Yahari Ore no Seishun Love Come wa Machigatte Iru - Volume 7.5 - Chapter 3.1

SA B

Special Act: Side-B

They have yet to know of a place they should go back to.

The term’s exams ended, and the rainy season came to a close.

Though the long spell of rain was over, the heavy showers still came frequently, and always when I was walking home. This was all probably because the air was filled with a humidity that constantly clung to your skin.

Being that it’s on the coast, Soubu High School especially gets tons of moisture from the ocean. The damp sea wind fades bicycles and paint, and then it rusts the exposed iron of the fences.

But though the air was muggy, my mood was strangely clear.

This time of year, with summer vacation right around the corner, was exciting not only for the normies with their fun-packed plans, but also for the loners, who would be freed from the prison of school.

Might I call this the magic of summer?

Sometimes the heat makes people lose their minds.

This was why I was behaving so strangely and going against my better judgment. This was abnormal for me, and I couldn’t make heads or tails of it myself.

The space between the rear of the school and the new building is shaded from the sun, which makes it especially cool there. From a bird’s-eye view, the school building resembles a square, and the new building an extra line along one of the edges. Most students don’t know this spot; some will pass by when they come from the martial arts dojo beneath the gym and the athletic clubrooms, but even then, nobody is around during lunch.

Which meant the only ones here were me and one other person.

With lunch break and summer break before them, the students bubbled with excitement. The wind carried the faint smell of the sea toward us.

And behind the school building, we spent this secret time alone together, just the two of us.

Now, this phrasing might imply I was having a youthful summer experience.

I was not.

“Heh-heh-heh, good of you to come. My fated enemy—Hachiman!” he said dramatically, stupidly, and obnoxiously.

My reply was apathetic. “I have finally cornered you, Master Swordsman General.” It was such a monotone, even a TV personality or movie director working as voice actor would probably do a better job. Zaimokuza, opposite me, smoothly posed. Barf Spark–level obnoxious.

This was the reality.

Zaimokuza and I had simply fled somewhere deserted to hide alone together behind the school, so as not to be seen. By the way, I think that salty smell was sweat. Descriptive tricks are scary!

I’d been peacefully eating my lunch alone in my usual spot, watching Totsuka from a distance as he did his noontime practice, when Zaimokuza had cornered me. I’d been forced to read the plot of Zaimokuza’s novel, and then before I knew it, I was being made to join in on his M-2-syndrome charade in the middle of the heat.

This is my reality, the summer of my second year in high school. Japan’s summer is not Kincho’s summer.

“Herm… Why such a lack of enthusiasm, Hachiman?! Why do you not face me in a fighting stance! This will not evoke my vision!” Zaimokuza complained to me, stomping on the ground.

Uh, come on… I’d said I didn’t get the outline he’d written up, so Zaimokuza had started acting it out, and suddenly, here we were.

But logic wasn’t going to work on Zaimokuza. That’s just how he is. The correct tactic was to oppose him not with logic but with emotion.

I swiftly put on a contemptuous smile. “…Oh, you mean this stance? This is the…actionless stance. By relaxing your whole body, you make to turn aside all forms of attack.”

“Whoa, what a cool idea!”

Considering that I’d just come up with some bullshit I’d learned from Rurouni Kenshin, Zaimokuza really took the bait. He started clacking along on his smartphone like, I’ll take that! I’d waffled as to whether I should say that or the Tenchi-matou stance, but if he wanted to use it, then great.

“Ngh, from a dodge and nullification to a sermon punch… Everyone will be talking about this…”

I ignored Zaimokuza’s muttering and leaned against the wall. It seemed his problem had been solved, so I was free.

I’d gotten unpleasantly sweaty during my involuntary involvement in this nonsense. The blowing breeze felt good on my hot cheeks. When I twisted around a little to get the wind to blow my hair back like T.M.Revolution, an unusual sight caught my eye.

A few boys in judo uniforms were trudging toward us with drooping shoulders. Awfully meek for a bunch of guys in intimidating martial arts uniforms.

I figured if they were going to the trouble of practicing during lunch hour, they were probably just as dedicated as my angel Totsuka, but was our school’s judo club like that? Ah, My Angel Totsuka. I want to answer quiz questions right to make him grow.

Totsuka does his lunch practice refreshingly and cutely and fun-ly and cutely, but the judo club guys who passed us seemed different.

Well, there was no helping that. ’Cause Totsuka’s special. He’s special Totsuka—shortened as Totspecial. It’s like Totsucute, but more special.

Meanwhile, the judo club guys, who were neither special nor cute nor Totsuka, wore lifeless expressions as they ambled like particularly exhausted zombies. …Are you office workers?!

Leaning against the wall, I slid down to sit on the ground.

Zaimokuza must have noticed me glancing over at the aforementioned judo club group, as he tilted his head and made one of his noises. “What a suspicious group.”

“I think they’re a lot better than you, though…” Wearing that long coat in summer, you could only be a pervert or Dr. Black Jack.

“Rferm. Well, when you get to my level, being that I’m a Master Swordsman…” Zaimokuza seemed to take that as a compliment, and he snorted in satisfaction. I know there’s this English phrase positive thinking; does it actually mean total clueless asshat, or am I just misremembering?

But there would be no benefit in pointing out Zaimokuza’s habit of misinterpreting things now. I’m sure in his head, that’s how it is… In his head.

I shifted my gaze away from Zaimokuza to watch the judo guys turn a corner, and that was when I suddenly remembered. “That reminds me—you picked kendo for the martial arts option, huh?”

At this time of year, us second-years were doing martial arts in gym class, and we had to choose either judo or kendo. And you have to buy equipment for both judo and kendo, but getting a whole set of kendo stuff is expensive, so I’d gone with judo. Of course, I’d told my parents that I wasn’t sure which I would go for, so to give me money for kendo. I am the pocket-money alchemist: the Fullmetal Alchemist.

I’d chosen judo, but Zaimokuza hadn’t been there with me, so by process of elimination, that meant he’d chosen kendo. It was also possible Zaimokuza’s existence itself had been eliminated.

“Homm, indeed, I chose kendo. Of course. What about it?”

“Well…I was just feeling sorry for whoever has to partner with you.” He’s really annoying even in regular gym classes, so once he’s in his element with kendo, I’m sure he’s even more obnoxious.

“Your concern is unnecessary, for I cannot use my true strength against regular students. I suppress my powers.”

“Oh, I see…”

Translating that into modern language, it means, I-it’s embarrassing to let other people see my ideas, after all… So I keep it down. Y-you’re the only one I show this stuff to, Hachiman! What the heck, that’s creepy.

Well, if Zaimokuza isn’t bothering other people, then that’s good. The reason loners are permitted to exist is because we cause no harm to others. A pheasant would not be shot but for its cries. However, if a pheasant makes no noise at all, it becomes less than a pheasant, discarded and unworthy of even being shot. It will either be treated as nonexistent or downright loathsome. Whichever the case, if it were Another, you’d be dead.

“What about you, Hachiman?” Zaimokuza asked with a pout. My attitude must have rubbed him the wrong way.

But my answer was quite simple, and nothing really surprising. “A guy from the judo club has been partnering with me. The rest of the time, I’ve just been practicing falling.”

“Herm…that’s not partnering; that’s babysitting…,” Zaimokuza said as he wiped away the sweat beading on his forehead with a sleeve.

But that’s not something to be so surprised about. If you’re doing a certain sport in gym class, inevitably, the kids in that club will draw the short straw. They’ll be told to do demonstrations and forced to set up the equipment and clean up after. Off-the-clock labor is seen as perfectly acceptable—the dark side of athletics. All the rumors these days are about sports clubs members at risk for becoming corporate slaves—the rumors in my head, that is.

And so if those judo club guys were babysitting me, there was no helping that… Was that why they were looking so glum? Sorry.

But my showing worry wasn’t going to change this custom. And of course, I couldn’t skip class just out of some weird concern for them. Loners have no one to help them, so they’re forced to diligently attend all their classes.

Sorry to the judo club guys, but I’m going to be bothering you for a while.

I dug in my heels, and right then, the bell rang to signal the end of lunch break. I stood and wiped the sand off my butt. “’Kay, I’m going back to the classroom,” I said and turned away. Footsteps followed after me, as if this was the obvious thing to do.

“Hmon, well then, let us go.”

Huh? He’s coming back with me? I had implied I would be going back alone, hadn’t I?

I shot Zaimokuza a questioning look, but he wasn’t bothered by it. He even gave me an overbearing chuckle. “What are you doing? Be swift, hurry! Fly like the wind! Hyah, too slow! I’m going ahead!” He pointed aggressively to the school building. Translating what he just said into modern language, that meant, What’s wrong? Let’s hurry up and go back… Oh, but if we were to go back together, people might talk… And that’d be embarrassing… If I thought about it that way, I wouldn’t get mad. Just a little grossed out.

I finished off my afternoon classes and headed to the clubroom. Times were a-changing, as our school was equipped with internal heating and air conditioning, so that even in the summer, we could be comfortable in class. However, outside of the classrooms, it’s a different story. Same with after school.

I walked down the hallway of the special building, my indoor shoes slapping along the floor.

Even on a hot day like this, every time I head to the Service Club room in the special building, I feel a little cooler. It must be because the room tends to be shady and open to the wind. Or is it because the master of this clubroom gives off a certain air? I think it’s probably the latter and that this chill is more the kind that runs down your spine. Oh, and it’s downright frigid near your heart, too!

As I was musing about the irrelevant coolness of the special building, I opened the door of the clubroom to be stabbed by the rather cold glance flicking my way.

“…Hey.” I flinched under Yukino Yukinoshita’s piercing gaze. What, why’s she angry? Could she tell what I was thinking just now? If she could, then we’d have a major dispute between two theories: the “Yukinoshita is an esper theory,” or the “I’m a satorare theory.”

“…Oh, it was you, Hikigaya-kun? You looked so slimy, I thought an amphibian was walking in the door.”

“No, I’ve just been soaking in the joys of youth. Nothing you can do about that. And don’t say those things around Miss Hiratsuka. I don’t think she’d like it.” We greeted each other as we always did, and I took my position in my usual seat diagonally across from Yukinoshita.

Though Yukinoshita was in a mood, which was nothing new, she didn’t really say anything more than that before dropping her eyes to the paperback in her hands.

I could tell she wasn’t in the greatest mood, but it seemed the cause was not any resentment, hatred, or loathing toward me. Normally, she would have added a few more sarcastic quips, but that day, she was quiet. Well, it’s more like she normally gives me way too much crap.

So if she wasn’t annoyed with me, then why was she in such a bad mood? Don’t act like that; it ruins the vibe. Come on, is she like one of those office worker ladies you have to tiptoe around because she acts wildly different depending on if she’s in a good or bad mood?

I didn’t have anything in particular to do, so I pulled my own paperback out of my bag, too. I flipped around a bit, skimming through it, occasionally glancing over at Yukinoshita.

“…Phew.” All she was doing was reading, and yet, she gave a little sigh. Apparently, that was enough to stress her out. Come on, is the book that boring? Then just stop reading it…

Well, when you’re dealing with a stress home generator, a stress home poisoner, nothing you can say will do any good. Only the one who’s created the stress can deal with it.

I was dropping my gaze to my book once more, figuring I’d leave her be and focus on reading, when I heard the door slide open loudly.

“Yahallo!” Greeting us with a passion as suffocating as midsummer, Yuigahama jumped into the clubroom. Her footsteps pattered loudly as she went to sit in her usual spot.

Yuigahama had been wearing her skirt slightly shorter lately. Incidentally, she’d also stopped wearing navy-blue socks and started wearing mostly ankle socks. She’d also rolled up the arms of her short-sleeved blouse. She was in full summer mode. Compared with before, it was fair to say she was only exposing more of her arms and legs. Uh, it’s not like I’ve been observing closely, though. It’s just that you pick up on these things if you see her every day, that’s all. Don’t you underestimate the observational eye of a loner.

“It’s so hot!” As soon as she was in her seat, Yuigahama grabbed the chest of her blouse and fanned herself with it.

Can you not? I can’t help looking.

Now that I think of it, despite her complaints about the heat, she never unbuttons her shirt or wears polo shirts or anything. It’s a little surprising. Like, does she just really want to keep wearing the ribbon in front?

I turned my attention to the paperback in my hands to avoid looking at Yuigahama as much as possible. Whereupon the paper, which was damp with the humidity already, was met with surplus force and got wrinkled.

Agh, I’ll have to put a weight on this later to flatten it out… Incidents of this nature are a little sad for book lovers. That’s another unpleasant thing about the season.

It wasn’t as if Yuigahama was doing anything wrong. In fact, I was indeed completely at fault here—so, um, yeah, I’m sorry for looking—but since Yuigahama was the indirect cause of this situation, I couldn’t help but glance at her a little reproachfully despite knowing it was unfair. No, this was not at all because I was marveling at how long her legs were in addition to admiring her chest-fanning. Ultimately, this was merely a look of unjustified resentment. Though both were terrible reasons to look.

