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1

Eventually, the seasons change, and the snow melts away.

I’m used to the cold.

I’ve never lived far from this city, and it’s been like this since I was a kid. Chiba winters were just like this, I’d assumed. I’ve never hated it, even though I’ve been irritated by the dryness, the wind that stabs at your cheeks, and the cold air that comes up from the ground to crawl along your back.

I’m used to it, actually. I’d just taken for granted that this was how things were.

At the end of the day, hot and cold just come down to a difference in degree—an issue of whether you’ve experienced a situation dramatically different from the current standard. In other words, if you’ve never known other winters, you won’t have any basis of comparison.

So maybe you could say I’m unused to warmth because I have nothing to contrast it with.

Imagine different types of heat, like white breath blown to warm frozen fingers.

Or the sound of a scarf, tugged by gloves, sliding against a coat.

And knees sitting in a line on a bench, touching at odd moments.

The heat that was clearly there, in the people sitting beside me.

Contact with those sources of heat triggered an undefinable anxiety that made me squirm. I used the movement to inch a fist’s worth of distance away from Yukinoshita and Yuigahama, who were sitting next to me.

The three of us were the only ones there that night in the park not far from the ocean. When I happened to look up, I could see the two towers of the high-rise apartment where Yukinoshita lived.

The seaside park area was a short walk from the commercial district around the station, and crossing the main road took you to a silent and deserted neighborhood of apartment buildings. Even here, the wind wasn’t that chilly thanks to the trees—they were probably planted both for the scenery and to prevent erosion.

But I still felt a strong wintery vibe, probably because we were the only ones around, and there was a thin layer of snow on the ground.

Today was February 14, and midnight hadn’t yet changed the date.

It was the day the world called Valentine’s Day, or Dried Sardine Day, and it was also the day when my little sister Komachi was taking the entrance exams for the high school I go to.

It was also the day we’d gone to the aquarium.

Light snow had been falling from the afternoon through the evening. It didn’t stick much on the ground, but there were still thin traces of it lying on the green and atop the hedges.

They say snow absorbs sound.

You wouldn’t think such a small amount of snow would absorb anything, but it was a fact that none of us were talking, just listening to each other breathing as we gazed into the quiet night.

The sparse coating of snow reflected the moonlight and the glow of the streetlamps; there was more light than there should have been at this hour. If the bulbs had been the old-fashioned, pale fluorescent ones, it would have looked colder. But the light reflected on the snow had an orangish tinge that seemed a bit warm, even.

Still, if you touched it, it would vanish like dew. That warm glow seemed false, twinkling in the setting sun as it told us that the snow that had fallen over the ocean had been no illusion.

The snow had indeed fallen; the day we’d spent had clearly happened. The proof of it was just a slight difference in temperature and time, and we knew that it could easily vanish. Touch it in jest, and it would melt away; sweep it aside for fun, and it would scatter into nothing. But even if you pretended you didn’t see it at all, it would eventually disappear. Unless the cold stuck around forever—but that was a pointless thing to think.

I shook my head a little, disguising it with a shiver. The chances of an eternal winter had already been demonstrated with the snowmen I’d made when I was little.

In the same motion, I rose from the bench. In my field of vision was a red-and-blue vending machine right at the edge of the park. Before heading over, I turned to the other two. “…Want something to drink?” I asked.

They exchanged a momentary glance before immediately responding with little head shakes. I answered with a quick dip of my chin.

Walking to the vending machine, I pulled some change out of my wallet.

I chose my usual canned coffee. Then while I was at it, two black teas in plastic bottles, too. I squatted down and slid them into my coat pockets.

I touched the can last. The metal was obviously hot, but I felt a mysterious chill. If I kept holding on to it, it would burn me. I tossed it in the air casually a few times as I considered why it felt cold. By the time my icy hand got used to the temperature of the can, that confusion in my mind had melted away.

The temperature perceived on your skin is meaningless, nothing more than a number. You have to assign it meaning.

I knew a more significant warmth. Words hadn’t told me the difference between a high temperature and warmth. I learned it from my experience. Although this was something I’d only just figured out, so it’s not like I could brag about that.

The thirty-six degrees from touching that knee through cloth for just an instant was far hotter than the warmth you could buy with just a hundred yen.

As I strolled back to the bench where I’d been sitting before, I reflected upon not the heat in my hand, but the heat I’d touched then that still remained in my heart. I took my time, knowing deep down that I wouldn’t feel that again, but I didn’t ever stop, either.

No one was going to sit in the space I’d left when I’d gotten up, not now. And now that I’d noticed that heat, that had only become more true.

Even now, I still don’t know what the right distance is.

So it’s okay to come this far; I’m allowed to take just one more step in, I thought as I slowly walked onward.

Just like this whole past year.

I’d been fumbling along, constantly evaluating and reevaluating how many steps it was okay to take as we tried to meet each other halfway.

Back when I knew nothing, I’d barged forward without inhibition. Once I’d realized a thing or two, I was more timid. But when I realized I didn’t understand anything, my legs couldn’t take even a single step more.

Just one more. Half a step, at least.

When my thoughts reached that point, I came to a stop.

The streetlamp illuminated the bench like a spotlight. The shadows of the pair sitting there stretched in many directions, each one faint and kind of hazy.

While vacantly gazing at the sight, I offered them the plastic bottles from my pockets without a word. They seemed a bit bewildered as they thanked me, but they both reached for the drinks. I made sure our fingers wouldn’t touch as I handed them over, then shoved my hands into my empty pockets.

