Yahari Ore no Seishun Love Come wa Machigatte Iru - Volume 9 - Chapter 9

9

Of her own accord, Iroha Isshiki takes a step.

After school that Monday, we gathered in the student council room.

Before our meeting with Kaihin High School, we were having a meeting for the sake of that meeting. Maybe soon we’d hold a meeting of the meeting, by the meeting, for the meeting. Thanks to Yuigahama’s businesslike e-mail requesting everyone to get in touch, they’d all actually come.

The Soubu student council members were sitting at one corner of the meeting table. Isshiki was among them, and our eyes met.

Considering what had happened two days earlier, I’d figured she’d be feeling down, but it seemed not. She looked the same as always. Of course, she could just be pretending, though.

Isshiki scanned all the attendees. “Um, so why the gathering?”

“To confirm our objective and discuss where we’re going,” I answered.

Isshiki replied with an “Ahhh,” a noise that made it unclear whether she truly understood.

Yukinoshita’s eyebrows twitched together. “Normally, you should be the one arranging this.”

“O-okay…” Isshiki twitched and straightened her posture under Yukinoshita’s glare.

Yukinoshita was indeed a little scary, there…but it wasn’t like we’d brought everyone together for the purpose of lecturing Isshiki. “Well, never mind that stuff now…,” I said, trying to move the conversation on, but this time, Yukinoshita’s sharp gaze turned to me.

“You shouldn’t mistake kindness for leniency.”

I understood what she was trying to say. You shouldn’t mistake it for affection or sadness or reassurance, either. Yukinoshita’s strictness was like a whip of love, done out of consideration for Isshiki.

“But if you’re only ever strict to her, she’ll think you’re being cold,” I retorted.

“Still, doing everything for her isn’t in her best interests,” Yukinoshita shot back.

This is no good. It feels like at this rate, we’ll never reach an agreement in this dispute.

“I kind of feel like my parents are yelling at me…,” Isshiki muttered, and Yukinoshita was about to scold her again before Yuigahama stopped her.

“C-come on, Iroha-chan still isn’t used to this…,” Yuigahama said soothingly, and Yukinoshita withdrew.

“…That’s true.”

Still, what Yukinoshita said was reasonable. It was fundamentally preferable for Isshiki to be able to stand on her own feet from now on, as student council president. I’m not important enough to tell others what to do, and I don’t understand the pounding of my heart, either, but I want to help Isshiki out in a way that will benefit her in the future.

I cleared my throat, then looked at our student council president in front of me. “Isshiki, do you understand what the problems are now?”

“Yeah, we don’t have enough time, money, or people, right?”

“That’s right. So what do we do about it?”

“Ummm…so outsourcing, was it? Gathering people from elsewhere. But we don’t have the money to pay them, so it’s like, we’re trying to get the funds…”

So Isshiki was, in fact, aware of our current situation. It had seemed like she wasn’t paying attention, but she actually was. Frankly, that alone made her preferable to the committee chair of the cultural and athletic festivals, strangely enough.

Having confirmed that Isshiki understood, I took the discussion to the next stage. “And judging from Miss Hiratsuka’s reaction, it’s unlikely we’ll succeed in securing those funds. Also, I hate fundraising.”

“The latter is a completely personal reason…” Yukinoshita sighed in exasperation.

But you know, Yukinon! Miss Gahama and Irohasu are both nodding along, here! If we were going to come up with the money ourselves, based on my rough mental calculations, each person would need around five thousand yen at the very least… There was no way… At that sum, if I went crying to my parents, it might work out somehow, but if I had to go cry to my parents, I’d rather take the money for myself and crush the event. And to make it worse, there was a good chance we’d wind up having to raise even more money anyway.

As expected, now that it came down to a concrete problem like money, the student council members were exchanging looks. And the one who seemed the most reluctant about the fundraising idea was Isshiki. Geez, this girl…

“The current plan is pretty unrealistic,” I said. “Even if we could make it happen, we could only do a part of it. It’d be a pretty sad event, considering what we’ve been touting.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right…” Isshiki sighed. She must have been imagining it.

The plan to have musicians come perform for one hour each under the cool-sounding title of “music connecting us now” was already dubious on its own. What about that is connected…?

“That was the first thing we wanted to confirm with you—if you’re okay with that. I want to know what your intentions are, as the student council. By the way, I don’t care, either way. I came here as a helper. I just do what you tell me.”

My question made Isshiki fold her arms and go hmm as she began racking her brains. “Well, thaaat’s not good, huh? Sometimes it’s just, like, if it’s gonna be that shabby, it’d be best not to do it at all? But we can’t quit, right? So I think it’s kiiinda outta our control, y’knooow.”

Her cutesy way of talking and the apathy clear in her statement made Yukinoshita press her temple like she had a headache. “Isshiki…”

“C-come on, guys…,” Yuigahama intervened, and Isshiki twitched, too, immediately correcting herself.

“I’ll do it! I’ll do it right!!”

Hmm, that sounded kind of threatening, Yukinoshita…but whatever.

“Then I understand your goals here, Isshiki,” I said, “but what about the rest of the student council?”

“Huh? Um, well… How about you guys?” Isshiki hesitantly looked at the rest of those present.

All of them, including the vice president, exchanged glances and spoke with trepidation. “Well, we…”

“Yes, if we’re going to do a proper job, then…”

Seeing the others nod back at her, Isshiki smiled vaguely at me. It was like she was shy or embarrassed. “…Basically.”

So things were still awkward between Isshiki and the other student council members after all.

I think with Isshiki’s fundamental communication skills (her cheekiness), she’s capable of an open discussion or something with them, but her title of president and her lack of confidence in the job are probably what had been holding her back.

That wasn’t a problem I could solve. However, if a successful experience here were to lead to Isshiki gaining confidence in her role, that situation might change.

“Okay,” I said. “Then as for how we’re going to do that, first, there’s something in the way… Now then, quiz time! What is that something?”

“What?” Isshiki forgot to be on her best behavior, and she was now plainly looking at me like I was an idiot.

Damn it, when I went to the trouble of stirring up the crowd by making this into a quiz format for her… Come on, just answer.

But before Isshiki could say anything, Yukinoshita answered for her. “The structure of the meetings. That thoroughly enforced parliamentary system.” Looking over, I saw for some reason, Yukinoshita was raising her hand slightly. Had putting it into a quiz format stirred up her competitive spirit? As she waited for my answer, there was excitement in her eyes.

