Yahari Ore no Seishun Love Come wa Machigatte Iru - Volume 3 - Chapter 1

1

This is how Shizuka Hiratsuka kicks off a new competition.

I slapped a stack of crap thick enough to rival the Dead Sea Scrolls onto the table. “What the hell is this?”

I’d made the mistake of starting my day reading a manuscript that sent uncanny shivers down my spine. The source of my anxiety and déjà vu was, of course, the background material for Zaimokuza’s sequel. Finish the first book before you write the sequel, Zaimokuza.

The draft was incoherent, no two ways about it. Even at the plotting stage, contradictions already abounded, and the whole thing was a mess. About the only thing the story had going for it was the aloof swordsman serving as its main character.

Solitude reigns supreme. Real heroes don’t need friends.

To be unapproachable is to be strong. No connections means nothing cherished. “Something to protect” is just a euphemism for a chink in the armor. The Greek hero Achilles had his heel, and the powerful warrior monk Benkei Musashibou had his lord. If not for their weaknesses, history would have remembered them as winners.

Therefore, the strongest person is someone with no vulnerabilities, nothing to hold dear, and no connections with others. In other words, me.

The only realistic part of this dreck was the loneliness of its cheating, OP swordsman. The rest was garbage, so let’s take a red pen to it. G-A-R-B-A-G-E… There we go.

I was basking in a job well done when my little sister, Komachi, finished making breakfast. Our parents both work and had already left the house, so it was only Komachi and me in the dining room. My sister sported an apron as she set out two places at the table. Hey, wait, don’t wear an apron with a tank top and short shorts. It makes it look like you’re naked underneath.

Before me was a golden-brown scone and some coffee. There were also a few jars of jam. The fragrance of the well-toasted scone and the aroma rising from the exquisitely pure coffee danced together in a harmonious suite before the colorful array of sweet jam. It was a suite pretty cure for my morning hunger.

“Thanks for making this,” I said.

“Yep, eat it all up~. I’m gonna dig in, too!”

The two of us put our hands together, and then Komachi raised the scone to her mouth in a cutesy little motion. “Breakfast today is pretty fancy, huh? Kinda Englandish with the scones and everything.”

“What the hell is Englandish? Your new power move?”

“No, it means ‘super England-like.’”

“Are you serious? I think that’s called ‘British.’”

“Oh, Bro. ‘Brit’ isn’t a country.”

“Internationally, England is known as Great Britain or the United Kingdom. That’s why if you want to say ‘English-style,’ you say ‘British.’ The more you know.”

“I-I don’t need your trivia! That’s just one of those fake English words Japanese people made up! Like Great Gitayuu!”

I don’t think Great Gitayuu is a pseudo-Anglicism. Ignoring Komachi’s weak excuse, I pulled the condensed milk toward me. By the way, if you add condensed milk to regular coffee to make a MAX Coffee–style drink, it’s called “Chibish” coffee. And a basketball anime set in the near future would be dubbed Baskish. Uh. I think. “But anyway, I thought English people drank black tea,” I said.

“I know, but you like coffee better, Bro. So I think that’s worth more Komachi points.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. I wish that kind of point system were real… Things would be so easy to understand,” I answered. Life sure would be simpler if yeses and nos and affection ratings were clear and open on a display. If someone gave you a firm “no” accompanied by numerical proof supporting the fact, then you wouldn’t harbor any delusions they secretly like you, so you’d have no trouble giving up on them. That alone would be a saving grace to many poor boys out there.

As I slurped down my DIY MAX Coffee, Komachi dropped her scone with a splat. White as a sheet, she trembled like a leaf. “Y-you’re acting weird, Bro…”

“What?”

“You’re acting weird! Usually when I say stuff like that, you get all mean and cold and act like I’m annoying, but that’s how I know you love me!”

“You’re the odd one here.” Just how hypersensitive to these details are you?