As I did, I heard the rustle of a cellophane bag and felt something smooth against my fingers. I took a low-key peek in there to see whether the cookies I’d received were still inside. The number of those cookies wasn’t going to shrink or grow. Patting my pocket wouldn’t get me any more.

 

 

 

 

You don’t get more happiness that easily. Somebody said that—Peter or Cheater or Carrousel or whoever.

What sucks is that they’ll actually decrease or vanish, just like that.

I pulled the bag out slightly to make sure the cookies weren’t broken or crumbling, but the pink paper had cushioned them well enough. Relieved, I was about to slide it back into my pocket when I heard a soft sigh.

Yukinoshita’s gaze was focused on the cookies. “…That’s very pretty,” she murmured, watching them with something almost like yearning.

Yuigahama seemed momentarily surprised to hear her break the silence, but she immediately leaned forward with enthusiasm. “Oh, yeah! I really shopped around for that stuff, like the bag and the maste!”

“What? Maste? Is that an Indian greeting?” I said.

“That’s namaste. She means masking tape,” Yukinoshita said with exasperation, putting a hand to her temple. “What a pointless fact for you to know. You hardly ever have to greet anyone.”

“Don’t be stupid—even just saying hello makes it feel like you’re having a conversation, right? Canned greetings are vital knowledge,” I said.

Yukinoshita made a face, looking weary. “In your mind, greetings count as conversation, hmm…?”

“Yeah, so I avoid greeting anyone as much as possible, too.”

“That’s going pretty far to avoid talking to someone, Hikki!”

Well, that’s because I’m a Hikki, so there’s nothing you can do about that. The power of a name, am I right? Man, I’ve really gotten used to Yuigahama’s nickname, huh…? Way back when, I used to go like, I don’t know anyone by such an embarrassing name…, and deny it quietly as I cutely blushed and looked away. Wait, I don’t remember ever doing that. I accepted my fate pretty much immediately, huh?!

Maste… That’s short for masking tape, then? Chii is learning. I don’t really know what it’s used for. Goodness, Miss Yukinoshita is ever so informed about youth culture nowadays… With that thought, I glanced at her.

Yukinoshita seemed to sense what that look meant, a smile cracking on her face. “Masking tape was originally used for painting, but lately there are many elaborately decorated sorts.”

“Yeah, yeah! The cute ones are in right now, and there’s so many kinds! You can use ’em for decorating wrapping and notebooks and stuff…” As Yuigahama launched into an enthusiastic explanation, I looked at the wrapping again. It really had been fancied up, with a border and other details.

The ribbon wasn’t too big and was made with golden thread, and the tape was patterned with puppy prints. The decorations were cute and pretty.

The sudden attention must have made Yuigahama anxious, as she started to fidget, gaze shifting this way and that. “I… I can’t make any promises about the flavor. But…I did my best.” At the end, she looked straight at me, speaking with clear intention.

I could never make fun of such an earnest gaze, and I gently stroked the bag of cookies in my hands. “…Yeah, I can really tell.”

I really did think she’d done a good job. I hadn’t eaten them yet, so I didn’t know how they tasted, but this girl who was a bad cook had given her all. She’d put her heart into the gift for the sake of its recipient.

So I made an effort to reply to her as sincerely as possible, no more, no less. The price for honesty was a total lack of wit, but it seemed like she got what I was trying to say anyway.

“Right? I mean, you’re the one who said that. You know, about a girl trying hard,” Yuigahama said, wagging her finger and puffing out her chest with a smug chuckle.

“…You remembered?” I was a little surprised. She had an unexpectedly good memory… Well, in that case, so did I.

I hadn’t been lying or anything when I’d said what I had, and I still sincerely believed it. Hearing her repeat that now would obviously be kinda embarrassing. Yep, it’s me, the guy who often remembers things I said a long time ago that make me want to die.

But it seemed I wasn’t the only one who was embarrassed.

“W-well, of course. I remember it. I mean, like, I couldn’t forget, y’know… I was a little surprised, after all…” With an ah-ha-ha, Yuigahama gave a tiny shy smile as she twisted around in a fluster.

Now that she’s said that, I can’t stay calm, either, though! It made even me start awkwardly laughing…in an attempt to hide it.

When our eyes met, she jerked her gaze away. “…W-well, Hikki, you’ve always been kinda like that. But I’m used to it now!” she added jokingly at the end.

That brought a smile to Yukinoshita’s face. “Yes, you’re always so…nonstandard.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Yuigahama nodded in agreement.

Hmm, I’d appreciate it if you held back your opinions for a moment…, I thought, flicking a look of objection at Yukinoshita. “Um, I don’t think that’s just me, though? You are, too, aren’t you, Miss Yukinonstandard?”

“What is that even supposed to mean…?” Eyebrows twitching downward, Miss Yukinonstandard glared at me out of the corner of her eye.

Yuigahama’s eyebrows, on the other hand, were tilting in the opposite direction as if she were at a loss, until she finally said, “Ohhh…like with the animal therapy thing…”

“Yeah, yeah, like with that, I guess. Though I dunno if you’d call that nonstandard or just unexpected.” I nodded in agreement. We hadn’t been that close back then, so I hadn’t really been able to challenge that—but looking back at it now, I was kinda like, Where the heck did that idea come from…?