“Correct…,” I said, and Yukinoshita pumped a fist under the table.

Hmm, I wanted to make Isshiki answer that, though… Well, whatever. I’ll give the one who answered correctly eighty thousand points! (Because I’m Hachiman.)

“Well, just as Yukinoshita said, things will never get anywhere with that meeting, because they consider every single opinion in detail. There’s no one making the final call,” I said.

Yuigahama tilted her head. “Wouldn’t that be their student council president?”

“Right now, Tamanawa is only acting as a moderator or host. He sums up our ideas, but he won’t make decisions.”

The meetings sure looked lively. There were a lot of people there, and you could present ideas without them being rejected. So the fringe details, the nonessentials, got decided easily. But they were totally blind to the most central elements.

Meetings where you don’t know who holds the power to decide are in fact meaningless—since even if a final conclusion emerges, no one can make the decision to go with it.

The ultimate ruling is not made because everyone is equal.

There were people who stood at the top, more or less: Tamanawa from the Kaihin side and Isshiki from the Soubu side. But they were only present, saying things like, Hmm, what should we do? so the decisions that needed to be made were falling by the wayside.

Isshiki must have had a thought, as she breathed a short sigh. “…I guess it’s because I was bad at this after all…” Her head lowered.

“It’s not your fault,” I said to her.

“Really…?” She lifted her head and looked at me with dewy eyes.

So I nodded back at her and continued, “It’s obviously the fault of whoever endorsed you as president.”

“That was you, though…,” she said, exasperated.

Well, you know. I think the spirit of It’s not my fault; it’s society’s is important, right? “But more than that, if we’re just talking about this situation, the fault lies with the way both sides are overly concerned with not rocking the boat and failing to decide properly who’s in charge.”

Fundamentally speaking, before you talk about win-win relationships or equal negotiation or a group of peers with no bosses or underlings, you need to decide who ultimately has the final right of decision. Since they’d failed to decide this at the beginning, it was no wonder things had come to this.

“…So then let’s have a real meeting without all the buddy-buddy nonsense…one with opposition, confrontation, rejection, and winners and losers,” I proposed.

The vice president’s expression turned complicated. “Confrontation…? You mean to present opposing opinions now?”

“Yeah. We’ll do some hard rejections and thorough opposition. I mean, I really don’t want to do any fundraising.”

“That’s your reason, huh…?” Yuigahama was exasperated.

But I don’t wanna do what I don’t wanna do. And besides, I also didn’t want to accept the phony decisions made by these meetings.

But ultimately, that was just my own personal feelings. For the rest, I would yield the conclusion to them. “That’s it for my proposals, Isshiki. So what will the student council do?”

“Huh? I’m deciding? Is it okay for me to decide…?” With the discussion suddenly turned to her, Isshiki glanced all around. She looked to the other student council members. “…Wh-what do you guys think?”

The vice president responded to her question. “I think…it’s best not to cause dissent. I think it’d be a little harsh to present an opposing plan at this point. We never opposed their plans before, either, and I’m not sure I want us to get a reputation for arguing…”

This vice president is a commonsense sort of guy—something I could call conservative, but it was a good thing Isshiki had a guy like him backing her up.

“Yeah, true,” Isshiki said, then groaned and considered a bit. But then she jerked her head up, smiled at the vice president, and said, “But I’m going to do it anyway.”

“Huh?”

Iroha Isshiki, student council president, declared to the confused vice president, “Personally, I don’t wanna put on a crappy show.”

Yukinoshita pressed her temple, while Yuigahama put on a strained smile. But I was impressed. I didn’t know if that was how she really felt, but to offer a personal reason for action, at this point—maybe she would be someone to reckon with.

Since we’d come to a conclusion, next, we had to come up with a plan to counter the opposition. In the meetings with Kaihin before, they’d beaten us both in their level of noise and in ideas, which was the core point. We had to come up with some ideas ourselves, or we couldn’t trade shots with them head-on.

“So then let’s think about what we’re going to do.”

I went to stand in front of the whiteboard in the student council room and, pen squeaking, wrote out, What we’ll do. It was a rather half-assed way to write it, if I do say so myself.

The first-year girl with the glasses and the pigtails wasn’t a fan of this; she quietly went “Ah,” stood up, and took my place as whiteboard writer. It seemed she was the clerk.

When I took my seat again, Isshiki watched me with an awkward hmm. “But still, there’s nothing that I want to do, y’knooow?”

“…Yeah. I don’t really have anything to add, either,” I said.

Isshiki sighed in exasperation. “That’s no good…”

“It’s fine. If we were just gonna do whatever we wanted, we might as well be playing around. Doing things that you don’t want to, things that are hard, is what makes it work.”

Then Yukinoshita, sitting opposite me, tapped her finger at her temple. “Your views on labor aside, you are indeed correct. The subject of the current plan is not the guests coming to the venue.”

“Oh, I see…” Isshiki nodded.

That was right. Kaihin’s plan had been put together based on what they wanted to do and was not directed at the attendees, who should fundamentally be a priority. It was true that there were seniors who liked music, but many of them wouldn’t be that interested. Besides, wouldn’t the little kids get bored? Of course, that would depend on the songs chosen and how the plays were staged, but I could assume from how things had been going that they had not been thinking about the details that deeply. They’d been talking about the “customer side” but were not putting themselves in the guests’ shoes.

They had the wrong goal in mind. Getting to the point, it didn’t at all matter what we wanted to do.

It seemed Isshiki understood that, too. But she got stuck immediately beyond that. “…Then what should we do?” she asked.

I pondered a bit. “There are a few ways we could move things along… Well, it’s like, you know. The deepest level of work is about how you avoid work.”

“That sounds really contradictory…” From the side, Yuigahama gave me a dull look.

How rude… “There’s no contradiction. When you don’t want to work but have to, you think about what to do about it. Slacking off or skipping out just creates more problems. The issue becomes how you deal with things efficiently.”

“You started from the most ridiculous premise, but I feel like you wound up at the right conclusion…” Yukinoshita seemed to have a headache and was pressing her temple.

Of course my conclusion was correct. Source: human history.

