7
And now the final meeting breaks into action.
A few days passed, and then the Sports Festival Committee came together in another meeting.
This would probably be the last big meeting before the sports festival. If we were going to correct our course, this was our last chance.
We had to reach ultimate consensus now regarding the point of contention, the two big events, or we would run out of time to actualize the plan. And if the executive side capitulated now, then none of the crew would listen to our directions ever again. This was a critical moment, our Battle of Yamazaki.
As we executives were preparing for the meeting, Miss Hiratsuka showed up. “How are things going?”
“I couldn’t say…,” I answered.
The teacher tilted her head. “Hmm? I’m not sure what that means.”
But this was one thing I couldn’t offer an instant answer for. “Yeah, well, I’m not exactly doing anything myself, so I really can’t say.”
Just as I said, there was hardly anything for me to do in the meeting that day. In fact, you could say doing nothing was my job here. Whoa, it’s my dream job.
It seemed Miss Hiratsuka was trying to divine something from my vague answer. She spun around to scan the others in the meeting room. “I see. Well then, maybe I should ask Yukinoshita or Yuigahama?”
“Naw, I think they’ll say the same thing. I don’t think they know how things are going, either.”
“Hmm. What do you mean?”
Yes, Yukinoshita, Yuigahama, and I would hardly be interfering at all. We were already done with our interfering. It would be someone else standing in the firing line now. Technically, she should have been standing there from the start. She was a little ways away, checking printouts, and I looked over to her. “This time, we’re leaving it to the venerable chair.”
“Oh…?” Miss Hiratsuka narrowed her eyes in deep interest, examining the star of the show today. Minami Sagami.
As far as I could tell, Sagami would have to show them she had what it took to be chair during this meeting, or no matter how it played out, it wouldn’t go well. If we just wanted to make the crew yield, then even we could do that—well, Yukinoshita could anyway.
But if we took care of it, that wouldn’t eliminate the hostility toward Sagami. Since we were acting based on Sagami’s major decision not to quit, then we had to make her do this, no matter how uneasy we were.
Sagami needed results to turn around how everyone saw her—and how she saw herself.
Frankly, this was a bad bet. The chances of success were extremely low. For someone who was so arrogant and tactless and selfish, she was awfully weak-willed and nervous when she was in front of an audience—she was the type of person least suited to being the chair.
But this was still necessary to fulfill both requests that the Service Club had taken on. We’d laid the groundwork, at least, to raise those odds of success a little bit.
…I’m nervous.
“What’s your game this time…? Well, I suppose we’ll see what you’ve got.” Miss Hiratsuka smiled gleefully, then sat down in her usual seat, the folding chair away from the table. The meeting would start soon.
I sat down in my own seat, too.
All the executives were here at the open square of tables at the front of the room. To the side was Yuigahama, and near the middle was Yukinoshita. Right in the middle was Sagami, and beside her was Meguri. On Meguri’s other side sat the members of the student council.
Right before the meeting started, I turned to Yukinoshita. “Guess it’s about time.”
“Right.” Yukinoshita, who had been perusing the paperwork, abruptly lifted her face to check the clock.
I glanced over, too, as I said, “Well, I assume you’ll be the one taking on all the important points, so don’t lose your cool.”
“I’ll be careful.” Yukinoshita gave that short reply.
But she didn’t even have to answer my request. Yukinoshita was rarely shaken in the first place. She’d shown that during the cultural festival, and also during the recent sports festival meetings. I knew she’d have a handle on everything this time, too. But I decided to continue anyway.
“We’re going to maintain a position of superiority. Even if they ask questions, there’s no need to answer honestly. I think the more important thing is show no signs of weakness.”
When I went off in-depth, Yukinoshita shot me a disgruntled look. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”
“Fair enough.”
I had to smile a little at her incredibly in-character response.
Well, of course I wasn’t saying it for Yukinoshita’s benefit. I wanted our venerable chair, who was sitting frozen nearby, to hear it. To prevent this anti-Sagami trend from progressing any further, it was necessary to emphasize her unyielding stance in this meeting. That was why I was uncharacteristically offering a rather roundabout warning. If I said it straight to her, she would have tuned me out…
But I doubt she was absorbing this.