“Anyway, all jokes aside,” Komachi began, but as I was unsure how much was actually a joke, it was kind of freaking me out. If my sister was the kind of depraved individual who liked guys who snubbed her, I had no idea how to approach her anymore. Maybe I’d just ignore her every day and rack up those Komachi points. What a twisted sibling relationship.

“You haven’t been yourself lately, Bro. Kinda apathetic… Though you’ve never had much ambition anyway. Oh, and you’ve got this rotten look in your eyes… I guess they’ve been that way all along, too. Oh, I know! It’s like your jokes are all half-assed…like they have been for a long time now. Mm… Something’s just off!”

“Are you worried or insulting me? Pick one.” I couldn’t tell if she loved or hated me here. “Well, it’s been humid out lately. It makes everything rot faster. Including eyes and personalities.”

“Ohh, now, that was kind of witty!”

In the face of such sincere appreciation, I cheered up a bit, letting out a rather proud chortle. Wait. Now that I think about it, wasn’t that actually kind of backhanded? “You know, though… June has too many damn insects. Why is there no debugging software for summer?”

“That one was bad.”

“I-is that so…” Komachi’s pun standards were surprisingly stringent. It was oddly crushing to watch my triumphantly delivered witticism get shot down. I understand a little how Miss Hiratsuka feels.

Thinking of Miss Hiratsuka reminded me that I had to get going to school. If I was late, she’d give me more punishment whacks. I washed down the rest of my breakfast with my Chibish coffee and called out to Komachi. “I’m about to leave.”

“Oh! Coming!” She stuffed her cheeks to bursting with scone, like a chipmunk, and cheerfully began taking off her clothes. Seriously, stop changing in here.

“I’ll head out first.”

With Komachi’s drawn-out “Okaaay!” at my back, I walked through the front door and into the distinctive humid air of the rainy season. I couldn’t recall having seen a sky this blue since the day of the workplace tour.

The damp atmosphere hovered thick inside the school building. The entrance teemed with students in the morning rush, making the area increasingly suffocating and uncomfortable.

There is a tendency to imagine the loner ensconced in a dark corner, but in point of fact, as the resident loner of our class, I comported myself in a grand and stately manner. Thus, I was the eye of the hurricane, a single, isolated air pocket in the school.

People with lots of friends must have suffered in that crush of protein at thirty-six degrees Celsius in such humidity. Loners are unusually comfortable during the rainy season and the summer. They can lead well-ventilated lives at school.

I changed into my indoor shoes by the entrance and raised my head to see a familiar face.

“Oh…” Yuigahama was slipping on loafers with squished heels and avoiding my eyes with a lost expression.

I greeted her as I always did, without turning away. “’Sup.”

“…Oh, hi.” We didn’t speak after that. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, and then the decrescendo of a single person’s departing footsteps rang out against the chilly linoleum floor. The noise faded into the rest of the din.

Even after the weekend had ended, things were still awkward between Yuigahama and me, and this had been going on for the past week now. Before I knew it, it was Friday again. She didn’t give me that obnoxious greeting in the morning or accompany me to the classroom, and I returned to my old, peaceful life.

Okay. Nice. I’d managed to completely reset our relationship.

A loner, by nature, burdens no one with their existence. By avoiding entanglements with others, they cause no harm. We are extremely ecologically friendly, clean, and environmentally aware creatures.

By returning our relationship to square one, I had reclaimed inner peace, Yuigahama had been relieved of her debt to me, and now she could go back to her old normie life. I didn’t think it was the wrong decision. No, I was right. I mean, she had no reason to feel obligated just because I saved her dog. It was mere chance, a total coincidence. Like finding a wallet on the ground and taking it to the police, or giving a senior citizen your seat on the train—that level of charity. Plus, it was the kind of thing you could secretly brag to yourself about afterward, like, Man, I just did such a good deed! Now I’m way different from all those shallow idiots out there. I’m a real man! There was no need for her to agonize over simple happenstance, and even less for her to feel liable for the fact that I started high school as an outsider, since that was inevitable anyway.

