2
For some reason, Iroha Isshiki smells of danger.
A wind blew in through the open door, rustling through Miss Hiratsuka’s long, glossy black hair. She swept the stray strands aside with some annoyance, then came inside, heels clicking on the floor. “There’s something I’d like to ask you kids, but…,” she said, gaze sweeping over us. Immediately, she tilted her head with a hmm. “Did something happen?” she asked, but nobody could reply. Yuigahama turned her face aside awkwardly, while Yukinoshita sat with her eyes closed and expression composed, not even twitching.
This created a weird pause, and Miss Hiratsuka tilted her head again before turning a questioning look at me.
“No, it’s fine.” I’m not really strong enough to be able to ignore a direct look, so I made an effort to reply calmly.
I’d meant to speak briefly, but Miss Hiratsuka smiled wryly, seemingly having clued in on something regardless. Well, with Yukinoshita and Yuigahama both clamming up, it was obvious to anyone that something was going on.
“Maybe I should come back later.”
“Well, that’d be all right.” It won’t make a difference, I implied wordlessly. It seemed likely this deadlock would continue tomorrow, and the day after that, too.
“…I see.” Miss Hiratsuka seemed to figure out what I was stabbing at, as she shrugged her shoulders and breathed a short sigh.
Sensitive to the gloomy cloud that once again hung over us, Yuigahama asked, “Did you need something, Miss Hiratsuka?”
“Yes, I do… You can come in,” Miss Hiratsuka called out to the door, and with a pleasantly chirpy “Pardon me” and soft footsteps, someone I recognized came into view. Her hair was in braids, a pin was attached to her bangs, and her forehead was cute and smooth. This was Meguri, one year older than us and president of the student council. And behind her stood another girl, an unfamiliar one.
“There’s something I wanted to talk to you guys about…,” Meguri started, turning back to the girl behind her.
She took one step forward, and her shoulder-length light-brown hair swayed. It seemed that was her natural color—perhaps the flecks of sunset light dancing across it was due to her cuticles. Her fluffy hair and big, round eyes were cute and puppylike. She wore her uniform in a very slightly casual manner, demurely squeezing the sleeves of her loose, oversized cardigan.
Who’s this? I thought, looking at her, and she smiled shyly.
Instantly, that stirred ripples of unrest in my heart. It wasn’t love at first sight, of course. It was a simple warning bell.
“Oh, Iroha-chan,” Yuigahama said.
“Iroha-chan” replied pleasantly, tilting her head daintily. “Hello, Yui.”
“Yahallo!” They both waved their hands in small motions in front of their chests.
“Oh, so you’ve met Isshiki. Then I suppose I don’t have to introduce her,” Meguri said, nodding.
Iroha Isshiki.
I’d heard that name before.
I recalled that she was the soccer team manager and a first-year. Back during the judo tournament, that weird little event we’d held before summer vacation, she’d come to fangirl over Hayama. Which reminds me, what happened with Miura after that…?
This wasn’t the time to be musing about the past.
It seemed whatever they’d come to discuss was connected to Iroha Isshiki. But then why was Meguri with them, too?
I looked at Meguri in search of an explanation, and she nodded back at me and said, “Did you know student council elections are coming up?”
Her question rang no bells with me. As long as it wasn’t compulsory to take part in planning it, my involvement in school functions was fairly low. Without moving my head, I checked the others’ reactions with a shift of my eyes. Yuigahama quietly shook her head.
Well, it wasn’t a very exciting event. If you had friends or acquaintances running, then I’m sure it’d be different, but I figured your typical student more often than not wouldn’t be involved with student council. The general student body would perceive the student council as Some people who do stuff. I don’t really know what. So it’d be about the same for the elections for choosing the student council. I would have thought that way, too, if I hadn’t helped out before with the cultural and athletic festivals. I figured Yuigahama would think the same way.
But one person here was different—Yukinoshita.
“Yes. It’s already been announced, hasn’t it? As have the candidates, I believe.”
“I knew you’d know, Yukinoshita! That’s right, they’ve all been announced already. Except for the clerk, since no one decided to run.” Meguri gave a pleased little bit of applause. “It actually should have been done a little earlier, but we couldn’t get the candidates, so we extended the deadline. We have to make sure there’s a successor for me, or I can’t retire…” Meguri made a comically fake sob.
“The faculty always winds up leaning on Shiromeguri. Normally, we’d have liked to find the next one around the time of the athletic festival, but…” Miss Hiratsuka gave Meguri a worried look, but Meguri smiled and waved her hands.