She’s never listened to me. She’s stubbornly ignored me through all the meetings and discussions thus far. In fact, it would feel wrong if she did suddenly start listening to me.
Our only concern at the moment was Sagami; the other preparations were steadily being sorted out.
On top of the student council’s desk was a pile of over a thousand sheets. We’d prepared those for this meeting, too. The student council had printed them and carried them in without complaint. They’d been constantly helping us not only with the cultural festival, but with this, too.
And then there were the design sketches for the costumes Kawasaki had finished up for us at express speed. During the meeting the other day, Kawasaki had immediately taken the original plans Zaimokuza had submitted (and all sorts of unnecessary advice from Ebina) and quickly turned them into form.
I’m not sure if I should call this talent surprising, but Kawasaki has a good sense for these sorts of things. Aside from Taishi, her brother who’s two years younger, she also has another much younger brother and sister. Maybe, surprisingly, she’s learned such skills through taking care of them. It’s kinda cute to imagine a reluctant Kawasaki being pestered by her little sister into drawing some pictures.
Checking that we had everything, I quietly waited for the meeting to start. People from the crew were filtering in. The turnout that day wasn’t so bad. Last time had ended inconclusively, and that must have been a pull.
There were still a few who had not yet shown up, but when Meguri checked the time, she nodded at Sagami.
“…Well then, it’s time. Let’s all begin the meeting.” Sagami’s voice was a little raspy. The curtain had risen on the final meeting.
The meeting first began with a progress check, but only a few days had passed since the last time. There wasn’t much to report, and it proceeded without much enthusiasm.
There wasn’t much to ask about, but still, the response from the crew was pretty awful.
Some were louder than others, but a good chunk of them were chatting. Others had their heads down on their desks as they messed around on their phones or napped—it was a picturesque collage of all the ways not to give a damn.
But this was what the executives were worth to them. They weren’t even trying to pretend to care—in fact, they might have been doing it on purpose.
This behavior was the embodiment of their spirit of defiance, and these actions were also raising their sense of solidarity.
It was a truly juvenile and spiteful protest, but it was also highly effective. By openly flying the flag of revolt, this faction had strengthened the current anti-executive sentiments under the leadership of Haruka and Yukko. When something has momentum and numbers, people hop on board.
This was just like what happened with the Cultural Festival Committee.
What was different now was the positions of Sagami, Haruka, and Yukko.
And the other difference was the clear factional dispute between the executives and crew, which meant they couldn’t create a common, fictional enemy.
The enemy already existed right here, and now fighting had become their goal.
That was why this time, we had to adopt different measures.
The general mood was just the same as the last meeting. We were still stuck in the same disadvantageous position.
It was also doubtful just how much Sagami was getting across as she headed the proceedings. She was moving us along so smoothly, she might have been reassured by the idea that nobody was listening.
And then, right when she was about to shift to the next topic on the agenda, she paused for a brief moment. She gulped, quietly swallowing her anxiety. “Now then, as for the two big events discussed last time…”
When the topic came up, the crew fell quiet and turned attentive. You could tell this was the main item at the meeting for the day.
To them, this was their greatest point of attack.
Of course, that was also true for us.
Meguri looked at Sagami with apprehension. Also on edge, Yuigahama restlessly moved her hands on top of the table.
With all eyes on her, Sagami said, “Now on to our pending issue, the safety measures for the Chibattle. As outlined in the last meeting, we will address this through the tightening of the rules, coordination with the local fire department, and the establishment of a first aid team.”
While Sagami spoke, Yukinoshita closed her eyes, her back perfectly straight as she listened silently. Miss Hiratsuka folded her arms and gave Sagami a skeptical look.
In this cold and tense atmosphere, Sagami continued onward. “And to cut costs, we’ve also looked into costuming plans. Please check the details on the documents you’ve been handed. I believe with the designs and materials explained there, we can hold the competition safely and also simplify production,” she said, and she pointed to the costume plan for the Chibattle.