Yuigahama must have felt the same, hmm-hmming pensively. “Hmm…I dunno, I thought that was a smart idea, but…”

Whoa there, that’s a contrastive conjunction. Once you’ve said but…, then all that can follow is a refutation of that statement… She probably just wanted to play with a cat, huh…?

But it would be kinder not to say as much. If I pressed too hard, I’d get a long-winded, rapid-fire counterargument. So I tucked that thought away in my breast.

It seemed, however, that Yuigahama couldn’t do the same. Not much room in there for it, huh?

“W-well, but! You can be a bit airheaded sometimes, Yukinon!” Yuigahama sort of flung herself into that remark, probably with the intention of disguising her hesitation.

Yukinoshita shot her a cold glare. “Isn’t that you?”

“N-no! Like that time we played Millionaire, you know, I was actually considering things…,” Yuigahama argued, as if she’d just remembered the event, before trailing off with a groan.

I pulled up my hazy memories as well, thinking back to how that shady game against the UG Club had concluded. “I feel like you were just lucky, though…”

“Wh-whatever, luck is a part of talent, too! That day, um, it was my birthday, so of course I’d be lucky, and good stuff did actually happen, so I was happy…” Yuigahama rushed into her words at first, but as she approached the end of the sentence, her head sank down, and her voice got quieter and quieter.

I’d really like it if you could stop muttering to yourself so I can kind of hear you. Remembering that gift even has me sort of embarrassed now! I wound up looking down, too.

Then Yukinoshita murmured quietly, “Does luck have anything to do with birthdays…?” She tilted her head with a serious expression.

“Wh-whatever! It does! We won, so whatever! Geez!” Yuigahama said in a sulky tone.

Watching them, I couldn’t help but grin. Yuigahama was right. Regardless of how we’d gotten there, the result was that we’d won the game. So it was fine. I’m sure that positivity of hers has always been a saving grace—for me and for Yukinoshita.

Yukinoshita must have understood that as well, as her face softened a bit. Then she swept the hair off her shoulders as she nodded with satisfaction. “…Well, that’s true. It was good we won.”

“There it is. You always hate to lose…” I could feel my smile going a bit crooked.

Yukinoshita shot me a dull look. “And you love to lose, don’t you?”

“It’s not like I enjoy it, you know… I do in fact intend to win every time, more or less,” I said, but neither of them was listening.

Yuigahama voiced an ahhh of understanding. “Like when you were in that tennis game and the judo tournament and stuff, huh…?”

“…I suppose you would call that sort of thing a waste of effort.” Yukinoshita let out a sigh that may have been either exasperated or exhausted.

I was a little indignant about that comment, too, and I had to correct her on this. “Hey, I made sure not to go through any real physical effort. The only great pains during that judo tournament were in my back,” I said smugly.

Yukinoshita rubbed her temple. “I should have expected as much. If anyone’s wasting their effort, it’s me. And did you make sure to go to the doctor? When you get back pain habitually, it’ll never heal. That can affect you later in life, you know?” Yukinoshita showered me with a string of interrogating accusations.

“You were actually worried?!” Yuigahama seemed startled at first, but then she casually jumped on the bandwagon and added, “I—I worried a bit, too, though!”.

Hmm, I would have preferred to receive your gracious words of advice and concern when they were actually relevant, though… But if they were worried about me, then I shall dutifully report the events of the time…

“I did go. To an osteopath. Got a note that got me out of gym class,” I said proudly.

“Sneaky! I was concerned for nothing!” Yuigahama said with mild horror.

Uh, in that case, you weren’t super worried, were you…?

Instead of acknowledging my reproachful look, Yuigahama clapped her hands. “But those events were fun, huh? Even if they were kinda silly. Like, the ones we all did together.”

“…You think?” I agreed with the “kinda silly” part, but as for whether doing them with everyone was fun or not…

When I expressed my doubts, Yuigahama swelled with confidence. “I do think. Hanging out with everyone, like Yumiko and Hina and Hayato and Sai-chan and Komachi-chan, was pretty fun, right? Like during summer vacation and stuff,” she said, her gaze drifting far into the distance.

Yukinoshita nodded with a hmm. “You mean the camping trip. I don’t know about fun, but it was certainly lively… But aren’t we forgetting someone?” Yukinoshita tilted her head thoughtfully.

Now that you mention it… I counted off in my head, folding down a finger for each person who’d been there in Chiba Village, and it hit me. “Miss Hiratsuka…? She was supervising, so I guess you couldn’t say we hung out together.”

“…I believe she also enjoyed herself quite thoroughly, though.” Yukinoshita frowned with a thoughtful noise.

Not that I couldn’t understand the sentiment. Miss Hiratsuka generally always seems to be having a good time, after all…

Okay, Tobe had been there, too, but who cares about him. He’s Tobe. I did actually remember him, so can we just let it rest? I’m the only one who has to remember that stuff—including that time I got all broody because I heard Tobe’s weird questions to Hayama.

There had been many such things that summer…things that had left their mark on me and me alone.

The bitterness had hung heavy all this time, like sediment, leaving a bad aftertaste.

The reason I’d been unable to just leave that girl Rumi Tsurumi was because I’d seen someone else in a part of her. The hive mind exerts such pressure to conform to its nebulous existence—I think I’d been unwilling to let it crush her, or unforgiving of how it had always been crushing her.

I’m not going to say the outcome there was positive.

It’s just…seeing her trying to reach out despite knowing it was all fake, I’d felt a kind of hope. Like a faint wish or a prayer. And that was another thing nobody had to remember but me.