“Oh, no, it’s totally fine! I’ve already gotten a recommendation for my choice school, so it won’t affect my entrance exams.”
Thinking about it now, it was obvious, but Meguri was a third-year. She would be graduating in a few months.
As I gazed at her, thinking that soon I’d be getting my last look at this fluffy Megurin and the atmosphere around her, she seemed to realize that they were still in the middle of explaining things. “Ah! Oh yes, yes, I’ve got to explain. So as my last task, I’m running the election management committee with all the current council members.”
So that meant none of the current student council would be running in this election?
Well, the current student council must have found the work meaningful because they’d been working with Meguri. They did seem to be pretty devoted to her. Either that, or after going through the cultural and sports festivals with us, they’d ended up feeling like I’ve had enough of the student council! (as the camera does an iris out).
“So we’ve made it to candidate disclosure, but…”
“Disclosure…,” Yuigahama muttered quietly, but nobody explained it for her. Normally, Yukinoshita would have done so immediately, but she had her hand on her chin, seemingly lost in thought.
Miss Hiratsuka couldn’t let this pass unnoticed. “As it pertains to our school, it’s basically to disclose the announcement of the election schedule and candidates.”
Yuigahama laughed to cover her embarrassment and thanked her. “Th-thank you. Ah-ha-ha… U-um, and so what about that…disclosure?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
Meguri glanced over at Isshiki. “Isshiki is running for student council president.”
Oh-ho, so this one’s running, huh…? It may have sounded mean to call this surprising, but Iroha Isshiki did not look at all the type to be interested in student council.
Wondering what was in this for her, I gave her a hard look. She seemed to notice my gaze and blinked at me. Apparently, she hadn’t even been aware that I was there. Hey, but you looked over here before, didn’t you? Did you think I was an ornament or something? Is there any club that would set up such a novel totem pole?
But Isshiki didn’t show any particular disgust toward me. In fact, she put her hand to her mouth with a smile, as if something had just occurred to her. “Oh, were you just thinking I’m not cut out for it?”
“Uh, no, not really. Nothing like that.” Her smile made me stumble. Well, you can’t judge people on appearances, and dismissing an anime based on character designs is foolish. In order to discard my preconceptions, I surreptitiously averted my eyes from Isshiki.
She seemed quite miffed about that, putting a hand to her hip with a sullen look as she leaned forward to continue talking. “I get that a lot, so I get it, you know. People think I’m ditzy and slow…”
Oh, this is a bad one.
Though she gave the appearance of being a fluffy, pleasant type, she had her youthfulness on at full blast, with a firm grasp on what it was to be a modern high school girl. Her skirt was a little over knee-length, her makeup was light with an aim for a natural look, the arms of her cream-colored cardigan were a tad too long, and the ribbon at her collar was tied loose enough that her collarbone might or might not peek out, giving her an edge of vulnerability. And though she came off as all sweet, she was also overly familiar—or maybe affable is a better word—to engender a warmer relationship with older girls like Yuigahama, too.
…Yeah. She’s dangerous.
She is the high school girl—used to attention and playing the character people want from her. That open display of a gentle nature and slightly reserved femininity reminds you that it’s contrived, prevents you from peeking behind it.
Based off my past experiences, I know this type is highly likely to be a minefield.
Just as those who like to describe themselves as real or savage are really insensitive human garbage, those who go out of their way to define themselves even though nobody ever asked are generally good-for-nothings. Self-professed ditzy types are more of the same.
While I’m at it, the sort of idiot who inexplicably declares I’m a real funny guy also fits into this category. These self-professed funny guys will go, like, Heyoooo or something, half laughing as they smack you in the back of the head, and the way they’ll smirk and quote some stupid TV show when you’re just having a conversation is really annoying. These morons who like to pretend they’re comedians are particularly obnoxious. They often mistakenly believe that messing with people makes them so funny, but a defining trait of this type is that when other people mess with them, they get angry for real.
What is this useless extra explanation?
Well. In other words. My impression of Iroha Isshiki was kind of false and chilly.
But it seemed none of the others particularly saw her that way. Well, I suppose I’m overreacting.
“…So do you have some issue?” Yukinoshita, who had been silently listening to Isshiki talk, unfolded her arms to slowly lay them on the desk. She must have been impatient, and something about her tone told me she was irritated.
