Yahari Ore no Seishun Love Come wa Machigatte Iru - Volume 6 - Chapter 7

7

This is the moment Soubu High School is festivaling hardest.

The commotion of the entire student body filled the darkness. Each individual word held meaning, but the multitude of overlapping voices made them all gibberish.

The gym had been meticulously weather-stripped so as to prevent any gaps in the blackout curtains. The only sources of light were weak ones like cell phones and the emergency exit sign, and they only illuminated the palm of your hand at most.

It was pitch-black, and everything was dim.

In the darkness of that moment, we were all one.

Under the sun, the light shines on your differences, underscoring what hopelessly divergent creatures you are. You can’t help but notice. Now, the blurred outlines of the crowd made the line between self and other ambiguous.

Of course. It makes sense why they lower the lights before events. Rending the darkness asunder by turning the spotlight to an individual is to imply that one person is distinct from the rest of the crowd. Therefore, the one standing there should be special.

One by one, the students’ voices fell silent.

The clock in my hand said it was 9:57.

It was just about time. I pushed the button on my headset to connect it. There would be a bit of lag until the mike picked up my voice, so I waited about two seconds, then began talking. “—Three minutes to curtain rise. Three minutes to curtain rise.”

Not even a few seconds later, a burst of static crackled through the earphones. “—This is Yukinoshita. Notifying all personnel. Proceeding on time. If there are any issues, inform me immediately,” she finished, her voice calm, and then the communication cut off with another crackle.

Bursts of noise ran through the line, one after another. “—Lighting here. No issues.”

“—This is the PA, and no problems here.”

“—Backstage, the cast is a little behind with prep. But it looks like they’ll make it to stage on time.”

The various departments made contact. Frankly, I couldn’t keep track of it all.

I wasn’t even sure about my own role. Records and Miscellaneous had been assigned a lot of work during the festival. Stage-related odd jobs during the opening and ending ceremonies were also a part of that category. My job there that day was essentially to keep time, simply telling the stage crew when it was time to do something and when they were a little ahead of schedule. If it’s the higher-ups giving orders, you can’t refuse after all.

Yukinoshita, the control tower, synthesized the information coming in from each section. “—Roger. All stand by until the cue.”

In the stage wings, I was having a staring contest with the clock. With each second that ticked by, the silence swelled.

I knew if I peeked through the tiny window into the gym, there would be a crowd of students there. But it was so dark, it just seemed like a single massive creature squirming around. For comparison, think Nyarlathotep. The grotesque god with a thousand faces… Wait, that’s not right. Was it Mil Máscaras who had a thousand faces? Well, whatever.

At one minute left to curtain rise, the gym became a sea of silence. Everyone forgot to whisper or murmur, lost in the same moment.

I pressed the button on my headset. “—Ten more seconds.” I kept my finger on the button.

“Nine.” My eyes were fixed on the clock.

“Eight.” I stopped inhaling.

“Seven.” Between moments, I exhaled.

“Six.”

Then in the instant before I took a breath—

“Five more seconds.”

—someone stole my countdown.

“Four.” The voice was incredibly calm. Cold, even.

“Three.”

Then the voice counting down went silent, and all that remained was someone marking “two” with their fingers.

Yukinoshita was on the second floor above the stage wings, watching us from the PA room window.

And then, in the deafening silence, I mentally finished the count with a one. That moment, light burst out on the stage bright enough to blind me.

“Are you all getting cultural?!” Meguri suddenly appeared on stage.

The audience replied with a roar. “YEAAAAAAH!”

“Chiba is famous for dancing and…?”

“FESTIVAAAAALS!”

The slogan actually caught on?

“So if you’re an idiot like me, you’ve got to dance…”

“SING A SONG!” Meguri’s baffling call-and-response whipped up all the students into a frenzy. An instant later, dance music was blaring.

The opening act had begun, a collaboration between the dance association and the cheerleading team. The audience was still riding the wave of enthusiasm after Meguri’s intro, raising their hands in a semijoking dance.