The design sketches Kawasaki had finished for us used safe materials and could be divided into different parts and put together in assembly-line fashion. This way, even those with only middling skills could make them, and if you had each person focus on their specific parts, we’d be able to make them efficiently. She’d ensured it was all practical, from production to utility—a pretty good approach, in my book.
When it comes to clothing design, I’m an amateur, but still, I figured this could make some pretty great stuff. But I didn’t know if everyone else would think the same.
Of course, we had not forgotten to add a note with a line that said, *Design pending. As long as you’ve got this, you can get away with drastic changes in specifications. Maybe from now on, I should start adding *Personal opinion to everything I say, too. Though that isn’t a free pass for absolutely anything.
Once Sagami had finished, Haruka and Yukko shared a look. They gave each other little confirmation nods, then raised their hands.
“I don’t think that’s much different from how it was before, though…”
“And it doesn’t seem like you can make any promises…”
I knew they would say that. In fact, everything until now had been leading them to say that.
I had also anticipated that the rest of the crew would follow Haruka and Yukko’s lead and start complaining, too.
“Our tournament’s coming up, though…”
“Wait, these guys are saying the same stuff as before. Yikes.”
“Yeah, it’s like, do your jobs.”
However, these complaints and gripes, just loud enough for us to hear, wouldn’t quite stop.
Sagami became understandably anxious, glancing over at Meguri and Yukinoshita. We’d explained things to her beforehand, yes, but when you have a bunch of people complaining to your face, you’re gonna flinch.
But Meguri and Yukinoshita both nodded at Sagami to put her at ease.
Taking solace in that, Sagami patiently waited.
She didn’t open her mouth, move her eyes, or let her posture break. Her hands trembled, clasped over the paper on top of the table, but that was it.
Eventually, the crew seemed to run out of grievances to air, and they slowly quieted. Then they looked doubtfully at our silent chair.
Once they realized the others around them were quieting down, even the loudest of the group shut their mouths without being told. We could all read the room here.
After some waiting, the meeting room went dead quiet.
And when it did, Sagami opened her mouth. “This is the best plan we can suggest. If you’re still not satisfied, if you’re worried about accidents…” As we had discussed beforehand, Sagami paused there.
And then she dropped the bomb.
“Then we can make participation in the sports festival at-your-own-risk.”
The entire crew seemed to be having trouble understanding; they stared at her with confusion and scorn. The hell? they silently asked.
Meanwhile, Miss Hiratsuka, sitting at the edge of the room, was dumbstruck. “…You mean to say that anyone who has complaints about the plan as it is doesn’t have to join in?” she asked.
Sagami must not have anticipated that the teacher would say something, as she couldn’t answer that question immediately.
Without missing a beat, Yukinoshita backed her up. “The Chibattle is not the only event that will pose some risk of accident—we can say the same of any of these events. Further, fewer participants will lessen the risk, so I believe it’s a fair judgment.”
“Hmm, that’s true…” Miss Hiratsuka sunk into thought with a hmm.
Ignoring her, Sagami moved the discussion forward. She still had yet to announce the biggest part of this proposal. “Furthermore, we will not be permitting nonstudents to participate in the festival in any capacity, including the audience.”
This time, the effect was instantaneous. This was a simple statement, and maybe that was why they got what she meant right away. The crew broke into murmurs.
“What…? Why does it have to be like that?”
“What does that accomplish…?”
Everyone started complaining until the meeting room was in an uproar.
There was basically no justifiable reason for this, so our only option was to make something up.
Sagami couldn’t be trusted with that; this was my domain. “The sports festival is a purely in-school event, so…parents, guardians, and friends from other schools can’t join in. As a general rule, we won’t be allowing outsiders to participate.”
I think this was some beautiful BS, if I do say so myself. If the people we were dealing with had been calm, I’m sure they’d have immediately jumped on us: Hey, that logic is whack.
But amid all the confusion, no such voices rose from the crew.
Aside from the executives, I think the only calm one there was Miss Hiratsuka. She must still have been thinking about the participate-at-your-own-risk thing from earlier, as she lightly put her hand to her forehead and raised her other hand to signal for us to hold on. “Wait, wait. So how will you deal with those who choose not to participate? You can’t just have them do nothing.”