But maybe the anxiety was needless, as Yuigahama failed to notice my gaze. Instead, her attention was on Yukinoshita. “What’s wrong, Yukinon?”

Yukinoshita seemed in such a bad mood, I doubt anyone else would have tried to talk to her. In fact, initiating conversation is a pretty high bar to clear on a good day.

But Yuigahama could do that now.

Before, she would never have been so intrusive; she would have asked something inoffensive instead. Her ability to speak to Yukinoshita directly now was proof that they were closer.

Ever since Yuigahama’s birthday, I’d gotten the feeling that they’d dropped some of the unnecessary tiptoeing and reservation between each other.

When Yuigahama spoke to her, Yukinoshita froze for a moment as if unsure whether to talk or not. But then she answered Yuigahama sincerely. “I wish we had a blow-dryer in here or something…”

“Ahhh, the humidity, huh? It really is annoying. So much for nice and smooth, right?”

Gently stroking her paperback, Yukinoshita breathed a sigh, while Yuigahama roughly ran her fingers through her own hair.

“I was referring to how moisture can result in serious damage… It’s really stressful.”

“Huh? You don’t have damage,” Yuigahama said, standing up and circling around behind Yukinoshita. Ignoring Yukinoshita’s questioning look, she slid her hands down Yukinoshita’s hair. “It’s so smooth. Oh, but I guess it must make you feel a little hot.”

“…Yuigahama? What are you doing?”

“Hmm. Here we go.” Yuigahama rummaged around in her pocket and found something. She hooked it with a finger and spun it around. It looked like a hair elastic. She reached into her bag, too, pulled out a brush, then slowly and carefully brushed Yukinoshita’s hair. She bundled together the long, glossy hair, twisted it together, and raised it up. “Long hair is hot in summer, so wouldn’t it be more comfy like this?”

“O-oh, well, I suppose…” Yukinoshita replied to Yuigahama’s question with hesitation. She must not have been used to having people fiddle with her hair, as she flinched a little. It was a rare sight. “Um, so…Yuigahama? Why are you touching my hair…? Um, are you listening?”

Of course Yuigahama was not listening.

She was humming as she bunched together Yukinoshita’s hair and fixed the updo to finish it off. But even so, Yukinoshita’s long black hair was spilling out awkwardly. Yuigahama clipped it in place with a hairpin she’d pulled from her chest pocket, and there was a bun.

“Done! …I guess we kinda match.” Yuigahama smiled with satisfaction and chuckled, gazing upon the completed hairdo. Indeed, if you were to compare the hairstyle—and only the hairstyle—they were similar.

“It’s less like they match and more like one’s a rip-off.”

“Hey! You don’t have to put it that way!” Yuigahama snapped at me. It seemed she was quite satisfied with her handiwork.

Uh, say what you want; that’s the only way I can describe that… It’s like the Tamagotchi and the Tamago Watch, or Digimon and Gyaoppi. I don’t know what else to call something like this. “…Would you prefer unlicensed variant?”

“That’s the same thing!”

I had been trying to be considerate, and I’d chosen words to make my intent slightly clearer… But I actually did have a hard time describing it. They weren’t similar enough to call it a recolor, and really, the way they resembled each other despite not actually looking alike just made her look more like a knockoff…

“But, like, you’re not bothered about having the same hairstyle or whatever?” I asked.

When you’re at high school age, every other word out of your mouth is unique, unique, unique. I feel like girls tend to be like that, especially when it comes to fashion, so how does that factor in? Or is it that when you live like Yuigahama in a constant state of social awareness, that activates your Misuzu Kaneko armament: Everyone is the same, and everyone is good?

Yuigahama lifted her head and pondered this with a hmm, but considering how much time she took, her response was simple. “It doesn’t bother you if you’re friends, right?”

Oh, I see… You’re friends, huh…?

I couldn’t argue with such a sweet and serene answer. I breathed a short, rather exasperated little sigh, then returned to my reading.

Whereupon Yukinoshita, who’d been at Yuigahama’s mercy and desperately trying to keep up, opened her mouth. “Um…what on earth have you done with my hair?” She couldn’t tell what had gone on behind her head.

Yuigahama pulled a thin, square pink mirror out of her bag and handed it over. “Here!”

“Thanks.” Yukinoshita placed her paperback on the desk, accepted the pocket mirror, and popped open the cover to look at herself. Her eyes narrowed, and her expression turned doubtful. Then she slapped the mirror shut and turned that doubtful gaze on Yuigahama. “…Yuigahama, why did you do this?” she asked.

Yuigahama blinked a few times. “Huh? Weren’t we talking about how your hair was being stupid and making you grumpy?”

“I was talking about this.” Yukinoshita pointed at her book on the desk and continued. “The humidity damages books, and I’ll have to dry it out eventually, which will take time…so I was a little irritated.”

“Oh, is that right…? I thought for sure…” Yuigahama gave a ta-ha-ha and scratched her head.

What with the talk of blow-dryers, they’d ended up having two separate conversations, huh? I get it. Personally, I like to keep the summer humidity at bay with my dry sense of humor.

Well, Yuigahama doesn’t read books, so if she hears the word blow-dryer, her hair is probably the first thing that comes to mind. Their interests are in different fields.

On the other hand, while I don’t think Yukinoshita is indifferent to fashion, she likes books more. And the summer humidity can indeed be pretty rough for a reader. Also, hand sweat makes the paper wrinkle. When droplets of sweat hit the paper, the way it goes all limp can be a real mood-killer.

Yuigahama, smiling to cover her embarrassment, stood up as if she had just clued in. “Oh, s-sorry! I’ll fix your hair!”

“I don’t really mind.” Yukinoshita jerked her gaze away. Despite her protests, she must have been thinking about it. She opened the pocket mirror again and casually turned her face to either side to check it out, cautiously combing at the bun part. “…It is cooler,” she added eventually, but her cheeks were so much redder than before I doubted she’d cooled down at all. It seemed she liked her matching hair…

Seeing this, Yuigahama grinned happily and glomped Yukinoshita. “Right, right?!”

“There’s no need for such fervor…,” Yukinoshita complained. She was acting grumpy, but it just looked like she was trying to hide her shyness.

And yet, instead my heart was left cold as ice…

Well, Yukinoshita’s cheered up, and I can leave the rest to these two young’uns. Guess that means I can go home! Right, going home. I tucked my paperback away in my bag and stood as quietly as possible to avoid detection. I took a step toward the door, but right then, we heard a knock, knock.

“Come in,” Yukinoshita called out, immediately inferring someone wanted in.

“’Scuse’s ’sup!” With an incomprehensible greeting that sounded more like a gust of wind, a few grim-looking guys walked in. There were three of them: one like a potato, one like a sweet potato, and one like a taro.

It was a hot time of year to begin with, but the excess of hot-blooded manliness on display made it positively boiling. Immediately, my body temperature rose precisely three degrees.

The three boys standing at attention all had the same vibe, despite the variety in their appearances.

One of them was familiar to me, the potato boy. And he must have recognized my face, too, as he spoke to me. “Oh. It’s you, from gym…”

“Yeah…,” I replied briefly, with a raise of my hand. Oh yeah, he’s that nice guy who’s been babysitting me in judo, in gym class. He wasn’t hovering around me constantly or anything, but he was a good guy. Though I didn’t remember his name.

So does this mean the other two are from the judo club, too? I thought, glancing to the others, and Yuigahama and Yukinoshita looked at me.

“Friend of yours?”

“Acquaintance?”

There’s a slight difference in the way you guys just asked me that question. Why’s Yukinoshita assuming I have no friends…? I mean, she’s not wrong. “Oh, I don’t know his name. We’re together in gym.”

“You’re together, but you don’t know…?” Yuigahama was exasperated with me.

Well, some guys will get attached if you get weird and remember their names… More like I just don’t go out of my way to remember names. When I was in middle school, they called me creepy just because I remembered everyone’s names in class. That was the first time my good memory had ever backfired on me. Ever since then, I’ve made sure to put in only the most perfunctory effort to remember names. Like with Kawa-something.

I had intended to be considerate and converse quietly, but the potato’s wry smile indicated he’d heard me. However, it seemed he hadn’t remembered my name, either, so we were even.

The potato’s voice was unexpectedly resonant and deep. “I’m Shiroyama. Judo club. These two are lowerclassmen…”

“Tsukui.”

“Fujino.”

Thank you very much for that macho trio self-intro. But the guys were somewhat lacking in defining characteristics, making them hard to remember. And being that they were hard to remember, I decided to dub them the Three Brothers Tuber: Potato, Sweet Potato, and Taro.

“I’m Yukinoshita, captain of the Service Club. This is Yuigahama, a member of the club.” Yukinoshita gestured toward Yuigahama and introduced her.

Hmm, I think there’s one more member, though?

But Yukinoshita didn’t touch on that and instead moved on. “Now, then,” she said to the Brothers Tuber, “are you informed as to what kind of activities this club engages in?”

“Yeah. Miss Hiratsuka told me you resolve issues at school…,” said the potato, Shiroyama, henceforth known as Pota-yama.

Miss Hiratsuka again, huh…? Man, her explanations are half-assed. She’s kinda making it out to be like Trouble Contractors, or TROCON, for short. Is there gonna be a coconut crab massacre?

Yukinoshita pressed her temple. “Strictly speaking, not quite…”

“Well, it’s close enough,” Yuigahama replied with a blank look.

I’m sure that’s what it is, as Yuigahama understands it. It’s just that Yukinoshita has those strange ideals of hers. From an outsider’s perspective, we would be something like advice experts or an odd-jobs service.

Meaning if they’d come to us, the Brothers Tuber must have had some kind of problem. “So do you want something?” I asked.

The sweet potato and the taro both opened their mouths, but Pota-yama stopped them. Apparently, as their elder, he’d be the one to explain. What a good role model.

“Oh, um, it’s difficult to talk about this, but…recently, a lot of our members have been talking about quitting. Some have already handed in their resignation forms.” From his phrasing, I could guess Pota-yama was the club captain.

I’m jealous that they’re even able to quit… I’d like to quit, too, but they won’t let me, you know. This place violates employment standards, doesn’t it?

My unethical employer hmm’d and put her hand to her chin in a thinking gesture. “People keep wanting to leave… Do you know why?”

“Well…” Shiroyama hesitated.

But frankly, I figured you didn’t even have to ask. “That’s just what the judo club is like, isn’t it? It’s like the three Ss: smell, strain, and severe exercise—what do you expect?” I said.

Sweet Potato and Taro fiercely argued with me.

“W-we don’t smell!”

“But you’re right about strain and severe exercise!”

I had no idea which was Tsukui and which was Fujino, but I could tell the sweet potato guy was sensitive about his BO, while the taro guy had no spine.

“Be quiet a minute,” Pota-yama scolded them, and they backed down.

“Yessir.”

Well trained. As expected of athletic types.

“You be quiet a minute, too, Hikigaya.” Yukinoshita glared at me with cold eyes, and I obediently withdrew.

“Yessir…” I am also well trained.

Noticing the conversation had been interrupted, Shiroyama made us get back on topic. “You asked me if I know why?”

When he paused, Yuigahama gestured for him to proceed. “Mm-hmm, yeah.”

“An older student, who graduated last year and is now in university, has been coming to watch practice. And he’s a little…” It must have been pretty hard to say, as he trailed off into silence. But the remarks that followed made the situation abundantly clear.

“He’s horrible!”

“He tortures us!” Unlike before, there was this tragic but brave note to their voices, and even Shiroyama didn’t try to stop them, this time.

And the pair got even more passionate. “He’ll be like, It’s a harsh world out there! and totally run us through the wringer! He’ll throw you so hard!”

“And whoever loses first in sparring has to go shopping for him! He’ll make one guy eat ten beef bowls!”

“But when you try to use your moves on him, it just makes him mad!”

“He’s crazy!”

Tsukui and Fujino cried out in alternation. Not only were they loud, but they were in such a rush to talk they ran out of breath and started panting. They would have said more, but Yukinoshita shot them a chilly glance, and they lost momentum and gradually fell silent.

After they were quiet, Yukinoshita said, “I understand the situation. So you’re saying you want us to do something about this guy?”

As Yukinoshita said, this guy was the root of all these problems. At the very least, Sweet Potato and Taro seemed to hate him. The ones who wanted to leave the club probably felt the same.

So then the quickest thing to do would be to excise the afflicted part.

But Shiroyama shook his head and then gravely said, “…No, that’s impossible.”

“It is? Why?” Yuigahama tilted her head.

“If he listened to other people, it never would have gotten to this point… And besides, you’re not even in the club. There wouldn’t be much point if it came from you.”

It seemed Shiroyama had spoken to this guy a number of times—probably gently, though. Shiroyama had been speaking vaguely, and I got the impression that when he talked about this guy, he chose his words carefully. I suppose he was showing discretion, or perhaps just keeping this guy at arm’s length.