…Eugh. Our school is so dumb. What the hell is “getting cultural”? I’m not doing that.

But I couldn’t just zone out and watch. Work, work…

“—This is the PA. Now finishing up the song” came in the communication from the PA.

“—Roger. Chair Sagami, stand by,” Yukinoshita notified us as the supervisor.

The cue must have reached Meguri during her presentation as well. The dance team exited stage right into the wings, and Meguri stood at stage left. “Next is a message from our Cultural Festival Committee chair.”

Sagami stepped toward center stage, obviously tense. Over a thousand pairs of eyes were focused on her. Before she had even reached the tape indicating the middle of the stage, she had stopped. Her hands were shaking around the wireless mike. Her stiff arms finally rose, and she started to speak.

Right then…

…a sharp screech of feedback pierced our ears. The timing was so perfect, the audience burst into uproarious laughter.

From the outside, you could tell the reaction wasn’t malicious. I mean, I’ve been on the receiving end of scornful laughter pretty much my whole life, so I can distinguish types of laughter based on experience. But I doubt Sagami, frozen alone on stage, enduring the anxiety and isolation, would be able to tell that. Even once the ringing had faded, she was still silent.

This probably made Meguri nervous, as she picked up a mike and came in as backup. “…Well then, let’s try that again! Committee Chair, go right ahead!”

The sound of Meguri’s voice seemed to reboot Sagami. She opened up the cue cards she’d been tightly gripping the whole time. Her flustered fingers tangled, and the rustle of a falling card invited more laughter from the crowd. Burning crimson, Sagami picked it up, and a few members of the audience tossed encouraging remarks her way: “You can do it!” They probably didn’t mean anything bad by it. But I doubted it would do much to help. When someone is that miserable, there’s nothing you can say to them. All they want is for you to be as inconspicuous and silent as an inanimate object. They want to be left alone, like a rock by the roadside.

Though Sagami’s opening remarks were all written on the cue cards, of course, she fumbled and stuttered.

Since this was already taking more time than planned, as the timekeeper, I was spinning my arm in an attempt to move things along. But Sagami was so freaked out, she didn’t even notice.

“—Hikigaya, give her the sign to finish early.” With a crackle of noise, Yukinoshita’s voice reached me through the earphones. I glanced up at the PA room on the second floor to see her looking down at me, arms folded.

“—I’ve been giving it. It looks like she can’t see, though.”

“—I see… I suppose it’s my mistake for selecting you.”

“—Are you making fun of me for being hard to notice?”

“—Oh, no, that’s not what I’m saying at all. Anyway, where have you been all this time? Are you in the audience?”

“You’re definitely mocking me. Come on, I know you can see me.” I interrupted the tail end of her remark with my reply. The headset might not have picked up the first part of my reply.

“—Um, Vice-chair. We can all hear you…,” someone hesitantly reminded us over the headset.

…Oh yeah. Everyone could hear everyone else on the headsets. I was just a little mortified.

After one of the other cultural committee members had pointed that out, there were a few seconds of silence before another burst of crackling. “—We’re advancing the schedule. All of you, move things ahead,” Yukinoshita said, and then communication cut off.

Finally, the committee chair finished her comments for the opening ceremony, and we moved on to the next event.

With a start like that, I could see a bumpy road ahead of us.

Once the opening ceremony was done, the cultural festival finally got started for real. It was a two-day event, but it was only open to the public on the second day. The first day was just for the school.

This would be my second festival experience here, and I think it was an extremely typical one, with nothing special worth mentioning. Each class had some sort of presentation, the arts clubs held recitals or exhibitions, and those who wanted to volunteer put together bands. Perhaps it was a symptom of the times, but we weren’t allowed to do any real cooking for food and drinks, so only ready-made items were on sale. Staying overnight at school beforehand to prepare was also forbidden.