“Maybe the same thing as for field trips. People who don’t go to those just go to school and self-study or something, don’t they?” Yet again, I was just making shit up. That was extremely far-fetched. Field trips have nothing to do with sports festivals. But the school regulation does technically exist, so the chances it would be handled that way were not zero. So there would be room to consider it, at least.
“That may be okay? …Hmm, maybe not? Who makes the decision in such cases? The grade-year head, the gym teacher…no, the vice-principal? Maybe the principal…but since this is a part of the sports festival…” Ignoring Miss Hiratsuka as she mulled over the workplace hierarchy, we moved on with the meeting.
Sagami surveyed the whole room and declared the executives’ conclusion: “As we can’t one hundred percent guarantee your safety, we’ve been forced to make this decision.”
This was where “risk management” had brought them.
These “concerns” had crushed a number of proposals during the planning meeting as well. Considering that precedent, I knew we’d be able to use such “concerns” as pretense to guide their opinions somewhat. It had already been proven that few people would voice opposition against such reasoning.
The school ranked above both the executives and the crew, and its will could not be opposed. So we would use that against them, placing restrictions on this in the name of risk management. If we could use this well, then we should be able to steer this discussion in the direction we wanted.
“Huh? You mean that if we’re against this, then we can’t be in the sports festival?”
“You can be in the festival, if you choose to participate.”
“But then that means if we oppose the chicken fight now, then we can’t be in anything.”
The crew were still arguing the matter.
“Don’t you think that’s crazy?”
“We don’t even need to listen to this.”
“Yeah, they’re being ridiculous here. They can’t just kick us out.”
The crew was gradually beginning to show signs of anger. Our jab to throw them off-balance had worked better than expected.
Now it was time for the final blow.
I stood, then picked up the big stack of papers that was piled up in front of the student council. I handed it to Yukinoshita, at the front. She took one of those sheets in hand and slid it over to Sagami.
Quietly accepting the paper, Sagami softly took a deep breath.
“Our proposal has been made to guarantee your safety as much as possible. There’s nothing more that we can do. If you are still in opposition, then this goes beyond this committee. We will ask the full student body.” She pointed to the stack of over a thousand papers that was piled up high on the table.
Miss Hiratsuka stood up, pulled out one of those papers, and looked over it. Then she smiled wryly. “‘Will you participate in the sports festival or not…’ It’s unprecedented to ask the students something like this about the sports festival…” Waving the page, she said to Sagami, “How will you explain this to the other students?”
“All…of it…”
“Huh?” Miss Hiratsuka blinked. That wasn’t the answer she was expecting.
Yukinoshita supplemented with details. “We’ll explain the full situation. The facts—all of them. That certain clubs have indicated an issue, that our proposed countermeasures were unable to satisfy their demands, and so we’d like to ask the opinions of all students in the school. That is what we intend to explain.”
On the surface, it was an explanation, but in reality, it was a threat.
In other words, we would essentially be exposing them.
The ambiguity of the phrase certain clubs wouldn’t stop people from being suspicious or prying into it. Some people would try to find out just who those opponents had been—not necessarily for malicious reasons, maybe just to satisfy their curiosity or sense of justice.
Compared with the cultural festival and field trips, the sports festival isn’t the sort of event everyone would be looking forward to all that much. But to those who were starving for a classic youth experience, this was one of the important highlights of their time in high school. If they lost it for a stupid reason, people would do something about it. A lot of them, most likely.
For the first-years, this would be their first high school sports festival, while for the third-years, this would be their final one as students. I’m sure this big event was special to plenty of second-years, too.
This is extremely wild and hopeful speculation on my part, but I’d say over half of them would be looking forward to the sports festival happening. Depending on how this played out, the sports festival itself could go away for good. If things went badly, this faction of sports clubs could very easily come under fire for that.
If the crew could envision that possibility, they might not oppose us so glibly.
There was no need to actually question their true motives. We just had to show them that the preparations had already been made, and it was possible to put this plan into action.