The progress of technology has always arisen from one thought: What a hassle; I don’t want to do the work. In other words, you could say that since I found this to be such a pain in the butt and didn’t want to do it, I am the most evolved form of humanity. Lately, I’ve really been thinking that I’m a pain in the butt, myself.

Well, who cares about me? Right now, there was something I had to tell Isshiki. “When you’re considering stuff like this, what people find annoying is when problems come up. So you should counter problems that already exist instead,” I said and then pulled out from my bag the outline Tamanawa had made. “And in this situation, that means criticizing the flaws in this plan. It’s okay, I can never think of how to bad-mouth myself, but I can bang out plenty of criticism of others. And this is your field of specialty, Isshiki. You can do it.”

“Just what do you take me for…?”

“Come on, let’s all try that together for a bit.”

I had the grumbling Isshiki face the student council members across a table. Then I gave a little eye signal to Yukinoshita and Yuigahama, and we decided to supervise them silently for the moment.

Though we watched without saying anything, the student council did make an earnest effort to tackle the problem that had been presented to them. It wasn’t like they were unmotivated.

Once they had a topic and an opportunity to converse, gradually, discussion emerged among the group, and steadily, their issues with the plan were raised. Occasionally, Isshiki or one of the others would even let slip a smile.

Yep, malicious gossip really is the best way to bring people together.

After waiting until they’d more or less brought up all the issues, I said to them, “Now we just have to work backward to come up with a plan.”

Hearing a quiet mutter of “I see,” I looked over to see Yukinoshita folding her arms. “…If that’s the direction you’re going, it seems you’ll reach a plan. Though at the end of the day, we still have issues of funds, time, and people.”

“We have no choice but to think up something that takes almost no money or time,” I said.

“But if we don’t spend money, then won’t it wind up shabby in the end? I dunno about that…,” Isshiki said, oozing dissatisfaction.

Yuigahama clapped her hands. “Oh, I know! Maybe something like, the handmade feel is more homey! That kinda thing.”

Hearing that, Yukinoshita made a very reasonable observation. “I think that’s something the audience decides, not a selling point for those presenting the event.”

But Yuigahama had a point.

Basically, what we needed was a change of ideas.

You can’t just throw money at things. Movies that try to sell themselves on their production budget generally flop. Live-action adaptations of anime in particular. Nobody wants those, seriously.

How do you take the negative impressions of incomplete, mismatched, cut corners and make them come off positively as a “handmade feeling” and guileless? That was what we had to think about.

Oh, I guess it’s maybe kinda like those amateur videos you have in the more adult-oriented genre of film… Because they’re not pros, you can sense the awkwardness, the naturalness, the realness. It’s within reach—in fact, it’s the paradoxically literary nature of the extraordinary and secret within the mundane, the acting of not acting…phew. Yes, I basically get it.

“I got it,” I said. “We take the elementary schoolers…and the preschoolers, too. Let’s have the kids do stuff. That way, we can weaponize the cheapness and amateur feeling.”

“…I see. That’s quite a great idea.” Yukinoshita lit up.

But the source of that idea being what it was, it was hard to look her in the eye, and I felt like my voice was ready to crack as I replied. “Huh? Uh, uh-huh, yeah. You know, it’s like how sometimes when they don’t know what to do for an ad, they just put animals and stuff in it, you know?”

But Yukinoshita was focused on gathering her thoughts and didn’t look over at me again. “It’s true; nobody would complain if we made it children’s games… That would probably be well received by seniors, too. That restricts the sort of things we can do, though,” she said, looking over at Isshiki and the student council.

“Oh yeah. Like songs or something…,” replied Isshiki.

“Or a play…,” added the clerk with the braids.

“Songs are the same thing as music, so…,” the vice president said, crossing one thing off the list.

Now we’d just about decided what it was we were doing. I stood up and wrote out theater on the whiteboard. “Then a play. Preschools often put on casual plays for fun. They might have props and costumes for that sort of thing,” I said.

Yukinoshita nodded. “But then our problem will be the time to rehearse.”

“I feel like they’d have a hard time memorizing lines…” Yuigahama sounded pretty woeful for someone who wasn’t going to be onstage herself.

Yuigahama’s bad at memorization, isn’t she…? But this play wasn’t an exam. We were allowed to pull a few sneaky moves.

“…We should have two groups. Actors on the stage and actors reading the lines,” I said, and that seemed to click with Yukinoshita, too.

“You mean, like dubbing over their performance?”

“Yeah, then they don’t have to remember any lines.”

“That’s amazing. You’re exceptional at thinking up ways to cut corners.”

I’m extremely delighted to be honored with such praise… Let’s not say things like that with a pleasant smile on…

Well, being a real voice actor is a hell of a lot of work, though, and I hear you actually have to work really hard. We didn’t have time for practice or rehearsals, but for this, we were talking about something on the level of a school arts festival, so this should be a viable option.

Now we basically had the gist of it. If we could actually get the work done, we should be able to pull it off.

“So I guess we’re good with this…” Isshiki looked back at the student council with uncertainty. They all nodded back at her. Seeing that, a smile came to her lips.

“Since we’ve managed to come up with a plan,” Yuigahama said cheerfully, “I hope we can make it happen!”

“Yeah. Wellll, I hope we can!”

“We should split the time for the event in half and do both our play and their concert. We can propose that at the meeting today,” I said.

Yuigahama and Isshiki both tilted their heads with baffled looks. What’s with those dumb girl reactions…?

“…Can we do that?” Isshiki said.

“I mean, I don’t know. Even if we’re doing this together, there are lots of different ways to go about it, right?”

“Uh-huh, I see…” Isshiki appeared distracted as she nodded, her expression indicating she wasn’t convinced.

There’s no such thing as something everyone likes. Therefore, some people won’t like Tamanawa and his crowd’s plan. If we could propose something for those people, we could raise the overall customer satisfaction of the event as a whole. Of course, not everyone would enjoy what we would arrange, but those people might be happy with Kaihin High School’s plan.

It was our opposition of Kaihin that made it possible for us to draw up this scheme.

“Then work out the details before it’s time for the meeting and do your best presenting it,” I said and stood from my chair.

“All right… Wait, huh?! Where are you going?! And hey, am I doing the presenting?!” Isshiki’s head jerked up, and she gave me a double take.

Yukinoshita stood up after me, brushing down her skirt as she put a pensive hand to her chin. “Of course, the presentation would be the domain of the student council. We’re just helpers.”