But it was still a significant event that people got genuinely excited for. It wasn’t about scale or quality. The school enjoyed the cultural festival more as a symbol, as a break from the mundane.

That’s what they do.

The festival fervor permeated my own classroom, too. Already, the barker wars had begun, making it difficult to even squeeze through the halls. Groups handing out flyers and pamphlets paraded along in cosplay that looked like they’d bought it from a discount retailer. Ugh, obnoxious.

Once the opening ceremony cleanup was done, I came back to the classroom to find a flurry of noise and activity. They were in the home stretch before the big performance.

“Makeup! What are you doing?! That greasepaint is too thin!” Ebina roared out.

Meanwhile, Miura was going around talking to each and every person present.

“What’re you all nervous for? You’re killing me here. I’m, like, seriously laughing my ass off. I mean, everyone’s all here to see Hayato anyway. There’s not even any point in getting so worked up, right?” It was a mean thing to say, but it did seem like it would make them less nervous.

Looking around at my classmates, I saw they were all working hard to make sure to complete their work. I figured this past month and a half had strengthened all their relationships. They might laugh, they might cry, they might even yell or nearly come to blows, but even so, they’d come to realize one another’s true feelings and finally become one…I guess. I wasn’t a part of that, so I have no idea.

I had no tasks at the moment, so I loitered around the entrance to the classroom, muttering “I see, hmm…” as if I were working.

“You’ve been pretending to be busy for a while now. Nothing to do?” At a question befitting a real supervisor, I turned around to see a supervisor indeed, or rather, our cultural festival boss, Ebina. “If you’re free, then can I ask you to do reception? Or are you going to get on out there?”

Nope, nope. I replied with a shake of the head.

“All right, reception, then. Tell guests about the performance time. All you’ve got to do is tell them that, if anyone asks.”

“Uh, but I don’t even know when it is, though.”

“It’ll be fine. It’s posted by the entrance. Really, you just need to be there ’cause it’s lame if no one’s outside. You just have to sit there. We’re counting on you.”

For real? I just have to sit there? What kind of dream job is this? I’d like to take advantage of this experience to find employment of this sort in the future.

I accepted her offer and left the classroom to see that there was indeed a long, folded-up table and two or three folding chairs sitting there near the door. Hmm. Guess I’ll set this up, at least.

The long table rattled as I extended the legs, the chairs snapped into place, and setup was done. Despairingly cool! Maybe this is part of being a boy, but I love transforming things like these. I like disassembling them and stuff, too. During class, I’ll unconsciously take apart my ballpoint pen and then put it back together again.

On the wall was the poster with the performance schedule written in large font. If I sat right next to it, I doubted anyone would go to the trouble of asking me about it.

It was about five minutes until the doors would open. As I stared off into space, the commotion in classroom 2-F got even louder. I peeked in just a bit, figuring something must have happened.

“All right! Time for a huddle!” said Tobe.

Everyone was like, “Huh?” and “Seriously?” but they started forming a circle anyway. If this were recess, they’d be about to start a game.

“We’re never gonna get things started unless Ebina takes the lead!” he insisted. “Come on, over here, over here! Come to the middle!”

You’re all in a circle, so there isn’t really a more prominent position. Or so I thought, but Tobe was pointing to the spot beside himself. He’d found a legitimate way to position himself so that he and Ebina would have their arms around each other’s shoulders. Not bad, Tobe. Quite the strategist.

As if in support of his plotting, Miura pulled Ebina in by the arm. “C’mon, Ebina. Go into the middle.” And then she shoved Ebina into the actual middle. The center of the circle. With everyone else around her. Tobe was about to cry.

Ebina spun to look at everyone, and then her gaze stopped on one person. Standing alone in a corner of the classroom was Kawasaki. Ebina gave her a broad smile and called her over. “Come on. You too, Kawasaki.”

“M-me? I-I’m fine…”

“There you go again. You made the costumes, so you’ve got to take responsibility for that.”

