Chapter 27: And then Hikigaya ponders.
Youth.
The word is a mere five letters, but it fiercely moves the hearts of men.
For adults out in society, it elicits a sweet pain and nostalgia. For young
women, it elicits eternal longing. And for people like me, it elicits strong
jealousy and dark hatred.
My life in high school was nothing like the technicolored mental image
described above. It was an ashen, gloomy, monochrome world. It was somber
from the very beginning, when I got into a traffic accident on the day of the
entrance ceremony. After that, I commuted between my house and school,
going to the library on weekends, and generally spending my days in a
manner quite dissimilar from your average student. It was far removed from
any sort of romantic comedy.
But I had fun.
Diligently going to the library to finish brick-sized fantasy novels,
listening rapturously to radio personalities speaking when I happened to
switch on the radio in the middle of the night, fishing for heartwarming
articles within the wide electronic ocean ruled by text… I found all of that,
encountered all of those things, precisely because I spent my days alone.
I was grateful and moved by every single one of those experiences, and
though they brought me to tears, they weren't tears of lamentation. I will
never deny the validity of the time I spent, those days of my youth known as
the first year of high school. I will vigorously affirm it. I doubt my stance on
the matter will ever change.
Nevertheless, I do want to point out that my position is not to deny the
validity of the experiences of others currently celebrating their youths. In the
midst of the teen experience as they are, they manage to turn even failure into
wonderful memories. They look at their squabbles and fights as a time of
youthful worry.
Through their youth filter, their world changes.
And that being the case, perhaps my teen years may be seen through those
rose-tinted rom-com glasses as well. And maybe it isn't wrong. Maybe the
place I'm in now may one day appear to glitter. Even my rotten, dead-fish
eyes may one day sparkle. To the degree that I have those hopes, I feel that
something is gradually growing inside me. Indeed, in the days I have spent in
the Service Club, I have learned one thing.
In conclusion:
I got that far, and my pen stopped.
Left all alone in a classroom after school, I stretched out my arms above
my head with a groan. It wasn't like I was being bullied or anything. I was
just redoing that assignment as ordered by Ms. Hiratsuka. It was true, okay? I
wasn't being bullied, okay?
I'd gotten about halfway through my essay at a good pace, but the
conclusion just wasn't coming out right, and it had grown rather late.
I guess I'll write the rest in the clubroom, I thought, quickly tossing my
paper and pens into my bag, putting the empty classroom behind me. The
hallway to the special-use building was empty, and the sounds of students in
sports clubs yelling reverberated through the halls.
Yukinoshita was probably reading again in the clubroom today. I could
continue my essay without any interruptions, then. It wasn't like the club actually did anything, anyway. Very occasionally, strange people would
show up, but those really were rare events. Most students talked about their
problems or whatever among more approachable peers, people they were
close to—or they just bottled it all up.
That was probably the correct thing to do, the desirable stance. However,
sometimes there are people who can't do that. People like me or Yukinoshita
or Yuigahama or Zaimokuza.
I'm sure things like friendship and love and dreams and so forth are
wonderful to many people. Even feelings of skittishness or anxiety can be
seen in a positive light, I'm sure. That very outlook is what they call youth.
But at the end of the day, that's exactly why contrary sorts like me wonder
if maybe people just enjoy being enraptured by the buzz of youth or
whatever. My sister would say something like Youth? Like, youth guys better
get outta here? That's youse guys, got it? You watch too much TV!
"***"
actually did anything, anyway. Very occasionally, strange people would
show up, but those really were rare events. Most students talked about their
problems or whatever among more approachable peers, people they were
close to—or they just bottled it all up.
That was probably the correct thing to do, the desirable stance. However,
sometimes there are people who can't do that. People like me or Yukinoshita
or Yuigahama or Zaimokuza.
I'm sure things like friendship and love and dreams and so forth are
wonderful to many people. Even feelings of skittishness or anxiety can be
seen in a positive light, I'm sure. That very outlook is what they call youth.
But at the end of the day, that's exactly why contrary sorts like me wonder
if maybe people just enjoy being enraptured by the buzz of youth or
whatever. My sister would say something like Youth? Like, youth guys better
get outta here? That's youse guys, got it? You watch too much TV!
When I opened the door to the clubroom, Yukinoshita was in the same place
as always, unchanged from her usual posture as she poured over a book. She
noticed the sound of the door creaking and raised her head. "Oh. I thought
you wouldn't come today," she said, wedging a bookmark in her paperback.
When you consider how she used to just keep reading her book and totally
ignore me, she'd made incredible progress.
"Well, I thought about skipping out. I just had something to do today." I
pulled out a chair at the long table diagonally in front of Yukinoshita and sat
down. We were both at our regular posts. I pulled out the paper from my bag
and spread it out on the table.
Looking intently at what I was doing, Yukinoshita raised an eyebrow in
mild displeasure. "Hey. Just what do you think this club is for?"
"You're just reading, though," I pointed out, and Yukinoshita looked
away awkwardly. It appeared that no one had come with requests today,
either.
In the quiet room, the only sound was the second hand of the clock. Now
that I think about it, it had been a long time since I'd last experienced this
kind of silence. It was probably because a certain noisy individual wasn't around.
"Oh yeah, where's Yuigahama?"
"She's apparently going to spend some time with Miura and her friends."
"Huh…" That was surprising. Or not. They were originally friends, and
ever since that tennis match, Miura's attitude had softened in a way apparent
even to an outsider. I don't know if it was because Yuigahama was more
open now or not.
