Chapter 26: God of rom-coms.
Somehow or other, all the players had assembled for the tennis match, and we
were entering the real-deal final phase at last. The Hayama-Miura pair made
the first move. First serve went to Madame Butterfly, aka Sausage Curls, aka
Miura. "Like, I dunno if you know this, Yukinoshita, but I'm real good at
tennis," she bragged as she dribbled the ball like a basketball, bouncing it off
the ground, catching it, and bouncing it again.
With her eyes alone, Yukinoshita indicated that Miura should continue.
Miura smiled. It was a completely different expression from the one
Yukinoshita had displayed. It was the aggressive leer of a beast. "Sorry if I
scrape your face or anything."
Whoa, scary. This was the first time I'd ever heard anyone give advance
notice that their volleys would be physically dangerous. The moment that
thought crossed my mind, I heard a sharp whooshing sound cut through the
air, followed by the light bounce of a ball. The strike whizzed at high speed
toward Yukinoshita's left side. Yukinoshita was right-handed, so the ball was
out of her reach, plunging just barely in-bounds by the left-hand line.
"Not good enough." By the time I heard her murmur, she was already in
position for a counterattack. She took a step with her left foot and spun on
that axle as if she were dancing a waltz, connecting with the ball with a right-
handed backhand. It all came in a single flash, as if she were drawing a blade
from its sheath and striking in one smooth motion.
Miura let out a tiny shriek as the ball bounced in her court and sprung up
again at her feet. It was an eye-opening, ultra-high-speed hit that was
impossible to return.
"I'm sure you didn't know, but I'm quite good at tennis myself."
Thrusting out her racket, Yukinoshita stabbed the other girl with the sort of frosty glare you'd use on a louse.
Miura took a step back, regarding Yukinoshita with fear and animosity.
Her lips twisted slightly, and she spat out a curse. Yukinoshita was fearsome
indeed to extricate that kind of expression from the queenly Miura.
"Nice one."
That look from Miura was a bluff, and Yukinoshita completely ignored it.
To be precise, her focus was entirely fixated on the ball. "She had exactly the
same look on her face as the girls in my class who used to harass me. It's
painfully simple to read lowlifes like them." Yukinoshita smiled proudly and
then began her attack.
Even her defense was an attack. I'm not talking about that tired cliché of
the best defense is a good offense. Her defense actually doubled as an
offense. When a serve approached, it was unfailingly thrust back into our
opponents' court, and when hits were returned to her, she would force them
back without flinching.
The audience was enthralled by her flawless performance.
"Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Our army is unstoppable! Mow them down!"
Apparently, he'd sensed victory in the air, because Zaimokuza had returned
at some point and was trying to hitch his wagon to the winning team. It was
infuriating. But the fact that he was with us also meant that the tide had
turned. When it had been Yuigahama and me playing, we'd totally been
treated like the away team, but gradually, the audience had begun favoring
Yukinoshita. Or rather, a lot of the guys were shooting Yukinoshita heated
glances.
Yukinoshita was in a separate curriculum, so most people didn't know
what she was really like, and of course, she was good-looking. She had a
mysterious air about her, like that of an unattainable idol. It wasn't that
people were scared of her; it was more like there was just this taboo around
talking to her.
You could say that Yuigahama was actually fairly courageous to break
through that barrier. She was also quite the idiot. But she was
straightforward, sincere, and honestly kind, and that had resonated with
Yukinoshita. It was unlikely that anyone other than Yuigahama could have
gotten Yukinoshita to come here. And because this was for brave
Yuigahama's sake, Yukinoshita was giving it all she had. If I'd been the one
doing the asking, she probably wouldn't have shown up.
The gap between our scores shrank before our eyes. Yukinoshita whirled
freely about the court, almost fairylike in her movements. Her dancing
footwork was the greatest show this stage had ever seen. A minor actor like
myself just occasionally popped the ball back. Every time I touched it, I was
on the receiving end of painful stares of No, not you!
Arousing the expectations of the spectators, it came again to be
Yukinoshita's turn to serve. She squeezed the ball and threw it high into the
air. It seemed as though it would be sucked into the blue sky as it flew toward
the center of the court. It was clearly far from Yukinoshita's position.