But memories will be shared by those you spent that time with, whether you want them to or not. So she would bring up the things she thought she should remember, too.

“The fireworks were fun, too, huh?” Yuigahama muttered, looking up at the night sky.

I followed her gaze. The night sky was black with no blooms of light or rain of golden sand. “…Fireworks, huh?”

“So you do remember,” Yuigahama teased.

I shrugged and shot back, rather self-deprecatingly, “Yeah, well, it’s not like I was doing anything else. I do remember days when stuff happened.”

And so, we carefully and quietly tucked away the memories we’d shared.

All that remained afterward were faint smiles, quiet sighs, and the specter of silence.

As if to fill up that space, Yukinoshita expelled an exaggerated sigh. “So you only remember a few days of a vacation that was nearly forty days long, hmm…?”

“That’s just how it works. Before you know it, it’s over, right…? And besides, we were ridiculously busy after that.”

“We had a lot of events in the second semester, huh?” Yuigahama agreed.

“Yeah… And basically all of that was the chair’s fault.” That came out meaner than I’d intended because a certain someone happened to come to mind.

Yuigahama seemed uncomfortable; her lips barely opened as she replied, “Hmm…no comment.”

Aw, geez, Miss Yuigahama is so nice! Usually, this would be a time for a trial in absentia, a super-impeachment—an instant death sentence, even!

As I was having such thoughts, Yukinoshita shrugged. It seemed she had her own response to my opinions, too! Aw, geez! Is Miss Yukinoshita a nice girl, too?

Or so I thought…

“Sagami wasn’t the only one at fault.”

“Ahhh, you said her name…”

“…Rather shameless of you to say, when you had absolutely no intention of avoiding it.” Yukinoshita put a hand to her temple as if she had a headache, then brought her eyebrows together as she glanced at me. I gave her a lazy nod back as if to say, I get it, I get it, my bad, and Yukinoshita cleared her throat lightly and started over.

“There were many factors at the time that contributed to that situation, after all…,” she muttered. She was speaking in very broad terms, but what other way could she put it? We knew what she was referring to.

There had been plenty of factors—inadvertently pressing your own ideals on another, or getting stubborn because you thought it was bad to rely on others so casually, or selfishly holding back while thinking you’re being considerate.

But I think that after so many incidents like this, we’d come to know each other a little and had gained some limited answers.

Those answers were different for each of us, yet in the end, they were probably the same.

That was why Yukinoshita summed it up with something more out of left field: “Mostly, it was the overcrowded schedule.”

Yuigahama and I nodded at that.

“Yeah. And we went on the field trip right after that, too,” said Yuigahama.

“Uh-huh. We were running around like headless chickens.” I let the rest slide by, making no move to press that further.

Yuigahama and Yukinoshita took over from there instead.

“We didn’t really get that chill sightseeing experience, huh?” said Yuigahama. “Just Kiyomizu-dera Temple. And then some place that had tons of torii gates. And we didn’t eat many local specialties… Oh, but the Toei Kyoto Studio Park was so much fun! And the haunted house, too!”

“…I believe that was when we were rushing around the most, though.” Yukinoshita seemed less enthusiastic than Yuigahama. We were in different classes, so we hadn’t been together then—but even if we had been, Yukinoshita probably would’ve passed on the haunted house. She can’t really handle that sort of thing, after all! Neither can I, though, to be fair.

“And I thought we visited a fair number of sightseeing spots. Ryouan-ji Temple, Fushimi Inari Shrine, Toufuku-ji Temple, and Kitano Tenmangu Shrine…among others. And as for food, there was boiled tofu and udon-suki served at the ryokan, wasn’t there? And we were able to stop by that café I wanted to see, too,” Yukinoshita said, with a hint of pleasure.

…Ahhh, so the café where she had that breakfast set was her pick after all. That place was fancy. Food was good, though, so I had no complaints…

As my mind was turning back to those memories, Yukinoshita continued to mutter, “And then there was the ramen…”

“Ramen?” Yuigahama tilted her head with a question mark, and Yukinoshita’s mouth immediately snapped shut.

To fill the pause, I started to speak. “Yeah. There’s a lot of famous shops in Kyoto. Like around Kita-Shirakawa. And Ichijou-ji is a hot spot with intense competition. I wanted to go, too, but I didn’t have the time… Takayasu, Tentenyuu, Yume wo Katare…”

“Huh? Uh, what?”

“It’s fine—it’s nothing. Those are just the names of shops I wanted to go to. Don’t worry about it.”

“O-okay…”

Yuigahama still looked like she had a question mark floating over her head, but I barreled on past that and continued on my merry way. “And it didn’t really get better after that, did it? As soon as we were free from Sagami, Isshiki came in with a mountain of problems…”

“Ah-ha-ha… We had a tough time with the student council election, too, huh?” Yuigahama smiled a bit nervously, while Yukinoshita’s shoulders dropped just a bit.

Catching that in the corner of my eye, I let out a slightly exaggerated sigh. “Then right after the election was over, the Christmas event hit us immediately. That was hell. All that innovative disruptive yes-yes-yes-ing…”

“That whole thing was really incomprehensible, wasn’t it…? Almost as incomprehensible as what you just said,” Yukinoshita taunted with a giggle and a smile. The hunch in her shoulders had straightened back into a dignified posture.