It’s difficult for an outsider to butt in—and not just with clubs but with anything. If someone opens their mouth, it’s human nature to think, You don’t know anything about us; shut up. Even if they’re right, you won’t listen, no matter what.

So it would be best for someone with a connection to them to talk with them. “What about your advisor?” I asked.

Shiroyama’s shoulders drooped. “He’s not experienced in judo. When our senior visits, the advisor actually welcomes him, because he can take charge.”

“Oh, then what about the third-years?” Yuigahama asked.

“They retired after the last tournament.” Shiroyama answered that instantly, too. He had probably thought up these options himself already and given up on them as impossible solutions.

He’d already come to his conclusion.

“I don’t think he’ll listen, no matter who talks to him. He’s good. He can’t win against a team, but he’s always won one-on-one. His skills are good enough to get him into university.” Suddenly, Shiroyama’s gaze turned distant, as if he were looking back on the past.

“Huh… Got in through a sports recommendation, huh? That’s pretty amazing,” I said.

So then based on my calculations, he would have been in third year when we were in first year. And since Shiroyama knew this guy, too, it made it hard for him to argue. To say nothing of his talent. So then even the current third-years wouldn’t be able to oppose him, and it would be hard for an amateur advisor to interfere.

Yeah, so that would mean they just had to be quiet and put up with it. Skill and age-based hierarchical structures can’t be broken down that easily.

After listening in silence for so long, Yukinoshita drew her hand away from her jaw. “If your request isn’t to deal with this graduate, can I take it that you’re looking to sign up new members?” she asked.

Shiroyama gave a slight nod and answered, “Yeah. I don’t think this’ll kill our club, but at this rate, we won’t be able to put together a team for tournaments.”

“Sign-ups, huh…?” I muttered. “It’s not like you’re getting people onto cell phone contracts, so I don’t think it’ll be that easy, though…”

Especially since this was the judo club. Someone would have to like judo—or just have an interest in it to begin with—or they wouldn’t really consider joining. Maybe it’s unkind to say this, but I wouldn’t say it’s a popular club for high school kids.

“Wouldn’t it be better to get the people who quit to come back?” Yuigahama said, and Yukinoshita crossed her arms and nodded.

“Indeed. At the very least, they would have an interest in judo, which would make them more likely to join compared with the general student body.”

Yuigahama seemed glad Yukinoshita agreed with her opinion, flinging her arms around the other girl. “Yeah, yeah! Plus, like, you can feel like you overcame it together and become closer friends!”

Yukinoshita seemed a little annoyed, but she didn’t reject Yuigahama harshly. She gently pushed Yuigahama’s hands away in an attempt to somehow maintain distance. Their similar hairstyles made the exchange look quite amicable.

I do think they have gotten closer. After Yuigahama’s brief departure and return recently, I think you could indeed say there’s been progress in their relationship. But their example is kind of unique, and I think it worked because the Service Club is a casual sort of club, and because of Yukinoshita’s and Yuigahama’s personalities.

“I think once they run, they won’t come back,” I said.

“I dunno…” As Yuigahama said that, she gave up on squeezing Yukinoshita and just started massaging her shoulders instead as a compromise. But Yukinoshita still seemed a little annoyed.

Let’s not do that in front of guests, okay, guys?

To distract the judo club guys’ attention, I said to Shiroyama, “So what? Do you think the guys who’ve left will come back?”

“…I doubt it.” Shiroyama seemed to consider that possibility a moment, but then he shook his head slightly.

Yeah. I get the feeling that with sports clubs, once you quit, you’re unlikely to come back. The reasoning there is different from that of a more casual club like ours. These athletic-type clubs operate based on a unique set of values—like their hierarchical structure, and group cohesion. That’s their virtue but also their vice.

The word bonds can also mean shackles.

That very friendship is why you’ll view them in an especially critical way once they’re gone. If someone leaves and comes back, you might feel like they’re traitors. And if the reason they left was because of harsh training from a former student, they probably wouldn’t return to the club so long as that issue went unresolved.

“…Whatever the case, we have to actually see the situation, or we can’t say anything,” said Yukinoshita.

“Yeah. And some people can handle more than others. For now, let’s just see you guys train,” I agreed. There was the possibility that maybe this graduate’s rigorous training was not actually a big deal, and the ones who had quit were hopeless wimps. Some of the guys had put up with it and stayed on, after all.

The first of the remnants still toughing it out, Shiroyama, nodded. “Roger. He won’t be coming today, so how about tomorrow?”

I had no plans on either day, so I left the decision to Yukinoshita. I looked over at the girls to ask what we’d do, and Yuigahama must have had no objections, as she looked at Yukinoshita, too.

Yukinoshita replied, “Yes, I don’t mind.”

“Then see you guys tomorrow,” Yuigahama said next, and she raised her hand.

“Thank you.” Pota-yama bowed politely, and with the other two potatoes following, they left the clubroom.

I watched the three go, then looked out the window.

The summer had just begun, and the sun remained high even in the evening. The blazing sun made me think the judo dojo had to be pretty hot.

It was the day after Shiroyama and the judo club guys had visited the Service Club.

The three of us decided to take a peek at the judo club practice.

The dojo was on the first floor of the gymnasium building. It had windows at floor level, maybe for airflow, so we could circle around from outside to sneak a peek.

The term high school sports clubs calls to mind a lively image. The scattering sweat. The shrill cries. And the tears of emotion. The sort of coming-of-age graffiti you imagine scrawled on the walls of their youth.

But the reality was different.

The sweat was wrung from them, the shrieks sounded rather dark, and the tears were just tears. The few judo club members there were working so hard, you’d think they were ready to vomit blood.

They don’t look like they’re having fun at all…

The biggest cause of this seemed to be that former student. He was this one particularly stern guy in a judo uniform, and his stature clearly differentiated him from the other club members. He stood boldly at the head of the room, watching the club members practice.

But all they were practicing was running.

Shiroyama, the two guys from the day before, and a few others were running endless loops around the dojo. Is running something you have to do for judo? I didn’t know much about it, but it seemed to me that running in this sweltering hot dojo in the middle of what I’d call a heat wave was rough treatment.

Mr. Graduate glanced at the clock and slowly stood. “That’s enough. Those of you who were too slow, keep running for the seconds you went over. The rest of you, we’re starting sparring.” And then without any time for a break, they began training.

“Whoa, he’s tough on them…,” Yuigahama peeked in from behind to say.

“Yes, it does look severe. I have to wonder about it from a health and safety perspective…,” Yukinoshita added, stuck close behind Yuigahama.

Though I did have some doubts, like Yukinoshita had mentioned, so far it looked surprisingly legitimate. No way I wanted to do it, though. All you had to say was strict sports club, and I was out.

I guess it’s a little different from what I assumed, I thought as I watched for a little while longer, but then once they started attack practice, the mood clearly changed.

“You suck! Go run laps until you die!” he yelled at them, his tone violent. “You won’t learn anything if you can’t even pull off one attack! This is how my seniors taught me. You have to learn it with your body, or you won’t get it!”

He continued to beat them down with his moves.

“You’ll never make it out there if you start whining over this! High school clubs are easy. The world out there is far harsher than this!”

His lectures went on and on.

Me, Yukinoshita, and Yuigahama all fell silent.

Frankly speaking, this felt like a different dimension to me. I’m sure there are probably clubs out there that are stricter, harsher, and more unfair than this judo club. But the oddest thing of all was that the club submitted to their senior without a single complaint.

I didn’t enjoy watching either party here.

I take it for granted that any person, any living creature, would avoid things they don’t like, and if they don’t, I question it. This was why I couldn’t blame the people who’d left this situation. Blaming the people who left was the problem here, I’d say.

With this, my plan to call back the original club members evaporated.

“I’ve seen enough,” I said, moving away from the window and checking with the other two. They both nodded, and we turned around and started heading for the clubroom.

At the end, I turned back just one more time.

I could only barely see Shiroyama through the window, practicing in silence. I forced myself to turn away, then started following the others back to the clubroom.

Anyway, we knew what was going on with the judo club. Now I just had to think up a way to deal with it.

Once we were back in the clubroom, I finally relaxed. After being outside, getting back into the cool made me acknowledge how comfortable this place was.

This must be how an office worker feels after coming back from running outside errands during summertime: like his workplace is heaven. Once he reaches that point, he’s been broken in as a corporate slave. Quick, get me an interview with an employment medical advisor.

While drinking the ice-cold MAX Coffee I’d bought on the way back to the clubroom, I started by trying to sort out our impressions of the judo club. “So what do you guys honestly think?”

“It’s hard to say… I don’t have a point of reference from watching any other judo clubs, but it didn’t seem very healthy to me,” Yukinoshita said carefully after some thought, choosing her words.

A study for comparison is indeed an important element, but I feel like the idea that something is okay just because other people are doing it is unsound. I figured I could assume her opinion included this.

Yuigahama’s answer, on the other hand, was simplicity itself. “I really couldn’t handle that…” Though her remark was brief, it contained a depth of meaning. Was she talking about competitions, or about the members, or about the graduate, or watching them practice? You couldn’t say which it was in a single word, but most likely, her statement included all those in general.

“What about you, Hikki?” Yuigahama asked.

My answer was a simple one. “I don’t like it.”

I’ve never had much of anything to do with athletics. You know, since it requires teamwork and stuff. So that means my knowledge of sports isn’t deep, and my understanding is shallow. So I can’t really have an opinion about it, but the one thing I can say is, the way the Soubu High School judo club operates does not align with my values.

“How rare for us to share the same perspective.” As Yukinoshita said, all three of us had negative impressions. So much the better for moving things along.

“His request was to help them recruit more members, but…” Yuigahama reconfirmed this point. That was all Shiroyama had come to speak with us about, and we had accepted no other task. In other words, this was our greatest priority.

“Well then, I guess we have to canvass for some members,” I said.

“I suppose we’ll have to fix their image first,” said Yukinoshita.

We had to communicate that the sport of judo itself, and not just Soubu High School’s judo club, was a good and beneficial thing, or it would be difficult to gather new members now. So it was reasonable to treat the improvement of their image as a vital part of the plan.

As we were all setting our minds to this matter, Yuigahama suddenly clapped her hands. “Oh, what if we advertise that, like, judo will get you girls?”

Lame…

Yuigahama’s eyes were kind of sparkling as she said that, but what a cheap idea…

“Would you believe that?” I argued her down on the spot.

“…Forget I said that.” Immediately, Yuigahama withdrew her opinion, and she dejectedly slumped into her chair again.

Whenever you’re starting something, immediately someone will bring up It’ll get you girls! as a reason to do it. But consider this rationally. Playing some sport or joining a band will not get you girls.

The kind of guys who get girls don’t need to do anything special to succeed. In fact, they don’t have to do anything at all. Unpopular guys will have realized that fact, so that lure will have no effect.

As I was considering other types of hooks, Yukinoshita breathed out a little sigh. “Hmm, what about saying it will help you diet?”

“Those guys are the aggressively athletic type. For them, eating is a part of practice…,” I argued. For high-impact sports, your body is your tool of the trade. That’s why they eat lots to build strong muscles and meet calorie requirements. I hear in the sports world, being able to eat a lot is also a talent.

Yuigahama made a face, too. “And it’d make them all muscly…” Judging from her reaction, promising them bigger muscles wouldn’t be a good idea, either… In fact, if you were looking to hook guys who want to get ripped, wouldn’t it be best to offer all-you-can-drink protein shakes or something?

We couldn’t quite come up with any ideas that struck us as it. As the three of us folded our arms and groaned, all we got was the passage of time.

Right about when the long hand of the clock had moved about ninety degrees, Yukinoshita unfolded her arms and stretched a little, like a cat that had gotten sick of napping. That seemed to get her thoughts on a new track. “So what we must do is not merely improve their image but fundamentally transform it,” she concluded.

Now that she’d said that, it was reason enough to give up. That was a hopeless task, too. I’m sure VIPs in the judo world have thought long and hard about this, so there was no way we could come up with anything in such a short time. And even if we did think up something innovative, with no support behind it, it was unlikely we had enough power to get it to sink in.

“You can’t undo people’s stereotypes so easily,” I said.

“Hmm…then for now, I guess we just try recruiting people the hard way?” Yuigahama moaned.

Well, that would be the straightforward solution. But just because it was the straightforward choice didn’t mean it was the right one.

“Just trying to get people to join isn’t gonna make them come. If that would work, then new members would be flooding in already.” I think quite a few guys out there are interested in judo, but to actually do it, they’d have to have a reason or some external pressure that pushed them into it, or they’d be unlikely to take that step. “Plus, joining partway through the year is a lot to ask.”

“…Maybe you’re right.” That seemed to convince Yuigahama, as she answered with a little nod.

Everything is like that.

Take part-time jobs, for instance. When everyone else already knows one another, it’s just scary. They say those parties are for the newbies on the job, but they’ll actually just have fun without you. What’s with that? Is this some kind of roundabout way of saying, like, There’s no seat for your ass anyway!? That’s why I tactfully quit right away, you know!

