Amidst the chaos and creeping anxieties, the prospect of an unceremonious yet unexpectedly significant encounter loomed with unsettling gravity—what some might call "fate," if they believed in such pretentious concepts.
But we've been over this already? Not that it mattered.
Navigating same-sex interactions—take Kaito and Haruki, for instance—has always come naturally to me or required little more than autopilot banter; their presence somehow tends to temper my nerves, letting my conversational reflexes flow as effortlessly as a slow-moving stream.
However, despite the peculiar contradictions embedded in my personality—y'know: the innate urge to avoid the loud, the rowdy, the socially bulletproof—I'm perfectly capable of talking to people.
I just… don't want to.
It's true: I occasionally run out of things to say mid-conversation, hit a verbal dead-end in the middle of small talk. But then, as if on instinct, I'll pull some half-baked nonsense out of thin air to keep the momentum going.
And yet, stumbling into someone I apparently know—specifically, a cute doe-eyed girl, bound by the same schedule and the same destination—leaves me no option but to walk beside her and entertain some hallway-level dialogue.
But…...I don't want to taaaalk!
The mere act of opening my mouth feels exhausting right now, and worse yet, I'm plagued by a crushing lack of topics worth discussing. Small talk with strangers ranked somewhere between dental surgery and performance reviews on my list of preferred activities.
A compliment might flush things over. "Your bob-cut frames your face nicely" or some such drivel. But coming from me—even in this borrowed pretty-boy shell—it'd land with all the grace of an awkward creep.
Flattery only works when it's dressed in the right appearance and delivered with the right timing. And forcing myself to say something nice would end in a dull, uninspired sentence. Compliments were never my specialty.
Putting that aside, my conversational toolbox was depressingly limited, offering only two viable options: "How were your holidays?" or "Any restaurants you'd recommend?"
Given our circumstances, the last-mentioned alternative would sound like a poorly veiled lunch invitation, leaving me with the former as my sole ammunition.
Thus, as we kept walking, I stole a series of sidelong glances at her, each one dipped in mild panic, mentally rehearsing my lines as some convivially inept actor trying to gather enough courage to say something—Anything.
Jeez, man, look at me hyping myself up this way. What am I: a socially-starved virgin? …Wait, did I really just yell that internally? At myself? The self-loathing is strong today. Disgusting.
«S-So… Nakamura-kun?»
Whoa. She spoke first!
Guess she's not too fond of awkward silences either. I mean, thank god; but at the same time, it feels like some higher power just handed me a cursed scroll: "You are now required to speak, fucker. Good luck!"
«Ah, yes?» I reply, keeping my tone carefully neutral.
«I was just wondering, how were your winter holidays?»
The exact question I'd been dumbing down in my head. «How was it?» I echoed, buying time. «Pretty quiet, I guess. Spent most of it at home with my mom, so... uneventful.»
«Your mother, huh? That sounds nice,» she said with a smile that seemed genuinely pleasant rather than politely obligatory.
«Yeah. And... how about you?»
«Oh, uhm... I spent most of my vacation at my parents' house too, so I didn't do anything particularly exciting either.»
«"Your parents' house," huh? That's an oddly formal way of saying "home",» I quipped, attempting humor.
«Eh, really? Since I'm living in Tokyo right now, I think that's the right way to put it. Technically, I was just visiting them,» she replied, with a knowing look—probably assuming I was confused about the phrasing.
«Visiting them?» Uh… excuse me?
I don't want to jump to any wild conclusions here, nor do I intend to misinterpret what she just said, but the question practically wrote itself: She doesn't live with her parents?
That's… not what I expected. Though, really, I shouldn't be surprised. If I step back and view it from the grand chaos of the universe, it's not exactly unheard of.
I mean, statistically speaking, with the global population quailing past eight billion and counting, there has to be a significant number—millions, even—of teenagers who've, for one reason or another, opted for domiciles unshackled from parental oversight. It's almost an inevitability.
And that's not even accounting for those residing with extended family or guardians, which would keep that seven-digit figure comfortably intact.
Yuck, I'm tweaking—constructing elaborate mental flowcharts to explain what was likely a unnecessary hypotheticals of living situation. It's as if my imagination had become its own form of torture, and it's staging a coup, again, with each speculative tangent more and more absurd.
Still, wasn't independent living at our age fraught with arrangement dangerous? If not outright illegal?