Yuigahama bumped her shoulder against Yukinoshita’s. “But we got to go to Destiny for free. That was fun, right? And you were able to buy lots of Grue-bear merch!” Yuigahama smiled at her with an eh-heh.

Yukinoshita turned her face away shyly. “…Well, that’s true. It wasn’t all bad.”

Watching that exchange, even I started feeling good about it.

It was true. It hadn’t all been bad.

I did think the things we did then were meaningful. I couldn’t say for sure if I’d really managed to take responsibility for Iroha Isshiki, and I didn’t know if the way things had gone with Rumi Tsurumi had been right, either. And I sure as hell didn’t know the meaning of what she’d said to me.

But at the very least, I didn’t think it had been meaningless.

Those feelings had made it possible for me to welcome the quiet New Year. And I don’t think I was the only one who felt that warmth, either—those two sensed it, too.

That was why Yuigahama’s tone was so gentle as she reminisced. “It all went by so fast, huh? I guess it was because so much happened last year…”

“It’s been plenty busy in the New Year, too… Particularly at my house, since Komachi got serious about studying for her exams.”

With the start of school, we’d been at the mercy of stupid rumors and all of that, and the whole time had passed in a blur of activity. The only time I’d been able to take it easy had been around the beginning of the year. Which made my thoughts turn entirely to earlier this year, which then stirred up my worries about Komachi’s entrance exams.

“I hope that shrine visit does the trick for her,” Yukinoshita said, attempting to cheer me up. Guess those anxieties had come out on my face.

“Hmm? Yeah. Seriously… Well, there’s no point in getting worked up about this,” I said, trying to get myself over it.

Yuigahama nodded back at me. “Uh-uh… Oh, then I know! Once it’s all over, let’s have a post-exam party!”

“Yeah, let’s. Give her a big celebration for passing.”

“…All right.”

“Yep!”

There was an implicit assumption Komachi would pass, but neither of them commented on it, answering with smiles instead. That was truly something to be grateful for. I grinned broadly, too.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over Yuigahama’s face. “Maybe we should be a bit more worried about ourselves, though…”

“Indeed. This time next year will be the period for university entrance exams. And once that’s done…” Yukinoshita quietly lowered her eyes. She didn’t have to say the rest.

After exams were over, graduation came next.

“A year goes by pretty fast, huh…?” I said out loud, and it felt way more real than I’d anticipated. This was just the weight of the time we’d been discussing. Having shared in that conversation themselves, the other two would understand that plenty.

“The year has passed more quickly than any other in my life,” Yukinoshita said with a deep sigh.

Yuigahama clapped her hands. “I thought so, too! It’s kinda, I dunno—adults say stuff about that, right? When you get older, a year feels shorter. Or something like that!”

“Well, we were pretty busy with stuff…,” I said. “Waves of requests and consults and everything. Though we can blame all that on Miss Hiratsuka.”

“The root of all evil, so to speak?” Yukinoshita said with a wry smile, and Yuigahama and I made similar sorts of expressions.

It was true. It had all begun with her words.

The start of it all was so damn trivial. Maybe it had just been a whim of hers.

And that would end soon, too.

Ultimately, nothing resembling a competition had ever been settled, and the results had only ever been vague, everything lost in the grove.

But I had decided to eliminate that vagueness, even if it was a mistake, even if things would be lost, to produce my answer. Our answers.

If you start looking back, you’ll never stop. You could get as much conversation as you want, talking about this past year—and all of it nothing but happy, fun stories that would keep a smile on your face. You can talk about only what you want to talk about and leave out what you don’t.

Without saying any of what you actually want to say.

And that’s completely intentional. By avoiding those things, you understand very quickly they’re what you’re most worried about. I think all three of us were aware of that. That was exactly why the conversation trailed off.

The time we’d spent together filled less than a year. Of that time, there’d been lots we’d remembered, more we’d forgotten, and much we’d pretended to forget.

Even this sort of reminiscing would eventually run dry. Once you’re done going over the past to the present, you’ll always trail off.

Meaning what we should talk about now was the future.

Maybe that was why they both expelled breaths almost like sighs, then closed their mouths.

Invisible, unknowable, incomprehensible, and irreversible.

You’re not going to see it. You’re not going to know it. And despite all of that, once you’ve made your way forward, there’s no more backing down.

In the silence born then, there was the soft rustle of a scarf being rewrapped.

“It’s stopped snowing, huh?” Yuigahama said to no one in particular. The night sky seemed hazy, as if it were behind a veil of smoke.

Yukinoshita didn’t answer with words. With a smile like the moonlight filtering through thin clouds, she gave a little nod and turned her gaze upward.

We were probably looking at the same moon.

And I’m sure we always had been.

Thanks to our proximity, we’d witnessed similar things and spent some time together. But I doubted that would lead us to the same answers. I could say with certainty that it was the one answer that would never change.

So to keep from saying so, we were bringing up different topics—like casually mentioning the weather or the most sickly-sweet coffee or the ordinary recollections of the past.

“I’m told it was snowing on the day I was born, too. So they called me Yukino… It’s too simple, isn’t it?” Yukinoshita said suddenly as the hushed time flowed by, a mildly self-deprecating smile on her face.

Yuigahama’s response was gentle. “…But it’s a lovely name.”

I knew Yuigahama wasn’t seeking agreement, but I automatically nodded along. “…Yeah, it’s a nice name,” I said only half consciously.