That was why the matter was closed now. Our rapport had returned to its factory setting, and now we could both go back to normal. You can’t reset your life, but you can reset relationships. Source: me. I haven’t been in contact with a single person from my middle school cla— Wait, that’s not resetting. That’s deleting. Tee-hee.

The tedium of sixth period was over. I was a diligent student with integrity, so I didn’t talk to anyone in class and passed the time in silence.

By the way, sixth period was oral communication, so I was practically forced into an English conversation with the girl next to me. Right when we were supposed to start, though, she began fiddling with her phone. I thought the patrolling teacher would catch us, but thanks to my class skill Obfuscation, I escaped detection. Not bad, Hachiman.

But, like…when would this status effect wear off? Even after the day-end homeroom class, the effects still persisted, and nobody noticed me at all as I quietly packed up my things. What the hell? Am I a spy or something? Oh man. I might just get scouted by the CIA. But if AIC comes and recruits me by mistake, I’ll be a good boy and make another Tenchi Muyo! OVA.

As these thoughts crossed my mind, I could hear frivolous commotion unfolding at my back as if to tell me, This is what high school is all about! The kids in the sports clubs made their leisurely preparations for practice, abuzz with complaints about the senior club members or their advisors. The arts clubs chattered and exchanged smiles as they asked things like What did you bring for your snack today? And those in the just-going-home club droned about their plans to hang out after school.

One voice among the crowd was particularly loud and boisterous. “I’m so jealous of the soccer club guys. Their advisor is gone today.” My gaze happened to follow the sound, and I saw Hayama chatting in a circle with seven boys and girls. The disgruntled remark had come from Ooka, the assimilating virgin from the baseball club.

The Yamato guy from the rugby team nodded his agreement, and the blond party guy, Tobe, took the idea and ran with it. “Man, it’s hilarious. You guys still have club. Man. What’re we gonna do? What’re we even gonna do today?”

“I’m up for whatever.” Miura left the planning to him, typing away at the phone in her right hand while sproinging her drill-shaped curls with her left, as if utterly disinterested in what Tobe was saying. Flanked by Ebina and Yuigahama, the queen of the class reigned supreme as usual.

Tobe lit up with sudden fervor for the task. “Oh! Then why don’t we go to Thirteen and One? Doesn’t that sound good?”

Miura paused for a beat and then smacked her cell phone shut. “Huh? No.”

…I thought you were up for whatever. I reflexively interrupted their conversation in my head. This is how loners polish their witty comebacks, day after day. My eyes flicked toward Miura and her clique. Yuigahama was among them, and that was when our eyes met. Though we acknowledged each other’s existence, we did so wordlessly.

“……”

“……”

If I had to create an analogy, it was like when you’re at the station near your house and you see someone from your middle school class waiting on the platform one train door over. When you notice him, you’re like, Whoa, it’s Oofuna… and he’s like, Oh… Who was that again? H…Hiki… Oh, whatever. That sort of situation. C’mon, man, don’t give up trying to remember me.

Oh, but, like…i-it’s not like the other guy just couldn’t recall who I was. My memory is just exceptional. I have a superior brain. Loners are surprisingly adept at remembering names. It’s probably because we work ourselves into a lather thinking, I wonder when they’ll talk to me.

Just how good is my memory? This one time, I called out to a girl by name even though I’d never spoken to her, and her face twisted in fear, like, How does he know my name…? Scary…

Well, enough about me. Basically, Yuigahama and I were a pair of first-class swordsmen visually assessing the distance between them. The energy in the air whispered, In this match…whoever makes the first move will lose!

Miura dispersed the peculiar tension. “Let’s go bowling, actually,” she suggested suddenly.

That prompted a nod from Ebina. “I get it! The pins are such seductive bottoms.”

“Ebina, shut your face. And wipe your nose. Try to pretend to be normal,” she sniped, exasperated, as she held out a tissue for the other girl.