Even if the odds of it happening were low, we just had to make them think it would.
They were playing like they were the majority, so we’d teach them just how empty their belief was. We’d teach them the fear of an even greater majority, one that may not exist—but it might.
Of course people started arguing back.
“Y-you don’t have to do that—we should just drop the chicken fight.”
“That doesn’t mean we’re against the whole sports festival…”
But Haruka, Yukko, and those around them had all lowered their voices considerably. The prospect of exposure must have scared them; they were already loosening their grip.
This was check. Just one last push, and then checkmate.
“We’ll tell them about the chicken fight as well… The committee had reached an agreement, but thanks to some complaints, we had to resort to this,” Sagami finished her explanation.
Yukinoshita added earnestly, “If an approved item is overturned…it would be a scandal. Once word gets out, the responsibility of the committee will be called into question… Agh…” This plan would also make us look bad, so no one would expect her to jump on the idea.
Which was why the sight of Yukino Yukinoshita hesitating was so effective. One of the most capable girls in school, and our de facto chair, had apparently run out of options, highlighting the extremity of our predicament.
The commotion within the meeting room crescendoed.
We’d given them the impression that we were doing this with full knowledge of the risks, and that we were appropriately prepared. If they were going to take the sports festival captive by digging in their heels, then we’d do the same.
You bastards are dreaming of the perfect sports festival, and your fantasy will be our hostage.
Both parties had their fingers on the buttons to nuke the sports festival we wanted.
This was our mutually assured destruction.
Haruka and Yukko were trembling.
“What…? C’mon…what the hell?”
“I think that’s an awful way to handle this.”
“Just because you’re the committee chair doesn’t mean we have to listen to you.”
Their hateful words focused on Sagami. Of course. She’d been standing in the firing line this whole time. She was destined to be the target, and she had no choice but to take it.
There’s no such thing as a comfortable seat of leadership. Those in the most prominent position are vulnerable to the most wounds and blood splatter.
If you can’t reconcile everything peacefully, then you can at least take down as many problems as you can in one fell swoop. The one who stands at the top must generally select one option here.
Nonetheless, it’s a painful duty. Criticism against the post or title of the chair are bearable, at least. But in many cases, it’s lumped in with you yourself. The position and the person are different things at their core, but to an outside viewer, they are indivisible.
Meaning that if this developed further, the opposition to Sagami would likely turn into personal attacks against her.
“You’re hardly doing any work here, and now all of a sudden you’re the big leader doing whatever she wants.”
“Unbelievable… You didn’t even come to the first meeting on time…”
From the title of committee chair, it slid straight into talk about Sagami’s personality. At the center of this were, of course, Haruka and Yukko, who knew her. Since they’d gotten along so well before, they could strike at Sagami’s flaws with sharper accuracy than the others.
“Hey, that’s enough.”
“Y-yeah. Calm down a little, ’kay?”
Miss Hiratsuka and Yuigahama tried to put a halt to it, but Haruka and Yukko had already lost their heads. It was like they didn’t even hear the attempts to soothe them; in fact, they were getting louder and louder.
“You didn’t even care about doing the cultural festival right, so where the hell is this coming from?”
“W-well…” Sagami started to waver as her past loomed before her. The cultural festival couldn’t have been a good memory for her, either.
But if she showed weakness, they’d strike even harder. Haruka and Yukko were on a roll. “That guy over there said some really nasty stuff about you, but now you’re friends just ’cause it’s convenient for you?”
“You never cared about us, did you? I mean, you’re working together with someone you literally hate.”
Haruka and Yukko usually come off as comparatively docile, but when they got emotional, there was a bloodcurdling edge to the fury on their faces. The intensity of it kept the others from being able to butt in. Of course, the same went for me.
“H-hey now, hold on there. Hikki really isn’t so bad as all that.” Yuigahama attempted to stamp out the sparks as they started flying over to me. But this wasn’t her issue to solve.
I stood up and chose my words carefully. “Uh, well, it’s true Sagami hasn’t always been the most…y’know, but this—,” I began, but I was cut off by a low voice.
“…Shut up.”