Everyone thought that she'd made a mistake.
Yukinoshita jumped.
She took a step forward with her right foot, threw out her left leg, and at
last took off with both legs. Her pace was light and staccato. She fluttered
splendidly in the air, like a falcon gliding calmly through the sky, and none
who watched her were left unmoved. She was beautiful and fast. Onlookers
forgot to blink as though the image of her were burned into their retinas.
There came a particularly loud slam, and then the ball bounced and
dribbled to a roll. Neither I, the audience, Hayama, nor Miura could move.
"A-a jump serve…," I stammered, utterly shocked. Yukinoshita's crazy
move had left my mouth gaping open, and I couldn't shut it again. We'd been
so far behind, but she had caught up basically on her own. Now we were two
points in the lead. One more point, and victory would be ours. "You really
are unbelievable. Just keep doing that, and we'll end this in a snap," I
complimented in all sincerity.
Suddenly, Yukinoshita grimaced. "If I could, I would like to…but I
cannot."
I was about to ask, What? But then Hayama got into a serving stance.
Oh well. Yukinoshita would just make some flawless return, and we'd
win anyway. I wasn't being flippant about it; I just had absolute confidence
in our victory and slid into a sloppy stance.
Hayama was already losing interest in the game, and this serve wasn't as
strong as his previous one. It was reasonably fast but still exceedingly
average. It arced between Yukinoshita and me.
"Yukinoshita," I called out, thinking to leave it to her, but she didn't
reply. Instead, I heard an exhausted plop, and the ball landed between us.
"Hikigaya. May I brag a bit?"
"What? And what was that just now?"
Apparently, she had no interest in hearing my reply. She sighed deeply
and sat down right there on the court. "You know, I've always been good at
everything, so I've never done anything for a very long time."
"Where's this coming from?"
"I had someone teach me tennis, once. I learned it in three days, and I beat
my instructor. In most sports…no, not just sports; it's the same in music, too
—I can generally master it all within three days."
"So you're the opposite of a three-day quitter? And this really is just
bragging. What's your point?"
"The only thing I lack confidence in is my endurance."
I heard a stupid-sounding splonk noise as the ball bounced past her. Too
late to be discussing this now.
Because Yukinoshita could do anything, she never persisted, never kept
on with anything, and she was fatally lacking in stamina. Looking back, when
we were practicing during lunch hour, she had only watched.
Well, when you thought about it, maybe it was obvious. If you feel like
you want to get better, you practice, and if you practice more, you gain that
much more endurance. But if you can master anything from the start, you
would never even practice in the first place, and naturally, you would never
build up any staying power.
"Hey, don't say that so loud," I chided, glancing toward Hayama and
Miura.
The beast queen smiled ferociously. "I heard all of it, you know," she said
in an aggressive tone as if venting all of her pent-up anger. At her side,
Hayama chuckled.
The situation was dire. We had only been in the lead for the briefest
instant, and all too quickly, they'd caught up and brought us to deuce. This
was an amateur match with irregular rules. After deuce, victory would only
come with a decisive two-point lead. I'd been relying on Yukinoshita, but
now she was out of energy and listless. What's more, the opposing team
knew it. We were already fully aware that my serves wouldn't work on them.
The moment I tried, they'd casually return the ball, and it would all be over.
"Well, you came and stuck your nose in our business, but it's over for real
now, huh?"
I had no comeback for Miura's provocation. Yukinoshita was silent, too.
She actually seemed pretty tired and was starting to nod off. Who are you,
Hiei?
Chuckling deep in her throat, Miura eyed us with snakelike contempt.
Seriously, she's got to be an anaconda of some kind.
Picking up on the sketchy vibe, Hayama intervened. "Well, we all did our
best. Let's not take this too seriously. We had fun, so why don't we just call
this a draw?"
"C'mon, Hayato, what're you talking about? This is a match, so we've got
to take it seriously and settle this."
In other words, having beat us in the match, she would then formally steal
the court from Totsuka. Still, the way she said settle this was actually scary…
I wonder if she's gonna do something to me… Man… I really can't handle
pain.
As I waffled, I heard the sound of someone clicking their tongue. "Could
you be quiet for a moment?" Yukinoshita demanded, annoyed. Before Miura
could speak, she quickly continued, "This boy will settle the match, so please
be quiet and accept your loss."
