Yahari Ore no Seishun Love Come wa Machigatte Iru - Volume 5 - Chapter 3

3

Saika Totsuka has surprisingly subdued tastes.

What exactly counts as a boy? That oft-discussed margin is situated on the line between child and adult in the interval known as puberty. But is the line in middle school? How about high school? Or is it getting a full-time job, or turning twenty? If it’s after you get a job, I’ll be a boy forever.

Anyway, questions like these have no easy answers, but watching anime sprawled out on the sofa as I am right now, I think it’s safe to categorize me as a boy. Still, it’s untrue to say that watching anime makes you a kid. There are full-fledged adults out there who have even made a career out of it. That’s why everyone needs to buy the DVDs, or they won’t be able to make any more. Forget about second seasons—the industry as a whole will shrink, and it’ll be harder to make new shows at all. Everyone, please do buy Blu-rays and DVDs.

I’m getting sidetracked.

What I’m trying to say is: I believe it’s impossible to differentiate man from boy on the basis of hobbies. So what should form the crux of our definition of boy?

There was one particular reason I had come to confront this difficult question. That reason was a single e-mail.

Hello! You free today??

It was only one line, but I’d never seen a text so heartwarming. I wanted to read the Japanese sentence aloud. Heck, I could belt it out in song. It could win an award.

The e-mail I had received from Saika Totsuka the previous night was what had prompted my agonizing over this “boy” problem. What exactly counts as a boy? It was difficult to resolve the issue based on social status, age, or hobby, and furthermore, I had now come to the conclusion that it was even difficult to define a boy on the basis of sex. The laws of the universe mean nothing…

I have not done nearly enough sampling to determine the truth of this matter. Thus, I endeavored to collect further data. I composed a reply that was literally around five hundred characters long, a continuous string of emotes and emojis that I normally never use. Of course, I didn’t forget to phrase the end as a question.

As we exchanged e-mails for a while, a certain euphoria overtook me. Anything that gives you so much bliss could legitimately be designated a drug.

And that’s how I made a date to hang out with Totsuka. Who cares about issues or conundrums or whatever!

It was almost time for our rendezvous. When you mess with August, you’re playing with fire, and the brilliant sun shone down on me as a lukewarm breeze blew by as strong as life itself. The heat and humidity indexes were about to reach unpleasant levels, as they were apt to during this season. Still, despite the weather, I caught sight of a certain someone who always reminded me of puppies and kittens and the power of love. When my eyes locked on him, he noticed me in the crowd and ran up to me. Cool and swift as the winter wind, emotions whirled in my heart…

Now that I’ve found Totsuka, that fabulous shimmer, the glow in my heart, I’m ultra-happy! Totsuka is coming!

“Sorry I’m late, Hachiman!” Totsuka, boyishly dressed, leaned over with his hands on his knees after his run and let out a deep exhale.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I just came a little early.” Only three hours or so. Don’t worry about it at all. “Besides, you’re not really late. You didn’t have to run.”

“Huh? Yeah. But I found you, so.” Totsuka laughed, as if to mask his shyness.

My eyes couldn’t handle so much pure light at once, and I’m not talking about the sun. Flustered, I looked away. “All right. So what’s the plan?”

In our e-mails, all we had agreed on was that we would meet up. We had concluded it would be more fun to decide what to do once we were together, so inevitably, I had spent the whole night evaluating places to go and hadn’t gotten enough sleep. What exactly do teenagers mean when they talk about hanging out? I don’t know the specifics of that behavior. That was why I didn’t know what to suggest. But we’d chosen to meet up at Kaihin-Makuhari Station, and it had most things: arcades, karaoke, a movie theater, a park, and a Mini 4WD race track. And shopping was everywhere. We wouldn’t lack for any entertainment.

“Hmm…” Totsuka couldn’t come up with a reply straight away. He thought for a moment. “I considered a lot of things, but…I don’t really know what you like, Hachiman,” he said, hmming some more. He seemed to be sincerely trying to figure out what I like. It’s so rare for me to receive such careful consideration from anyone, I found myself staring at him.