Miura is surprisingly nice, I thought, but you have to acknowledge that those tissues are advertising a telephone sex club, and that’s a little weird.

“Bowling… Man, that sounds really fun! I actually don’t even know what else we’d do!” Tobe agreed.

“I know, right?” Miura smugly tugged at her curls.

But Hayama didn’t seem so into it and adopted a thoughtful pose. “But we went last week… Why don’t we play darts? It’s been a while.”

“If that’s what you’re into, Hayato, then let’s do it!  ” Miura immediately flip-flopped. What is this, a game of Concentration?

“Then, let’s go. I’ll teach anyone who doesn’t know how, so let me know if you need help,” Hayama offered, rising from his chair and striding away. Miura, Tobe, and Ebina fell into place after him, but Miura noticed that one member of the party was a beat behind. She turned and called out to her. “Yui! What’re you doing? We’re going!”

“…Huh? Oh…y-yeah! Coming!” Yuigahama, whose role in the exchange had been passive up until then, snatched up her bag in a panic. She leaped to her feet and skittered toward the doorway, but when she passed by me, her pace slowed for just a moment. She must have been conflicted. Follow Miura and her friends or attend the Service Club. Well, she was a nice person. No need for her to fret over us.

Though I say she didn’t have to worry about it, when someone constantly lurks in your periphery, you start having qualms. Bad Hachiman, bad. Loners absolutely must not inflict trouble on other people. I should swiftly leave the premises. Hachiman Hikigaya withdraws coolly. How cool am I, you ask? Enough to record everything I see with a cassette player.

COOL! COOL! COOL!

I emphatically ignored Yuigahama and quietly left the classroom.

On the fourth floor of the special building, in the Service Club’s room, Yukino Yukinoshita was situated in her usual spot at the back of the clubroom with her standard, frosty demeanor. The lone irregularity was that her reading material was not a paperback, but a fashion magazine. Curious. About the only other change was her summer uniform. Over Yukinoshita’s blouse was not a blazer, but the designated summer vest. Designated sounds like a synonym for “lame,” but on Yukinoshita, the uniform was like a breath of fresh air and oddly improved her appearance further.

“’Sup.”

“…Oh. It’s you.”

Yukinoshita let out a short sigh and immediately dropped her gaze back to the glossy paper.

“Um, can you not act like that girl did when her seat ended up next to mine? That’s actually legit hurtful.” Major school events aren’t the only fertile fields for distress. The seeds of trauma can also be planted on completely random, normal days. In fact, the less special the incident is, the more sincere the emotions behind it and the nastier the memory. The monthly seat assignments are the ultimate example of this. “I didn’t do anything wrong, so why did I end up feeling like the situation was my fault? We drew straws. She should curse her own poor luck for landing next to me.”

“So you acknowledge that the seat next to yours is the worst one.”

“I didn’t say that. Now you’re just projecting your own bias.”

“I apologize. The subconscious is frightening, isn’t it?” Yukinoshita remarked and smiled.

The fact that she did it instinctively was even more hurtful, though.

“That was just a slip of the tongue, so don’t overthink it,” she said. “I thought you were Yuigahama for a moment there.”

“Oh, is that right?” It wasn’t surprising Yukinoshita would make that assumption. Yuigahama hadn’t shown her face in the clubroom for a few days. Yukinoshita had probably been wondering if the other girl would finally show up today.

“The day before yesterday, she had to take her pet to the vet, and yesterday, she had some errands to run for her parents…,” Yukinoshita muttered quietly at the screen of her cell phone. There was probably some e-mail from Yuigahama on it. An e-mail that I was not party to.

Was Yuigahama even gonna come to club today? If she did, I figured she’d behave just like she had that morning. I knew quite well how things ended up once the atmosphere had gone in this direction. Both parties just somehow keep their distance, then somehow stop interacting at all, and then somehow never see each other again.