Everyone doubted their ears on hearing that. Of course, I did, too.
Actually, I was the most surprised one there. All at once, all eyes were on me.
It goes without saying, but none of them had ever noticed me before, and
now that they were treating me like Why are you here? the value of my
existence skyrocketed.
I met Zaimokuza's gaze. Why are you giving me the thumbs-up?
I met Totsuka's as well. Why do you look so hopeful?
I met Yuigahama's gaze. Don't cheer me on so loud. It's embarrassing.
I met Yukinoshita's ga—she looked away. Instead, she threw the ball at
me. "Did you know? I may spit venom and abuse, but I've never once spat
out a lie." Because of the way the wind was blowing, I heard her voice loud
and clear.
Oh, I know. The only liars here are them and me.
***
In a silence so deep it was unnatural, the only noise I could discern was that
of the ball bouncing against the ground. In that unique air of tension, I buried my consciousness deeper and deeper within myself. I made myself believe I
can do it, I can do it. No, I do believe in myself. I mean, there was no way I
could lose.
My life here at school has been worthless, sad, difficult, and nothing but
garbage, but I've survived it all on my own. I've gotten through a painful and
pathetic young adulthood all by myself, so I could never lose to someone
who has always lived with the support of the crowd.
Lunch hour was almost over. Any other day, I would have been in my
spot across from the tennis court and to the side of the nurse's office eating
my lunch. I recalled the time when Yuigahama talked to me and the place
where I first met Totsuka.
I listened. I couldn't hear Miura's mockery or the clamoring of the
audience. Fwoo, it went. I could hear that noise. For the whole year, it was
me, and probably only me, who had ever heard that sound.
That was when I served.
My hit was gentle and slow, like it was floating up. I saw Miura gleefully
bounding forward. Hayama swiftly came in to support her. The audience
looked disappointed. I could see in the corner of my vision Totsuka slowly
closing his eyes. I overlooked Zaimokuza clenching his fist. My eyes met
Yuigahama's, and she seemed to be doing something like praying. And then
my eyes reflected Yukinoshita's victorious smile.
The ball swayed along on an unreliable, frail trajectory.
"Yesss!" Miura hissed just like a snake, positioning herself where the ball
would come down.
When suddenly came a gust of wind.
Miura, you don't know. You don't know about the special wind that only
blows here around Soubu High.
That breeze buffeted the ball along, blowing it wide. It strayed from
Miura's spot and hit the edge of the court. But Hayama was running toward
it.
Hayama, you don't know. That wind blows twice.
Only I knew. I'd spent my lunches there quietly, all alone, without ever
talking to anyone, for a whole year. Only that wind knew about my lonely
and tranquil time.
This was my very own magic strike.
The wind whooshed again, blowing the ball even after it bounced. The ball sailed to a corner of the court, landed with a tump, and rolled away.
Everyone fell silent and listened, their eyes opened wide.
"Oh yeah… I've heard something… They say there is a legendary
technique used to control the wind… It is known as the heir of wind: Eulen
Sylphide!" Zaimokuza exclaimed loudly, painfully awkward as usual.
Don't name it. You've basically just ruined it.
"No way…," Miura whispered in abject shock. That triggered a rustle of
susurration among the audience, and before long, that rustle was turning into
the phrase Eulen Sylphide, Eulen Sylphide. Hey, you're not allowed to accept
that name!
"You got us… That really was a magic strike." Hayama faced me and
smiled broadly. He regarded me as though we'd been friends for years.
Under the full brunt of his smile, still clenching the ball, I just stood there.
I really didn't know how to reply at times like these. "Hayama. Did you play
baseball when you were little?"
"Yeah, a lot. Why do you ask?" Hayama seemed suspicious at my
unexpected question, but he'd unfailingly answered. Maybe he really was a
good guy after all.
"How many people did you play it with?"
"Huh? You need ten people to play baseball, don't you?"
"Of course… But you know, I did it a lot alone."
"Huh? What do you mean?" Hayama asked.
I'm sure you wouldn't understand even if I explained.
It wasn't just about this.