The most plausible explanation—if I applied basic reasoning—was that her parents resided in some rural prefecture lacking elite academic institutions. Therefore, It'd make sense that they'd assumably relocated their daughter to Tokyo to attend a high-ranking school like ours.
In that case, they'll also probably set her up: securing a modest apartment, providing periodic financial support, and trust her to handle things responsibly as a freaking teenager?
Doesn't that kind of stuff only happen in anime?
Personally, the thought of solo living at this age was paralyzing. Managing meals, laundry, household chores, grocery shopping—it sounded less like independence and more of a cruel and unusual punishment.
If it were me, I'd be doomed. I'm sixteen, for god's sake. That would be called child neglect where I come from, and honestly, I don't even know how to process this. I feel kind of pitiful, actually.
«So... you mean different houses, huh? Are you... living on your own, or?» I asked, my voice cautiously polite, almost timid.
«Huh? Oh—n-no! Not at all!» She contradict quickly, flustered. «I live at my uncle's place. I'm staying with him.»
«Ahhh! Yeah—Right, right, haha! I see, so that's how it is, huh?»
She's living with a relative. Of course she is, duh—that makes perfect sense. I let myself get swept away by fictional delusions and overstated, dramatized setups. Should've known better, dawg.
«What is it? You looked surprised,» she asked, picking up on my little moment of mental whiplash.
«N-No, it's nothing,» I ruled out, trying to redirect the conversation before my embarrassment could mature into full-on cringe. «So, you went to visit them over break. That sounds nice.»
«Yeah.»
«And, if you don't mind me asking: If not Tokyo, then… where do your parents live?»
«Hmm? Oh! Right, of course!» She exclaimed softly, as if just remembering something obvious. «I guess I forgot to mention that, didn't I? They live in Akita. It's… well, pretty far from here, actually.»
«Akita, huh… Akita, Akita…» I mumbled, rolling the unfamiliar name around in my head like a pebble in a shoe. «Where is that exactly…?»
Ow, shoot. Dammit, that slipped out before I could catch it.
«Ah! Um, s-sorry! I didn't mean to sound rude...» I opened my mouth to apologize several times, but—
«Not at all! I-It's really okay! Don't worry about it![1]» She cast aside my confusion with a overhaul assistant, waving her hands in front. «You only just got here, right? So… it makes sense. I mean, you probably don't know all the prefectures in Japan yet, do you?»
She smiled—shyly, but with a kindness that almost made me flinch.
Truth be told, I barely know any at all. Hokkaidō, sure. Tokyo, obviously. Kyoto, thanks to anime. And… Okinawa? Yeah. And now Akita, courtesy of her.
«Y-Yeah… Yeah, ha-ha, you're right about that,» I replied with a sheepish chuckle, scratching the bridge of my nose. «I haven't really spent much time in Japan yet, and I never took the time to memorize the geography or anything like that.»
Erm, actually: I hadn't even been to those classes yet; that means, I hadn't "struggled" with them simply because I hadn't even faced them.
And if the real Takumi was actually good at geography… well, that would be bad. Very bad. This could blow my cover. But, judging by the look in her eyes, it didn't seem like she was sure whether "Takumi" was supposed to be good at this stuff either—meaning, she's still uncertain.
However, by admitting I know nothing, I could be revealing that he knows nothing too. Then again, maybe honesty would be safer this time; just in case I'll reveal my knowledge.
«It's not that I find it difficult, exactly,» I replied slowly, trying to sound thoughtful rather than dismissive. «But to be completely honest with you… geography's never really interested me. Not even back in my home country. I used to fall asleep in class all the time. I mean, sure, I can name all fifty states if you want me to—but that's just memorization. It's not the same as actually caring about them, or whatever.»
«Isn't that... a little irresponsible of you?»
«You don't have to tell me,» I'm fully aware of my indiscretion, I've already considered the implications. «Although, well... if I were to invest the necessary effort, I could probably memorize them. Eventually. How many prefectures are there, anyway?»
«Forty-seven,» she said promptly, almost instinctively. «And, it's divided into eight regions.»
I blinked. Perhaps unnecessarily, perhaps dramatically.
«T-There's more? Eight regions?»
«Mm-hmm», nodded, smiling with a hint of sympathy—although one that doesn't quite descend into compassion. «But technically, the regions aren't official—they don't have elected officials or any sort of corporate authority. It's more of a traditional way of organizing the country geographically. We learned it back in elementary school, so it's kind of... expected knowledge by this point.»