Source: me. This was how I lost touch with my classmates from elementary school, middle school, and everyone. The same thing would probably end up happening with Yuigahama, too.

The clubroom was quiet. The only break in the silence was the inconsequential rustle of the pages of Yukinoshita’s magazine. Now that I thought about it, things had been pretty raucous here lately. At first, it had been just Yukinoshita and me in unremitting silence, interrupted only by the periodic exchange of quips. Though I’d barely been in the club for a month or two, the stillness already felt like a long-lost friend. While I stared off into the space near the door, as if she could divine my thoughts, Yukinoshita spoke.

“If you’re thinking about Yuigahama, she’s not coming today. She just e-mailed me.”

“O-oh… I-it’s not like I’m worried about Yuigahama or anything!”

“Why are you using that gross tone of voice?”

Relieved, I redirected my attention from the door to Yukinoshita instead.

Yukinoshita heaved a small, quiet sigh. “I wonder if Yuigahama intends to come back.”

“Why don’t you ask?” Yukinoshita was actually in touch with her, so if she probed, she should get an answer.

But Yukinoshita shook her head weakly. “There’s no point in asking. If I do, she’s sure to reply that she’ll come. I think she would…even if she didn’t want to.”

“Yeah, I guess…”

That was the kind of girl Yuigahama was. She prioritized everything else over her own feelings. That’s why she’d even talk to loners, and if Yukinoshita were to message her, she’d come back. But it was all just kindness and pity. Nothing more than an obligation to her. And that was more than enough for boys with low EXP to get the wrong idea, like, W-wait…d-does she like me? and that was a problem. I really wished girls like her would send more obvious signals, seriously. There should just be an app that automatically converts e-mails from girls into stiff and formal Japanese. Then I could avoid getting my hopes up. Wait, that might really sell…

As I fantasized about my get-rich-quick schemes, Yukinoshita sank into silence as she scrutinized me. The steadfast attention of such a flawless visage set my heart pounding…in fear. “Wh-what is it?”

“Did something happen between you and Yuigahama?”

“Nope, nothing,” I replied, not missing a beat.

“I don’t think Yuigahama would avoid club over nothing. Did you have a fight?” she pressed.

“No…I don’t think so.” I found myself at a loss for words. But I wasn’t lying. More like, I just couldn’t tell if it counted as a fight or not. We hadn’t been close enough to clash in the first place. Loners are pacifists. We’re not even nonresistance, we’re noncontact. In world history terms, we’re über-Gandhi.

The only altercations with which I was familiar were those between brother and sister, and that was back when I was in elementary school. It always ended with Komachi summoning my dad and draining my life points to zero. I’d try dueling her when my dad wasn’t around, but then my mom would appear on a trap card and I’d end up losing anyway. I’d endure a lecture, and then we’d sit down at the table for dinner together, and the sibling spat would end amicably.

As I silently reminisced, Yukinoshita opened her mouth once more as if she’d been waiting for the right moment. “Yuigahama is thoughtless and indiscreet, she brainlessly says whatever comes to mind, she presumptuously invades personal space, she always tries to avoid conflict with that awkward laugh, and she’s kind of loud…”

“It sounds like you’re the one fighting with her.” If Yuigahama were to hear all that, she’d probably cry.

“Let me finish. She has many flaws, but…but she’s not a bad girl.”

After such a long list of flaws, I doubted it was even a question of her being bad or not. But when I saw Yukinoshita lower her lashes, blushing as she ended the sentence in a barely audible mumble, I understood this was her highest praise. If Yuigahama were to hear that, she’d probably cry…with joy.

“Oh, I get that. It’s not like we’re fighting, exactly. You have to be fairly close to someone for that level of conflict. So it was less a fight and more like a…” I grasped for the words, scratching my head.

Yukinoshita quietly put a hand to her chin and adopted a thoughtful pose. “A quarrel?”

“Yeah, sort of, but that’s not quite right, I think. It’s off the mark, but not that off, sorta.”