I mean, my acquaintances consist of a very self-centered lot. Be it Yuigahama, Zaimokuza, or Komachi—let’s not even talk about Yukinoshita—they’re all more or less upfront about their own desires. And Miss Hiratsuka…does she think of anything else? You could make a series based on that woman: The Teacher’s Frustrated Desires.

But anyway, I have no interests. No one will find any interest in me, I assure you. He can deliberate all day, but he’s not gonna get easy answers. Even I barely understand a thing about myself. I’ve seriously just been lying around for most of summer vacation. I sleep until noon. When I do get up, I only go to the bookstore or the library.

And so, in haste, I proposed a compromise that would also function as an apology to Totsuka. “Let’s just wander around for now.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “It’d be faster for the two of us to decide together.”

I felt slightly uncomfortable when I heard the words decide together. In my life thus far, I had been forced to reach most of my decisions alone, so this was new territory. Totsuka was just so nice, it made me want to decide on our children’s names together.

Together, we strolled out of the station into the early afternoon. Still, it was really hot, so I figured it would be a good idea to narrow down which of the several nearby malls we would visit and go from there. We had to decide where to start.

Shopping… There’s nothing in particular I want to buy, so scratch that. Arcades… Well, that could work. I doubt Totsuka is into capsule machines, but maybe he’d be into medal games or crane games, so…over this way, I guess…?

I decided to head toward Cineplex Makuhari, a mall that had an arcade I was familiar with. Cineplex may sound like Aniplex, but it belongs to the Kadokawa Group.

Inside was a movie theater with ten screens, an arcade, and a variety of restaurants. When we entered, we were met with a jumble of gaudy decorative lights and pop audio. They didn’t have any plain old video games. The theme of the arcade was rhythm and dance games, arcade shooters, medal games, and crane machines, along with photo booths and darts and stuff, too. I guess you’d call it an arcade for active young people. This area was home to a number of high schools and universities, so you could be sure that was their main target market. There were also adjoining restaurants and a movie theater, which suggested they were also counting on demand from the family bracket. We did one full circle around the premises, and then Totsuka suddenly froze.

“What is it?” I asked, eyes following his gaze. He was examining a poster of a movie that was currently playing.

“So it’s already out…” He hmmed and kept staring with great interest.

“You wanna watch a movie, then?”

“Oh! We can do something you like!” Totsuka waved his hands, flustered.

“No, let’s see a movie. Now that I think about it, this is the first time I’ve ever seen one with someone other than family. It’ll be nice to do it for once.” The last time I saw a movie together with another person was when I was really little, at the old Marinpia movie theater that isn’t there anymore. We were basically imprisoned while my mom was shopping, though.

Ever since middle school, I’ve been going alone. There’s a movie theater close to my house, so it’s the perfect place to just wander into when I’m out and about.

Totsuka contemplated for a bit and then hesitantly locked eyes with me. “Can we?”

When he asked like that, I could only give him one answer. “Yeah.”

I’ve decided! Totsuka will be my first!

Surprisingly enough, Totsuka picked a horror movie. We chose our seats and bought our tickets at the counter. Adjacent seats in the back—25E and 25F.

It was summer vacation, but that really only applied to students. For adults with regular jobs, it was just another weekday, so the theater wasn’t too crowded. That also meant that most of the customers at this time were students. In fact, all the stupid, obnoxious couples were having a ball screeching to each other about how lucky they were the theater was empty.

I thought I saw someone who could be Miura among the squawking mass of trash, but I figured it was just my imagination. Why do those types all look and dress the same? I can’t tell them apart. Are they clones? No one is less unique than people who go on about uniqueness. The more you know.

And then you have the ones who confuse wearing a trench coat in the middle of summer for individuality. The guy sitting in the front row panting like a grizzly was a good example. My instincts were sounding the alarm, warning me not to look, so I obeyed and chose instead to look for our seats. In the characteristic silence and faint tension that occurs before a movie, I walked up the aisle, scanning the seat numbers on each row. Totsuka, who had taken the lead at the entrance, found our seats, waving me over with tiny motions of his hand. I guess he was trying to be considerate and keep quiet in the theater.

I leaned back deeply into my seat and dropped my forearm onto the armrest. I had assumed the stately, calm, and self-possessed posture of a demon king.