Yuigahama smiled, picking up her coat from her chair. “Oh, but you know—if you get into trouble during the meeting, Hikki and Yukinon’ll help you!”

“You’re not gonna help…? Well, Isshiki. Do your best. Snacks are on me today,” I said and left the student council room.

There was still a while until the meeting, so I decided to kill some time shopping for snacks at the convenience store. We headed for the front entrance of the school.

“I hope the meeting will go well,” Yuigahama said as she wrapped her scarf around her neck again.

“Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine. If it doesn’t go through, we’ll force it. I want to be done with this thing already.” I’d meant to say that casually, but Yuigahama’s feet stopped right there. When I turned around, she was giving me a serious look.

“…Does that mean you’re gonna do something, Hikki?”

Behind her, Yukinoshita had also stopped in place. Her eyes were slightly lowered, and I couldn’t read the feelings behind them.

“…Well, I’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Frankly, I won’t know unless we try.” I answered as honestly as I could, within the range of what I could understand now. But I didn’t know that many ways of doing things.

I’m sure Yuigahama must have understood that, too. She fussed with her bun, still looking down, and said, “Does that stuff…not bother you?”

“There are things that bother me.”

“So, then…,” she said, raising her head.

Before she could say everything that lay beyond that, I voiced my own answer. “…What bothers me is giving in to that sort of superficial discussion. That’s what bothers me the most,” I said, averting my eyes and scratching roughly at my head. Thinking back on how until just recently, I myself had been crushed by that sort of superficiality, I thought that was a pretty shameless thing for me to say.

But even so, I could no longer resign myself to accept the fake.

There was a momentary silence.

Then I heard a quiet sigh. When I looked back again, there was Yukinoshita, smiling faintly. “You should do as you like.” Her voice was softer than usual, and her words were straightforward and certain.

“…Yeah, okay.” Yuigahama seemed still not quite convinced, but she nodded silently nevertheless.

She probably hadn’t really understood. Or maybe she had just had enough.

I put the words together behind my teeth but never voiced them, returning her nod.

None of us said anything else as we went outside.

The setting sun filtering in between the school buildings as the winter sea blew through was just a bit warm.

The meeting for the joint Christmas event began on schedule, and as time passed, things were cooling down.

The student council president of Kaihin High School, Tamanawa, smiled uncomfortably and sighed.

Whereupon the student council president of Soubu High School, Iroha Isshiki, grinned and whispered quietly to me where I sat next to her.

There had been a failure to reach an agreement in their conversation, which was something to this effect:

“Yes, that’s a valid way to look at things, but still, I think there’s significance in the two schools acting jointly. Operating separately will weaken synergistic effect and perhaps pose double risk.”

“I mean, yeaaaaah, but personally, I’d really like to do this, you know? If the guests can see both shows, that’s a good deal, riiight?”

I didn’t know how many times we’d heard it, at this point.

Tamanawa would go on and on with all sorts of business jargon, while Isshiki would turn and tilt her head every time, acting cute and kittenish and saccharine.

The whole meeting had been like this.

At the beginning, Tamanawa had suggested splitting the additional costs among ourselves. In response, Isshiki had replied, “You knooow, I’ve just been thinking…,” and then slammed out the presentation of the theater plan like a counterpunch. But her enemy was also a formidable foe, and he’d presented a compromise involving the theater sandwiched into the intermissions of the current plan. Of course, Isshiki had suggested a two-part composition of music and theater, with the current content reduced, citing the current plan’s unresolved financial issues.

So far, things had been unfolding just as I’d anticipated. Yukinoshita, Yuigahama, and I could watch this at ease, as if watching a sort of preestablished harmony.

But now, the meeting had suddenly come to a standstill, and Isshiki and Tamanawa were repeating themselves.

Beside me, Yukinoshita sighed. What a coincidence, I feel like that now, too.

Taking care not to interrupt the meeting, she whispered to me, “Will Isshiki be all right…? I just heard her click her tongue…”

“I don’t know; she’s starting to look pissed…”

“I can understand that feeling…,” Yukinoshita said tiredly, then sighed again.

Yukinoshita and I had both come to this meeting with the intention of leaving the presentation to Isshiki and offering appropriate backup, but given the current standstill, we really couldn’t cut in.

While I wondered what to do, Yuigahama, sitting to my right, poke-poked me in the shoulder. “Hikki, why are they arguing?”

“…Imagine you’ve been working on a joint project with someone. If they suddenly said they were going to break off and do their own thing, what would you think?”

“Hmm…” Yuigahama considered, then said, “It’d feel like a bad thing to me…”

“It’s true that a rift doesn’t come off well.” Yukinoshita nodded, too. That had to be what was bothering Tamanawa.

I glanced over at him to make sure and saw him furiously typing at his MacBook Air. Then he nodded and said, “I think that theater idea is a really good one. So circling back to the concept, one approach would be a collaboration between music and theater.”

Yet again, he offered a compromise plan, and Isshiki giggled. “Well, that is one idea, I guess? But I don’t really think that’s it, you know, and, like, also, there’s kind of that thing about the budget and stuff, riiight? So I dunno if we could do it in the end, you know?” she said, and then she put on this bashful, cheeky smile. But her eyes were not smiling at all.

“Let’s all think about that together. That’s what this meeting is for, after all.” Tamanawa repeated himself yet again. At this rate, we’d go into an infinite loop.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted someone unexpected standing up. It was our vice president. “Um, can I say something? Why is it you’re so opposed to this two-part configuration?”

“Hmm…I’m not against it. I think if we could share a vision, we could produce a greater sense of unity. And considering it from the standpoint of image strategy as well, I think it may be best not to eliminate the general framework of the joint event.” The counterargument from that surprising source made Tamanawa pause a bit before he continued. “Tentatively speaking, if we’re going to create two programs, one solution may be to integrate both schools to form two new groups…”

“But then I don’t think we’ll make it in time, you knooow? We’ve already got it ready on our end.” Isshiki joined in with the vice president. We hadn’t actually prepared anything, but she was probably telling a white lie to get us out of this morass.

Then one person from the Kaihin student council raised their hand, coming to Tamanawa’s aid. “If the issue is time, then we shouldn’t start over with a new program now. Keeping it to the original and having everyone work together on it would be a better idea, and it would be a more efficient use of funds, cost-performance-wise.”

