about this competition and then be like, “Tee-hee! Aw, I lost!   ” Participation counts, as they say. What a wonderful and convenient idea.

But that horrid little-girl-on-the-inside, giant-boobs-on-the-outside womanchild continued spewing her absurdities. “In order to make you two fight with all you’ve got, I’ll give you an incentive. How about the victor being able to order the loser to do anything?”

“Anything?!” Anything means, you know, that. That is to say, anything. Gulp.

There was the sound of a chair scraping as Yukinoshita drew back two meters and adopted a defensive stance. “With him as my competition, I feel a threat to my virtue, and so I refuse.”

“That’s prejudice! Second-year boys aren’t necessarily always thinking obscene thoughts!” We’re thinking of, um…lots of other things! Like…world peace? Yeah…we’re not thinking of much else.

“So even Yukino Yukinoshita is afraid of something… Are you that unsure of your ability to win?” Ms. Hiratsuka asked, her face adopting a nasty semblance.

Yukinoshita looked a little sullen. “Fine. Though I find it rather vexing to give in to such cheap provocation, I will accept your challenge and deal with him while I’m at it.”

Whoa, Yukinoshita sure hates losing! What gave me that impression, you ask? Only an extremely competitive person would have added that I can tell you’re provoking me part. But what did she mean by dealing with me? That’s scary. Cut it out.

“So it’s settled.” The teacher smiled smugly, ignoring the mental daggers Yukinoshita was tossing at her.

“Huh? What about what I want?”

“From that leer on your face, I don’t even have to ask.”

Well, yeah, but…

“I will be the judge of this competition. My judgment will be arbitrary and biased, of course. Don’t overthink it; just do whatever… I mean, do your best to be reasonable and appropriate.”

Tossing that line over her shoulder, our instructor exited the classroom. In her wake stood myself and a very unhappy-looking Yukinoshita. Of course, we weren’t talking to each other.

In the silence, I heard a crackling as if from a broken radio. It was the precursor to the bell ringing. When that very synthetic-sounding melody rang out, Yukinoshita shut her book with a snap. It was time to go home. Taking that as her signal, Yukinoshita briskly began preparing to leave. She tucked the paperback she’d been holding neatly in her bag and stood. Then she glanced at me.

But she just looked at me and then left without a word. Sparing not so much as a bye or later, she strode briskly out the door. Her demeanor was so frigid, I didn’t even have a chance to say anything to her.

And then I was left there, all alone.

What an unlucky day it’d been. I got called to the teachers’ room, press-ganged into joining some mysterious club, verbally abused by a wastefully cute girl… I’d suffered a lot. Wasn’t talking to a girl supposed to make your heart leap? My heart’d done nothing but sink! I’d rather have talked to my usual conversational partner, a stuffed animal, than endure all that! A stuffed animal doesn’t give you any lip. It smiles at you kindly. Why couldn’t I have been born a masochist?

And what’s more, how’d I get forced into this incomprehensible competition? I don’t even think I can beat Yukinoshita.

But, like…club activities and competitions and all that stuff sounds all right from an outsider’s perspective, doesn’t it? Personally, when it came to club activities, my idea of participating was just watching some DVDs of girls in a rock-band club. This turn of events was not going to make us friends. More likely, Yukinoshita would just calmly tell me, Your breath smells, so could you please not breathe for three hours?

Youth really is a lie.

Losing the sports tournament in your final year and then making it all out to be some beautiful thing by crying… Failing your university entrance exams and then taking a year off to try and study to take the test again the next year, all the while fooling yourself by saying that failure is life experience… Bragging about how you’re just being considerate of your crush and letting her go so you can pretend it’s not just about you being unable express your feelings—

And one more thing. That’s right. Thinking that haughty, rage-inducing girl’s a tsundere—all hard candy shell on the outside with a gooey center that’ll ultimately expose itself and lead to a rom-com? Never gonna happen.

I won’t accept that my essay needs revision. Youth really is false, fraudulent, and fictitious nonsense.