“Responsibility…? You said you’d take responsibility.” But even as Kawasaki grumbled, her feet were carrying her into the huddle.

Once everyone but me had assembled, Yuigahama turned to glance at me. I smiled back at her and shook my head. She frowned, a little unhappy.

It was fine, really. When you haven’t actually done anything, it’s way more uncomfortable and awkward to join in. If I couldn’t stand there with confidence, it was best if I didn’t participate. I mean, Sagami was looking pretty ashamed herself after all.

Indeed, her expression as she stood in the huddle was not very cheerful. Her recent failure would probably stick with her for a while, but even more than that, I think she was bothered by her own low participation.

People with a habit of assigning ranks end up doing it to everyone. That was why Sagami was considering her own rank right then. She was a ways away from Miura and Hayama’s group, but she wasn’t directly in front of them, either, probably staying out of their line of sight. She was rather off to the side, which I think was an expression of how she felt her rank was right then. The psychological distance was embodied in physical distance.

By that measure, Ebina occupied the center of the group and the center of the cultural festival. When Ebina called out, everyone responded.

Watching the complete huddle from the outside was surprisingly not so bad.

The classroom was surrounded by blackout curtains and jam-packed like a can of sardines.

Ebina judged that they probably wouldn’t be able to fit in any more guests, so she fired off instructions to hang the FULL HOUSE sign on the door. Once I’d done so, I moved the reception table in front of the door to cut off anyone else who wanted to get in.

The door was left open just a crack for ventilation, and I peeked in.

Finally, the curtain rose on stage. The performance began with a monologue from the Narrator, played by Hayama. As the spotlight shone down on him, the audience bubbled up momentarily. It sounded like many of Hayama’s friends and fans had descended upon us.

The set consisted of an airplane with a desert in the background. The pictures drawn by the Narrator were played by boys in full-body costumes, like mascots. Two of them represented the illustration of a boa constrictor wrapping around its prey by tangling together with each other. The audience roared with laughter at the silly interpretation.

Then…

“If you please—draw me a sheep.” Totsuka’s line sounded from offstage.

“Huh? What?” Hayama hadn’t managed to pick up the quiet, whispery request.

So once more, the Prince repeated, “Draw me a sheep.” Then the spotlight struck Totsuka, standing near the edge of the stage. His adorable clothing and lovable visage sent the audience into another tizzy.

And so the two met, and the story proceeded smoothly from there.

When the Prince recounted the tale of the Rose on his planet, a boy appeared in a green full-body tights suit with a red shampoo hat on his head, talking with an effeminate lisp. Everything after that was over-the-top, too. All the flashbacks to the various planets the Prince had visited were basically visual comedy gags.

The blustering King, so desperate to maintain his authority, was wrapped in layer upon layer of fancy carpets a bunch of the students had brought from their homes. Yamato was sweating buckets.

The Vain Man, who demanded reverence and recognition, was covered head to toe in aluminum foil. Tobe was so sparkly he was hard to look at.

The Drunkard, who drank to forget the shame of his addiction, was surrounded with sake bottles and boxes for high-alcohol-content liquor, as if to say, Take that! Oda or Tahara or whoever it was must have been nervous, because he was as bright red as a real drunk.

The Businessman recited numbers and yelled out, “Listen, I’m a very important person!” The class rep actually cut a fine figure in a suit. Perhaps this was the fruit of Ebina’s direction.

The Lamplighter, bound by the rules to light the lamps and extinguish them again, was wearing dirty overalls made to look sooty. His role of spinning round and round the lamp was perhaps somewhat fitting for a complaisant weather vane like Ooka.

Maps and globes surrounded the ignorant Geographer, who recorded what explorers taught him without ever taking a step outside his own study. Oda or Tahara or whoever it was reading them looked fairly scholarly.

Everyone had contributed their opinions for the creation of these costumes (probably), Kawasaki had worked hard on them (surely), and the audience seemed to find them hilarious (yay).