Upon realizing they had yet to get to the point of this conversation, Meguri hurriedly added, “Isshiki has announced her candidacy, but…well, um…how should I put this? …She wants to make it so that she doesn’t get elected.” Meguri must have been at a loss as to how to explain this, as her manner of speaking was a little vague.
I considered the meaning of someone announcing their candidacy without wanting to win. “Agh… Basically, you want us to make you lose the election?” I asked. This was the natural conclusion to reach.
Meguri nodded.
Yuigahama, who’d been listening, went “Hmm?” as she tilted her head in confusion. “Um…does that mean you don’t want to be the student council president?”
“Oh yeah. That’s right.” Being acquainted with Yuigahama must have made Isshiki feel at ease with her, as she replied casually, without any shyness. But watching, I got a bad feeling. Even if there was some reason for this situation, at the very least, hers was not the right attitude for someone who had announced their candidacy for student council president.
“…So why run?”
Isshiki flinched at Yukinoshita’s critical tone. “Ummmm, I didn’t make myself a candidate. Some people nominated me without asking…,” she said, acting embarrassed and shy about it for some reason, and I couldn’t hide my apathy toward her situation.
The hell? What kind of pop-idol story is this?
But it seemed Isshiki wasn’t paying attention to my gaze—or rather, she wasn’t paying attention to me at all as she put a finger to her cheek, humming in a pensive manner. “I kinda stand out in a bad way, I guess? I get a lot of that stuff. Since I’m the manager of the soccer club, and I’m friends with Hayama and the older guys, I guess I’ve ended up making people think I’m the type, sooo lots of people say I’d be good at that?”
She was being really vague, but I made my best effort to understand. There was only one thing she said that I was somewhat curious about. “…So they bullied you into it?”
“It’s not like that. It just sort of happened, like they got carried away? A bunch of my friends in the class got together and were joking around, I guess.” As Isshiki spoke, she stuck up her pointer finger and put it to her chin, tilting her head. The way she drawled and made everything sound like a question was starting to make my head hurt.
So basically, what’s she trying to say…?
“So I really think this time was something like that, too?”
Okay. I don’t get it.
I didn’t get it, but basically, I figured it was like, I’m the Class Clown and I Somehow Got Roped Into Being the Student Council President!
Superlong titles aren’t in style anymore, though, so forget it…
It’s a common enough story, letting a situation spiral out of control because you weren’t using your head. Apparently, this was another mistake due to one’s youth, too.
But you know.
…She really seemed like the type who girls would hate.
I got that. I could understand that.
It was like, you know.
A sweet-acting bitch in airhead’s clothing. A gentle and pure bitch. There were girls like that in my middle school, too, and they always had boys wrapped around their little fingers. Boys aren’t jewelry, okay? Even Grander Musashi doesn’t get bites like that on the first cast. They fished up so many, it was like, What kind of lures are you using?
So even if things had reached this point because her class got carried away, I’m sure there was plenty of malice involved.
“Wait, are you allowed to nominate someone without permission?” Yuigahama asked, lightly raising her hand.
Miss Hiratsuka folded her arms and breathed a short sigh. “When the paperwork was submitted, she didn’t check it herself.”
“Urk… If we had been a little more thorough…we might’ve…we just…” Meguri moaned in shame.
By we, she must have meant the election management committee, not that old Nintendo console.
Miss Hiratsuka patted the drooping Meguri on the shoulder. “Well, nobody thought anyone would do something like this as a prank. I think it would be a little harsh to blame the election management committee.”
“I did make sure to check the nominator register, though,” Meguri said despondently.
There was an unfamiliar term in there, so I asked back, “Nominator register?”
“Yes, when announcing candidacy, you need a list of your nominators, and we do check those references.”
So first you need nominations, huh?
But that made sense. It’d be an issue if someone who wasn’t popular was suddenly like, I’m gonna be the president! They’d probably established that system in order to cut out the chaff ahead of time. So then this would be a necessary condition to accept a candidate. Or to put it the other way, this meant as long as you had that list, you could run.
The current student council were all there because they wanted to be, so they must not have thought anyone would submit those documents with such mischievous ends. Sometimes you’ll encounter people out there who are stupider than you’d ever imagined. It’s a scary thing.
“That’s quite involved for a prank, though. I thought it required at least thirty recommendations in order to nominate a candidate,” Yukinoshita said, her tone grave. It seemed I wasn’t the only horrified one here.
“That many? I’m impressed they got them all…,” Yuigahama commented, half-exasperated and half-horrified.
But it wasn’t anything particularly amazing.