It’s scary to join in partway, and not just for social reasons. There’s other stuff, too. “There’s also, like… With sports, it’s always clear who’s better than who, so that’ll give a lot of guys second thoughts,” I said.

Yukinoshita folded her arms again and hmm’d. “So what you’re saying is, we must emphasize that they can get better right away.”

“More like that they can avoid embarrassing themselves by joining now.”

“Oh, maybe you’re right,” said Yuigahama. “When everyone else is amazing, you can’t help but feel depressed about it…”

Thank you for the agreement. Yuigahama has the tendency to pay too much attention to how others react, so maybe that’s why she picked up on that psychological principle so easily. Very helpful.

By contrast, Yukinoshita seemed blown away by this, as if this was the first she’d ever learned of such a fact. “I see. As expected of Hikigaya, who falls behind no one when it comes to falling behind. What keen insight.”

“Hey? Watch how you say that? I actually excel more than you think?” I excel so hard that I figured things out at that job pretty fast. So fast, in fact, that they talked smack about me behind my back. He’s not even cute, huh?

But there would be no use in pointing that out as Yukinoshita began to get to the point. “So then we must suggest to the student body that the judo club is generally incompetent and not a big deal, while also coming up with a visible way to canvass for new members in the middle of the year.”

She’s right, but what a horrible way to say it…

She’d made clear the tasks we had to accomplish, but we were still far from a solution. Our narrower focus had resulted in more boxes to check off before our mission was complete. It wasn’t gonna be easy to fulfill all of those. Would it be best to solve each of them as different issues?

Whatever the case, I figured the question was how we would promote judo. But I felt like incompetent and worth joining were mutually exclusive.

As I was considering all these things, Yuigahama suddenly raised her hand. “Oh! Oh, oh, oh!”

“…Yes, Yuigahama?” Yukinoshita must have been annoyed by the repeated exclamations, as she pointed at the other girl with some exasperation.

For some reason, Yuigahama stood up and broke into a big smile. “What about an event? There are a lot of inkare-style casual clubs out there that do events to get people interested.” Yuigahama was babbling away, apparently tremendously excited. I could understand her fine, except for one unfamiliar word.

It seemed Yukinoshita had the same problem. “In…kare? …Curry?” She tilted her head inquisitively.

I was curious about that word, too. “Like, is it short for ‘Indian curry’?” It would be a great name for a curry restaurant. CoCoICHI, Inkare, Karekichi. Oh hey, this inkare thing sounds like a topic a certain curry-loving voice actor would enjoy.

Yuigahama shook her head hard at our reactions. “No! It’s short for…in…inter? Collegiate! I think,” she mused, her confidence waning.

Yukinoshita understood what she meant. “Intercollegiate—meaning, between universities? I believe the term refers to exchange at the university level, though…”

As expected of Yukipedia. She had the proper word registered in there. And intercollegiate was shortened as inkare.

After hearing Yukinoshita’s explanation, Yuigahama moved on, talking animatedly. “Yeah, yeah! Sometimes casual clubs from a bunch of different universities will get together to do a thing. Since it’s hard for them to get enough people if it’s only from that one school, they do all kinds of events. I hear they often invite high schoolers, too.”

Yuigahama sounded so casual about what was a rather frightening topic of discussion… What? University students always do stuff like that? That’s more than just devotion to having a good time. If they’re even getting high school kids to come, then ew no what the hell yikes. This intercollegiate stuff sounds like a real den of Chads and Stacys (in my totally biased opinion). Does Yuigahama go to these, too?

It must have come out on my face how totally put off I was. I might have even said ew out loud. Yuigahama noticed and flushed bright red, then panicked and got defensive. “I—I haven’t gone myself! I just heard from a girl from another school!”

I couldn’t just take her at her word, though, so I shot her a doubting look. Yuigahama quietly averted her eyes before adding in a mosquito-pitch murmur, “And, like, it’s too scary to go to something like that…”

Well, I think you don’t have to go, really. Hearing about it will stir unnecessary anxieties in certain people.

Now that I’d gotten my hate for these intercollegiate clubs out of my system, my mood brightened a bit. Actually, if that really worked to get people together, it could be a useful reference. “What kind of events do they do?” I asked.

Thinking back and hmming as she recalled, Yuigahama answered, “If it’s a tennis club, for example, they’ll have, like, a casual tennis tournament open to people who aren’t experienced with tennis, or a bowling tournament, or a barbecue.”

“Bowling…huh? What kind of club did you say?”

“Uh, tennis. Like I said.”

Why would a tennis club have to go bowling…? Do you have to practice the wrist snap or something in order to do the perfect swing or something?

Intercollegiate clubs are scary after all.

Yuigahama ignored my shuddering and continued her explanation. “So we could do a judo tournament or something for fun, and then we’d have people from the judo club participate, like, casually.”

I see. Fun.

If you say you’re doing judo for fun, that’ll pique the interest of some of the guys and get them to come. And if the judo club guys could take it easy on them and try to show them a good time, they could avoid giving the impression that the new guys suck in comparison.

That might actually be a great idea.

As I was starting to come around to the idea, Yukinoshita was nodding along as she mulled it over. But then her head stopped moving. “But will the school give permission…?” She had no objection to the idea itself; her concern was about execution.

But that was probably nothing to worry about. “I think it’ll be okay. This school is pretty lax when it comes to club activities.” There’s the Service Club, and even weird, nonsensical clubs like the UG Club.

Plus, some proper clubs are allowed to hold various functions, too. The tea ceremony club often has tea parties, and they invite nonmembers to their mini-events and stuff.

Yukinoshita seemed to understand what I was getting at, but her stern expression remained in place. “It seems we can manage soliciting people…but if they come with the goal of having fun, won’t they end up quitting in the end?”

“…Probably,” I answered frankly.

Yuigahama looked exasperated. “‘Probably’…?”

But of course I was going to be frank, because I’d already anticipated that response. If even the members who’d enrolled at the start of the school year wanted to quit, then the new members were even more likely to quit. So we had to do something to prevent that.

“That’s why you also have to change the environment.” I didn’t have to say what that referred to for Yukinoshita to figure it out.

“You mean to take that graduate out of the picture.”

Correct. I answered with a nod.

This cycle would continue so long as we did not remove the cause. And what’s more, the club’s bad reputation would spread, making it so no one would even touch the judo club anymore.

The answer was clear, but something about this was bothering Yuigahama. She was holding her head with a complicated expression. “But I don’t think the judo club guys would help us do that. Mainly the captain…”

“Indeed,” said Yukinoshita. “It seems they admire him.”

“That’s less admiration and more blind worship, isn’t it?” I said. And I doubt Shiroyama feels that sort of blind worship only toward that one guy. I think that’s the way he sees social hierarchy and group cohesion in general. He takes the unfairness as a given.

History class has taught me plenty about just how difficult it is to make someone abandon their faith. That was why I figured we couldn’t look to Shiroyama to cooperate with us. He hadn’t even suggested getting rid of that graduate as an option.

“A way to eliminate him without the help of the judo club…,” I muttered, and Yukinoshita slowly closed her eyes.

Yuigahama, on the other hand, was leaning back on her chair, making it creak as she rocked it back and forth and stared up at the ceiling.

Then as her head dropped back down, she stuck up a finger and opened her mouth. “We could tell some other teachers or the school board!”

“The school wouldn’t want us exposing issues, either,” I said. Our school does have a fairly prestigious reputation. If we had trouble with the coaching of a club here, it would be a big deal. If we tattled, there would be a superficial inquiry, they would insist there was no problem, they would announce as much, and then it’d be shelved forever.

It seemed Yukinoshita wasn’t into that plan, either; her face showed her reluctance. “Yes. Most likely all they would do is give the club advisor a verbal warning.”

“Worst case, the whole judo club would get blamed and shut down,” I agreed.

There was also the possibility that the school wouldn’t even see it as a problem in the first place. If what was going on was judged to be within the realm of regular instruction, then complaining would have the opposite effect and make everything worse.

Since this was a martial arts club, a little bit of danger was a given. Moreover, it was totally possible that he was keeping safety in mind with this coaching and that us amateurs would be evaluating it slightly differently from the experts.

It would be best not to make that dangerous bet.

“Then all we can do is make that guy leave of his own free will,” I said. Leaving any uncertain elements out of the calculation, that was the best plan.

That was it, but both Yuigahama and Yukinoshita looked doubtful.

“But he wouldn’t listen to what outsiders say, right?” Yuigahama gave a somewhat confused smile.

Yukinoshita’s smile was more exasperated. “We’d have to bring in someone with even more status than the club advisor or that graduate—if that’s even possible.”

I was sure Yukinoshita was being somewhat ironic, but that was, in fact, our only option. “So then let’s bring ’em in.”

“Huh?” Yuigahama’s eyes widened.

Yukinoshita started a little, giving me a look of doubt. “You don’t even have any acquaintances, never mind friends. Do you have any prospects?”

The second sentence would have been enough. Why’d you have to go to the trouble of adding that? Well, it is true, though.

Gathering my thoughts bit by bit, I put together the words. “I do have prospects. Or I’m gonna make some now. In fact, we should hold an event to make it happen.”

“Are you gonna invite someone to the event? But who?” Yuigahama asked, leaning forward with deep interest.

I gave a nasty smirk and told them the answer I’d come to. “The greatest outsider in the world—society.”

Following my statement, Yuigahama made this huuuuh sound that didn’t tell me if she really understood or not. Was that a little too complicated…?

But Yukinoshita cracked a smile. She got it. “It’s ultimately not any acquaintance of yours, is it?”

…I guess you’re right. It’s like I just know them, and they don’t know me.

The next day, we began efforts to actualize this event.

First, we explained the plan to Shiroyama and all the others of the judo club. This part wasn’t that hard. We just said it would be a big event to generate some buzz and draw in members, which was easy enough to understand.

But we did not at all touch on our ulterior plan. We didn’t want to deal with resistance from them, and no matter what our intentions were, ultimately, I would have that graduate leave of his own free will. There was no need to bother telling them.

After we’d explained things to the judo club, we negotiated with the school. We’d be inviting all the students to participate in the judo tournament, so of course the teachers would ask us a few questions about our plans. It would be a pain to have the school getting in the way further down the line, so discussing plans beforehand would make our future operation smoother.

To negotiate, first, we went to the judo club advisor—though we didn’t really include me. Shiroyama was the one to explain the whole thing about doing a demonstration to gather members. As expected, even though the guy was just a decorative advisor, he’d been concerned about the recent loss of members, too, so we were able to get permission with no issue. He gave us some basic instructions on safety considerations, but having the judo club members on hand to oversee everything cleared that hurdle. The venue would be the martial arts dojo, too, so there was nothing to worry about on that front.

So far, it was all going well.

Now for the participants.

I had to enter myself, so I’d have to get some team members as well. More importantly, however, I had to secure the minimum number of participants necessary in order to hold the event at all.

Right away, Yukinoshita put together some tournament outlines. She printed stacks of them and stuck them up all over, then got the judo club guys help us out to distribute them everywhere.

But we couldn’t expect much out of this approach to advertisement. The orchestra club and tea ceremony club often used notice boards and flyers to promote their events, but the participation rate for those wasn’t that high. Generally, for these events, you get people to come by using your personal connections.

And if we’re talking about connections, then me and Yukinoshita couldn’t help there. Plus, the judo club network was weakened, so we couldn’t expect much from them, either. Our remaining option, Yuigahama, wouldn’t have enough personal connections on her own to put a tournament together.

So then we had to explore a more effective, more efficient avenue.

What’s the greatest audience draw for events?

Casting.

Of course, content is often relevant, but since this was a judo tournament, and novelty wasn’t a major element here, we’d have to have something else to win people over. And fortunately, I had in mind someone in the school with a great ability to draw people in.

Yuigahama and I—mostly Yuigahama, really—went to negotiate.

During lunch hour, classroom 2-F was always abuzz with chatter. With summer vacation so close, the energy during lunch hour was especially high. On that day, I decided not to go outside, either, and remained inside the classroom.

This was to book the shocking participation of Hayato Hayama in the Soubu High School judo tournament: the S1 Grand Prix. I made up that name just now, if you were wondering.

Hayama had been able to gather a fair-sized audience even for that impromptu grass tennis match a while back. For an event like this one, with prior notice, we could expect an even greater turnout than last time. He was a must-have.

But even saying that, the main negotiator here would be not me but Yuigahama.

“’Kay, I’m gonna try talking to him.” After going to buy a bun for lunch, we had a little meeting before Yuigahama cheerfully returned to her clique. Watching her go, I sat down in my own seat.

Now then, I would observe with the utmost attention, ears alert as I ate. If Yuigahama was having trouble, then I’d make sure to back her up indirectly. Easier said than done.

As I listened, Yuigahama immediately brought up the topic with Hayama and the gang. “Oh, so I heard the judo club is gonna be holding this judo tournament.”

“Hmm.” Miura munched on a bun as she showed absolutely no interest. At least she was making listening noises despite her lack of interest; maybe she kinda was a good person.