Yuigahama blinked at me like she was a little startled, and Yukinoshita’s eyes widened in shock. If they were gonna react like that, I might get kind of really embarrassed. My gaze slid to the side.

To cover the awkward pause, I put my lips on my can of coffee and took a sip. I did actually think it was a good name, so I couldn’t exactly take back what I said. The coffee was my only option.

The name Yukino did really suit her. It was pretty and ephemeral, with a sort of lonely ring to it. And weirdly enough, I didn’t associate it with any words like coldness or chill.

“…Thank you,” Yukinoshita murmured quietly, and when I looked back at her again, she was squeezing her fists tight over her skirt with her face tilted down. Her black hair flowed downward like a bamboo screen to cover her face, but the pink tinge on her cheeks could be glimpsed underneath. Yuigahama must have noticed that, too; her lips relaxed in a happy smile, and she let out a gentle breath.

Her faint giggle must have reached Yukinoshita’s ears, as she cleared her throat in an unassuming manner and raised her chin before adjusting her posture. “I’m told my mother picked it. Though I only heard that secondhand from my sister…” She sounded composed at the beginning, but by the end, her voice melted away into the air, as if to disappear. Her eyes had lowered from the sky to the ground. A shadow had fallen over her expression, which had something of a grimace in it.

Yuigahama and I didn’t know what to say for a moment.

Should I have found an appropriate reply, an opportunity to continue the conversation somehow? Like for example, I could have said my parents had put even less effort into picking the name Hachiman and that they’d decided on mine instantly before spending forever deciding Komachi’s—that sort of stupid, attention-seeking clowning that I could pretend helped.

Or maybe I should have left it to Yuigahama and had her take over from there.

But both Yuigahama and I chose silence.

There were no words. Our only comments were sighs.

Yukinoshita, her mother, and Haruno.

I didn’t know much about their relationship. Well, it wasn’t like I knew anything at all about Yuigahama’s relationship with her family, either, and they didn’t know much about mine.

So this not knowing was something far more fundamental. I didn’t know her; I didn’t know them. And because of that, I didn’t know the right way to answer.

If this had been back when I was completely ignorant, I would have had any number of justifications for that. I could have said, I don’t know her, so there’s no point in saying something weird or I don’t know her, so of course I’ll misunderstand or I don’t know her, so I shouldn’t assume any interaction. If you can smell trouble coming, then you can pretend you don’t know someone—since you honestly don’t.

But we knew each other enough that I couldn’t feign ignorance. At this stage, it would be the height of shamelessness.

In the end, I didn’t know the appropriate response based on what our relationship currently was. I think I could have superficially continued the conversation, with decently appropriate and convincing sympathy, by disclosing a similar experience of my own and then offering advice of some sort, but not so much that it came off as pushy. That would probably be the standard response. Everyone else manages natural exchanges like that just fine.

But it was my desire to eliminate the phoniness that had made us like this.

Unknowingly, my hand tightened around the can. The steel wasn’t going to cave. My fingers trembled instead as the liquid made a slight sloshing sound.

We were quiet enough that the splash could be heard.

I slowly brought the can to my mouth, then lightly shook it to check what was left. Once I’d finished drinking this, I would talk.

Those little decisions of mine always forced me to act. That was how it had been all this time. Even if I’d been swept along, pulled in, dragged in, I’d ultimately made the final judgments myself.

That’s just my nature. Nothing more than a habit, and definitely not the “decisiveness” people like to praise or brag about. Loners are generally by themselves, so they wind up doing everything on their own. They’re like utility players, you might say, but it’s not like they’re omnipotent—they’re generally bad at everything. About all they’re good at is consoling themselves, accepting their lot, and giving up.

It was just that at that particular moment, I didn’t feel like I could deceive myself with that kind of nonsense.

If I can speak candidly—the truth is, I think I’ve always avoided imagining what would come next.

It’s not quite right to say I was running away. Avoiding is the best word for it. Or maybe evading.

I don’t think it was an attempt at escape at all.

Because I actually did find it aggravating.

In the end, I wasn’t seeking all the answers, resolutions, or conclusions. I’m sure I wished for things to be canceled out. For the question to be dissolved rather than resolved. I’d been waiting for an ambiguous ending, where the various problems, dilemmas, and predicaments before me would vanish before they could be defined.

I selfishly believed that all of us were probably unconsciously wishing for it all to just become like it had never happened. It was the height of arrogance to make conjectures about their feelings, but I still don’t think I was that far off.

I mean, the time we’d been spending together had been like a slumber, dragged out slowly and tortuously, joy and sorrow mingled together.

But I knew we couldn’t go back.

Yui Yuigahama had already posed the question to us.

Yukino Yukinoshita had indicated her intent to answer, too.

So what about Hachiman Hikigaya?

In the past, I would have scoffed at such a situation, calling this complacency. And in the future, a conclusion that didn’t qualify as an answer wouldn’t be enough. In the present, I still didn’t know what “right” was, but I still felt keenly that this was wrong.

What I should probably do is make an effort to fix that wrong. That’s the topic I should go for.

I took one last swallow of the now-cold canned coffee and opened my mouth.

All that came out at first was a sigh, then a sort of hmm sound as I chose my words. After that, finally, a sentence that was at least in the right ballpark. “…Yukinoshita. Can I ask about you?”

Even I wondered how a remark like that would express anything to her. I wasn’t even sure what I was trying to ask.