And then the play got to the part when the Prince leaves the earth.

He’d arrived in the desert, met a snake, seen many roses, and realized that what he’d had was truly common and nothing special at all.

I could hear sniffling in the audience at Totsuka’s mournful delivery. Totsuka was so precious…er, rather, the prince was so piteous, I wanted to give him a hug right that instant.

That was when a man in a fur coat and a fox mask appeared.

—Oh, this is my favorite scene.

The prince offered the Fox an invitation. “Come play with me. I am so unhappy,” Totsuka said sadly, his face downcast. So good, gets me right here. By the way, the first draft of the line in Ebina’s script was Why don’t we just do it? Seriously, what was that woman thinking?

The Fox replied to the Prince, “I cannot play with you… I am not tamed.”

I love that line: I am not tamed. It’s such a simple and realistic description of the act of becoming friends.

Making friends is, in fact, a lot like being tamed by a variety of things: the person themselves or the social atmosphere that tells you to get along with everyone and not rock the boat. Then your life and even your heart are tamed. Your fangs are removed, your claws broken, your thorns pulled out. You treat everyone carefully, like something swollen, so as not to wound or be wounded. I like the expression because it’s kind of taking a dig at such “friendships.”

As I was mulling over these thoughts, the scene continued.

“First, you will sit down a little distance from me—like that—in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day…” The Prince and the Fox conversed more and more. And so they both tamed each other.

But even so, it came time to part. At the end, the Fox told the Prince a secret. This is probably the most well-known part of The Little Prince.

—What is essential is invisible to the eye.

After parting with the Fox, the Prince once again went to visit various places, and the scene changed back to the desert. The Narrator and the Prince were again searching for a well.

“What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well,” said Totsuka, and the audience gave a sigh of lament. This was also a classic line from the book. Many of the people present must have been familiar with it.

In the end, after their hearts touched through many conversations that they themselves touched on at many points in time, it came time for the Narrator and the Prince to part. By the way, in Ebina’s original script, they touched lips and bodies, too. That girl, seriously…

“Ah, little prince, dear little prince… I love to hear that laughter…” Hayama’s line got all the women excited. If I recorded that on mp3 and distributed it, I could make a killing.

“We’ll be together forever…” Hayama’s next line turned the audience into a sea of satisfied sighs. That’s it—I’ll make a Hayama pillow talk CD. And it’ll come with a body pillow. I’ve got a hunch this’ll be big business.

Then finally, the farewell scene came.

Bitten by the Snake, the Prince fell without a sound. Totsuka’s fragile performance, like he was about to vanish, made the audience hold their collective breaths.

The screen turned black.

A single spotlight hit Hayama, and the Narrator’s monologue brought the final scene to a close.

Then the audience exploded in thunderous applause. The curtain closed on the memorable first production of The Little Prince: The Musical, a massively successful, sold-out show.

But that wasn’t a musical, was it? It was just a play… There wasn’t any singing or dancing.

When the performance was on break, I closed the classroom doors.

It seemed my role also meant staying behind to watch things, so while my classmates were taking their breaks or going out to see the other classes’ plays, I was sitting on the folding chair by the entrance.

I’d have to be walking all over the place the whole next day as a part of my recording and miscellaneous tasks for the cultural committee, and the first day was the only time I’d have to participate in the class stuff. I hadn’t been able to join in the preparations for this, and I couldn’t help run the event on the second day, either, so I was stuck there with no way out for the whole day. In fact, if I could call this my participation in the class play, I’d even have liked to thank my classmates for coming up with and approving this role for me.

Well, not many people out there would go to such lengths for me, so I had a good idea of who had come up with this.

“Hey.” A plastic bag thunked down on the table, and I looked up to see Yuigahama. I unfolded a chair that was still leaning against the wall, and she took a seat on it with a little oof.

Are you an old lady or what?

“How was it?” she asked.

“I’d say it was pretty good. The audience enjoyed it.”

