8
Yukino Yukinoshita stands in place, just for a moment.
August 31 and September 1: Though these days are in sequence, no other two moments in time are as clearly divided as these. There lies the boundary line between the regular and the irregular. When weekdays and weekends cross paths, that is where I wish to close the curtains on the story of Hachiman Hikigaya. The period at the end of a holiday has so much Bad Energy stored up, it’s bad enough to take the whole world to the Worst Ending.
And so that day, school began again.
It had been a long time since I’d last taken my bicycle down that road to school. It was exactly the same as it was two months ago. The road was crowded, and the closer I got to the school, the unrulier the hubbub became. Everyone else must have built up lots of things to talk about over summer vacation. They were all strolling along with their friends.
As you might expect, since I had been going to this school for over a year, I saw more than a few familiar faces among them. Although their faces were the only familiar thing about them. I might catch sight of Tobe or run into Ebina, but I wouldn’t talk with them, and we wouldn’t greet each other.
I wouldn’t really say that the summer was an illusion. It was just that camp had been a temporary, exceptional situation, and that was the only reason we had talked. There’s a different sort of socializing and a different sense of distance when you’re away from school. I know my place when it comes to all that.
That’s why, even if I did encounter someone I knew, like Kawasaki, I would maintain my usual silence. Instead of associating with all those people patting shoulders even though they’re normally not that close and asking Did you get a tan? even though they don’t know their “friend’s” former complexion, it’s far sincerer to not even look at them.
There were a number of people by the school entrance who were silent like me, perhaps because they thought the same way. But when they met with people they knew, their faces would suddenly light up, and they would gleefully begin their chatter. I think the real reason they’re so happy to have someone talk to them is because it fulfills their desire to be personally acknowledged. They’re gloating because they’re pleased to be recognized as a person, to be allowed to exist, to be approved as worth speaking to. Taken another way, it means if you are capable of acknowledging yourself, you don’t need to bother with social confirmation. I would argue that a loner’s isolation truly endorses his value as a person.
These ideas are what I love about myself. Aw, good ol’ Hachiman, he’s so great! I attempted to self-generate love to fulfill my desire for personal acknowledgment on my own. You could also describe it as self-poisoning via overdose. I suppose this means I’m the one giving out love now, aren’t I? I see… So I am actually…God.
As I pondered this idiocy (society calls it philosophy), I was walking down the hallway. I had already spent half of my high school days in this school building. It had become such a familiar sight to me, but eventually, it would fade from memory.
In my clouded field of vision, I caught sight of a certain figure standing there that I surely wouldn’t forget. She stood on the glass-walled staircase, and even with the sunlight streaming in and the heat rising, she radiated a frigid and awesome air that permitted no one to approach.
It was Yukino Yukinoshita.
When my foot tapped on the stairs, she noticed my presence and turned around. “Oh, it’s been a while.”
“Yeah. Long time no see.” I was already used to having her talk down to me.
Yukinoshita ascended the stairs at the same pace as me, as if she were matching her pace to mine. So the distance between us, two steps, still remained.
“Hikigaya.” She spoke to me without turning around. I replied with only a nod. It took Yukinoshita a few seconds to take my silence as a response before she continued. “So you met my sister?”
I heard her voice clearly, despite all the other students coming and going around us. “Yeah, I happened to run into her.”
I wondered about my voice. I wondered if she heard me clearly. Before I could find out, the stairs ended. We had come out at the hallway leading to the second-year classrooms. To the left was Yukinoshita’s Class J, and Class I. To the right were classes H to A.
At the point where we would part ways after the gap between us closed, Yukinoshita paused. “Um…”
“Is club starting up again today?” I passed her, glancing back over my shoulder at her.
She seemed at a loss, not knowing what to say for once. “Y-yes…that’s the plan…”
“Roger. I’ll see you then.” I started walking again before I was even done. I could feel her gaze on my back. I sensed only that she was about to say something and heard the sound of a swallow. Still, I was unable to stop.
Every classroom I passed by was overflowing with energy and the joy of reunion. Class F was no exception, and nobody noticed when I entered the classroom. I was privately relieved. Phew. I haven’t changed.
I like myself. I have never once felt like I hate myself. I do not at all hate my fundamentally high caliber, my decent looks, and my pessimistic, realistic ideas. But for the first time, I feel like I could come to hate myself.
I get these expectations, push my ideals on others, latch on to the idea that I understand someone, and then get disappointed, all in my head. I have told myself not to again and again, but even so, I have ultimately not fixed the problem.
Even Yukino Yukinoshita lies. I hate myself for being unable to allow that, even though it’s so obvious.
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