But it seemed like that was enough for them. You couldn’t find a single tiny leaf from the tree that was this issue, never mind getting down to the trunk or the root of it. But maybe there was a seed. We at least intended to talk, to push these relationships out of the deadlock we’d come to.

Yuigahama gulped quietly, then gave me a long look. I think she was asking if I was ready.

Yukinoshita, on the other hand, was frozen, her head tilted downward. “…Would you…mind listening?”

Her reticent tone hinted at her indecision. She weakly examined Yuigahama and me, and then she gave a hesitant sigh.

Yukinoshita’s question—was it a question? I can’t say whether her words had been directed at me. She’d muttered them more like a confirmation, and I responded with a look and a nod. Then her eyebrows turned down with some consternation, and she paused a moment.

She was probably thinking about how to put it, just like I had.

Yuigahama softly leaned close to her, as if to give her a gentle push. Inching up close on the bench where they sat side by side, she touched Yukinoshita’s hand. “You know, I…I was always thinking that maybe it was best to wait. You’ve been telling me all sorts of stuff, even if it was bit by bit.” She rested her head on Yukinoshita’s shoulder. I don’t know what lay behind her closed eyelids, but that puppylike cuddling was enough to generate some heat. Just like ice slowly melting, Yukinoshita’s tension eased away. Her fists, clenched tight on top of her skirt, gradually opened, and she cautiously squeezed Yuigahama’s hand back.

Hand in hand, feeling her heat, Yukinoshita slowly began to speak. “Yuigahama. You asked me what I want to do… But I really don’t know,” she said, sounding almost mesmerized. She spoke like a lost child. I’m sure Yuigahama and I had the same expression. Because we were lost children.

Yuigahama sadly lowered her eyes.

Yukinoshita noticed and made an effort to show some cheer to encourage us. “But you know, there were actually things I wanted to do, before.”

“Things you wanted to do?” Yuigahama parroted back at her, sounding puzzled.

Yukinoshita looked a little proud as she nodded. “My father’s work,” she said.

“Ohhh… But that’s—,” I said, tracing back in my memories. Then I figured it out. I remembered hearing that Yukinoshita’s father was a member of the prefectural assembly and that he managed a construction company. Haruno had told me about that, too.

“Yes,” Yukinoshita cut in, picking up where I’d left off. “But there’s my sister…so I’m not the one to make that decision. My mother has always decided.” Her tone had turned a little cold, and she seemed to be glaring at something far in the distance. We didn’t interrupt.

She’d get this faraway look whenever she was talking about the past. She was staring up at the sky. That drew me to look up, too.

The winds had to be blowing up high, as thin, cotton-candy-like clouds were flowing like a river. Their fleecy, shifting shapes were clearly visible under the moonlight.

We wouldn’t have to worry about the weather anymore. The snow clouds had already been whisked far away, and stars twinkled in the sky.

The light of the stars is from the distant past, dozens of light-years away. You can’t say for sure if their light even exists in the present—maybe that’s just why it’s so lovely. The most beautiful things are the ones you’ve lost and the ones that are unattainable.

I knew that, and that’s why I couldn’t reach out to it. The moment I touched it, it would fade and rot away. It was beyond the reach of someone like me anyway.

Perhaps they both understood that, too—Yukinoshita, who had spoken of her own wishes in the past tense, and Yuigahama, who had listened.

“My mother has always been the one to decide everything, always tying my sister down and letting me do as I please. So I’ve only ever chased after my sister. I didn’t know how to act…,” Yukinoshita whispered with something like nostalgia or regret.

The eyes watching her profile contained a tinge of desolation, even contrition.

“…Even now, I still don’t know… My sister’s right,” Yukinoshita muttered softly. Her gaze left the sky to shift to her toes, neatly aligned. They were evidence of her constant position, not one step away from her spot.

We were unable to say a word.

Yukinoshita must have realized herself how painfully quiet it was, as she jerked her head up and smiled bashfully to fill the silence. “This is the first anyone’s ever listened to me talk about this.”

Her smile elicited a breath from my dry lips that was close to a sigh of relief. Instead of making some vague listening noise, I asked, “You’ve never said this to anyone?”

“I think I’ve said as much indirectly to my parents, but…” A thoughtful gesture. It must have been long ago. She reflected and considered but then gave up with a little shake of her head. “But I don’t remember them ever having taken me seriously. Every time, they told me I didn’t have to worry about it… Though I’m sure that’s because my sister will take over the family business.”

“Have you told Haruno?” Yuigahama asked.

Yukinoshita laid a hand on her chin and tilted her head. “…I don’t think I have.” Then she smiled wryly. “You know what she’s like.”

“Ahhh, I see…”

From what I’d heard from the younger sister and the impression I’d gotten from Hayama, their childhood friend…Haruno Yukinoshita was not the kind of person you’d turn to for a supportive conversation about your future or matters of romance, hope, or dreams or anything like that.

With a stranger who had no connection to her, I’m sure she’d offer specific advice. She’d draw inspiration from mainstream views and stay cordial but definitely not go far enough to sound overbearing. Or maybe she’d just make skillful use of listening noises and meaningless remarks to give you a temporary sense of satisfaction and make you feel like there was a weight off your shoulders. She could pull that off with ease.

But with her family, she’d handle things completely differently. She’d laugh and tease and make fun, and even if your problem did get resolved, she’d dig it up again later to play with it and drag it out. It’d be her toy for your whole life. Hayato Hayama had said something like that once.