It’s simply easier to unite people with malice rather than goodwill. And if their idea was to rake Isshiki over the coals because they believed she was getting full of herself, then all the more so. Those people would have written their names down with the casual ease of a retweet. It’s like the malicious version of slacktivism.
While I was groaning internally, Miss Hiratsuka’s expression turned a little more serious. “Of course, I will be speaking with the kids who pulled this. Call it fortunate or what, the signatures of the thirty nominators were real.”
“They wrote their real names on it? Idiots…,” I muttered.
“They must not have thought it would be a big deal. No imaginations,” Miss Hiratsuka said with a wry smile.
Well, fair enough. There’s a lot of that going around lately. Like people who upload photos of themselves inside their workplace fridges or being dicks at a restaurant onto Twitter. Exposing your real name and a photo of your face on the Internet and bragging about your crimes, it’s like, Why are you putting up a wanted poster for yourself?
“Um, can’t you invalidate it? Isn’t there anything you can do to drop out of the running?” Yuigahama said, and Isshiki readily took a step forward.
Earnestly, she said, “About that…my homeroom teacher kinda got on board with the idea and has been really pushing me to go along with it? When I said I wasn’t going to do it, the pressure just got worse… Like, wouldn’t you understand when no one in the class is willing to do the campaign speech? And it’s like, what’s support from the teacher gonna do, right?”
Oh, so that’s what’s going on. That thing when you say you’re gonna quit your job, and you get this passionate attempt from the manager to stop you. They go so hard, it’s like they can’t stand to be short one person, and they get all passionate and extra kind as they try to put a positive spin on it and persuade you in so many ways, like, Let’s do our best! Let’s work hard together! And then when you keep acting reluctant, they’ll suddenly get angry at you instead, and it turns into a lecture, like, Oh dear, this sort of thing isn’t going to work in your future, you know?
In the end, you can’t bring yourself to quit, and all you can do is shirk out…(faraway look).
Beside Isshiki, Miss Hiratsuka was scratching her cheek and looking embarrassed. “I spoke with Isshiki’s homeroom teacher, but…well, um, let’s just say listening isn’t this person’s strong point.”
“Oh, I see…” I got her drift and responded appropriately, and Miss Hiratsuka shamefully dropped her eyes to the floor.
“It seems Isshiki’s teacher has mentally composed a moving story about it already… I had to listen to a babbling tale about some success story where a timid student is supported by the teacher and the whole class and becomes student council president…”
Oh, one of those, huh…? There’s nothing worse than someone who believes they’re doing the right thing.
“So once she reached the end of her rope, Isshiki talked with Shiromeguri,” Miss Hiratsuka said. Meguri and Isshiki nodded.
It sounded like Meguri had heard the story from Isshiki, and unsure as to how to deal with it, she’d gone to talk with Miss Hiratsuka, who brought the situation to us.
“So then you probably can’t withdraw,” I said.
Isshiki’s teacher wasn’t likely to let this go without a fight. But it seemed that wasn’t the only problem. Meguri was wrapping her pigtail around her finger uneasily. “Hmm… Besides…there’s also the question of how she could withdraw…”
“Agh…”
As I was thinking about why that was an issue, Yukinoshita put her hand to her jaw and slowly began to speak, as if she was summarizing her thoughts. “Is it because there is nothing written in the election protocol about the withdrawal of candidacy?”
Meguri blinked, startled. “Wow, you know, Yukinoshita… Yes, it was never written to begin with…”
I see. Of course, anyone who’d want to be on student council would be a motivated go-getter. Whoever had written up the protocol must not have expected a need to establish and record provisions for something like that. There goes Yukipedia. She really does know everything.
“Oh!” Yuigahama raised her hand and said, “Ah, so then you can’t make it so that she can’t be president ’cause she’s a first-year?”
But Yukinoshita gave her a grim shake of the head. “You can’t.”
“Huh? Why not?” Yuigahama asked back, puzzled.
Meguri smiled weakly and answered, “That’s not in the protocol, either… There’s nothing that says the president can only be a second-year.”
“In other words, it’s simply been customary for a second-year student to run for student council president,” Yukinoshita supplemented. This convinced Yuigahama, and she frowned a little.
There was a tacit understanding of that convention, but since it hadn’t been stipulated in writing, they wouldn’t be able to use that as a shield to invalidate Isshiki’s candidacy. So since it couldn’t be legally invalidated by loopholes in the protocol, that meant we just had to tackle this the hard way.