Still, seeing her with a bun in one hand and cell phone in the other, I was on the edge of my seat waiting for her to chomp into her cell phone by mistake. Don’t be on your phone while you’re eating, okay? And with other people, too. Only us loners are allowed to be on our phones while eating, you know?

Not discouraged by Miura’s attitude, Yuigahama continued. “It’s like, um, Let’s see who’s the strongest in the school! That kinda thing?”

“Oh, now that you mention it, I did see that flyer.” Hayama joined in the conversation without missing a beat. As expected of the guy who will actually listen to people and go along with the conversation, thereby maintaining social harmony.

Yuigahama had probably also been banking on this. She instantly turned the conversation toward Hayama. “You look like you’d enjoy that, Hayato! Why don’t you join?”

It’s like she’s not even trying, with that invitation… Nothing about him suggests he would be good at this…

“Huh? D-do I?”

See? Thought so. He’s a little confused, isn’t he? Hayama has a reputation for being the pure and charming type, which is the polar opposite of judo.

Of course, I wasn’t the only one with that opinion. “No way. Hayato doesn’t come off like a judo guy at all.” Tobe cackled wildly, and Yamato and Ooka laughed along with him.

Yuigahama moved in. “Oh, and you could do it, too, Tobecchi? You’re kinda strong, aren’t you? Not like I’d know. Why don’t you and Hayato do it together? It’s team matches, in groups of three.”

“Huh? Judo might be kinda…”

Hmm. So her strategy was to start by filling in Hayama’s moats, huh? Yuigahama had not broached this subject without a plan but rather had deliberately begun with an absurd proposition so as to make it easier to broach the subject with Tobe…probably. Maybe not. I also feel like she might just say things like that.

I didn’t know how much of this was calculated. Then someone even more incalculable to me reacted with a twitch. “…Do it, together? J-judo? …I like that!” As if she’d been ruminating over the choice of words, Ebina reacted slowly.

“Ebina. Here, a tissue.” Miura tossed a tissue over to Ebina, who looked ready to spew blood from her nose at any moment.

Ebina thanked her and pressed the tissue to her nose but still continued passionately. “I like it! Judo’s good!” Ebina gave a thumbs-up.

For some reason, Tobe suddenly began to approve, too. “Uhhh…judo might be kinda…kinda something I could do, huh?”

The nuance there is subtly different from before… Oh, Japanese. Such a difficult language…

“B-boys locked in a grapple and falling for each other? Who?! Which one is doing the falling, Hikitani?!”

Don’t point me out specifically… I felt sharp eyes on me, so I jerked my gaze away. As I was looking the other way, negotiations steadily continued.

When I timidly turned around, Tobe was whacking Hayama on the back with newfound enthusiasm. “You come, too, Hayato!”

“Hmm, well, it’s not something you often have the opportunity to try.” Unsurprisingly, when he had Yuigahama and Tobe pushing him one after another, Hayama was unable to refuse. He was leaning more and more toward joining the tournament.

Was this the fate of the one who possessed the Zone? Once you’ve created an atmosphere, you are compelled to act in order to avoid destroying it.

And then the final nail was driven in.

“If you join, Hayato, I’ll go watch.” Now that Miura was finally making some show of interest, Hayama seemed to make up his mind.

“Then I guess I will,” he answered with a charming smile.

Mission complete. Now we just had to spread the news that Hayama would be in the tournament, and that would grow the audience. And once the scale had grown, that should cause even more people to want to participate.

“Then maybe we’ll join, too…”

“Yeah.” There was an immediate ripple effect, as Yamato and Ooka both declared their participation.

At their core, boys like martial arts.

No, it’s less that they like it and more that they have an interest. At some point in time, they would have wanted to hold the title of “the strongest.” If you just have the right trigger, I don’t think it’s that hard to get them to remember that feeling.

Now it was settled. All four guys of Hayama’s clique—Hayama, Tobe, Ooka, and Yamato—would be participating. What’s more, Miura would be in the audience, too, so for Soubu High School, this was an all-star lineup.

Hayama suddenly realized something. “But it’s in groups of three, huh…?” he muttered quietly, standing up. Then he strode away. I vaguely followed him with my eyes, and mysteriously, my eyes never moved.

Huh, he’s coming toward me…

During the scant few seconds I was wondering if there was someone nearby Hayama would have wanted to talk to, he came toward me. And then he stopped right there and grinned, showing his white teeth. “Hikitani, will you join the judo tournament with me?”

What’s he talking about, all of a sudden…?

Though my head understood his words, my heart couldn’t. But he’d given me an invitation, so I had to give him a response of some sort. “Huh? Uh, you know, I’m like. Can’t. ’Cause of reasons.” If I’m invited to something, I immediately refuse. This is the correct response when someone acts out of politeness.

But Hayama did not back down. Without breaking his smile, he continued. “I see. Well, Tobe and the guys will be a group of three, so I’m gonna be left out.”

“O-oh. Well, yeah…” I waffled as he looked weirdly straight at me.

Hayama shrugged his shoulders. “So how about it? …You’re the one who recommended doing it this way, aren’t you?”

Agh. I get it. He was talking about how we formed groups for the workplace tour a while back.

Back then, I had indeed suggested an arrangement that would separate Hayama from Tobe and their other friends. If they would be taking that suggestion this time, too, then Hayama wouldn’t be in a group with them. Of course, just like last time, the baton would be passed to me.

So I was forced to accept his proposal. Most of all, it would be bad for us if my refusal were to cause Hayama to not participate. “…But we’re still short one,” I said by way of agreement.

Hayama smiled boldly. “Could you invite one more for me, then?”

“Uh, I don’t have any friends I could invite.” Obviously, it’d be faster for Hayama to invite someone. I implicitly shoved the task off on him, but he smoothly avoided that, too.

“What about that one guy?”

That one guy… Wait, was there someone? I thought, and then I hit on the answer. O-oh. Totsuka!

Now that we were on the same page, I said, “Oh…him, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah, Zaimokuza. He seems strong. I think he might be perfect.”

Oh, him…

If that was Hayama’s choice, then I couldn’t not invite Zaimokuza. Hayama was a major element of this event. I had to meet his demands as best I could and make sure he enjoyed participating. Guess I have no choice…

My shoulders slumping in despair must have looked like a nod or something, as Hayama replied with a nod of his own. “Then thanks.” With that, he returned to his seat.

Being on a team with Zaimokuza would be a disappointment, but this turn of events was in fact convenient for the Service Club. I’d only anticipated using Hayama as a mascot for drawing in the crowds, but if I could use him as a weapon, too, that would help me out.

Now my plans were set, to a degree.

All that was left was to determine how much of the details could be worked out beforehand, and whom the odds would favor in our big gamble on the day of the event.

The judo tournament was just for fun, just a bit of goofing around.

Or so we claimed, but the event had pulled in more participants and a greater audience than we expected.

Right before summer vacation might have been the perfect time for this. Soon, we would be away from school for a little over a month, so maybe this little diversion was a good last event to get excited about before the break.

The dojo wasn’t all that big, so the presence of a standing audience told us the event was a success.

Shiroyama, on standby near the head of the dojo, scanned the whole scene. He didn’t seem like the expressive type, but this time, apparently, he found this something to be impressed over. “I didn’t think we’d get this many people. Thanks. You’ve been a big help.”

He thanked us, but none of this would help anyone.

Our job was starting now—and I doubted he’d thank us after it was done.

So I didn’t touch on that and instead brought up something else. “Anyway, that graduate is going to be coming today, right?”

“Yeah. I made sure to invite him, just like you said. I think he’ll be here soon.”

As long as he was coming, that was good. That was the one thing out of my power, so I’d had to rely on Shiroyama for that. His attendance was uncertain and, in fact, my biggest concern.

Thanks to Shiroyama, the graduate should be watching the tournament right from the start. How might he react? I didn’t know what his views would be on doing judo for fun. “Did he say anything about this?”

“…No. But he didn’t seem particularly angry.” Shiroyama appeared to be recalling his exchange with the graduate, making sure he was speaking accurately. For now, the graduate wasn’t opposed to this. The guy was taking the trouble to come back to a club he’d retired from. I’d been worried he might prefer they remain exclusive, but it seemed that wasn’t the case, at least.

Well, this event was basically being held under the pretext of attracting new members. Maybe that was why he would let it go.

“I see, then that’s good,” I said. “We have to show him you’re all really trying hard to breathe some life back into the club.”

“…Yeah.” Shiroyama suddenly seemed shy. His face was potato-like to begin with, so it was real hard to tell, though.

“Well, I hope it goes well for you. Later, then,” I said to Shiroyama, walking up from the back of the dojo to the entrance.

A long table had been set up there as reception for the entering teams. Currently, Yuigahama was sitting there, zoning out. Behind her, drawing up a tournament chart on some poster board was Yukinoshita.

In all, there would be eight teams in the tournament. Aside from the team of me, Hayama, and Zaimokuza, and the team the judo club was having compete, everyone else was on a first-come, first-serve basis until we were full. If we allowed too many people, we wouldn’t be able to handle them all. More importantly, it would slow things down.

The more fun you’re having, the shorter the time feels, so maybe keeping the tournament short and dense would make it more fun. It was a paradoxical way to stage the show.

Also, if it ended up being, y’know, super-boring, ending it quickly would provide its own sort of joy…

“Just about time to start, huh?” I said to Yuigahama, who was on her phone like she had nothing to do.

Without raising her head, she answered, “Yeah. I think everyone’ll probably come once Hayato’s here?”

I recalled that Hayama had said he was slipping out of his soccer club practice to do this. It wasn’t a problem, since I was on his team and I was here, and I’d registered Tobe’s team, too. Now we just had to await their arrival.

I glanced over at the tournament chart.

Yukinoshita was filling out the names of the teams that had entered. The judo club team was positioned right opposite ours.

So we wouldn’t compete until the finals.

“Hikigaya.” Yukinoshita seemed to notice me behind her and spoke to me without turning around.

“Hmm?”

“I did place you at either end like you said, but you still have to win your way up, or things won’t go according to plan, right?”

“…Yeah, that’s right.”

“…Yet another shaky plan…” Yukinoshita breathed an exasperated sigh.

But it wasn’t like I had no plan at all here. “If we lose, we’ll run an exhibition match or something. We can still make it work. It’d just change how we do it, not what we’d be doing.”

“All right… It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.” Yukinoshita drew the last line with a squeak of her marker and finally turned around. Then she grinned wide. “But even if it’s not me personally, I wouldn’t like my club having a blot on its record. So if you’re going to lose, I’d at least like for you to do it well.”

“Don’t assume I’m gonna lose…” She was wearing down my motivation before the match had even started. Why does she smile when she says stuff like this?

Well, it was true it didn’t matter if we lost.

We were holding this event, and the graduate was coming, so the plan had an 80 percent chance of coming together, regardless.

It wasn’t a lie that this was a PR event for recruiting new club members, but that was just one side.

The other purpose was to get rid of that graduate.

And to that end, he needed to lose his authority. I had to hurt him badly enough he would struggle to show his face here at school again. I’d come up with a number of methods for accomplishing that, but since I couldn’t say they would have no effect on the judo club down the road, I had to take that into consideration, too.

The smartest thing to do would be to have the graduate join in this tournament and then lose the match. But that really seemed unrealistic. This guy had gotten into university on a judo sports recommendation, so it’d be safe to assume that an amateur couldn’t beat him. Which led us to plan B.

“It’s just about time…,” Yukinoshita said as she checked the clock. Following her eyes, I looked over to see it was indeed about time to start.

With perfect timing, the entrance area burst into loud chattering. It seemed Hayama and his friends had arrived.

“I’m getting so pumped!” I could hear Tobe’s voice above the rest. I looked toward the sound to see Miura and Ebina among the others with him.

Hayama, at the center of their group, noticed me and quickly rushed over. “Sorry we’re late.”

“No, you’re right on time.” I pointed at the clock, and Hayama breathed a sigh of relief.

“I see; that’s good. Also, he’s here, too.” Hayama turned around, and there was a guy glancing around suspiciously, looking like a bear wandered down into the city.

“Nghnn… What is all this commotion?” He put his hand to his mouth, occasionally making suspicious herp derp noises.

“You’re late,” I addressed Zaimokuza when he showed no indication of coming in.

Zaimokuza twitched, tense as a mouse about to bolt for the wall. But then when he realized I was the one addressing him, he gradually relaxed. “Ngh, ’tis Hachiman! Upon your summons, I leaped forth to appear and see, but what is this?”

“Oh, it’s a tournament. You’re competing. On my team.”

“Uh? Hey?! Mr. Hachiman?!” He wailed his incomprehension.

But wait, he never got an explanation? Oh well. “Anyway, the competition is starting, so hurry up and let’s go.”

“Herk! A competition?!” Zaimokuza groaned, looking right and left, then at the tournament sheet right in front of him. “Herm…at least tell me what sort of tournament this is… If ’twere a duel, I could manage somehow, but…”

“It’s something like that. It’s a Japanese-style duel.”