"What about you, Hikigaya? Your partner isn't with you today?"
"Totsuka is with his team. I don't know if it's thanks to your special
training or what, but he's all fired up about his club activities." And that
meant he wasn't spending much time with me. It was so sad.
"Not Totsuka, the other one."
"Who?"
"Who…? There's another one, isn't there? That thing that's always
lurking around you."
"Hey, don't scare me… Wait, can you sense ghosts?"
"Agh, ghosts? What nonsense. There's no such thing." Sighing,
Yukinoshita gave me a look that said, I'll turn you into a ghost if you like. It
was a rather nostalgic exchange. "I mean, you know. Za…Zai, Zaitsu? Was
that it…?"
"Oh, Zaimokuza. He's not my partner, though." It was actually doubtful if
he was even a friend. "He said, like, 'Today has been a scene of carnage…
My apologies, but I shall prioritize my deadline' and went home."
"He certainly talks like he's a best-selling novelist," Yukinoshita muttered
with an open expression of disgust.
No, no, no, stand in my shoes. I was the one being forced to read his stuff.
He didn't even write the main text; he just brought me ideas for illustrations
and plot outlines, you know? Hey, Hachiman! I just thought up a cutting-
edge new scene! The heroine has a body made of rubber, and the subheroine
has the power to nullify those powers! This'll sell! You idiot. That wasn't
cutting edge; that was a disappointment. That was just a rip-off.
Well, at the end of the day, we'd just been part of a lukewarm temporary
community, and once that time together had passed, we each went back to
where we belonged.
It was what they call a once-in-a-lifetime encounter.
So if you're going to ask if this place was where me and Yukinoshita's belonged, it wasn't particularly. Our conversation was on and off, rambling,
and awkward as usual.
"I'm coming in." Suddenly, the door opened with a rattle.
"Agh." Perhaps Yukinoshita had given up. She put her palm to her
forehead lightly and sighed.
I see now. When you're in a quiet space and suddenly the door opens, you
do want to say something sour. Huh.
"Ms. Hiratsuka. Please knock when you come in," I chided.
"Hmm? Isn't that usually Yukinoshita's line?" A baffled expression on
her face, Ms. Hiratsuka pulled over a nearby chair and sat down.
"Do you need something?" Yukinoshita asked, and Ms. Hiratsuka's eyes
sparkled in their usual boyish way.
"I thought I'd do a midterm announcement regarding that competition."
"Oh, that…" I'd totally forgotten. Actually, I had no memory of us
solving one thing or anything, so of course it was easy to forget.
"Your current score is two wins each. Right now, it's a draw. Mm-hmm, a
close contest is what makes a battle manga! Personally, I'm expecting
Hikigaya's death to lead to Yukinoshita's awakening."
"Why am I dying in this plot? Um, you said we each won two, but we
haven't really fixed anything. And only three people came to ask us for help."
Can she not do arithmetic?
"According to my count, it was definitely four people. I said it would be
biased and arbitrary."
"It's refreshing to see you go that far with your made-up rules." Are you
Gian or what?
"Ms. Hiratsuka. Would you tell us on what basis these points were
decided? As he just pointed out with his whining, we never resolved any of
the worries people consulted us on."
"Mm-hmm…" In response to Yukinoshita's question, Ms. Hiratsuka fell
silent and thought for a while. "Indeed…the kanji for worry has the symbol
or heart on the left—in other words, you write heart to the side of bad
fortune. Then on top of bad
fortune, you put a lid."
"What grade are you in now?"
"When you're worried about something, you're always hiding what you
really want on the side. The things that people consult you on aren't
necessarily what they're really worried about. That's what I'm saying."
"The first part of that explanation was completely unnecessary," observed
Yukinoshita.
"It wasn't particularly witty, either," I added.
Yukinoshita cut her down with a slice, and Ms. Hiratsuka withered a bit.
"I see… I tried to think hard about it, though…" Well, the point was her
standards for victory and defeat were entirely made up. The teacher sulked,
glancing between myself and Yukinoshita as she opened her mouth. "Geez…
You two get along well when you're being mean…It's like you've been
friends for years."
"What? I would never be friends with that boy," Yukinoshita said,
shrugging her shoulders. I thought she'd give me a sidelong glare, but she
didn't even look at me.
"Hikigaya, don't feel too depressed. It's like that saying… 'Some insects
prefer to eat knotweed.' There's no accounting for taste," the teacher said as
if to console me.
I'm not depressed, though. Man, her kindness hurts.
"Indeed…" Surprisingly, Yukinoshita agreed. Wait, you're the one who
was trying to depress me! But Yukinoshita didn't lie, and she never faked her
feelings, so her words were surely trustworthy. She had a kind smile on her
face. "Someday there will come a bug who will like you, Hikigaya."
"At least make it a cute animal!" I didn't say Make it a human, which was
pretty modest of me, if I do say so myself.
In contrast, arrogant Yukinoshita was clenching her fist with a look on her
face like I sure let him have it! Her eyes were sparkling at having said
something witty, and she looked like she was enjoying herself.
Being the butt of her jokes, I wasn't enjoying myself at all. I mean, like,
isn't talking with a girl supposed to be more titter titter hee-hee flirt flirt
smooch smooch? This was just weird. Thinking to record the emotions that
had just crossed my mind, I grabbed a mechanical pencil, and when I did,
Yukinoshita peered at me.
"Oh yeah. What have you been writing?"
"Shut up. It's nothing." And then I scribbled off the last line of my essay.
There's something wrong with my youth romantic comedy.
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