“If you don’t want to do it, then you should lose the election,” I said. “Or rather, that’s all you can do.” This was the surest route. No matter how much you wanted to be student council president, you couldn’t do it if you didn’t win the election. In other words, the most effective way to avoid becoming president would be to lose the election.
But Meguri lowered her eyelids. “Hmm… But Isshiki is the only candidate in this election…”
Yukinoshita took over from there. “Meaning a vote of confidence.”
“Yes, so it’s just about inevitable…”
A vote of confidence is a method for when there is only one candidate. Unlike what you would typically imagine—a ballot where you select from multiple candidates—you simply indicate whether you approve of the candidate or not by marking a circle or X on the ballot sheet.
With elections like this, everyone will generally circle it without a thought. Of course, I’m sure some people would put an X to be funny, but I’d say they’re in the minority. As long as you secure the majority, you can win confidence, so it’s a foregone conclusion, barring any major issues.
But even so.
“Well, if you want to lose, there is a way to do it, though…,” I said.
But Isshiki didn’t seem to like that idea, pouting with her cheeks puffed up. “Wait, but I’d look dumb losing a vote of confidence! The fact that it’s a vote of confidence is pretty shabby to begin with… That’d be too embarrassing. I don’t want that.”
Wow, selfish. Isn’t that the sort of thing that got you into this situation? I started to think for a second, but the form had in fact been submitted without Isshiki’s permission, so she wasn’t at fault. Of course, I’m sure there had been a number of issues that had led to this happening to her, but even so, it wasn’t right to be forced to be president when you didn’t want to, or to be unnecessarily hurt by having a vote of nonconfidence thrust upon you. So it wasn’t as if her feelings weren’t understandable. So you shouldn’t have to resign yourself to the absurdity thrust upon you by the majority.
So then we couldn’t have her simply lose.
“All that’s been announced so far is the candidates’ names, right?” I checked with Meguri in order to gather my thoughts.
“Huh? Yes, that’s right.”
“So it hasn’t been decided yet who will do Isshiki’s campaign speech.”
“Nope.” Meeting my gaze, Meguri shook her head. But there was a question mark floating there, and it seemed she hadn’t figured out the point of my questions.
But this was enough for me. I had all the information I needed. “Then it’ll be fast and easy.”
“Um, what do you mean?” she asked.
I organized my thoughts in detail and proceeded to explain. “This just means that worst case, if it ends up as a vote of confidence, we have to make sure Isshiki loses without looking bad, right? Basically, everyone simply has to understand she wasn’t the reason behind the vote of nonconfidence.”
“Can you do that?” Yuigahama, who’d been listening silently until then, asked.
I nodded in response. “If the election speech is what keeps her from getting elected, then nobody will care about Isshiki.” You just had to replace the reason for her defeat, the cause of the rejection, the why of her repudiation.
And there was something I could do about that.
Before I explained my methods in specifics, I paused for a moment.
It wasn’t to gather my thoughts, or even to take a breath, or for effect.
I’d simply noticed an unsettling silence.
Yuigahama was quiet. She stared at me intently with sadness in her eyes before looking down as if she’d swallowed something bitter. Meguri seemed to notice this change in her and glanced between me and Yuigahama in confusion. Isshiki must have been tuned in to what was going on, too, as she twisted around uncomfortably.
And then there was a soft clicking sound.
I twitched over toward the sound to see Yukinoshita laying her arms on the desk. When she’d unfolded her arms, the button of her blazer sleeve had tapped against the desk.
In the silence, it had sounded particularly loud.
And in the still, quiet room, Yukinoshita’s voice sounded out. “I won’t accept that solution.”
My eyebrows pulled together at her accusatory, condemning manner of speaking. “…Why not?” I asked.
“…Well…”
I hadn’t meant to cross-examine her, but my tone had sharpened anyway. Yukinoshita looked away for an instant. Her long eyelashes quietly quavered as she blinked.
But that was the briefest of moments. She immediately looked back at me, fixing her gaze on me with eyes that communicated even stronger determination than before. “…Because it’s not certain. You couldn’t know for sure it would end up a vote of nonconfidence. Besides, a horrible speech costing Isshiki the vote would make things awkward for her. And even if votes against her were in the majority, do you think they would go to the trouble of holding another election? I doubt there’s any precedent for that. And… And there’s so little interest in student council, nobody would care if they declared the results without publicizing the number of votes… In other words, if you wanted, you could easily—” Yukinoshita rapidly made her argument longer and longer as she held me with that sharp gaze. It was as if she was lining up every reason she could think of.