They all knew the base assumptions. Maybe that was why Yukinoshita had never spoken to Haruno about those things before.

Well, it’s not like I’m going to go to the trouble of bringing up my career and future with my family, either. I don’t know if this is good or bad, but I’ve never been forced to make any big choices that were beyond my ability to decide.

But it was true that because of that, her description of family interactions didn’t quite click with me. If my family had some kind of hereditary business, maybe I could have sympathized, but unfortunately, I’ve grown up in a salaryman family. This stuff is way out of my purview.

Yuigahama must have felt similarly; her expression turned glum, her head dropping.

Heedless of our reactions, Yukinoshita let out a little sigh. “But maybe I should have said it. Even if I wouldn’t get what I wanted… I think I was scared to come up with a proper answer, so I never made certain.”

I sensed nostalgia in her tone—or maybe regret. Whichever it was, it was in the past and couldn’t be taken back.

But her eyes were facing forward.

Ahead of that gaze was Yuigahama…and me.

“So I’m going to make certain of that, first… And this time, I will make the decision of my own will. I want to think about it myself and accept it on my own terms—not because someone else told me—and I want to give up on it.”

A tiny sigh and a quiet smile.

Yukinoshita had said, clear and serene: “I want to give up on it.”

All this time, she must have carried resignation inside her. But since no decisions had ever been made, she’d held it and held it.

You won’t know what’s inside a box until you try opening it. The outcome is undecided until the contents are observed. But nevertheless, once the observer accepts that outcome, whether they want it or not, it will come to an end.

It will converge in a single result.

“…I have just one request… I want you two to watch how it plays out. That’s enough.” Yukinoshita touched her hand to the scarf around her neck and closed her eyes. I didn’t think she was doing it against the cold, but as if she were adjusting her collar. She faltered as she spoke, choosing each word as carefully as a promise before a god.

“Is that…your answer, Yukinon?” Yuigahama asked quietly. Or it seemed like she was asking a question, but her head was hanging, her eyes turned away.

But Yukinoshita turned to look straight at the other girl. “Maybe not…” With a smile that held a hint of pain, she quietly clasped Yuigahama’s hand.

Yuigahama raised her head. “So then…,” she began, but when her eyes met Yukinoshita’s, her words trailed off. The words that would have come next faded out.

I lost my voice, too. I might have even forgotten to breathe.

Yukinoshita’s smile was just that beautiful.

Her smoothly combed, long black hair slid away, and when her slender face was revealed, her eyes captured me, clear like crystal.

Her gaze did not waver; she was just taking in the sight of us. The depth of her eyes was like the azure of the sky, so expansive they could suck me in, as if they could not contain a single falsehood. “But I…I want to prove I can do well on my own. I think if I do that, then I can begin properly.” I could see no hesitation—not only in her smooth explanation, but in the firm clasp of her hands, her straightforward gaze, and the sharp posture of her spine.

“Begin…properly…,” Yuigahama murmured dazedly, almost deliriously.

Yukinoshita nodded. “Yes. I’ll go back to my parents’ house for a bit and have a real discussion about it, from square one.”

“…So we can take that as your answer, huh?” I muttered. It probably wasn’t a question—if you can’t face the person to say it, you’re just talking to yourself.

But Yukinoshita still heard and reacted. She placed her loosely clenched fists on her lap and said quietly, “No matter how much time passed, I’ve never entirely given up on it…so I think this is probably how I really feel… And I don’t think it’s wrong, either.” She glanced in my direction, examining me.

There was something in her words that made sense—a part I could sympathize with.

If it doesn’t change with time, if it doesn’t fade despite your attempts to ignore it, then I’d feel ready to call that “something real.” On the other hand, if it breaks after time or an attempt to discard it, you know it wasn’t real.

If it still won’t disappear, even after you turn away, avert your eyes, pretend you don’t see, or try to leave it behind, then you should be able to say it’s what you really want.

If that was the conclusion she wished for, then there was nothing for me to say.

There was just one thing I’d been fixated on—Yukino Yukinoshita making the decision herself.

This wasn’t something to be decided based on someone else’s wants or expectations, peer pressure, social vibe, or mood. Even if this would cause something to fall apart, that was still no good reason to rob her of her high-minded nobility.

Wishing not that she would respond to someone’s demands, but that she would speak from her heart.

“Why not give it a shot?” I said as she gazed timidly at me, dipping my head slightly. Yukinoshita sighed in relief.

“Yeah, I get it… I think that’s an answer, too.” Yuigahama, who’d been silently watching Yukinoshita’s profile, quietly turned her eyes to the ground. Then she nodded slowly a few times.

“Thank you…,” Yukinoshita muttered softly, then lowered her head. I don’t know what sort of look she had on her face right then; I’ll probably never know. Even if I had seen it for myself, I’m sure I would have forgotten it soon enough.

Because when Yukinoshita lifted her head once more, her expression was so bright and sunny.

Yukinoshita didn’t give us the time to say anything else as she hopped to her feet. “How about we get going soon? It really has gotten chilly,” she said, taking a step forward—in the direction of the park exit and the apartment where she lived.

As we still hadn’t moved yet, Yukinoshita turned back to us.

The swish of her hair, the flutter of her skirt, the sway of her scarf, and her presence as she stood there were all beautiful, and it made me hesitate to draw any closer.

But I’d promised I would be her witness.

So I started walking toward her.

Hoping, without praying to anyone…

…that even if we did regret it, at least there would be words without lies.



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