Then a soft, light sensation brushed against my hand on the armrest.

“Oh, sorry.” When Totsuka apologized, I realized what had touched me. It had been Totsuka’s hand.

I’ve touched an angel! “N-no! I’m sorry!” I said, and both of us jerked our hands away at the same time.

“…”

“…”

We looked away as an oddly awkward silence fell over us. I sneaked a peek at Totsuka from the corner of my eye to see his shoulders hunched. He was looking down in apparent embarrassment.

*However, we are both guys.

In the air-conditioned theater, my arm itched where that faint warmth had touched me.

*However, we are both guys.

We exchanged glances, as if searching for the right moment to speak. “Y-you can use it, Hachiman,” Totsuka whispered quietly.

“No, I’m right-handed, so I put more weight on the right side! I’m totally fine! The left hand is just for support!” For some reason, that was my flustered excuse.

Totsuka giggled. “You’re so funny,” he said. “Then let’s share. Half and half.” He daintily laid his elbow on about one-third of the available space.

“O-okay…” Timidly, nervously, I laid my left hand on the armrest as well.

Ohh, my left hand… My left hand is so happy! Hooray for world peace!

If the world consisted of one hundred Totsukas, I’m sure there would be no war. Weapons dealers and their ilk would go out of business. Everything stressful would disappear. He’s like lavender. The ever-obnoxious movie thief’s wiggly anti-piracy dance didn’t get on my nerves that day.

The movie was approaching its climax.

I think. I’m not really sure…

I didn’t even know how much time had passed, never mind what was going on on-screen. It felt like an hour, even two, or maybe it was only ten minutes. Time flies when you’re having fun. By my internal clock, it wouldn’t even be an hour. An observer’s perception of time is subjective.

“Ahh!”

Totsuka yelped, clinging to my shirt with his tiny shoulders trembling as a ghost in a white dress emerged from the screen in 3D.

Oh, that startled me. Man, even I felt like my heart might stop just now. He was just so adorable…

Scared Totsuka is cute. Totsucute.

After that, the ghost in the white dress crawled out of the screen again and again. Each and every time, Totsuka would gulp and let out tiny eeps.

Man, this movie really is scary. I’m beyond just stepping off the right path; at this rate, I’m about to clear the entire Totsuka route. Terrifying. If he gets scared enough to wrap his arms around me, I’ll be cringing into my seat in terror. Actually, I’d probably need to lean forward.

My heart groaned under the strain, and my blood raged like a torrent of muddy water. They’ve got to prepare the ATM just in case it gives out. Or wait, or was that thing called an ETC? EVA? Whatever. It looks like it’s going to be over soon. Summoning all my willpower not to think about Totsuka’s presence, I decided to casually glance around the theater. What I really wanted to do was calm myself down by listing prime numbers, but sadly, as a humanities type, I couldn’t figure out if zero counted or not and immediately gave up.

The air-conditioned theater was chilly. Combined with the darkness, it was the optimum environment for watching a horror movie.

By the time the end credits rolled, I still had no idea what happened in the film. Totsuka patiently waited until all the lines of text finished scrolling, and then we stood almost simultaneously. Basking in the afterglow, I walked out of the theater with a leisurely stride.

“That was so much fun!” exclaimed Totsuka. “But I was screaming the whole time, so my throat’s a little dry.”

“Yeah, I’m thirsty, too.” All that weird anxiety had not only made me thirsty, it had made my shoulders stiff.

We joined the flow of people leaving the theater and continued out the exit, down to where it connected to an outdoor staircase. Having finally begun its decent, the sun was blocked from view by a tower, and a breeze blew across the shadow that gently lay over us.

“You wanna go sit down for a while over there?” I pointed at a café nearby at the bottom of the stairs, and Totsuka nodded. A few of our fellow moviegoers were here and there, but there were still seats available for two people. We walked straight in and quickly ordered at the register.

“Um, iced coffee,” I said.

“Oh, I’ll have one, too, then,” said Totsuka.

“Herm. Then I, too, shall indulge in a chilled coffee.”