And then, the meeting went backward again.

As I was making note of this exchange for the records, I realized something wasn’t adding up here.

Tamanawa wasn’t against the two-part composition in and of itself, yet he was fixated on doing things together. What was the reason for that? In an effort to answer that question, I opened my mouth. “…Is it necessary for us to do this together?”

“Well, by doing it together, we produce group synergy to make a big event.”

“There’s no synergy going on here. You can talk about making things bigger all you want, but at this rate, we’ll be lucky to pull off anything at all. So why are you still fixating on how we do this together?” Before I knew it, I was cross-examining him in an accusatory way. In return, I got critical whispers.

The greatest error of this meeting was that there had been no rejection. There’d been no opposition, right from the start. So even when we all knew something was wrong, nobody had been able to correct it.

I hadn’t been able to reject their ideas, either. I’d let myself think it was a valid way of doing things.

I’d told myself I was being reserved, I was being considerate, but I’d been lying.

That wasn’t right. I don’t think it’s at all a bad thing to be rejected.

Some things you can only understand once someone shows you why you’re wrong. A hopeless, empty, and general affirmation of everything is the cruelest rejection of them all. I think that’s the real dismissal.

Apparently flustered, Tamanawa hurriedly replied, “That’s not in line with our plan, and besides, we received your consensus. And since we already shared the grand design…”

It was true that we’d agreed with them earlier, and they’d pulled together a “grand design”—and they’d forced everyone to accept it by claiming they were finding an answer to satisfy everyone. They’d forced us to keep out mouths shut, to swallow the poisonous lie.

That agreement had been obtained by coercively implying that the decision had already been made, and that those who disagreed were heretics.

And then when it failed, he said we all decided this together. He distributed the responsibility to lighten his own share in it, blaming a nameless other. That little postscript about how “everyone” had decided was just manipulative; he made us into accomplices. Oh, it was like a certain hollow box.

That was why I had to reject this. I couldn’t say I was a righteous person at all, but because I had people who would be so good as to reject my suggestions, I’d realized my mistake. There was no way I could accept this conclusion. I knew I was in the wrong. But the world is more wrong.

I fixed my gaze on Tamanawa, and my mouth formed an ugly smirk. “…No. You only thought you could do it, and you let your ego get the better of you. You couldn’t face your error. You wanted to avoid your own failure, so you did what you could to put your mind at ease—forming plans, throwing around words, and getting promises. When you make a mistake, it’s easier to make it someone else’s fault.”

It was just like how a certain someone had been recently, and self-deprecation tinged my voice.

A kind little world with no rejection is so pleasant. Superficial discussions are left in the meeting records, and you can still have something that looks like a meeting. You can deceive yourself that way.

But it’s fake.

It started with murmurs, then a swell of voices. The ripples reverberated quietly, but slowly spreading. The voices swirled like a whirlpool around me, and I could see the chill in their eyes.

“I don’t think that’s what’s going on here. I think there’s just a lack of communication.”

“We could have a cooldown period and then try to have a calm discussion…”

The voices from the Kaihin side were cold and persistent. But at the end of the day, they were not changing their attitudes. They were trying to tangle us up with their word tentacles to appease us, avoiding rejection of our proposal.

But a voice ripped through the stalemate.

“If you want to play make-believe, then could you do it elsewhere?”

Her voice wasn’t loud, but with that one remark, the room went dead silent.

The owner of that voice quickly continued. “Everything you’ve been saying has been completely void of content. Do you enjoy pretending to have a discussion using your new vocabulary?”

Aside from Yukino Yukinoshita, not a single person opened their mouth.

She continued at a slower, deliberate pace. “You’re speaking purely in the abstract so that you can pat yourself on the back for your discussion and understanding, but you haven’t carried anything into action. You can’t possibly move forward like that… You won’t create anything, you won’t gain anything, you won’t give anything… Nothing that’s real, at least.”

When I looked over, she was squeezing her fists and looking down.

But when she lifted her face, her expression was dignified, and her strong gaze was faced forward. “Could you not waste any more of our time?”

It felt like the lecture room had forgotten sound. Everyone was left speechless by Yukinoshita’s intensity. A void was born in the circular discussion.

“Um, this all seems kind of complicated, so wouldn’t it be better to think of this as twice the fun instead of being forced to do things together? It’ll bring out what makes each of our schools special.” Yuigahama started speaking, making an effort to sound cheerful as she wove into that gap. She turned the discussion to everyone else still sitting there, stunned. “Right, Iroha-chan?”

“Oh, yeah. I—I think that’s a good idea…”

Then Yuigahama’s gaze shifted over to Kaori Orimoto. “Wh-what do you think? Hmm?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah… That’s fine…right?” Orimoto replied to that interrogative surprise attack with a reflexive agreement. She seemed to lack confidence in her answer, and she also shared a look with the person sitting beside her. That person nodded back.

When an assembly operates without dissent, once the balance tilts toward affirmation of an idea, it all comes down like an avalanche.

Finally, an end came to the long, long meeting.

The discussion came to a close, and the lecture room bubbled with chatter once more. Since a conclusion had been reached among the Soubu crew as well as in the united group, we could finally start preparing for the event in earnest. Books and materials were spread out over the tables, and we started up a meeting to plan the play.

I observed this out of the corner of my eye as I stood with Yukinoshita while Isshiki vented her anger at us. Yuigahama was watching with a strained smile.

“Why did the two of you have to say stuff like thaaat? Ugh, now it’s so tense? I thought the whole event would go up in smoke.” Isshiki was in front of the whiteboard, arms folded. Her little pout was cunning in its cuteness.

“I don’t believe I said anything that was mistaken, though.” Yukinoshita turned her head away sullenly.

Isshiki huffed with displeasure. “Maybe you were right, but you could have been more tactful about it, like, read the room, you know?” she complained, and Yukinoshita turned away again.

Or so I thought, but then for some reason, her gaze shifted to me. “There’s no point in expecting him to read the room. All he ever reads during club time is lines of text.”

“Too bad for you, when you get to be a reader at my level, you can even read between the lines. And wait, weren’t you the one she was chewing out here?” I said.

Yukinoshita tilted her head, baffled. “I just acknowledged she was right, didn’t I? There’s no reason for her to be angry.”