Miss Hiratsuka chided her kindly. “Yukinoshita.”
“…I shouldn’t have said that. I retract that,” Yukinoshita said after a pause. Then she bowed her head at Meguri. Meguri smiled and shook her head.
I suppose that could be called a faux pas. She’d been about to say in front of Meguri, who was on the election committee, If you wanted, the school could easily fudge the election.
A chair creaked.
I saw Yuigahama’s face pointed toward me. However, even though we were facing each other, our eyes did not meet. “Hey, so who would do that speech anyway…? I don’t like that idea.” The weak and feeble question lingered unpleasantly in my ears.
“Well…whoever can do it should, right?” I said, but I knew full well who was most fit for the job. I didn’t need to bother spelling out who’d be the most effective there.
The sun must have descended a bit, as suddenly a shadow fell across the clubroom. It felt as if the artificial lighting of the fluorescent bulbs had intensified.
Suddenly, Yukinoshita raised her head. “Shiromeguri. If Isshiki isn’t going to withdraw, I believe we’ll need a new candidate.”
“Yeah, that’s right…,” Meguri replied.
Yukinoshita breathed a short sigh and said, “So then we have to back another candidate to make this a ballot election.”
“If someone was even interested, then they would’ve already announced candidacy,” I pointed out. “And by ‘back another candidate,’ do you mean we’re gonna go around asking every single person?”
“But, um, if we go for people who seem like they might do it…,” Yuigahama replied, mulling over it hesitantly.
“…Well, whatever. So what if you find someone who’ll run? Can they win? I think you understand that high school student council elections are basically popularity contests.” I glanced over at Isshiki.
This was a surprisingly high hurdle.
At first glance, Isshiki was cute. Most people would call her fairly pretty. And her fluffy gentleness and lively cheer made her probably one of the most popular in the school in the boys’ minds.
In a high school student council election, the competition is not about campaign pledges or manifestos or whatever. You could campaign on promises to change school regulations, but everyone knows that’s highly unlikely to happen. Candidates will bring up all sorts of stuff like eliminating school uniforms or making school rules laxer or letting you go on the roof or whatever, but there’s no precedent for any of that having been actualized.
So then clearly, the election would end up being a simple popularity contest between the candidates, or it would be based on the organizational power of their friendships.
For a popularity contest of that sort, the first people to come to mind with good prospects of victory would be Hayama or Miura. But Hayama was in the soccer club, and as captain, too. Miura being Miura, she was not the type to be student council president, either. So then that would mean going for the lesser figures, but those options would be less reliable. What’s more, we couldn’t just find them and ask them to do it.
There was still another problem remaining.
“By the election date, you have to pick someone, negotiate with them, and campaign. Do you think you can do all that? And you have to be sure to win. If there was someone, a realistic option to rely on, that’d be fine. But right now you don’t have anyone, do you?” I said, certain it was impossible. The more I tried to speak calmly, the heavier my tone got. Though I hadn’t at all meant it to sound accusatory, my words had a sharp edge.
“Um, Hikigaya?” Meguri said to me, sounding a bit surprised. That made me realize that to someone else, I’d look irritated.
“…” Yukinoshita and Yuigahama both fell silent.
They probably understood without my even saying it. If you considered the matter and you were well versed in the affairs of the school, you’d get it. But despite that, we were silent, unable to give the clear answer.
A heavy air hung over us.
In the corner of my eye, I saw Isshiki breathe a tired sigh. She was reminding us how awkward she felt, silently asking, Why do I have to be here? Seeing someone else’s fatigue infected me, too, and I found myself sighing as well.
“It seems we won’t reach a conclusion immediately,” Miss Hiratsuka said, pushing herself away from the wall she’d been leaning against this whole time. As if taking her quiet hup as a signal, we all folded our legs the other way or stretched a little.
Yukinoshita adjusted herself in her seat and then addressed Meguri. “…Shiromeguri, would you mind coming another time?”
“Huh? Oh, sure… Of course,” Meguri replied, a little confused, and Miss Hiratsuka gently pushed her in the back.
“Well then, let’s leave this for another day. Let’s go, Shiromeguri, Isshiki.”
Right before the teacher was about to leave the clubroom, taking the two girls with her, Yukinoshita called out to her. Her expression was more frigid than usual, creating a sense of fervid intensity around her. “Miss Hiratsuka. Do you have a moment?”