All three of us ordered iced coffee, so there was no wait. We got our drinks and headed over to occupy a nearby table.

First, I drank a few sips while it was still black, enjoying the essential flavor of the coffee. The crisp bitterness woke up my eyes. Then I added some creamer and liquid sugar. I call this stage Black RX. Yep, I liked it sweet! After moistening our throats, all three of us breathed short, relaxed sighs.

All three of us?

“…Hold on a minute,” I said.

“Huh?” said Totsuka.

“Herm?”

Don’t give me that. I’m talking about you.

The suspicious, bearlike, trench coat–clad individual was sitting with us like he had every right to be there. Yeah, I’d had the feeling he was around. “Um, who are you again?” I asked. “Was it Shinkiba?”

“It’s Zaimokuza, Hachiman.” Totsuka actually gave me a serious reply…

“Well, I don’t care if he’s a Zaimoku or a Kimuraya or what. Where did you crawl out from? Are you one of those bugs that are everywhere? Are you a maize weevil or something?” Or perhaps a varied carpet beetle?

Zaimokuza slurped hard from his straw and raised his head. “Herm. I glimpsed you at the movie theater, and I considered calling out to you, but then I started tracking you and just ended up coming here. Mm-hmm, it seems my active camouflage is in good shape today, as usual.”

“I think everyone was just pretending not to see you,” I said. Well, the reason I hadn’t noticed was because I had eyes only for Totsuka, though.

“I haven’t seen you in a while, Zaimokuza,” Totsuka said to him.

“I-indeed. Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Zaimokuza cackled rather anxiously.

Actually, Totsuka’s ability to automatically accept him is downright remarkable. Well, he’s capable of talking with me, so I guess it’s no wonder he can talk to Zaimokuza, too.

“So you saw the same movie?” I asked.

“That I did,” he replied. “But this one was a dud. The unique malice of Japanese horror was missing. ’Twas most pathetic garbage. Fweh-heh! Though ’twas but a horror movie, I am rather an eccentric. When I enjoy a film, I see it not as what is oft called a ‘Hollywood-ized’ form of mass entertainment but rather as a work of art. I suppose ’tis the influence of Lafcadio Hearn. Ah-hur-hurr! Whoops, I guess I let you see my in-depth knowledge there. No disrespect, oh no, fluherple! While this may appear to suggest I am an otaku, I am most certainly not an otaku. Lulz!!”

There he goes… M-2 syndrome types like him are unusually knowledgeable regarding the occult, which can be awkward. They have a half-baked understanding of literary types like Yakumo Koizumi and Kyouka Izumi and also some figures in the study of folk custom, like Kunio Yanagita and Shinobu Orikuchi, but they also have the unfortunate habit of compulsively flaunting their knowledge in detail.

I had ignored the last half of Zaimokuza’s rambling, but Totsuka had listened intently until the very end. He’s so kind, I bet he could get away with charging for it. “You think? I like those kind of movies a lot, though,” said Totsuka.

“Indeed. As do I,” replied Zaimokuza.

“Huh?!”

Zaimokuza’s U-turn was quick and slick. He’d changed his mind so quickly, I could almost see the flash. “Wow,” I commented. “You flip-flopped like a politician.”

“You be silent!” he said. “What did you think of the film, Hachiman?”

“It was all spectacle and easy to follow. Doesn’t matter how good it was.” I mean, I had been watching Totsuka for the whole film, but I’d still gotten a vague idea of the premise.

“Yeah!” agreed Totsuka. “The things coming out of the screen right in your face were spectacular. They got me every time! I thought my heart would stop!”

I feel like my heart is going to stop right this minute. Before Totsuka and his wild gestures, enthusiastically reenacting those scenes, my heart might wear itself out.

“Well, ’twas no botheration for me, since I no longer experience fear,” said Zaimokuza as he began trembling like a leaf. “She Who Must Not Be Named is far more fearsome…foy.” He was indeed like Malfoy, quivering in terror before the memory of Lord Voldemort. The only person I could imagine inspiring that much dread in him was Yukinoshita.

“Yeah, true. Yukinoshita is scarier,” I said.