“No, I know thou lieth…” I could see Zaimokuza was starting to gush sweat, but I prodded him in the back, conveying us into the dojo.

On the way, Hayama approached us, too, pushing Zaimokuza together with me. He’s a good guy. Although I think a really good guy probably wouldn’t have been pushing people at all. “Let’s do this, Zaimokuza.” Ever breezy, Hayama prodded Zaimokuza along as he greeted the other boy.

“Y-yeah…” Zaimokuza, on the other hand, was an eternally overheated human tropical rain forest. He didn’t even give Hayama a decent answer. “Who? Whassisface Hayama…,” he muttered.

Well, regardless, we had the whole team here.

I shifted my gaze over to the reception to see Yuigahama making a big O with her arms. Guess all the other teams were here, too. I looked over at the tournament bracket to see Yukinoshita nod, then point to her own watch. We were a little behind schedule, but it seemed everyone was ready to go.

At last, I glanced to Shiroyama, up at the back of the dojo.

He seemed not to notice my eyes. He was talking with the graduate, who’d just arrived. Instead, the first-year potato crew, Tsukui and Fujino, greeted me with little heys.

Now all the actors were in place.

Finally, the curtain was rising on the S1 Grand Prix, the tournament to decide the strongest in Soubu High School…

Shiroyama, the ceremonial organizer for the event, gave a brief opening speech. He spoke as simply as ever, but the audience was full of enthusiastic types who cheered wildly for him anyway.

Then, without much delay, the first match began. This one was between the judo club and some guys I didn’t really know. The judo club had an easy victory in a lighthearted match, and that vibe was probably why the second and third also went by with a good energy. Tobe’s team, which was in the second match, also safely moved their token to top four. Well, there were only eight teams, so we were all in the top eight to begin with.

We went through the scheduled matches one by one until we reached the fourth. This was our first sortie.

Now changed into a borrowed judo uniform, I headed out to the square battlefield at last.

On the way there—I found Zaimokuza moaning nonstop. “Hachiman…? Hey…what is this…?”

“Shut up, I told you—it’s judo,” I replied, and Zaimokuza turned a reproachful gaze on me.

“You told me ’twas a Japanese-style duel…”

“It’s…you know. It’s like, I figured it’d be good reference for your novel.”

“Herm…I see.” I’d just spouted out the first thing that came to mind, but that actually seemed to convince Zaimokuza, and he nodded with a fngggh. Uhhh, that’s not a normal sound of agreement, though.

But it seemed I’d managed to flip Zaimokuza’s M-2 attention-seeking switch. Or maybe he was just so nervous in front of such a crowd he’d lost his marbles. He’d switched gears into Master Swordsman General mode, so he wouldn’t be bothered by how people saw him anymore. Another dark chapter in the life of Zaimokuza…

We lined up on the mats.

Working as judge was one of the judo club potatoes…Tsukui? Or was it Fujino? I think they had to be taking turns doing it. I’m not sure, but that was probably what was happening.

As instructed by the judge, both teams bowed to each other, then backed away, except for their first-round competitor. It seemed the other team had already decided their order.

“Who goes when?” I asked. Order was a part of strategy. This tournament wasn’t a knockout competition but rather a round robin. The first team to two victories would win.

I’d been addressing Hayama, but for some reason, Zaimokuza answered. “Herm, I would be first. I shall not yield the honor of point warrior.”

“I suppose that’s fine.” Being a mature guy, Hayama dealt with Zaimokuza’s sudden fit in an extremely humane manner. “Then I’ll go second. Hikitani, we’ll be counting on you to be the boss.”

“You okay with that?” I’m not wearing a construction helmet or anything, though. Maybe I should get fatter and fuzzier.

“I’m at my best in a position with less pressure. Zaimokuza, you can do it,” Hayama said with a smile and a light pat on Zaimokuza’s back.

“U-uh, okay.” Just that casual interaction with Hayama had already gotten Zaimokuza worked up. He was starting to drip with sweat.

Just how nervous are you—or do you like Hayama?

“Sorry to ask this of you so suddenly. Thanks,” I said to him.

“Oh, no need for such formality! You leave this to me!” For some reason, Zaimokuza answered me boldly. Feeling I could rely on him, I patted him lightly on the back like Hayama had. It was slimy-slick.

…Huh? What is this guy, an amphibian? Is this sweat? I wondered if he’d slathered himself with Vaseline. Wow, Hayama, I thought. He hadn’t even winced. He really was amazing.

Once we left the mats, the first match began immediately.

As we watched, Zaimokuza moved far more quickly than I’d anticipated. But his opponent could also move around decently, and he quickly grabbed Zaimokuza’s sleeve.

But instantly, the opponent’s face twisted in fear and loathing. Despite having managed to grab a sleeve, he jerked his hand away and looked down at it in horror.

He’d fallen into…the Zaimokuza Swamp…

Zaimokuza took full advantage of that opening. He firmly grabbed the collar of his opponent and forcefully yanked him around. With their difference in weight, he tossed the opponent easily.

“P-point?” For some reason, the judge said it like a question.

The stir that ran through the audience was rather restrained. The applause was sparse, too.

But even so, a victory is a victory.

Zaimokuza strolled coolly back toward us. “How was that, Hachiman?”

“Incredible.” Incredible amounts of sweat… In a fairer world, you’d be executed for the illicit manufacture of salt. See, that judo club guy wiping the mat right now looks like he’s suffering. Now I feel bad for him…

“Then next is my turn, huh?” Hayama said, striding gallantly to the center of the mats. Instantly, an intense applause swelled, and then there was the Hayama call.

HA-YA-TO (whoo)! HA-YA-TO (soiya)! Over and over.

They must have revised the chant at some point; they were even adding gestures. Come on, is everyone practicing this?

“Hayatooo!”

One voice stood out particularly among the high-pitched cheers: Miura. She was waving a fan and cheering him on. She’s surprisingly fangirlish, huh? After she was completely uninterested in the other matches, fanning herself the whole time and moaning about how it was so, sooo hot… Also, not like it matters, but Tobe’s gestures were obnoxious.

Hayama met these cheers with confidence, casually raising a hand in reply. He was so overflowing with composure that it was revolting. Meanwhile, his opponent had been completely engulfed by the atmosphere.

Basically, victory was decided before the match had even begun.

And the match was over startlingly quickly. As soon as it started, Hayama took the opponent’s hand for a beautiful one-arm shoulder throw. With the splitting cheers behind him filling the dojo, Hayama walked back to us like it was nothing. “Now we’ve won.”

“Y-yeah…”

Frankly, I felt a little awkward about being included in that we when I hadn’t even done anything, but anyway, victory was good.

Man, Hayama’s a seriously high-spec guy… And yet, I hear a certain someone once beat this gentleman in a tennis match, you know? Well, even though I won the match, I lost the war… Still, I hardly did anything in that match, did I? If I can nab a victory without doing anything at all, then I should really not get a job.

But even if my plan was to avoid getting a job in the future, right here and now, I had a job to do.

“We still have some time before our next set. Go kill time however you like,” Hayama said to Zaimokuza, and I left the two of them.

My feet took me to the head of the dojo.

The other matches were still ongoing. They were now in the first match of the semifinals, and the judo club and Tobe’s team would be on. Hayama and Miura and their friends would be watching them together, while Zaimokuza would have turned into a statue with no place to go.

And the one at the head of the dojo was watching the match, too—with total boredom.

It was that judo club graduate. I didn’t know his name. I didn’t really care. I had no direct connection to him and no reason to show him respect as a senior, but I went out of my way to address him politely.

“Excuse me.” I went up to the head of the dojo and stood beside him to strike up a conversation.

He turned to me, looking annoyed. Perhaps because I was an unfamiliar face, he looked momentarily confused, but he quickly covered that up and gave me a casual reply. “Hey.”

Once he had responded, I continued. “What do you think of this new judo club venture?”

“…Yeah. I guess it’s not bad. Once you’re out of high school, you can’t really play around like this, after all,” he said as he fanned himself restlessly, as if trying to take up more space. I listened, digesting every word he said.

I get it—so this is what he talks like; this is what he acts like. Once I had made sure that my evaluation of him from what I’d seen at practice was correct, I said, “Really? Shiroyama came to us for help, so we thought up lots of ideas. We figured something fun like this was important. That’s why we got all these people.”

The graduate gave me a hard look, then blinked wide two, three times. “…Oh, so you did all the work to set this up? But just playing around won’t do them any good, so don’t spoil Shiroyama, all right? The world out there is harsher than you think. You have to practice and study hard now, or you’re not gonna cut it.” He closed the fan with a snap, and I resisted the urge to burst out laughing.

Instead, I said, “Oh, I know. Why don’t you join the competition, too?”

“…Huh? O-oh… I’ll think about it.”

“Come in at any time, if you feel like it,” I said, then left him.

There must have been something about the way I’d approached him that irritated him, as I felt his suspicious gaze following me, but I shook it off and walked away.

It was about time for our match—though the other guys on my team would probably win, so it didn’t matter if I wasn’t there.

On my way back, I ran into Shiroyama, who had just finished judging the match.

“…What were you talking about with him?” So Shiroyama had seen me. We’d been at the head of the room, after all, and Shiroyama must have had his attention on the graduate, too.

“Nothing, really. Just having a meeting to discuss staging.”

“Staging?” Shiroyama tilted his rustic head like a potato rolling to the side.

“Oh yeah. I should mention this to you, too. Me and him are going to have a match for the last round of the finals, so you act as judge.”

“That’s fine, but…”

“I’m counting on you for staging the show.”

“Hmm?” Shiroyama tilted his head, a questioning look on his face.

In the end, I didn’t join the semifinals, either. All I did was hand over a mop to the judo club guy to deal with Zaimokuza’s sweat.

Zaimokuza and Hayama both won their fights, taking us up to the finals. Zaimokuza’s slimy defense and Hayama’s one-arm shoulder throw yet again were the clinchers. I’d come all this way without lifting a finger.

The judo club beat Tobe’s team to become our opponents for the finals. I hadn’t even noticed those guys lose.

By the way, since Shiroyama was club captain, he was staying out of the tournament as a handicap. Competing were Tsukui, Fujino, and one guy I didn’t know and thus dubbed Japanese Yam.

While watching two of the Brothers Tuber start warm-ups out of the corner of my eye, we started getting ready for the finals.

That was when Yuigahama and Yukinoshita, who had just been watching from a distance, approached me.

“Do you need something? Be considerate; don’t talk to me before matches,” I said.

Seemingly unbothered by the heated atmosphere of the dojo, Yukinoshita replied coolly, “Then you’re in a competition all year round, hmm?”

“Basically, yeah. So what?” I casually deflected her sarcasm, and Yuigahama responded with a raised hand in greeting.

“I figured we’d cheer you on at the end, at least.”

“Oh. Thanks. Only if I go on, though,” I said, looking over at Hayama and Zaimokuza. Those two might actually just win this thing.

“You will. Nothing will be resolved if you don’t,” Yukinoshita pressed, as if she could see through me. I actually wasn’t sure how much Yukinoshita had figured out, but she sounded strangely and disconcertingly convincing.

Indeed, this was not yet over. “…Yeah.”

“Yeah, yeah! Give it your best shot, for the judo club!” Yuigahama threw up her arms in a happy-go-lucky manner.

But I just couldn’t get in on her enthusiasm, not sincerely. “It’s not just for them.”

“Huh?” With just a blank, innocent look, Yuigahama asked, “Then who is it for?”

But before I could answer, it was time for the match to begin.

From the very first round, the finals were a madhouse.

Five seconds after both parties bowed at the start:

“Doof.”

Along with the fierce bam of impact came a plainer sound, like when you hit the wall in Dragon Quest.

When I looked to see what had happened, I discovered something like a washed-up sea lion lying there. Zaimokuza had been thrown. He didn’t even twitch.

“Point!” was proclaimed loudly.

“Zaimokuza…lost…?” I can’t believe it. Zaimokuza has thus far prided himself in his unequaled strength, and yet, he lost so easily… So he was the Yamcha here, huh?

“The judo club boys must be used to his type,” Yukinoshita explained, having appeared to kneel next to me.

“Ngh! So the slime has backfired on him!”

“Gross…” Yuigahama added insult to injury. She was sitting beside Yukinoshita on her rear with her knees in front of her.

It’s not good to kick corpses.

A judo club guy rolled away the fallen and still Zaimokuza. He was moist like a wet sponge, and his wake was like a slug’s slime trail as they tossed him out.

In the meanwhile, the dojo was abuzz. Zaimokuza’s dramatic and abrupt defeat had come as a shock. But once they were ready for the next match, the welling cheers drowned out those murmurs.

The shock of the first match was overshadowed by the Hayama call.

This was the finals, and Hayama’s was the fight we absolutely could not afford to lose. A lot of competitions you “definitely can’t afford to lose” end in a loss or a scoreless draw, but this one we really couldn’t afford to lose. If Hayama lost the second match, that would mean we were over.