Looking over to the source of that voice, I saw Minami Sagami hunched over. Was that her? I took a step forward to check, and Sagami raised her chin, this time saying clearly, “Just stop talking. Shut up. Every single time— Who the hell do you think you are?”
Her words were filled with hostility. This was the first time since the cultural festival that she’d blown up at me like this. I started to snap back at her, but someone cut me off before I could.
Sweeping her hair off her shoulders, Yukinoshita glared at Sagami. “Sagami, what you’ve just said—”
“Shut up!” But Sagami wasn’t going to listen; she was saying the same thing to Yukinoshita now, and she was as determined as Haruka and Yukko were moments ago. “You guys just decide everything yourselves, and nobody listens to what I say—who the hell do you think you are?! What do you know?!” She sucked in a shuddery breath, and her voice was tight as she said, “I’m doing it right, aren’t I…?”
Was she really saying that to Yukinoshita and me? Her cry was not only an attack against us, but also against Haruka and Yukko.
“I’ve been trying my best to do it right this time! Why don’t you get that? I apologized, and I’ve been thinking about what went wrong and how to do better…”
I couldn’t see the expression on Sagami’s downturned face, but I could see the drops falling to the floor. Her voice gradually descended into mumbles before breaking off for a moment. But nobody else could say anything.
Sagami muttered hoarsely, repentantly, “That’s why I wanted to do it right this time… That’s why…” She choked, and her words were replaced with sobs.
“Sagami,” Meguri said to her kindly, rubbing her back. But Sagami showed no sign of collecting herself. She kept crying.
“Shiromeguri, could you take her someplace she can calm down?” said Miss Hiratsuka, and Meguri nodded. She took Sagami’s hand and slowly pulled her up, then took her out of the meeting room.
The rest of us watched them go without a word.
Silence fell, like no one could figure out what to say. Including Haruka and Yukko, who’d been full of venom only moments ago. The room was perfectly still, with none of the murmuring from before.
In all the scenarios I’d envisioned, I’d never imagined anything close to this.
It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t coherent. It wasn’t rational.
Sagami’s cries had been an argument from emotion—the belief that attitude was what counted most.
I thought I’d constructed my logic to block all her outs, but it had produced a failure. To be blunt, I had miscalculated. It was nothing like mutually assured destruction.
She had sobbed and yelled for them to just acknowledge her already. That was all it had been.
I’d lost.
Yeah, she actually beat me.
It was so stupid, ridiculous, lowbrow, and trivial—so simple. How could I not have noticed?
This problem had originated with an emotion-based argument in the first place. So only an emotional argument could turn it around.
Anger for anger, an attack for an attack. You counter pathos with pathos.
In a mudslinging competition like that, whoever calms down first loses. Sagami had already exited the stage, while Haruka and Yukko were fast to snap out of it because of the people around them. They were sitting in silence as if they were embarrassed by the looks everyone was giving them.
It was hard to even twitch in a silence like this, but Miss Hiratsuka lightly cleared her throat. When nobody else knew what to do, the only one who could handle a situation like this was a teacher.
Sweeping her gaze over the room, she said, “Let me ask again. Is there anyone who opposes the proposal from the chair and the others?”
If anyone did, they would be a villain. No one here could really encourage more dumping on someone who had just been sobbing miserably in front of a crowd.
So nobody raised their hands, and Miss Hiratsuka nodded with satisfaction. “Mm-hmm. Then it’s settled for good now.”
“All right, then I’ll explain the specifics about our course moving forward.” In place of the absent Sagami, Yukinoshita took the helm, and the meeting resumed. Despite her calm voice, the tension still lingered.
I leaned heavily into my chair and sighed.
The committee finally started to make progress thanks to the meeting the other day, but everything was still far from resolved. It was just ambiguous now. At least more people had accepted that the decision was inescapable and resigned themselves to showing up to work.
Of course, it wasn’t like every single person was raring to go, but it had raised the bar to a manageable level. Still, we had to play catch-up in the areas where we’d fallen behind. So in the end, the executives were still helping with crew work.