“Ahhh, that’s what she’s getting mad at you for. Listen to her, come on,” I shot back, and Isshiki knock-knocked on the whiteboard.

“Um, are you listening to me? I’m talking to the both of you, you know?”

“C-come on, it all worked out in the end, so no big deal, right?” Yuigahama finally intervened. Isshiki sighed again and withdrew. She looked a little sulky, so Yuigahama started patching things over. “The event didn’t go up in smoke, so it’s all good. Right?”

“…Agh, well, I guess things sort of worked out, and besides, well…that did kind of feel good.”

She just can’t admit it. And this is coming from me, a twisted person.

But I’d thought Isshiki didn’t care about student council work at all, so I was surprised she was concerned about whether the event would happen or not.

And now, she was moaning and holding her head. “But those are two different things, aren’t they? This is really hard to manage.”

“Oh, well, sorry about that.” I was basically at fault on that front, so I would apologize for that. Thus far, the ones to negotiate directly with Tamanawa had been Isshiki and myself, but with what had happened, I doubted he’d want to talk to me. Therefore, everything would fall on Isshiki’s shoulders.

“It’s true; it would be uncomfortable if we couldn’t cooperate anymore… Even if we are working on two different projects, we’re doing it under a single framework. I wonder if we’ve made things a little difficult to manage…” Yukinoshita put her hand to her jaw thoughtfully, and Yuigahama raised her hand like she suddenly had an idea.

“Me and Iroha-chan will handle anything related to helping Kaihin and communicating with them.”

“Whaaat, me too?” Isshiki said. She clearly wasn’t into that idea.

But Yukinoshita instantly reprimanded her. “You’re the representative, so of course.”

“Y-yes’m! …Hey, wait, this is your fault, Yukinoshita…” When Yukinoshita shot her a sharp look, Isshiki cleared her throat to hide her discomfort, then she whispered in my ear, “Hey, Yukinoshita is scary…”

I couldn’t say, No, that’s her way of being kind. I mean, she was still glaring at Isshiki. Yukinoshita’s got some devil ears straight from hell…

“Isshiki,” said Yukinoshita, “could you confirm their budget and their time allotment for me? Also, I would like to do the exact calculation of the expenses thus far.”

“Oh, then why don’t we do that with the treasurer?” Isshiki said, and the two of them went over to where the rest of the student council were.

I didn’t have anything else to do at the moment, so I pulled out a nearby chair, leaned against the backrest, and stared at the ceiling. No one came over to me, and I spent some time off in my own world.

Occasionally, I felt eyes on me. I’d thought I was quite used to strange looks and whispering voices, but this was the first in a while that I’d been conscious of them, so it felt strangely nostalgic. Those eyes were on Yukinoshita, too.

“Hikigaya.” I didn’t know when she’d come in, but Miss Hiratsuka was looking down on me from above.

“You were here?”

“I came partway through to see how things were going.” She didn’t take a chair, so I doubted she was staying long. Instead, I decided to stand and avoid the awkwardness of being the only one sitting. Miss Hiratsuka brought her face near mine and gave me a close look and a wry smile. “Sounds like you made yourself rather conspicuous again.”

Oh, so she was here earlier, huh…? I squirmed a bit, mildly embarrassed that she saw that.

Miss Hiratsuka scanned the lecture room. Her gaze pointed to Yukinoshita. “But I didn’t think she would do what she did… I’m a little surprised.”

“Well, yeah…,” I said to indicate I was listening, not necessarily agreeing. I couldn’t find the right words.

Regardless, Miss Hiratsuka nodded back at me and murmured, “If you’re getting hurt together, maybe that’s not an injury at all… Beauty in dissonance, I suppose.”

“Huh?” I asked, not understanding her meaning.

Without looking at me, she said, “You might be hurt or warped…or twisted, but in the eyes of someone who knows what to look for, it’s a beautiful thing. There is real value there… I have some appreciation for things like that.” Then she turned back to me with concern in her eyes. “But it can also be scary. You wonder if this is really for the best. Some might say that a joy no one understands is a closed joy.”

“Is that a bad thing, then?” I asked her.

But she slowly shook her head. Her long, glossy black hair swayed. “I don’t know… A teacher can only verify your answers on school tests… So I’ll continue to ask you questions, at least. And you keep mulling them over.”

Leaving that remark behind her, Miss Hiratsuka left the lecture room. Watching her go, I searched for the words to reply to her.

I think what I wanted was not a relationship that general society considered correct. It was more like grabbing someone’s hand and dragging them down to the bottom of the water. It was an incredibly selfish sentimentality.

She didn’t have to tell me. I would continue to always ask and answer.

Ending the long day, I started on the road home, lazily pedaling my bike from the community center.

When I came close to my neighborhood, I heard the ring of a bell from behind. Thinking, What? Ugh, some obnoxious rider coming along, I yielded the path to them and took the course to the side. But the bell didn’t stop dinging.

Now I was getting annoyed, and I turned around.

There was Orimoto on her bicycle, following right behind me. When she saw my face, she chuckled. “Why’re you ignoring me? You’re so funny.”

“…Hey. Uh, it’s not that funny, though.”

We were from the same middle school, so if you thought about it, it was obvious: My house wasn’t that far from Orimoto’s. If we were heading from the same place and going in the same direction, and returning around the same time frame, you don’t have to be Takashi from the math textbook to guess we might meet somewhere.

Orimoto’s bicycle rolled up beside mine. “So you still live around here,” she noted.

“Uh, yeah, this is where my family lives…”

“Oh, of course. It’s just that we never see each other.”

That’s because there’s a ton of people I don’t want to see, and I avoid going out… Speaking of the list of people I didn’t want to see, Orimoto was pretty high up there, but I didn’t have to tell her that.

“Oh, hold on a sec,” she said, stopping her bicycle in front of a vending machine. She was also pretty high up on the list of people I didn’t want to wait for, too, but since she’d asked me to, I couldn’t not do it. Still astride my bike, I obediently stayed there while Orimoto bought a drink from the vending machine.

“Here, my treat,” she said as she held out warm black tea in a can.

What, it’s not MAX Coffee? But still, I couldn’t quibble over a present, so I accepted it obediently.

Then she raised up the other can she’d bought. “Yaaay!”