“Then a war?”

“Still no. And getting colder.”

“A massacre?”

“Did you hear what I just said? You’re way off now.” Why was she escalating the conflict? She thought eerily like Oda Nobunaga.

“Then…you’re at cross-purposes.”

“Yeah…something like that.” That was exactly it. Our relationship was the transient passing of two individuals headed in opposite directions along the street. Like that thing you use to get the Masayuki Map.

I used StreetPass once back in middle school, and the whole class freaked out, like, Who’s this 8man guy? I really wish they’d stop putting multiplayer communication into handheld games. I’m okay with online matches and all, but a game founded on the premise of interaction with nearby players is unquestionably a loner killer. Thanks to that trend, I couldn’t evolve my Pokémon and finish my Pokédex.

“Oh? There’s no helping that, then.” Yukinoshita let out a small sigh and closed her magazine. Impassive though her words were, everything else about her reaction was resigned and fragile. She didn’t ask any questions after that, and we managed to maintain the usual gulf between us.

I think Yukinoshita and I had something in common in the way we both kept our distance. We did engage in idle chat or discuss a given subject, but we rarely touched on our personal lives. We never asked each other questions like How old are you? or Where do you live? or When’s your birthday? or Do you have siblings? or What do your parents do? I could hazard a few guesses as to why. Maybe it was just that neither of us had much interest in people to begin with, or maybe we were trying to avoid emotional land mines. And, well, loners are bad at asking questions. Making such random and sudden inquiries is really uncomfortable. Never trespassing, never taking that step, we were like two master swordsmen gauging the distance between ourselves.

“Well, it’s like, you know…a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Where there are meetings, there are partings, as they say.”

“I’m sure that was supposed to be an inspiring quote, but coming from you, I can only interpret it in a negative way.” Yukinoshita sounded exasperated.

Really, though, life is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Like that time in elementary school when we all promised to write letters to this kid who was transferring out, and I was the only one who never got a reply, and I never sent him a letter again. Kenta got a proper reply, though…

A wise man does not court danger. All who come to him are refused, and all who leave him are free to go. I think that’s the only way to circumvent those risks.

“But…it’s true that relationships are surprisingly fleeting phenomena. They break down readily for the most trivial reasons,” Yukinoshita muttered, rather self-deprecatingly.

Out of nowhere, the door rattled open. “But people make connections for the most trivial reasons, too, Yukinoshita. It’s not time to give up just yet.” And who strode toward us, white coat fluttering behind her as she spouted her desultory declaration, but Miss Hiratsuka, who happened to be an expert on Hikigaya-centric offense.

“Miss Hiratsuka, could you knock?”

The teacher didn’t seem to pay the slightest attention to Yukinoshita’s exhortation as she scanned the clubroom. “Hmm. It’s been a week since Yuigahama stopped coming here, huh? I thought by now you two would have been able to do something about it yourselves, but… I couldn’t have imagined your condition was this acute. I underestimated you.” Miss Hiratsuka’s tone verged on admiration.

“Um, Miss Hiratsuka… Did you need something?”

“Oh yeah. Hikigaya, I told you before, didn’t I? About the competition.”

At the word competition, it all started coming back to me. That was the thing where Yukinoshita and I engage in a Robattle Fight! (not that Robopon thing) to determine who could serve others better. Not long ago, Miss Hiratsuka had said something about the rules of the game and “changing some of the specifications” à la a video game company. I figured this time she was going to explain these revisions in more detail.

“I came to announce the new rules.” Miss Hiratsuka crossed her arms and adopted an imposing stance. Yukinoshita and I both stood up a little straighter and tried to seem more attentive. The teacher looked from me to Yukinoshita and back again, building up the suspense. The measured, deliberate gesture only made me more anxious. It was so quiet I heard myself swallow.

Then Miss Hiratsuka broke the silence flooding the room.

“You will fight each other to the death!”

“…That one’s old.”