“Oh, then I’ll get going.” Meguri must have sensed something was up, as she took Isshiki and left the clubroom.
Miss Hiratsuka watched them go before turning back to us. “Okay, let’s hear what you have to say.” She pulled out a chair with a scrape and folded her long legs.
The room seemed to have darkened a little. By contrast, the open sky out the window was a brilliant red. As we approached winter solstice, the night came earlier day by day.
Miss Hiratsuka patiently waited for Yukinoshita to begin.
The tea had already entirely chilled, and nobody was reaching out to the arranged snacks. I could hear the needle of the clock ticking and, occasionally, a tired sigh from someone.
Some length of time passed, and finally, Yukinoshita opened her mouth. “I remembered something.”
“Huh? What?” I asked.
Yukinoshita didn’t answer me, turning back to Miss Hiratsuka instead. “How is the competition going right now?”
“Competition?” The question made Miss Hiratsuka blink. Me and Yuigahama did, too. Why were we suddenly talking about competitions now?
But after a bit of thinking, I figured it out.
For us, the only competition was that competition from way back. Which of us could help more people with problems, who could serve people better. And the victor could get the loser to do whatever they wanted. That was established when I’d first joined the Service Club.
“Um…competition?” Yuigahama said, examining us.
Oh yeah. The rules of the competition had been changed at some point.
“A competition for who can serve others best, who can resolve people’s problems. You’re allowed to get people to help you, and whoever wins can get the others to do whatever they want,” I said quite concisely.
Yuigahama made a noise somewhere between surprise and confusion. “You had a competition going, huh…?” It seemed Miss Hiratsuka hadn’t told her about it. Well, I could get an idea as to why she hadn’t.
Looking over at the culprit, Miss Hiratsuka, she seemed rather flustered. “O-oh yeah…” She folded her arms, tilted her head, and groaned. “H-hmm, what about that~? W-well, you dealt with things together a lot of the time! Mm-hmm. I feel like everyone’s doing a good job, yep.”
“…” Yukinoshita’s cold expression did not falter as she silently gave Miss Hiratsuka a hard look.
“…Agh.” Miss Hiratsuka breathed a tired sigh. It seemed she’d intended to avoid this question, but she capitulated to Yukinoshita’s serious glare.
But it was true that lately, a lot of things had made it hard to see how the competition should be judged. We’d more often operated as the Service Club, as a whole, rather than each of us acting individually.
But still, it seemed Yukinoshita wouldn’t permit such ambiguity. She continued applying her silent pressure, and Miss Hiratsuka turned to face her again. “I haven’t been aware of everything you’ve done, including some of your requests. So I’m being honest when I say strictly speaking, I couldn’t make a judgment. But…” Miss Hiratsuka paused.
“But?” Yukinoshita prompted her to continue.
Miss Hiratsuka gazed at each of us in turn and slowly said, “I told you that the basis for my judgment would be my own biased and arbitrary opinions. So I can offer you comparative evaluations.”
“I don’t mind that… Are you two fine with that as well?” Yukinoshita gave us a sidelong glance.
I had no objections. It seemed Yuigahama hadn’t quite absorbed the situation, but she still nodded in agreement.
Confirming each of our responses, Miss Hiratsuka nodded, too. “If we’re going purely by results, then Hikigaya is one step ahead. If we’re considering the process and follow-up more, then Yukinoshita would be winning. And either way, without Yuigahama’s contributions, none of it would have come together…”
That was a bit of a surprising evaluation. She was being kinder than I’d expected.
Of course, if you were considering things comprehensively, it would probably not be as good, but even so, this arbitration was nothing like what I had anticipated.
When I looked around to see how the others felt about this, I saw Yuigahama looking pensive and meek.
Yukinoshita, on the other hand, was still sitting firmly upright, eyes closed, not even twitching. And then slowly, in a voice lacking any emotion or inflection, she asked quietly, “…In other words, the contest isn’t over yet?”
“That’s right,” Miss Hiratsuka replied.
As if pressing her for an answer, Yukinoshita said, “If the competition is still ongoing, that means this time, we may be permitted to have divided opinions on this matter, doesn’t it?”
“Um, what do you mean?” Yuigahama’s shoulders cringed a bit, anxiously. Like Yuigahama, I couldn’t guess as to what Yukinoshita meant, so I waited for what she’d say next.
Yukinoshita glanced over at Yuigahama, and then without looking at me, she said, “I mean there’s no need for us to adopt the same methods.”