Do you get how hard it is to ride your bicycle to and from school like an
idiot in the middle of hot summer days or winter days so cold if feels like your
fingers might fall off? You guys lie, deceive, and distract yourselves from it
all by chattering It's so hot and It's so cold and No way with your friends,
but I endured that all on my own. There's no way you could get it. You
couldn't get how scary it is every time there's a test and you have no one to
ask what's on it; you just silently study and then face your results head-on.
You all get together and compare answers and show each other your grades
and call each other dunces and study freaks and run away from reality like
that, but I'm always taking it straight in the face.
How do you like my awesome power?
Following my heart, I fell into a serving stance. I arched my upper body back like a bowstring and threw the ball high, gripping the handle of the
racket in both hands and laying it against the back of my neck.
The blue sky. The departing spring. The arriving summer. I'd send all of
that flying.
"YOUTH SUCKS!"
With all my might, I smacked the descending projectile with an uppercut.
The ball connected squarely with the frame of the racket, producing a
thonk sound as it was sucked into the faded blue sky. The ball climbed and
climbed until all you could see was a tiny speck, far in the distance, smaller
than a grain of rice. That was probably the ball.
"Th-that's…the airborne god of destruction, Meteor Strike!" Zaimokuza
shouted, leaning forward. Seriously, why are you naming this stuff?
"Meteor Strike…," every mouth recited. Seriously, why are you guys
accepting this stuff?!
It wasn't that big a deal. It was just a fly ball.
Let me explain. When I was of a tender age, I didn't have any friends, so I
developed the new sport of solo baseball. I would pitch the ball by myself, hit
it by myself, and catch it by myself. I had to devise a way to continue the
game for long periods of time, so I realized that I could have fun for the
longest amount of time if I hit the ultimate maximum fly ball.
If I caught it, I was out, and if I missed and caught it after one bounce, it
was a base hit. If I hit it really far, I treated it as a home run. The flaw in this
game was if you got too invested in either the offensive or the defensive side,
it became rather one-sided. Your mind needed to be as clear of thought as if
you were playing rock-paper-scissors by yourself.
Good little boys and girls, don't copy this: You should play baseball with
your friends.
But this was the very symbol of my isolation: my ultimate weapon.
The ball fell from the empty sky, an iron hammer upon those youth-
worshipping bastards.
"Wh-what's that?" Still looking up at the sky, Miura was dumbfounded.
Hayama was the same, looking at the sky as if dazzled, but then his
expression grew concerned. "Yumiko! Watch out!" he yelled to Miura, who
was still standing stock-still in mute amazement. Of course, he may have
known what was coming…but it was already too late.
The ball, meteoric though it may have been, gradually lost momentum, drawn downward by gravity, and the split instant those two forces were in
balance, it hung in the air. When that balance was broken, the potential
energy was converted into kinetic energy. The ball was in free fall. At the
point of impact, it would explode.
SLAM! The ball detonated, blowing up a dense cloud of dust. Ending its
long, long journey through the sky, it kicked up detritus and dirt, rising once
more into the air.
Miura ran to try to hit it back, chasing after it uncertainly through the
particulate debris. The ball wobbled toward the back of the court bordered by
a chain-link fence.
Oh, watch out.
She collided with it. "Ngh!"
Hayama threw away his racket and ran to her with a leap.
Would he make it? Would he make it?! The pair disappeared from the
audience's view in the dust storm.
A moment of stillness. I heard the sound of someone gulping down their
spit. It might actually have been my throat making that noise. Then the dust
cleared, revealing them. Hayama had thrown his back against the fence,
wrapping his arms around Miura to protect her from the impact. Blushing,
Miura was shyly clutching him, curled up against his chest.
Instantaneously, the spectators erupted in loud cheers and ear-splitting
applause. It was a full-on standing ovation.
Hayama patted Miura's head as she nestled against his chest, and her face
turned even redder.
The audience screamed and surrounded the pair. "HA-YA-TO! WOO!
HA-YA-TO! WOO!"
Instead of a fanfare in their celebration, the bell signaling the end of lunch
rang through the courtyard. At this rate, it felt like they would just kiss and
the end credits would roll. Everyone was enveloped in the strange sense of accomplishment and the sort of despondency that you feel after watching a
fun, epic movie or finishing a really good teen romantic comedy novel.