You don’t even see that movie on Friday Roadshow anymore. Also, Roadshow does Laputa every year, and it’s getting to be too much. I have the DVD. You can stop now. Do Earthsea, man—Earthsea. I haven’t bought that one.

But, like…I guess high school kids these days don’t know these movies. As I ruminated, I looked at Yukinoshita to see she’d fixed Miss Hiratsuka with her frigid disdain. She was regarding the teacher the way one might a piece of roadside trash.

Unfaltering under that withering contempt (if nothing else), Miss Hiratsuka cleared her throat, blatantly disregarding my remark. “Hem. Ahem. A-anyway! Simply put, this means I’m applying battle royale rules. Three-way brawls are a staple of long-running action manga. Basically, it’s like the Kaguya arc in Yaiba.”

“There’s another blast from the past.”

“This is a three-way fight, so you’re allowed to cooperate, of course. You have to learn not only how to oppose each other but also how to work in tandem.”

It’s true. Ganging up to destroy someone who initially caused you trouble is a staple of battle royales.

“Then that means Hikigaya will always be fighting at a disadvantage.”

“Yeah.” 

I didn’t even bother fabricating any protests or counterarguments. I just accepted my fate. It was clear this would end up being two-on-one, with me as the one.

But in contrast to my enlightened attitude, Miss Hiratsuka let slip a bold smile. “Relax. This time we’ll go out and win over new members. Oh, but you’ll be doing the recruiting, of course. In other words, you can get more friends by yourselves! Gotta catch ’em all! Go for all 151!” Miss Hiratsuka brimmed with confidence as she said this, but her suggested number revealed her true age. There’s almost five hundred these days, you know.

She said “get more friends” like it’s so easy, though.

“Be that as it may, those rules still put Hikigaya at a disadvantage. He’s not suited for recruitment, either,” said Yukinoshita.

“I don’t want to hear that from you.”

“Well, you’ve already snagged yourself one person,” pointed out Miss Hiratsuka. “No need to agonize over this.”

Well, now that she mentioned it, we certainly had. But even if your heart is true, courage will not necessarily pull you through. And you teach me, Miss Hiratsuka, so I’ll teach you…that in reality, though things had supposedly gone so well with Yuigahama, she was nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps Miss Hiratsuka realized that, because her expression clouded over. “But it seems that Yuigahama isn’t coming anymore… This is a good chance for you. It’s another reason I think you should go out and find some new members, to compensate for the one who’s gone.”

Yukinoshita raised her head in surprise. “Please wait. Yuigahama hasn’t necessarily quit…”

“If she’s not attending, it amounts to the same thing. I don’t need a ghost club.” Miss Hiratsuka’s laid-back mien disappeared in favor of a powerfully chilling glare. “You kids haven’t had some kind of misunderstanding, have you?” she asked, but it was less of a question than a reprimand. Though the sentence was interrogatory in form, she was implicitly accusing us of wrongdoing. When Yukinoshita and I fell silent, unable to reply, she turned it up a notch. “This isn’t a club for you and your friends to goof off in. If you want to go act like teenagers, then do it elsewhere. Your assignment as Service Club members is personal development, not taking it easy and lying to yourselves.”

“…”

Yukinoshita pressed her lips together and silently looked away.

“The Service Club is not for playing around. It’s a fully fledged club at Soubu High. And as you know, coddling people with no initiative stops after middle school. You’ve chosen to be here, so those with no desire to do this can leave.”

Initiative and desire, huh…? “U-um… I have no initiative or desire to do this, so can I leave?”

“Do you think a convict has that much freedom?” Miss Hiratsuka glared at me, cracking her knuckles.

“O-of course not.” So I couldn’t escape after all…

When she was done casually threatening me, Miss Hiratsuka turned back to Yukinoshita. While the girl was expressionless, her attitude made it clear she had various unspoken grievances. The teacher smiled at her as if at something of a loss. “But thanks to Yuigahama, I found out that an increase in members leads to an increase in activity. I suppose this means another member would balance this club out a little. So…you two have to come up with one more person with initiative and determination to fill up that empty spot…by Monday.”