Leaving aside its quality as a contribution to the dramatic arts, the audience actually had seemed pretty into it. I don’t know if it met super-producer Ebina’s expectations, but I think it had worked fine as entertainment focusing more on humor, as Tobe had proposed.

And as a cultural festival play put on by high school students, there was really nothing to complain about. And also, though I wouldn’t call it favoritism, exactly, I think they were able to take full advantage of the fun that comes from knowing the performers by casting people with a broad circle of acquaintances, like Hayama, Tobe, and Ooka.

There’s an appeal to seeing someone you’re normally friendly with play a completely different character, as well as catching glimpses of their real personality, and these elements bring about a completely different sort of enjoyment compared with your standard entertainment. I could indeed say that musical was good, in those respects. Also, above all, Totsuka was cute.

“Yeah, ’cause everyone put a lot of work into it,” Yuigahama said while arching her back in a stretch with a “Hnn!” I could tell just how much effort all this had taken from the emotion behind her words.

Thanks for all your hard work, seriously. But…more importantly, when you arch your back in that T-shirt, it draws my attention to your chest and belly button, so I’d kinda like you to not. “Well, I guess. Maybe you were all working a lot. But I wasn’t there, so I don’t really know.”

“You were busy with the committee. You couldn’t join in with the class stuff, so there’s no helping that. U-um…are you bothered about being left out of the huddle?” Yuigahama touched her index fingers together, looking at me with upturned eyes. It was a habit of hers, something she did when she was hesitant about asking something. Yet again, she was worrying herself about things that didn’t matter.

“Aw, no way. And, like, I didn’t even do anything, so it would’ve been wrong for me to join in.” Regardless, I’d made her concerned for me, so I answered her with uncharacteristic honesty.

Then she breathed a short sigh that sounded like an exasperated chuckle. “I knew you’d say that.”

“How?” It’s kinda embarrassing when you read my mind like that. Stop it.

Yuigahama flopped back into the chair, and it made a bashful kyeep! “Y’know, Hikki, you’re serious about the weirdest stuff. I can tell by looking at you.”

“You’re looking…?”

Her chair gave a shocked ack! I looked over to see that Yuigahama was half standing, waving her hands violently in front of her chest. “Ah, no, actually, forget that. I’m not. I’m averting my eyes pretty hard.”

“Um, well, you can if you want to, though…” Reflexively, I ended up scratching roughly at my head. Both of us suddenly fell silent.

Our silence made the noise of the classes to either side of us sound especially loud. Both Classes E and F seemed to be quite popular. Class E in particular. It had a roller coaster or something, and their line was very long. A few people were whining about having to wait their turn, and I could tell the students from Class E were struggling.

It’s funny. Lines beget lines. And this principle isn’t just limited to lines. Whenever something’s selling, its popularity becomes another form of advertising, and it sells even more. Class E was no exception to this rule, and even more people were joining the rear of the crowd.

“Whoa, that looks like a handful,” Yuigahama murmured.

“I dunno if they’re gonna be able to manage all that, at this rate,” I agreed. From what I could see, Class E was understaffed, as they clearly couldn’t control all their guests. It was only a matter of time before the hallway would be blocked.

And then it happened—the shrill tweet of a whistle. When I looked toward the sound, I found Meguri. “Handle this, guys,” she said. And from thin air, student council members shuffled into existence, and in the blink of an eye, they began to organize the line, while some of the people at the back were shunted off somewhere.

Are you guys Comiket staff or what?

Yukinoshita was among the newcomers. “Is the representative for Class E here?” She immediately called for their rep, asked about the situation, and discussed how to manage it.

“Yukinon is so cool…”

“Well, the kids in Class E are clearly scared of her, though.” From where we sat, she was just the same old Yukinoshita, but for someone who didn’t interact with her much, her cold, intimidating aura had to be fear itself.

“She’s cheered up a bit, though, huh?” Yuigahama remarked.

“…Yeah.”