“O-okay…”

She must have meant that to be a cheers, as she clinked our cans. She opened her can with a fshht and took a slow sip. “You’ve changed a little, Hikigaya,” she said. “You were so boring back in middle school.”

“I—I see…” H-hmm. S-so that’s what she thought of me. Was that information necessary?

I was more bothered by her remark that I’d changed a little. Had I changed since middle school? I must have. I’d grown taller, and I’d memorized more English vocab. And plus, I didn’t start weirdly gushing sweat when I talked with Orimoto anymore. I’m sure there were a number of other things that had changed, but it might be more accurate to say that I was just returning to the starting point.

“Maybe when someone seems boring, a lot of that’s the fault of the one looking.” As she said it, she looked bored herself. Then shaking up her black tea, she tossed it back and exhaled a satisfied ahhh. “But I could really never date you, after all.”

“Uh, I’m not exactly asking you to do that now…” Yes, I did ask a long time ago. Yes, it was very long ago, ancient history. It was so very long ago, so please forget it. Please.

“So like, what’s this about, all of a sudden?” I asked.

“Like today, you suddenly came out and said something, right? Normally, I would hate it if my boyfriend did that, you know? I just didn’t even get what that was about.” She cackled, as if the memory was amusing. But then suddenly her laughter settled, and she looked farther down the road—in the direction of our old middle school. “But as a friend, maybe it’d be okay. It was funny, after all… Well, it doesn’t really matter,” she said. Then she tossed her empty can into the garbage bin and threw her leg over her bicycle. “But, like, thanks to you and that girl, we’re actually getting into this whole thing now. The president’s really motivated and stuff. We’re gonna win this thing.”

“Uh, it’s not a competition…,” I said.

Orimoto tilted her head. “Is that right? Well, whatever. See you.”

“Yeah. Oh, thanks for the tea.”

Orimoto casually waved a hand in response and started pedaling away. I drank down the remaining tea all at once and threw the empty can into the garbage.

Then not too far away, I heard bicycle brakes squeak. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” I looked over toward the voice that had addressed me to see Orimoto still on her bike, only her head turned toward me.

“Next time there’s an alumni party or something, why don’t you come, Hikigaya?”

“No way.”

“Thought so. You’re so funny.”

“No, I’m really not…”

She giggled and started pedaling again.

I pressed down on my pedals to head off in the other direction. I didn’t watch her go.

One day later, after classes had ended, the lecture room of the community center was bustling. We’d decided we would put on a play, but we hadn’t settled on which one.

Isshiki had offered one mysterious instruction—“But there’s gonna be angels, right?”— and so we were hastily making angel costumes. Will there really be angels…? Wait, doesn’t that mean the characters are dead?

The elementary school kids became a powerful new ally in this production task, despite having been treated entirely like a troublesome burden until just the other day. Now, they were able bodies. Man, elementary schoolers really are the best!

Of the kids, Rumi Tsurumi was adept with her hands, and her lonerdom meant she could focus on a task, too. That, along with the precedent of her being the one to come to us for directions on the first day the kids had visited, made her the ace of the elementary schooler odd-jobs team.

While the other kids were chatting and fooling around together, she was now diligently making angel costumes. Watching her from afar, I thought her earnestness would be her downfall, as the other kids were forcing more and more work on her.

That’s really a bit much for her to handle by herself… So I approached her, sitting down next to her without asking, and reached out to the tools for making angel costumes.

But a voice stopped my hand. “I can do it alone.”

“Uh, sure, but still…” Despite her claims, we had to make quite a few of these. They were sized for preschool kids, so they weren’t that big, but it was a lot for one person to handle.

But Rumi shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“…I see. You can do it alone, huh?”

She was serious about trying to make everything herself. Maybe she was just stubborn. Maybe in the end, she wouldn’t make it in time, and it’d cause us all trouble.

But regardless, I think her effort was noble.

She glanced over at me as I pulled out my chair with a scrape and got to my feet. There was something sad about her expression, and gradually, her eyes lowered.

Still standing, I tapped my own chest. “But I can do it more alone,” I said.

Rumi stared blankly at me for a bit, but then suddenly, she gave an exasperated little laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean? That’s so stupid,” she said with a faint smile, and she didn’t stop me from working after that. The two of us went through cardboard boxes with scissors, making wing after wing.

I think cooperation and trust are probably actually way colder than people imagine.

It’s okay to do things alone; in fact, you have to be able to do them alone. Once you’re able to live without causing trouble for others, you finally become able to request things of others for the first time. When you have the ability to have a life separate from others, you earn the right to walk alongside someone for the first time.

It’s that ability to have a life alone, the ability to manage by yourself, that enables you to live together with someone.

I glanced over at Rumi, who was diligently working next to me. She’d probably be able to have a life alone, too. If she could do this much in elementary school, she was in great shape. And besides, she was decently cute, too. Someday, she could walk together with someone. Then for the sake of her future…it might be good for her to do a rehearsal, just once.

“…So hey, will you star in our play, kid?” I asked, snipping away at the cardboard.

Rumi’s scissors stopped flat, and she glared at me. “…My name’s not kid.”

“Hmm?” What’s with that sudden glare? Is she, like, one of those things? Those ghosts from the scary stories, like when you’re sleeping at a ryokan and they come up to your pillow to peer at your face?

“Rumi,” she said a little grumpily, then turned away. Guess she wanted me to call her that.

I don’t really feel comfortable calling girls by their first names…partly because it’s embarrassing, but I also worry that just by calling her by her first name, people will think, Huh? What, has she gotten a boyfriend?

While I was wondering what to do about this, Rumi glared at me, then returned to her task.

Looks like she won’t react until I say her name, huh…?

“Hey…Rumi?” I said to her.

With her eyes still down on the table, she gave me a tiny nod.

“Will you star in our play?”

Get on out there, you! And then do Aikatsu with me! You’ve got a pretty face, so you’ll be great, just great! Let me be your producer, come on. Let’s start some serious idol activity together.

I don’t know whether my passion reached her or not, but Rumi seemed to consider as she said, “…Are you allowed to decide that, Hachiman?”

“What? Yeah, I’m something like a producer here.”

I’m also an admiral and a Love-Liver. I didn’t know whether it was okay for me to decide this on my own, but we had decided to put the elementary and preschool kids in this play, so there should be no problem.