“Hachiman, that’s a mean thing to say,” said Totsuka. “It’s true that…at first…um…she did scare me a little…but…” His indignant reprimand gradually deflated. “She acts dignified and serious, so she might come off as scary,” he finished.

“She’s also so honest, it’s terrifying,” I said.

“You never know what she’s going to say to you,” Zaimokuza added.

Well, when you go to watch a movie or something with another person, you’re not going to experience it the same way as they would. You might hold similar impressions, but the similarity is proof that something is definitely different. Everyone sees only what they want to see. There are as many interpretations as there are individuals—be they of movies or of people.

That’s why it’s presumptuous to believe you can really understand something. Acting like you do is a sin; it is evil. But even so, you have no choice but to live your life pretending you do. In life, you must both understand and be understood, while both you and those around you minutely redefine what is you and what is them based on vague knowledge that both you and they will disseminate to everyone else. If you don’t do that, your identity will vanish like so much mist. That’s just how vague and uncertain identity is. The more you think about it, the less you understand it, like Gestaltzerfall. Every time your images crumble, you pick up what little scraps of remaining information you have and reconstruct your image of you and them. But they are merely primitive and crude images you’ll interpret however you can, like the simulacrum phenomenon.

If you want to talk horror, that’s horror.

I suddenly felt a chill in the air-conditioned café. Hunching my shoulders, I willed myself not to shiver. I picked up my glass and noticed it was empty. As I gave up and put it down, Zaimokuza continued the conversation.

“But ’twas a good breather. Now I can go back to concentrating on my book. Oh yeah, Hachiman, d-do you want to…look at my draft?”

Don’t give me that blushy little glance. It’s not cute. “If it’s actually done,” I replied. “Wait—do you have it with you right now?”

“Herm, of course,” he said. “He who would be a writer is ready to compose anywhere, at any time. I perpetually have my writing devices close at hand—my laptop, Pomera, tablet, and smartphone.” He looked so proud.

Yeah, some guys are like that… They think just collecting all the tools is enough to have done the task.

Totsuka faced Zaimokuza, respect in his eyes. “Then you’re always working hard on your book, huh?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I said. I can confidently assure you Zaimokuza is not working hard at all. The more someone plays the writer and expounds upon creativity, the fewer words they’ve actually put on a page. I needed to hammer this in, both to caution Totsuka and to prevent him from cultivating a weird sense of admiration for Zaimokuza. Maybe I should hammer some nails into Zaimokuza’s head, too.

Zaimokuza seemed to pick up on my disdain, as he was visibly offended. “Ha-fumf! How insolent. I do not want to hear that from you. Are you aught but idle?”

“Hmm. I guess not. I’m just going to summer classes. Then I did that independent research project.”

“Huh? Was that part of our homework?” Totsuka panicked. From his expression, he had been relaxing in the knowledge that he’d already finished his summer homework.

“No, my sister’s,” I replied.

“Oh, Komachi’s project, huh?” he said. “You’re a good brother, Hachiman.”

“Not really. If I were really a good brother, I would have made her do it herself.”

“What was the topic of this project?” Zaimokuza asked.

“I just threw together random stuff I found on the Internet.”

“Huh?” asked Totsuka. “Are you allowed to do that?”

“Herm,” said Zaimokuza. “Well, ’tis meant to be an independent effort, so I doubt a trifle like that would bother them. In fact, if you get too serious about the project, everyone else will think you’re weird.”

“Yep,” I agreed. “Especially because Komachi is a girl. I hear it’s best not to get too into this kind of thing.” The only thing Komachi had requested about the project is that I should keep it unexceptional and down-to-earth. Come on, that’s a cruel request for a guy like me—if I have to, I’ll fly higher than Dhalsim. I’ll launch myself so high above the stratosphere of what is acceptable, you might as well call me her space brother.

But now that he mentioned it, I do remember one time I put all this effort into an independent research project and then everyone giggled at me for it. I really wish the teacher hadn’t displayed it over the cabinets at the back of the classroom.

“Those are always so hard, huh? You can never think of anything original to do,” Totsuka said, sounding a little nostalgic.