For the production of the Chibattle costumes, Kawasaki, Ebina, and Yukinoshita were in charge, making free use of sewing machines and whatnot and managing a few girls. The most capable people were taking charge of the core elements.
Meanwhile, Zaimokuza and the student council were snipping away at cardboard boxes and Styrofoam and stuff to construct helmets and armor. It seemed the student council members possessed the sort of benevolent charity you’d expect from people who occupied such a role, as they treated Zaimokuza well.
And as for Minami Sagami, she was mainly with Meguri, managing special duties that didn’t involve the crew. After the scene she’d made, it was no wonder she had trouble working together with them.
And as for me, I was passed around like an unwanted fruitcake. Same old, same old.
That day, my job was putting together some documents for the newly established first aid team. I made a list of the medical supplies we’d probably need, considered where to establish the additional tent, assembled the contact numbers for emergencies… Oh, wait up. Who was supposed to be in charge of the first aid team? The assignments for the executives were already handed out… Damn it, I wish I hadn’t noticed…
You’ve seen this before, haven’t you? Yes, the law of conservation of work: When you’re working, the work just piles up and up. It’s a devilish system. The moment you’ve dealt with one task, new work is generated. What’s even more frightening is that since I’d put together all these documents for the first aid team, now the odds that all such work would go straight to me were extremely high.
I wondered if anyone, literally anyone else, would do it instead, but on the day of, about everyone trustworthy—the student council included—would be deployed to give directions to everyone, so we’d be shorthanded. Even if we had the crew helping out, the executives would be needed as supervisors. Sagami and Meguri would be stationed in the committee tent at all times, so then…
Damn it, why did I have to realize this? My own excellence has me trapped now…
I was despairing alone, losing my motivation and zoning out, when suddenly the meeting room door opened.
“Yahallo!”
I could immediately tell who had come. Wait, she wasn’t here before? I watched Yuigahama with half-lidded eyes as she ambled over.
“…Where were you?” I asked.
“Huh?” She blinked. And then for some reason, she blushed. “With our class… Wait, were you worried that I wasn’t here and came looking for me? That’s kinda surprising, but… Some surprises are kinda nice.”
“Don’t be dumb. I meant, like, what were you doing if you weren’t working?” What’s she even talking about…? I don’t get it; and I think I’ll get embarrassed if I actually think about it, so could you not?
“Oh, that’s what you mean… Wait—rude! I was actually working!” One moment, she was flustered over that strange misunderstanding, and the next, she was indignant. She always did have that restless energy, I never got tired of watching her.
She seemed quite offended that I’d said such a thing, so I decided to ask her what she’d been up to. “So what kind of work was it?”
Yuigahama’s expression lit up again, and she began chattering. “Oh, we just assigned jobs a little while ago, right? I was looking over that stuff again, and there’s only one person on the PA. And I figured that’s kind of weird.”
“Uh, not really. They just have to do music and announce when we’re looking for someone, so you don’t need a lot of people,” I said.
Startled, Yuigahama froze. “…Huh? You think?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh…” This time, her shoulders visibly slumped.
“Is there a problem?” I asked, wondering if she’d done something stupid.
“Ah-ha-ha.” Yuigahama laughed awkwardly as she mussed up her bun. “Oh, I thought for sure there’d be, like, live coverage or commentary or something…”
“This is a high school sports festival. We don’t need that stuff.”
“O-oh.”
“Yeah,” I said firmly.
But Yuigahama’s fidgeting suggested she had something difficult to say. As I waited for her to speak, she just barely moved her lips to quietly mutter, “…………But I already asked someone to do it and brought them here.”
“Send them back.”
“Huh?!”
“Don’t huh me. Don’t add work where we don’t need it.”
“H-hold on a minute!” she said, sticking her hand into her blazer pocket to pull out her cell phone. Then she dialed a number. “Ah, hello? It’s me, yeah…,” she said, then wandered a little ways away.
Just who was she calling? While I watched, she ended the call surprisingly quickly, then immediately came back. “Yukinon said it’s okay! So it’s okay, right?!”
…What’s with this conversation? It’s like when a kid picks up a stray puppy. But if Yukinoshita said it was fine, then, well, she had to have something in mind. Or maybe she just was soft on Yuigahama.