The audience just got even more excited. Ebina was cheering loud the whole time with an enormous grin, while Miura might strip if Hayama won…or so the boys hoped, given how excited she was. Did I mention Tobe was obnoxious?

“Hikitani.” Hayama stood. His voice was not lost among the cheers; I could hear him clearly.

“Hmm?”

“You should warm up.” The moment it left his mouth, Hayama had already started walking out. This declaration of victory, so very mild-mannered and yet so very arrogant, was unbearably Hayama. It was rather irritating, but he was about to win now, embarrassingly enough.

And then, right when Hayama walked out into the ring, the Hayama cyclone peaked, whipping the audience into a chaotic whirlpool.

Suddenly, Ebina was quiet. Right as I noticed this, I saw her lying down on Miura’s lap with a wet handkerchief over her head. What? What did she see? What is she thinking…?

Finally, Hayama and his opponent faced each other.

That was when the dojo door flew open.

“Ahhh~! I finally found you~! Hayamaaa! Please come to club~!”

That stupid-sounding voice clashed entirely with the sense of tension in the dojo. Looking over, I saw a girl with blond shoulder-length hair wearing a pink tracksuit. Completely ignoring the mood, she marched straight for Hayama.

She disregarded everyone’s astonishment without a care.

When Hayama saw the girl, he was uncharacteristically rattled. “I-Iroha…”

“Hayama, the first-years don’t know what to do with you gone.”

“O-oh. Um, right now I’m a little busy.” Hayama attempted to put his foot down harder, but this Iroha girl or whoever didn’t listen at all and grabbed the sleeve of Hayama’s judo uniform.

Huh? Who is that girl…? I thought.

From the audience, Tobe stood up and called out, “Sorry, Irohasu. I’ll go back with you, so let Hayato off the hook.”

“Nah, you can stay, Tobe.”

Smoothly rejected with a smile, all Tobe could do was say “O-okay…” and sit back down again.

“Is that someone Hayama and Tobe know?” I asked, looking between Yukinoshita and Yuigahama.

Yukinoshita shook her head to indicate she didn’t have an answer, but Yuigahama did happen to know. “Ohhh, that’s Isshiki-chan. She’s the soccer club manager, a first-year girl.”

Oh-ho, Iroha Isshiki. Chii is learning—that that is a hazard.

…That thing is dangerous. That girl is absolutely dangerous. My ghost is whispering to me that you have to be careful of pretty, sweet, and gentle girls like that.

This Isshiki girl—this cute soccer club manager with a treacherous air about her—secured Hayama, then attempted to continue on out. She was just like a willful princess, and no one could reproach her.

“Shouldn’t someone stop her?” The only one among us who thought to do something was Yukinoshita, but she didn’t know what and so turned to me.

“Uh, I think we can just leave ’em.”

“Can we?” she said doubtfully.

You’ve just been sitting there. You’re not trying to make a move at all, are you?

But the ice queen’s inaction to correct the princess’s misconduct was no problem, since the other queen took action instead.

“Hey, you.” Like the waves of heat from the ground in the midsummer, Miura rose. “Hayato’s busy right now.” Her tone could burn the earlobes of those who heard it.

But it was ineffective on the princess of the breeze. “Huh~? But the club needs him…,” Isshiki argued back casually.

Miura kicked up the temperature a notch. “What?”

“H-hey, guys.” Unsurprisingly, Hayama realized the situation was deteriorating and cut in between them, attempting to calm Miura. Isshiki delicately plucked at the hem of Hayama’s shirt, trembling behind him.

That mouse-like gesture just raised Miura’s hackles even more. She looked down, then sucked a deep breath in and out like a bellows and said, “Hayato, you go on to your club. I have to have a little chat with this girl.”

“Huh?” Hayama’s voice cracked, and he froze, staring at Miura’s raised face.

“Go work hard at your club~.  ”

This was probably the first time I’d ever seen Miura’s ultimate smile.

Then she dragged Isshiki away. “Hayamaaaa!” Isshiki nearly shrieked, but Miura totally ignored her cries as she escorted her out.

Of course, Hayama couldn’t just watch this happen, and he followed after them. “Sorry, Hikitani! I’ll be right back!” he said, putting his hands together in apology to me, then rushed off.

Uh, there’s no way you’re coming back, though… Everyone’s gonna be more interested in that off-site brawl now…

The crowd murmured, wondering what was going on.

Useless in the moment of truth… But he’d brought us to the finals, so we’d call that good enough.

The problem now was getting through the second round of this match.

“Wh-what’s gonna happen?” Still sitting with her knees up in front of her, Yuigahama scooched toward me.

“We lose by default? Or maybe we move along the roster and have me go…”

“But then you’ll have to forfeit the last one, so what’s the difference?” Yuigahama was right. What would happen now?

As we were puzzling over this, a cool voice came from beside me. “It won’t end up as a default.”

Oh, as expected of Yukipedia. She was knowledgeable on the rules of judo.

“All we have to do is have me compete,” she said, getting to her feet.

Uh, that’s ridiculously arbitrary… “Uh, I don’t think you can do that.”

“Yeah, you’re a girl.” Yuigahama and I both attempted to stop her.

But Yukinoshita wasn’t listening. “I don’t recall ever setting any such requirements for participation. And it’s not an official tournament. You don’t mind, do you?”

“I do mind! You can’t! No way!” Despite Yukinoshita’s logic, Yuigahama made her feelings so abundantly clear, even Yukinoshita winced a little.

Well, there was no need to force Yukinoshita to compete now.

Though the opponent was in judo club, it looked like he was in first year, like a Chinese yam or Japanese yam or something. I could probably manage him. Glancing over to check, I saw the potato in question huddled with the other two having a secret talk. Then he looked over at Yukinoshita and gave a little blush.

…Oh-ho. Setting your sights high, Potato.

“I’ll go out first,” I said. “Hayama might come back before then.” It seemed unlikely, but that was a better plan. I started getting to my feet, but Yukinoshita yanked my sleeve, and my head whipped back. “Erfh, ow… What?” I coughed at the unexpected attack.

Yukinoshita stared at me even more directly than usual. “What point would there be in that?”

“Huh?” I wanted to ask what she meant. My sour look did the asking for me, and Yukinoshita answered dispassionately and calmly.

“This is your shoddy plan. Didn’t you set this up so that you could draw the graduate out in the final round?”

“…”

She had a point. We’d spent all this time planning out this event for the sake of luring out that graduate to this stage. Considering the effort we’d expended to get here, it would be a foolish decision to drop it all now.

This plan would work most effectively precisely because the ultimate stage had been set. So the safest plan among our remaining options would be for Yukinoshita to go out now.

Yukinoshita’s cold gaze had cooled my head, and what she said next was like another splash of cold water. “Besides, you don’t have to concern yourself with me.” With a determined smile, she fixed a glare at her future opponent. “Essentially, all I have to do is keep him from ever laying a finger on me.”

“…Is that the question here?! …At least… At least get changed?” Yuigahama protested tearfully, having abandoned trying to talk Yukinoshita out of this.

Yukinoshita nodded with a hmm of apparent agreement. “Fair enough.”

“Okay, let’s go!” Once that was decided, Yuigahama acted fast. She grabbed Yukinoshita’s hand and immediately rushed off, only to return in fewer than ten minutes.

Yuigahama flopped down, exhausted, and for some reason, she looked like a mess. Yukinoshita, on the other hand, was crisp and dashing. She wore a white martial arts top tucked into red hakama pants. Her hair was tied up—in a bun, in fact, just like it had been the day before.

“Why’s she dressed like that…?” I asked.

“We borrowed it from the girls’ kendo club!” Yuigahama sounded awfully energetic, considering how she looked completely exhausted.

Yukinoshita twisted and stretched around to check her outfit, adjusting her collar. “Well then, let’s get started,” she said, walking out to the center of the dojo.

The audience, which had been watching all this happen, applauded Yukinoshita’s dignified arrival.

Shiroyama, the judge, tilted his head in confusion. But when his eyes met mine, he turned pensive, then nodded. It seemed he interpreted this as “the show.”

Uh, it’s not, though…

For this second round, opposing Yukinoshita was once again the purple yam or sweet potato or whoever. Both competitors went to their positions and exchanged glances. Already, Yukinoshita had won on glare alone.

The flag was flown, and the judge cried, “Begin!”

Instantly, Yukinoshita’s opponent snapped into action. He was fighting a girl, so he must have calculated that if he just got hold of her, he could use his strength to throw her.

But that would only work if his opponent were a regular girl.

Just who do you think you’re up against? This is Yukino Yukinoshita. She has some of the best base stats in the prefecture, with superior ingenuity, strategy, valor, and beauty to go with a calm, collected, sharp, and vicious personality. By the way, she’s also a perpetual winner and an extremely sore loser. In all competitions, she is, provisionally, the greatest.

She wouldn’t let the rank and file even touch her.

And indeed, Yukinoshita didn’t even let him touch her sleeves.

She read her opponent’s breathing, predicting when he would step out from his inhalations. Then she simply reacted to these predictable actions with her optimal response. She danced around him with agility, redirecting her opponent like a matador.

And the direction she had designated for him was thin air.

Before he knew it, victory had already been decided.

There was a dramatic thud, and then the dojo was so silent I could even hear Yukinoshita’s sigh.

The air was different. Not a single person in the audience made a sound.

Breaking the stillness was the flutter of the flag and the voice declaring her victory.

Having witnessed such a rare and excellent performance, the audience welled with applause and cheers. Yukinoshita walked down the red carpet of their acclaim and returned to where we sat.

Yuigahama leaped up to glomp her. “Wow, wow! That was so cool!”

“Hey… You’re suffocating me.” Yukinoshita complained, but she didn’t peel Yuigahama off. Even she couldn’t dodge this.

The pair made for a pleasant sight, but the fact of the matter was that what Yukinoshita had just pulled off was less pleasant.

She threw someone just by dodging… What the hell, is she Kenichi’s teacher? She had actually kicked that guy’s butt without letting him lay a finger on her.

“You really are incredible,” I said.

Yukinoshita smiled mischievously. “Oh, I suppose. Was that a little too much for an opening performance?”

“I don’t think it’s nice to be a bully.”

Before going out into the ring, I stretched wide one last time. “Right, then. Let’s go…,” I muttered. I meant to talk to myself, but I got a reply.

“Come back safe!”

“Be good.”

Are you guys my mom?

At last, the final match. With this, this ridiculously named S1 Grand Prix festival would be over.

The audience was already starting to thin.

Well, to be frank, this was superfluous. This was like an extra arc after the main story. The audience would have been fully satisfied by seeing Hayama’s exploits, the dramatic interruption, and Yukinoshita’s acrobatics, too.

That was why from here on out, I would do as I pleased. I’d planned out everything. So they would let me have this.

I went into the middle of the ring, and my opponent was about to approach. I’d already forgotten if I was facing Tsukui or Fujino or whoever, and I held up a hand to stop him. Then I called out to the head of the dojo. “How about it?”

He must not have expected I would seriously call him down, as he did a double take at me. We’d already broken the rule of changing the lineup in the last round. The rules didn’t restrict us anymore.

The only thing holding him back would be shame.

He was embarrassed over being an outsider in the school, a real judo athlete being rounded up to this kind of game.

But if the needles pointed in the other direction, he’d be forced to join in.

He would be ashamed over not having the courage to come out when called onto the stage in a finals match in front of an excited audience.

Only he could know which would win over, but I was certain he would protect himself from the latter shame.

The audience was holding their collective breath, watching as the graduate pushed himself to his feet. Then he picked up his judo outfit and went to change.

That action caused the audience to give an expectant “Ohhhhh.”

Meanwhile, Shiroyama, acting as judge, was expressionless. “…He’s good.”

“I’m sure. That’s what’ll make this final match exciting, right?” I replied as I checked my collar, sleeves, and belt, and Shiroyama tilted his head.

Shiroyama was sharper than you’d assume from his appearance. And that acuity would lead him to consider the meaning of what I’d just said. He was thoughtful enough to have explored the possibilities himself somewhat before coming to consult with us at the Service Club and had come to a reasonable decision. That was why I could expect that much from him.

But he wasn’t much sharper than that. Even if he’d read into what I’d said, he wouldn’t reach further into any deeper layers.

I’d made just one preparation. Well, it was something like insurance. It would be best if I could avoid using it.

The graduate was unsurprisingly used to slipping into his uniform, so he got changed quickly and came into the ring. He drove away the first-year with a hand, then approached the middle, facing off with me.

The eyes he had fixed on me were blazing with anger and humiliation. But I wouldn’t lose on a glare. My perspective can make even the brightest light dull and murky.

This was how I could see the graduate well, too.

“Both competitors, bow. Begin!” Shiroyama commanded in his low voice.

Once it started, the graduate and I both inched in a bit, measuring the distance between us, advancing and retreating over and over. He didn’t fiercely charge in. Of course, neither did I. Judo is all about falls. In class, about all I’ve been doing, to the best of my ability, has been falls, which I can practice by myself.