When you’re told you can pick anything, rarely can you actually think of something. I’m not Inventor Boy Kanipan. “That’s the real test of your IQ,” I said. “In my opinion, there’s meaning in testing your creativity and stuff, not just your ability to cram in facts.”

“You seem like you’d be good at that, Zaimokuza,” said Totsuka. “I mean, since you’re aiming to be a writer.”

“He doesn’t seem like he has a very high IQ, though,” I said.

“Herm, well,” said Zaimokuza, “I have a high EQ. My sensitivity is very robust.”

EQ—that is to say, emotional intelligence. This is just my personal opinion, but I think everyone who brings up EQ when you’re talking about IQ, without exception, has low IQ. If they bring up E.T., they’re Spielberg. And just so you know, if they bring up ED, then they’re Pelé.

“Oh yeah,” I added. “And there was that guy who brought his Mini 4WD and said he made it himself.” The moment I said that, Zaimokuza’s whole body twitched, and he started sweating for some reason. Is this guy a toad or something?

“H-huh? Um, H-H-H-Hachiman, did you go to my elementary school?”

“So, you were one of those kids, huh? And don’t get out of character over a little remark like that.” Actually, I just want him to get out, period.

“I used to have a Mini 4WD,” said Totsuka.

“That’s surprising…,” I commented.

“Huh? Why? I’m a boy, too.” He giggled.

I tried to imagine Totsuka as a boy playing with a Mini 4WD, but for some reason an image of him wearing a baseball hat, T-shirt, and leggings popped into my mind. I bet he was cute. Whoops, correction: He’s still cute. They should write that he was cute in times past in Konjaku Monogatari and teach it in schools.

“Ha-mumph. But none could match my Brocken G,” said Zaimokuza. “I had it outfitted with a real hammer. In a head-on collision, it would destroy any opponent without exception.”

“That is the stupidest thing you could do… Ugh, I put a box-cutter blade on my Beak Spider, though, so I can’t talk…” I also attached the marking pin from a sewing set onto my Ray Stinger.

“That stuff’s dangerous, you know,” Totsuka scolded us.

Zaimokuza and I looked at each other. “Relax,” I said. “I just played with it all by myself.”

“Indeed. Loners hurt no one. They hurt only themselves.”

“You’re not allowed to hurt yourself!”

“Okay…” With Totsuka glaring at me, I was sincerely sorry.

“H-herm… B-but I can do legitimate tune-ups, too!” Zaimokuza said. “I am swift like the wind in every race!”

I was getting sick of his declarations. “…What? You think you can beat me? Me, and my Beak Spider? With its small one-way wheels, reston sponge tires, and torque-tuned high-speed gears inside a slim and lightweight body for added air cooling; a stabilizer ball for handling high-speed turns; and a converted aluminum downthrust roller? It’s theoretically as fast as you can get!” I had always played with it alone, so I’d never tested it out. I mean, my parents never bought me a course for it. I used to make my own with cardboard and stuff, but the car just got caught on the tape and didn’t work very well.

Zaimokuza smiled boldly and chuckled. “Heh-heh-heh. Converted aluminum? What utter ignorance… That heavy weight will spell your doom.”

“Yeah, right. My Beak Spider’s low center of gravity makes it stable. That’s where the power comes from.”

“Oh-ho…then shall we settle this with a duel?”

Zaimokuza and I faced each other, glaring as hard as we could. I was inches from punching the air in front of me and yelling out Go! Maaaaagnum! Wait, that’s Galactica Magnum.

We wordlessly exchanged scowls until the silence between us was broken by a rather unexpected statement.

“Oh, that’s so nice!” exclaimed Totsuka. “It’s been so long since I last raced. I’d love to do it again! My Avante was pretty fast.”

““Avante?!””

Why is his from a different generation?! What refined taste, too! So he’s not a mainstream Boomerang or Emperor sort of guy, huh?

…But, well, I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised that we’re of different generations. It’s been years since I last played with my Mini 4WD, but the passion of that era still lives within me. I still pretend my umbrella’s a sword after it rains, saving the world over and over in my imaginary world. I’ll probably still remember it, even as an adult. No matter your generation, ultimately, at the root, you don’t change. That’s why my time as a boy will never end.