But if Yukinoshita was agreeing, then resistance was futile. Might as well give in. “Well, if the others are fine with it, then okay…”
“I’ll go ask!” Before she’d even finished the sentence, she zoomed off to where Meguri and Sagami were. But as far as I could tell, everyone would probably give the okay. I mean, they really spoil her…
And as anticipated, when I looked over to Meguri and the others, Yuigahama was making a big circle with her arms. That would be a yes.
She continued off to the door, bringing over her recruit.
Said individual was grumpily pulling at her springy blonde curls as she looked around the room.
“…But why Miura?” I asked Yuigahama quietly.
Yuigahama lowered her voice, too. “I mean, she’s good at public speaking, and if she does this, Tobecchi and lots of other people will come help, right?”
Well, that made sense. If Miura and company were acting as announcers, that would be enough to add more excitement to the event. Yuigahama had been thinking over this stuff, too, huh? I was impressed.
Yuigahama added with a mischievous smile, “…Plus, she’s been getting kinda grumpy whenever me and Hina have been talking about committee stuff. I think she feels left out.”
What the heck, Miura, that’s cute. That was well worth imagining.
However, the Miura right in front of me at that moment was anything but cute. She was scary, in fact.
She was looking at us as if she wanted to say something. What—was she demanding compensation? But this was volunteer work. We had no coin for her but a token of thanks.
“…Um, sorry. We appreciate it.” Unusually for me, I was more or less sincere. Yukinoshita’s so fussy about manners; this has to be the fruit of her education. Or maybe I was finally broken.
But it seemed this was not to Miura’s satisfaction, as she replied curtly, “Whatever. I just came ’cause Yui asked. I never said for sure I’d do it.”
“Huh?! That’s not what you said before!” Yuigahama was startled, and Miura snootily looked away.
The queen is fickle, so there’s no helping that.
Or so I thought, ready to let her have her way, but it appeared that wasn’t the reason Miura’s head had turned.
She was looking at Sagami.
When Sagami noticed Miura was back, she walked up to us, probably intending to greet her classmate. It seemed that even after the experience she’d had, she still couldn’t get out of such superficial associations.
“Miura,” Sagami addressed her, but Miura just nodded. “So you’re the one who’s going to be helping out…,” Sagami said, sounding kind of confused. She had to have some complicated feelings about Miura.
I don’t think Miura liked her attitude much. “Like I said, I haven’t actually decided I’m gonna do it,” she replied coldly
“O-oh…” Sagami shrank slightly from Miura’s piercing gaze.
Miura huffed in irritation, folding her arms.
I felt like I’d just seen the same thing before, in the classroom.
But what came after was different.
Sagami kept on the awkward smile, but then she surprised me. “We’ve been short on people, and I think if you did this for us, it would make things fun for everyone. Can I ask you to do this? …Please?”
And then she bowed her head.
It felt a little obsequious, but this was something I would never have seen before between Sagami and Miura. Miura must have felt something, too; she unfolded her arms and looked away, fiddling with the curled hair she was so proud of, spinning it around her fingers. It was like she was taking the time to think of how to reply.
“…Hmph. Well.” And then she replied with indifference.
Yuigahama giggled, smiled, and translated for us. “She says she’ll do it.”
“Hey! I didn’t say that!”
With a bit of a smile, Sagami watched the two of them teasing each other.
There had been some improvement—though slight—in the relationship between Sagami and Miura.
Conflict allows us to see where we stand in relation to one another. Through Sagami’s collision with Haruka, Yukko, and the rest, she’d learned at what distance she could position herself to keep from hurting others.
It might look like Sagami was just sidestepping potential harm, but this was still proof that Sagami had changed. She had learned how to measure the distance between herself and Miura.
I didn’t know how she would measure the distance between herself and Haruka and Yukko from now on.
But now, she had gotten it out of her system and let people see the truth. A slight self-pitying smile was still on her lips, as if she was ashamed of the disgraceful spectacle she’d made, but maybe Sagami might actually be able to measure that distance well.
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