Once Yukinoshita was done dealing with the matter, she breathed a small sigh. Then she lifted her head and glanced at us for an instant. But then she immediately averted her eyes again and strode briskly away. She must have had something else to handle next.

As we watched her go, I said to Yuigahama beside me, “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Hmm? What?” she replied, without turning to look at me. She was resting her chin in her hands, elbows on the table.

“When we went to Yukinoshita’s place, did you talk about anything?” I asked.

Yuigahama hmm’d and considered a little, then opened her mouth. “Nooothing at all.”

“What?” My reaction demanded an explanation.

So Yuigahama started telling me the rest of what had happened that day. “After you left, Hikki, we were hungry, so we ate together and watched some DVDs, and then I went home… So she didn’t say anything you’d want to know, Hikki.” The last sentence seemed rather cold.

“Oh…it’s not like there’s anything I’d want to know anyway.”

“Really? I wanted to know.”

“So then why—?” I was about to ask why she hadn’t asked, then, but looking at her profile, my voice withered. She was so focused on the far end of the hallway where Yukinoshita had left, I hesitated to say any more out loud.

“You know, I’ve decided to wait for her. ’Cause Yukinon will probably try to talk and get closer…so I’ll wait.”

That was a very Yuigahama-like response.

This was Yuigahama. She always met people halfway. So I was sure she’d wait. And Yukinoshita knew that, too, so she’d try to take that step in and not leave her hanging.

“But if waiting is never going to work with someone, then I’m not going to wait,” she said.

“Hmm? Well, yeah, there’s no point in waiting for someone hopeless.”

That was when Yuigahama smiled just a little. She twisted her head a bit, still leaning on her hands, and gave me a long look.

There was nothing happening in this classroom, so the river of people flowed by at high speed. Students were coming and going, hurrying through the hallway to their new destinations or attempting to bring in more guests. There was no need to differentiate all the individuals from the restless mass, and the commotion was heedless of us, too. In other words, it was background, environmental noise.

That was why I could hear her voice so clearly. She spoke slowly, sounding more mature than usual. 

“That’s not what I mean. I won’t wait… I’ll be the one to make the first move.”

My heart skipped a beat. It hurt so bad, I thought it would tear me open from the inside.

Looking into Yuigahama’s dewy eyes, I was on the verge of parsing what those words meant. But if I were to think about that, I’d probably find myself in deep trouble. And that would most likely lead to mistakes. I’ve made many of those in my life, but I didn’t want to mess this one up, I don’t think.

That was why at this point, I still didn’t have the words to respond. “Oh…” I gave her a vague, meaningless nonanswer.

She replied with a shy smile. “Uh-huh, yep.” I took that shy smile to mean that this conversation was now over. The both of us sighed a little bit and looked away from each other.

That was when the plastic bag on the long table caught my eye. “So anyway, what’s with the bag?”

“Oh, I forgot. You haven’t had lunch yet, right?” She rustled around in the bag, and then another package arrived, a paper box. Opening it, she pulled out something else from inside. Huh, that’s a rather odd matryoshka doll. Or so I thought, but apparently, that was not the case.

It was some kind of bread. A round, chubby loaf of bread.

There was whipped cream layered on top, chocolate sauce drizzle, and colorful chocolate sprinkles. But it was basically bread—round and chubby. Actually, it was just sandwich bread. It wasn’t a pastry or anything special, just something you’d describe as plain bread.

But Yuigahama held up the bread à la whipped cream and said proudly: “Look! Honey toast!”

Ohhh…so this was that super-popular honey toast from everyone’s favorite, the Karaoke Pasela. What, is this some limited-edition special item? It’s not? It’s not a special? They’re not making deluxe drinks with deluxe coasters to go with it? I’m happy with Karaoke no Tetsujin, too!

I shot Yuigahama a casual look that said I appreciated the gesture, and maybe that was why she sounded a little exasperated when she said, “It’s nothing that unusual. There’s a Pasela in Chiba, too.”