Rumi stared at me vacantly, looking thoughtful, but then she jerked her face away. “Hmph…,” she said with apparent disinterest. “I guess I could do it.”

“For real? Thanks, Rumi-Rumi.”

“It’s gross when you call me that.”

I wonder, could this be how a father feels when his daughter calls him gross…? What a surprising thrill. Whoa, this is nice.

As this mysterious feeling enveloped me, while sticking white paper onto the cardboard, Rumi asked me, “What’s the play?”

“…Oh yeah, we haven’t decided yet, huh?” I figured the student council would probably be talking about that, but it’d be best to confirm that and get a handle on our progress.

As I was thinking about this, Rumi tugged at the cardboard in my hands. “Maybe you should decide that soon,” she offered cheekily.

It seemed her implication was that I should leave this to her and go on ahead. Well, if she was going to be like that, then I had to go. I decided to send some personnel her way and do what I would do.

“…Right, then. See you,” I said and stood, heading for where the Soubu crowd was working.

I went to check with Isshiki first, but while I was looking for her, Yuigahama came over with a manila envelope. “Hikki, do you know where Iroha-chan or Yukinon went?”

“I’m looking for them, too.”

“Oh. I got the money, so I was wondering what we should do.”

Oh-ho, so she’s seized the funds Kaihin’s been taking care of, huh? I don’t really know, but despite being an idiot, she does seem to take proper care when it comes to money. How domestic…

As Yuigahama and I were glancing around for Isshiki, the door of the lecture room opened with a rattle. The president in question staggered over.

“What happened to you…?” I asked her.

She was acting miserable. “I asked Hayama for help, and he said no…”

“What? No way! He did?” Yuigahama seemed to have not expected that at all. I was a little surprised, too—that Hayama had refused a request from someone, but most of all, that Isshiki had boldly gone on the attack, even after he had rejected her. Man, Hayama really said no, huh…?

Isshiki was sniffling, eyes sadly lowered, but gradually, the corners of her mouth turned up in a smirk. Then she lifted her face, grinning wide. “Just kidding! This means Hayama’s really got me on the brain, doesn’t it? Whoa, this is having even mooore of an effect than I predicted!”

“Yeah, sure…,” I said with some exasperation. She’s indomitable. If this is a natural reaction for her, then that’s pretty impressive, and if she’s faking, then she really is indomitable.

“Oh, that reminds me. He said that he’d come on the day of,” Isshiki added with a nonchalant look.

Yuigahama turned to me. “Oh, is that right? Then can I invite someone, too?”

“Yeah, sounds fine, not like I care.”

“…Indeed, you never seem to care about what you say.” I heard an exasperated voice behind me. I turned around to see Yukinoshita standing there—I didn’t know when she’d shown up.

Yukinoshita began talking with Yuigahama and Isshiki, saying hello, chatting, and giving instructions, but occasionally, tiny little yawns would surface.

“You look tired,” I commented.

“I haven’t slept. I’ve had things to do…,” she answered briefly.

But what was it that she stayed up all night to do? What indeed?

As I was wondering about that, Yukinoshita started pulling some things from her bag and gave the student council president a sharp look. “Isshiki.”

“Y-yes…”

Perhaps due to lack of sleep, the look in Yukinoshita’s eyes was more knifelike than usual. Isshiki twitched, as if she was scared Yukinoshita might get angry at her again.

Seeing her reaction, Yukinoshita suddenly smiled. Then she held a stack of papers out to her. “I’ve put these together. If it seems they’re of helpful reference, please use them.”

“Okay…”

I took a peek at the pages when Isshiki accepted them. It appeared to be a checklist and materials. The checklist was a summary of things that should be completed by the day of the event, as well as necessary items.

Wondering about what the other papers were, I discovered it was advice from Yukinoshita. She had recommended the student council prepare something to compensate the children who would participate in the play; plus she had added recipes for Christmas cake and gingerbread cookies as well as calculations on the cost of materials. It also summarized when the kitchens in the school and community center were available.

As advice for the play, she’d written about scripts for a form of theater that included audience participation. Oh, is this like that thing? Like how in the PreCure movies, you can use the Miracle Lights to support them?

Isshiki, Yuigahama, and I were all impressed, murmuring “Ohhh” and “Ahhh” and “Hmm” as we read along.

That must have made Yukinoshita a little uncomfortable, because she cleared her throat and pulled something else out of her bag. “This, too.” She held a number of books and handed them over to Isshiki. “I’m not sure if these will be to your taste, but I’ve picked out some of the Christmas classics. Also, among the student council room equipment, there should be a CD of noncopyrighted music, so go look for it. I think you’ll need it for the play.”

“…Th-thank you.” Isshiki looked bewildered, frozen with those books and papers in hand. It was no wonder she was surprised, getting handed all this stuff so suddenly. But I was also a little surprised at how Yukinoshita had arranged this much for her.

“You’ve really done a lot,” I said without thinking.

Yukinoshita turned her face away. “Because I can’t deal with people the way you and Yuigahama do,” she said.

Yuigahama and I looked at each other. Then I smiled a little. Maybe Yukinoshita was actually pretty concerned about Isshiki. She’s way too opaque!

“Now I suppose we’ve dealt with most of the difficulties…” Yukinoshita folded her arms and put her hand to her jaw. Apparently, there was something else.

I considered it, too, but it seemed like we were ready to pick a play now, so the only remaining barrier would be the issue of work time. “Well, basically,” I replied.

“Right.” Yukinoshita exhaled in satisfaction before immediately turning to Isshiki. “…Isshiki, I believe you should assume leadership for the rest. Can I take it you agree, Hikigaya?”

“Yeah. Not like I was ever leading anything in the first place.” All I’d been doing was putting out fires, and I hadn’t done anything you could call leadership. There hadn’t been a leader, in the correct sense of the word, until now.

“Ummm…” Isshiki shifted her gaze between me and Yukinoshita, opening her mouth anxiously.

Yukinoshita forestalled her. “I don’t mind if you give me instructions. I’ll participate in the work as well. And if you get in trouble, you can turn to us.”

“But, um…I still really don’t think I can, you knooow?” Isshiki laughed, embarrassed.

Yukinoshita closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. “You can do it. There’s someone who recommended you for this position—I think you can believe in him.” Her tone was kind.

Quietly, Isshiki replied, “All right.”