Day after day, falls.

I’ve mastered taking hits so well, rolling with the punches has become my whole life, really.

I knew full well that I’d never beat this guy legitimately. Even I’m not that full of myself. That was why I maintained a fixed distance as much as possible, always waiting for my moment of attack.

However, a master of technique will quickly see through an amateur’s thoughts. Having realized that I was not going to attack, the graduate took a haughty step forward, breaking the balance in the space between us. By the time I was thinking Oh no, he’d already grabbed me, and he cut my pivot leg with a leg sweep from the outside.

I felt the floor come out from under me, and a shock ran through my back. An “…Ow” left my mouth. What was that speed…? That was way beyond anything I could properly catch in a fall…

The graduate must have been certain of his victory, as he was already returning to the start line.

The audience was sighing, too, starting to stand up.

That was why now would be my moment to attack. “Oh, you got me, man. Sweat is so slippery,” I said, completely shamelessly.

Everyone was looking at me, like, What the hell is this guy talking about? That included the graduate, the audience, Yukinoshita, and Yuigahama. Oh, I was thinking the same. There was no way an excuse like this could fly.

But it just had to work on one person.

The judge, Shiroyama, still had yet to raise the flag and had not yet made the call, either.

Noticing this, I added, “Just checking here—but tripping is invalid, right?”

Shiroyama was silent. Then he took a good look at my face and nodded. “Both competitors, return to the starting line.”

Why? Because this was “the show.”

The audience was indignant, and so was the graduate. “Come on,” he pressed, “clearly that was a down! He didn’t trip…” As he spoke, he looked at his feet. There remained the trail from when Zaimokuza had been towed away. In all the hullabaloo with Hayama and Yukinoshita, they’d forgotten to wipe it clean—despite how they’d wiped it properly after every match.

“But that was a point!” The graduate snapped at Shiroyama.

But that didn’t change the decision. No—Shiroyama couldn’t decide if it was okay to change the decision.

I don’t know much about sports, but even I know that it’s unusual for a misjudgment to be acknowledged—in student athletics, pro sports, or at a national-level tournament.

And, as the pièce de résistance, there was a rule to keep in mind: “Defying the judge disqualifies you, you know.”

“What?” The graduate shifted his gaze from Shiroyama to me. He was like a raging beast. Frankly speaking, it was terrifying.

I quelled the tremble in my voice with a shrug of my shoulders. “That’s what the world is like, right? It’s harsh out there, isn’t it?”

The graduate’s expression turned bitter. As expected, he seemed aware he had a habit of saying that. He didn’t have to tell me that he meant to crush me thoroughly this time.

“Both competitors, return to the starting line,” Shiroyama said, taking control again, and the graduate reluctantly went back. But when we faced each other again, he glared at me with bloodshot eyes.

This was bad. This was very bad.

That cheat I’d just used for the sake of “the show” was only a one-time insurance. I couldn’t use the same thing again. The audience wouldn’t allow that, and my opponent definitely wouldn’t. Most of all, Shiroyama wouldn’t do it. The evidence for that was in the pallor of his face. This was quite a load of stress for him.

“Begin,” Shiroyama called. His tone lacked its earlier strength.

In fact, even the audience’s calls had petered out. Some had gotten bored and were leaving, too. That was why my panting breaths and the graduate’s shouts were clearly audible.

And that was why he’d be able to hear me clearly when I spoke to him. “It’s funny, isn’t it?”

He’d probably never had someone speak to him in a match before, as he gave me a dubious look. The audience seemed to notice that I was talking, too, as I could sense their eyes and ears on us.

“I mean you got into university on a sports recommendation… It’s surprising you still have the time to come check out the judo club here.”

I saw his feet clearly stop in their tracks. “…Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His fists, lifting me up by the collar, clenched harder.

But he wasn’t looking at me at all.

He was looking behind me, and to either side. At the audience.

They were murmuring, probably questioning why the match was suddenly in deadlock. Or maybe they were suspicious of what we were talking about. But regardless, from the graduate’s position, he would feel that our conversation was creating the stir.

That was why I kept going, making an effort to stay calm and observe him so that I could respond to his movements. “Your club in university isn’t a casual one, right? You’re doing it for serious? You can only play around when you’re in high school.”

“Shut up.” The graduate took an impulsive step inward, as if he meant to end the match quickly and stop me from talking any more.

I stepped back in equal proportion, maintaining a fixed distance. Then I gave him a nonchalant smile. “It really is a harsh world out there.”

Just how many in the audience heard me?

The audience was clearly smaller than it was at the start of the match. But even this many was enough.

To be clear, it didn’t matter if anyone actually heard us or not. It was enough for him to worry that some people might be.

“It really is like you said. That’s why you came back here, isn’t it?”

“…” With that, I’d silenced him—with his own words.

And now I had accomplished my goal: denunciation before an audience. To damage his dignity, his pride as their senior. To make this graduate think that a crowd of students had heard me. Whether they’d actually heard it wasn’t the issue. I just had to make him question if he was capable of showing his face to society.

It frankly didn’t matter who won or lost after that.

The fact was that his eyes had been darting around for a while now. He was rattled, focused on what the people around him thought of him.

I could clearly see his spirit breaking down. The signs had been there from the start. I’d gotten a hunch back when I’d first heard about him.

Glorification of the past is proof of a weakened heart.

The desire to talk about bygone glory is evidence of a spirit grown old.

That graduate had probably experienced failure at university. He’d lost his confidence, pride, and everything that went with it, and that was what had sent him running back here.

He may not have been aware of what he was doing. Maybe he’d come by on a whim, found it surprisingly comfortable, and then he’d just stuck around.

But that didn’t mean it was okay for him to be here. For the people below, those who descend back down from on high are a nuisance. The world doesn’t have the time to take care of those who come running back.

That was why I would drive him out. Expel him. Eject him.

Oh, it’s exactly like you said: The world is harsh.

The graduate was biting his lip. His grip on my sleeve had already weakened.

He probably wouldn’t come anymore. A fugitive has to keep running.

But if I was to make absolutely sure…

…then it would be best to win.

The ultimate humiliation of losing to an amateur like me in front of an audience would break his spirit completely.

And so I hammered in the final lynchpin. “You didn’t come back here. You ran away from there.”

It seemed I’d managed to pull that final trigger. The graduate reacted as if he’d been struck.

So now was the time to do it. I pulled at his sleeve, an invitation. It tricked him easily. Where he’d been slack before, he was now firmly tensed. Had I succeeded in provoking him?

He came for me.

I didn’t dodge.

I was conscious of every point of balance.

I’d been through class, and I’d felt his throw just now, so I understood the form. Guess getting thrown around does count as practice. I made up for my inept technique with extra force.

I just had to manipulate him into a position where I could throw him. I focused all my strength on that endeavor alone. I showed no other resistance and just left it to the gravity of the earth, the law of inertia, and fighting instinct.

I got him over my shoulder, and then from behind me, I heard him say, his tone both harsh and also somewhat calm, “Shut up. I know all that.”

And then there was only the fall.

Without a moment’s delay, the flag went up.

I could hear the audience applauding the victory, echoing loud in the dojo.

“Point! Match over!” This cry was, more than any I’d heard from Shiroyama, the most perfectly clear and beautiful.

By contrast, someone else’s voice was dull and pathetic.

“…Ow.”

The remaining time before summer vacation sped by like a whirlwind, and a few days later, my heart was dancing with summer vacation finally within reach.

So even though I didn’t really want to be in the Service Club room, I came in humming.

A few more sleeps, and it’d be summer vacation. The dillydallying of the days ahead was waiting for me.

When I opened the door of the clubroom, as usual, Yukinoshita was reading a book by the window, and Yuigahama was facedown on her desk like a dog, on her phone. I took one last look at this scene.

“Hey,” I greeted them casually, then sat down on a diagonal from Yukinoshita, in the most distant seat.

She looked up from her paperback. “My, is your back better already?”

“Nope. But it got me out of gym class,” I replied.

And now Yuigahama raised her head. “Judo, right? How admirable of you to keep your promise.”

“Nothing admirable about it. It was just the silver lining.”

At the very end of the judo tournament, that graduate had thrown me down hard. Rubbing my creaking, injured back, I’d been forced to make a promise as the loser.

That promise was to never get involved with the judo club ever again. Yuigahama and Yukinoshita had both been very angry about my attitude, railing on at me about how I was a bad influence on the members and had been disrespecting judo and stuff. And so the dream of becoming an Olympic gold medalist in judo had been stolen from me before I ever even thought to have it.

Well, with my back in this state, I doubt I could do judo even if I wanted to try. It really hurt, and all night I’d been muttering as much.

It still hurt, but since I got to sit on the sidelines in gym for a while, the pros and cons balanced out… Actually, I get the feeling there were clearly more cons. Was I this bad at arithmetic?

“Well, it’s good that was all you got,” said Yukinoshita. “You should be thankful to Shiroyama.”

“Yeah, yeah. That guy was glaring at you so hard it looked like he was gonna kill you, Hikki.” Yuigahama agreed.

And that made me think back. “Hmm, Shiroyama, huh?” I hadn’t even spoken to Pota-yama-slash-Shiroyama since then.

This was partly because I’d been forced into making that weird promise to the graduate. But, well, both of us were tiptoeing around each other. And I don’t do a lot of tiptoeing, so this was quite the event. Yeah, I’ll admit I kinda forced him into a cruel position. The greatest kindness I could offer him would be to ensure we never interact so he wouldn’t suffer any further.

“So what’s gone on with the judo club since then?” I asked. Of course, with the geas cast on me preventing me from being involved with them again, there was no way for me to know.

Unsurprisingly, Yuigahama was well connected and informed. She clackity-clacked into her cell phone, probably texting someone about it. “Um, well, they haven’t really gotten any more new members, but they say a bunch of the guys who quit have come back.”

“Oh?” Well, if a demonstration like that would get new people to join, no club would ever struggle. And that’s not even touching on how the biggest stars of that event had been Hayama, Zaimokuza, and Yukinoshita. There wasn’t much that would have inspired people to join the judo club, as an organization.

“It wasn’t quite all of them, but some former members came back because that graduate stopped coming,” Yukinoshita supplemented as she turned the page of her paperback.

“Oh yeah. That’s surprising, huh? He did win in the end, so you’d think he’d be all, I’m the strongest! Augh! And come more.”

“Uh, I don’t think so,” I remarked, snickering at Yuigahama’s ditzy gesticulating.

Yukinoshita seemed to find fault with this, as she dropped her bookmark into her paperback and closed it with a smack. “I don’t suppose you figured this would happen and lost deliberately?”

“Uh, I did pretty seriously go in to win…” In fact, I’d even thought I had won there at the end.

“…Wow, that’s sad.”

No need to be quite so honest, okay, Miss Yuigahama?

“Is that right…? It looked to me as if you were provoking him. I thought for sure your plan was to cede victory to accomplish some greater end.”

Yukinoshita had the habit of thinking too much about things, but I could see where she was coming from.

“It didn’t matter if I won or lost; that’s all. But if I had won, then the guy would’ve been more likely to stop coming.”

“What do you mean?” Yuigahama’s eyebrows quirked upward thoughtfully as she considered with a hmm.

But it wasn’t that complex. “Nothing much. All I had to do was teach him how ‘there’s no seat for your ass anyway!’” I said.

But that just made Yuigahama’s eyebrows even more confused. My point had not been communicated.

Yukinoshita, however, cracked a smile. “…I see,” she replied. Just that one remark, as if she understood, then she returned to her reading.

The gesture piqued Yuigahama’s curiosity, and she went over to shake the answer out of Yukinoshita. “Huh? What’s that mean? What’s that mean?”

Yukinoshita looked extremely annoyed at being rattled around, but she was stubbornly committed to reading. It looked like the pair would be fooling around for a little while more.

Like Yukinoshita, I pulled a book out of my bag and opened up to my bookmarked page. But even when I ran my eyes across the lines, my head didn’t really absorb the content, and I gave up and closed it again.

That graduate must have seen this school as the place he wanted to come back to. It had made him feel nostalgic, comfortable, and glad—so much so that he’d heedlessly wanted to make it his escape.

But his escape here had trapped him even further. So with that stress on his shoulders, he’d wanted to run even further—an endless loop of running from reality. That was why, unless he saw himself in the mirror and felt the gaze of society and the light of day, he wouldn’t have even been able to recognize that fact.

In the end, if you generate stress for yourself, you’re the only one who can relieve it. You either keep running, or you turn around and face it. Which option did that graduate choose?

Well, it didn’t matter. His final remark to me at the end of the match still echoed in my ears.

I looked out the window.

Big, billowing columns of clouds rose up over the distant line of the horizon over the sea. I could hear the yells of the sports clubs, the tones of the brass band, and the lively voices of the girls’ chattering filling the clubroom.

Suddenly, I wondered.

One day, would I have a place that I wanted to go back to?

The question stayed in my mind.