“Oh, I don’t go to karaoke much in the first place, so.”

Guess this is the quality you get when an amateur makes honey toast. The real thing is definitely better than this. Actually, this is just bread. Seriously. Not gonna put in a bit more effort to erase the breadiness of it? It’s bread all over. Totally bread.

“Here we go!” With far too much gusto for serving food, she served me up some on a paper plate. With her bare hands… Not like I minded. I decided to accept the piece of torn-off honey toast.

“So good!” Yuigahama stuffed her cheeks, with a little whipped cream on her face. That blissful expression could only come from someone with a sweet tooth. Watching her, I got the feeling that I could come to like honey toast, too.

A little excited, I put it in my mouth.

It’s…so hard… The honey hasn’t soaked all the way to the middle… There wasn’t enough whipped cream, and at a certain point, the density was a form of punishment… And worst of all was Yuigahama’s taste for picking this out for lunch.

However, Yuigahama herself seemed to be enraptured. Did anything about this taste good?

“I love the whipped cream!”

Hey… Hey… Was there a need for this to be honey toast, then? And besides, you stole that whipped cream from my part, didn’t you? I had mountains of complaints, but in front of Yuigahama’s zeal, I couldn’t bring myself to say any of them. At the end, she washed her meal down with some tea.

…Okay, well, I guess it’s…kinda okay?

Yuigahama seemed to be done eating, and she gently wiped the whipped cream from her mouth with a tissue. Her lips were glossy, shimmering in the light of the sun. I looked away.

Even with both of us going at it, there was a lot of honey toast. I mean, it was a whole loaf of bread…

And as a whole loaf, it must have cost a commensurate price. You might as well call it money toast. “So how much was it?” I asked, pulling out my wallet.

But Yuigahama stopped me with a hand. “Don’t worry about it! It’s no biggie.”

“Come on, I can’t accept that.”

“Don’t worry about it!” she refused stubbornly.

At this rate, I couldn’t see this dispute ending soon. “…I do plan to have someone support me financially…but I’m not going to accept charity!”

“Huh? Your sense of pride makes no sense!” Yuigahama groaned, then she paused a moment in thought. Finally, she grumbled quietly, “Agh, Hikki, you’re such a pain… All right. Then later, you treat me to some honey toast…at the Pasela in Chiba.”

“You’re picking out a place?” My reply was sharp, but I caught her drift. Yet again, I had failed to distance myself from Yuigahama.

I do think we were closer than before. I’m not immature enough to insist on denying it. It was a major factor in the whole episode with the class application documents, too. I could have asked anyone to fill it in for me, but I’d deliberately sought out Yuigahama and chosen her to help.

I, myself, had allowed that. It was easy to rely on Yuigahama.

But.

That was exactly why I had to restrain myself. Uncontrolled, unguided trust is dependence.

I couldn’t cling to Yuigahama’s kindness. I couldn’t take advantage of her gentle heart. Her compassion was like a knife cutting you open, making you worry and suffer, bleeding you dry. I knew that. That was why I couldn’t so easily yield to it.

And if her behavior wasn’t out of kindness or thoughtfulness but some other feeling, then that goes double. Because then I’d be taking advantage of another person’s weakness.

Manage your emotions.

Keep a suitable distance.

So…maybe it’s fine to just take one step closer.

A cultural festival is a celebration, and a celebration is a break from the mundane. And because of that change, your value judgments might be a little different from normal. Hey, on a day like today, even I might make a call that’s a little suspect.

“Are you…fine with something else?” I asked.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” She grinned. “So…when’ll this be?” There was a strange intensity in her smile.

“U-um, I’m sorry, please let me think about this a little—a lot…” I suddenly found myself acting oddly polite.

Yuigahama huffed out a breath in reply, apparently reluctant to accept my response.

It was still the first day of the festival. But the end was sure to come.

The clock counted out the seconds, telling us that the time we spent then would also eventually end.