She was completely right. We’d never had any obligation to cooperate in the first place, and we hadn’t established a precedent of cooperating well together, either. I think that was just the sort of relationship we had. “Yeah, that makes sense. There’s no point in us forcing ourselves to work together,” I agreed.
“…Indeed,” Yukinoshita replied briefly. And with that, the conversation was over.
Miss Hiratsuka seemed to consider that response for a while but then sighed in resignation. “Nothing I say will make a difference anyway. You kids do what you please. So what’ll you do about the club until you resolve this?” she asked.
Without taking time to think, as if she’d decided this beforehand, Yukinoshita immediately answered, “I suppose attendance could be voluntary.”
“…Yeah, that sounds fair.” Miss Hiratsuka accepted that, too. At the very least, I doubted there was a point in all of us sitting around here in silence anyway, not at this stage. If each of us had our own ways of doing things, then we wouldn’t have to bother coming to this clubroom. I had no objections.
I took up my bag and left my usual seat at the very edge of the room. “Then I’m going home.”
“Ah, h-hey, hold on!” Yuigahama stood, chair scraping on the floor. It looked like she would come toward me, so I gently stopped her.
“…You should think this over carefully, too.”
“Huh…?” Yuigahama merely stood there. Did she understand the meaning of what I’d said? I was talking about more than this particular incident.
We should probably be thinking about the future, too.
I continued out the door without saying anything back to Yuigahama.
Behind me, there was a murmur. “Playing friendly was supposed to be the thing you and I both hated most…”
Yukinoshita’s words made me turn around automatically.
Her sad smile seemed somehow self-deprecating. I had no words of reply and quietly closed the door.
Reshouldering my heavy, mostly empty bag, I walked through the empty hallways. My single set of footsteps rang loud in the quiet school building.
When I looked into the schoolyard from the window, I could see the sports clubs still practicing. Finally, they started cleaning up and stretching and such, sparse shadows moving on the wide grounds. I was gazing at these shadows as I walked when pleasant clicking footsteps pursued me from behind.
“Hikigaya.” A voice called me to a stop, and I paused there for only a moment. I knew who the owner of that voice was. That was why I merely slowed down and didn’t turn around.
Miss Hiratsuka sped up, and in a moment, she was walking by my side. “I guess there’s no point in asking…,” she muttered as she combed down her long hair roughly through her fingers. As expected of Miss Hiratsuka. She knew it well.
But it seemed she had to ask anyway as we descended the stairs together. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
I didn’t know how many times I’d said that.
Would saying that over and over eventually convince me it was true? Not at all. In fact, it was exactly the opposite, and I was even starting to doubt my own words and actions.
Whether she knew of these feelings or not, Miss Hiratsuka chuckled wryly. “Well, have it your way. I know you’re not exactly an open book.”
She didn’t try to ask again. The two of us walked from the bottom of the stairs down the hallway without a word. If you turned the corner ahead, you’d reach the teacher’s room, while going straight would take you to the school entrance.
Approaching the place where we would part ways, before I said my good-byes, Miss Hiratsuka opened her mouth first. “You’re a kind person, Hikigaya… There are quite a few people you’ve helped.”
“No, I doubt that…” I didn’t think that was true. Kindness or help are not things I give. That’s for other, better people.
And it’s not so easy to save someone in the first place. Selfishly seeking out someone beneath you, patting yourself on the back for helping them, and finding meaning in those actions is nothing more than an attempt to reassure yourself you’re a good person.
So it wasn’t as if I’d done anything.
I tried to deny it, but Miss Hiratsuka stopped me with a light wink. “It’s just like I told you earlier, in my evaluation.”
“…You’re overestimating me,” I retorted.
But she puffed out her chest and chuckled. “I may not look it, but I’m very prone to favoritism.”
“Isn’t that bad for a teacher?”
“It’s part of my policy of positive reinforcement,” she said, unruffled.
Is that right…? I don’t really remember getting any compliments, though… “I never got that impression…” I shrugged.
Miss Hiratsuka smiled. “Of course, I do just as much scolding.”
The school building was designed to look like a boat, and the evening light streamed through the plentiful glass windows, the soft rays of the setting sun shining in the still hallways. However, the light was not warm.
Miss Hiratsuka stood with the sun at her back, blocking the glow.
She set off to the teachers’ room, away from the entrance, where I was headed. As we parted ways, she kindly patted my shoulder. “The way you do things—when you meet someone you really want to help, you won’t be able to do it.”
A single set of footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Gradually, they grew distant.
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