Hoisting the pair of them high into the air, the crowd disappeared into the
school.
FIN.
What the hell.
***
In the aftermath, we were the only ones left.
"I suppose this is what you call winning the battle and losing the war," I
heard Yukinoshita say, bored, and I couldn't help but smile.
"Don't be stupid. Between us and them, it was never a contest in the first
place." The youth worshippers are always in the lead roles.
"Well, that's true. That wouldn't have happened with anyone but you,
Hikki. Getting totally ignored even though you won—that's majorly sad."
"Hey. Yuigahama. You really need to watch what you say. You need to
realize that honest opinions hurt more than malicious remarks," I advised,
giving her a reproachful look, but she didn't look like she felt bad about it at
all.
Well, nothing she was saying was untrue, so there was no reason for her
to feel bad after all. People like Miura and Hayama totally wouldn't have
cared about something like this match or competition or whatever, anyway.
They'd turn even this pathetic loss into a beautiful memory of their youths,
and they'd hold on to that memory with religious zeal. It was awe-inspiring.
What the hell. Die in a fire, youth. Die in a fire.
"Gah, come on. What's so great about Hayama? I'd be like that if I'd been
born and raised differently."
"Then you'd be a different person. Honestly, I do think your life could do
with a reset, though." Yukinoshita gazed at me coldly as she indirectly told
me to go die.
"B-but, you know… Um, it's sort of like it worked out because it was
Hikki, um…it makes him seem sort of okay…," Yuigahama mumbled, barely
opening her mouth. I couldn't hear her at all. Speak properly, come on.
You're acting like me when a clerk at a clothing store tries to talk to me.
But her comment did seem to have reached Yukinoshita, who smiled very
slightly and quietly nodded. "Well, it seems there are occasions when people
may be saved by your depressingly twisted methods. Unfortunately," she
added, eyes darting to one side. She was looking at Totsuka, who was
walking slowly, nursing his scraped knee, as Zaimokuza followed him like a
stalker.
"Hachiman, well done. I would expect nothing less of my partner. But the
day may yet come when we must settle things between us…" For some reason, he got this faraway look in his eyes and started talking to himself, so I
ignored him for the moment and spoke to Totsuka.
"Is your knee okay?"
"Yeah…"
Before I realized it, I was surrounded by just guys. I don't know if it was
because Zaimokuza had show up, but at some point, Yukinoshita and
Yuigahama had disappeared. Hayama had gotten a James Bondian ending,
complete with getting the girl, but for me, it was just guys. It was like an
ending from the A-Team. Such injustice! Rom-coms are nothing but an urban
legend.
"Hikigaya… Um, thanks." Totsuka stood gazed at me. Then he averted
his eyes coquettishly. Frankly, I thought about just embracing him right there
and giving him a kiss, but you know, he's a guy…
This rom-com scenario was all wrong, and Totsuka's gender was wrong,
too. Incidentally, Totsuka was also thanking the wrong person.
"I didn't really do anything. If you're going to thank anyone, thank
them…" I glanced around for the girls, perusing the area. Then I spotted a
pair of ponytails bobbing along near the tennis clubroom. So that's where
they were.
Thinking I'd offer them a word of thanks, I headed over. "Yukinoshi…
oh."
She was in the middle of changing.
The front of her blouse was open, and her pale lime-green bra was
peeking out. Her panties were still underneath her skort, but that imbalance
only emphasized how balanced the proportions of her slim body were.
"Wh…wh-wh-wh-wh—"
…what, I was thinking, I'm concentrating, shut up, what if I fail to
remember this… And then for some reason, there was Yuigahama.
She was in the middle of changing.
Apparently, she was one of those people who started buttoning her shirt
from the bottom, and it was open wide at her chest, her pink bra and cleavage
peeking out. The skirt she grasped in one hand was being extended to
Yukinoshita. Well, basically, she wasn't wearing it. The thighs stretching out
from pink panties that matched her top were slim and long, and her calves
were covered in knee-high navy-blue socks.
"Just die, for real!" She took a full swing at my face with her racket, connecting with a thunk.
Of course. If you're gonna have a teen rom-com, you need some of this.
Not bad, god of rom-coms.
Guh.
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