“Someone with initiative and determination by Monday? You have so many orders for us. Is this all just leading up to us being eaten by a wildcat?” I asked.

“You like Kenji Miyazawa, huh?” remarked Yukinoshita. Made sense. We’re first and third place in Japanese, after all.

But if the deadline was Monday, that gave us only four days, including today and the due date. I thought having to come up with someone with enthusiasm for Service Club activities and a drive for self-improvement was a rather unreasonable demand. Who the hell does Miss Hiratsuka think she is, Princess Kaguya? …Oh, maybe that’s why she can’t get married. Eventually, her family is gonna come pick her up, too.

“Th-this is tyranny…” I made a perfunctory show of resistance.

But Miss Hiratsuka just smirked. “That’s uncalled-for. I’m trying to be nice in my own way, you know.”

“How is this in any way nice…?”

“If you don’t understand, it’s okay. Now then, that’s it for club today. Come on, think of how you can get a hold of some new members,” she said before chasing us out of the room. She tossed us, bags and all, into the hall and closed the door with a snap, locking it and then quickly striding away.

Yukinoshita called out to her back. “Miss Hiratsuka. To confirm: We’re supposed to fill one position, is that right?”

“That’s exactly right, Yukinoshita.” And then she was gone, her words lingering in the air behind her. She did, however, smile faintly over her shoulder before she vanished.

Yukinoshita and I watched her go and then turned to each other. “Hey, how are we gonna get a third person?” I asked.

“Who knows? I’ve never invited anyone to join, so I have no idea. But I can think of one person who might agree.”

“Who? Totsuka? Totsuka, huh? It’s Totsuka, isn’t it?” I couldn’t imagine a single other person. And that was because I wasn’t thinking of anyone besides Totsuka.

My barrage of Totsukas elicited some annoyance from Yukinoshita. “No. He might join, too, but…there’s an even easier option, isn’t there?” Yukinoshita prompted.

There was no one else we could ask, though. Raking a fine-toothed comb through every possibility, the most I could come up with was Hayama, the rare true normie. Well, Hayama might help us if we asked. But he probably wouldn’t fulfill the “initiative and desire” requirements. I couldn’t think of anyone else at all. Huh? Zaimokuza? That’s an unusual name. Who’s that?

Seeing me spinning my wheels, Yukinoshita sighed slightly. “You don’t get it? I’m referring to Yuigahama.”

“What? But…she quit,” I said.

Yukinoshita swept her hair off her shoulders. The resignation in her eyes had been completely replaced with conviction.

“So what? We only have to get her to join again. Miss Hiratsuka’s conditions stated we had to ‘fill one position.’”

“Well, I guess, but…” She was right. If we found one person, then the issue would be solved. The bottleneck was the initiative problem. If we didn’t get Yuigahama motivated, she wouldn’t even swing by the clubroom in the first place.

Perhaps Yukinoshita herself realized this, as she softly put her hand to her chin in thought. “…Anyway, I’ll come up with a way to get Yuigahama to come like she used to.”

“You’re brimming with initiative,” I remarked.

Yukinoshita gave me a somewhat self-deprecating smile. “I know… I’ve only just noticed this recently, but in these last two months, I’ve grown fond of her, in my own way.”

“…”

My mouth definitely fell open there. I couldn’t believe Yukinoshita would say something like that.

Maybe my silence flustered Yukinoshita, if the red tint on her cheeks was any indication. “Wh-what? You’re looking at me strangely.”

“Oh, uh. Nothing. And I wasn’t looking at you funny.”

“Yes, you were.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Correction. Present tense: You still look strange. See you,” Yukinoshita said, and she walked away. Hers was not the downcast profile it had been just moments earlier, but rather her usual bold, confident expression.