"Expected," In simple word; yet, how unrelenting in her judgment.
«Oh, I see...»
So that means, I'd missed a critical childhood vaccination.
Ergo, there was a long pause. The type that expands and grows roots when two people are talking, yet one of them is clearly carrying the weight of the conversation—and the other is merely hoping not to be caught without an umbrella in a rain of facts.
Still, I chose to brave the monsoon: «Then... uh... where exactly is Akita?»
«Hmm... do you at least know where Hokkaidō is?»
Ah—the preface to an oncoming roast. I braced myself, for her cute expression has a soft condescending sneer were it not so completely, disarmingly natural.
«Well, yes! Yeah, I do! It's the big island. Top of the map. It looks like a stingray.»
She chuckled softly; not at me, but beside me.
«That's a cute image you have. Well, Akita is down from there. Still in the north, but on the main island: Tōhoku region. It's fairly close to Hokkaido, separated only by the prefecture of Aomori, which kind of acts like a cushion between the two, you understand?»
«Ah... okay. Yeah, I understand. I think so,» I really appreciated her mannerisms and hand movements. Explaining it like that made it easier to imagine.
She agreed again, this time with something closer to encouragement than amusement: «You know... Even if you're not from here, it's admirable that you want to learn. A lot of people just stay confused and never ask. You're not one of them. That's... nice.»
Another unexpected reply; and, as per usual, I didn't have an dignified response lined up.
Man, man—Was it really necessary to learn this? To clutter the folds of my mind with regional classifications and cartographic nicety that would, in all probability, never serve a concrete function in my daily life?
Maybe, probably, possibly. After all, there is an unspoken expectation—one steeped in civic etiquette and national pride—that a citizen, or at least a resident, should harbor a passable familiarity with the geography of their homeland.
Me? I could, with no measurable effort, recite the names of all fifty states of the United States—alphabetically, if challenged. And not for any noble reason, but merely because the system rewarded memorization over meaning.
But is that something worth boasting about? Not remove. It's the intellectual equivalent of owning a treadmill and using it solely as a coat rack.
Additionally, I had familiarized myself—out of both spite and curiosity—with the silhouettes of various countries, the basic layout of a few capital cities, and even a handful of national flags. Not for the sake of genuine global awareness, mind you, but rather to combat the aggressively enduring stereotype that Americans are geographically illiterate.
So yes, in a sense, I possessed a rudimentary grasp of geography. But to say I enjoyed it would be... generous. For way too open-handed.
As I defaulted to the mental monologue, where no one could misinterpret my pauses as awkwardness, she adjusted her schoolbag on her shoulder, perhaps feeling the breeze, or perhaps simply reacting to the subtle lull in the conversation.
«Eh, returning to what you mentioned earlier...» I attempted to reignite the embers of our dwindling exchange, gently pulling us back to the topic with a semblance of purpose. «Your parents live in Akita, right? Since you visited them there, I was curious... What's the place like?»
This inquiry served as an open gate to a new conversational avenue. Despite my initial reluctance, it seemed as if instinctively, my brain mechanised the vocal cords and expelled the words; however, I no longer cared—this opportunity wasn't something I could afford to waste.
Her eyes widened, not vigorously, but just enough to betray a faint shimmer of novely at my unexpected turn of interest.
«Are you... curious?» Was the question.
«Well... when you're living in a foreign country, it's only natural to feel drawn toward its customs, right?» I said, slipping a hand into my pocket, on casualness. «And since I'm actually living here now... it wouldn't hurt to learn about the culture of each region, the ways they breathe and live differently from one another.»
Yes, I improvised. Yes, it was half-spontaneous. But no, I wasn't lying.
I've always longed to escape the confines of my native land and local area full of reckless, uncivilized people gushing around my neighborhood. To step foot into cities shaped by traditions alien to mine, to be immersed in the ghosts of someone else's history: That sounds cool, right?
The dreams I nursed as a child—when the world still felt vast and untouched—were filled with the taste of foreign languages and the color of distant festivals. And, as for this moment, my inner infant can appreciate something new and fun—even though I got killed in the process, but I'm over it.
...Maybe I'm just emotional? No—no, wait. That sounds ridiculous. Appreciating culture doesn't equate to being sentimental. It's... academic, intellectual, existential... right? Whatever, it's irrelevant; let's just move on.
«I see. Well... I'm glad to hear that,» she said, smiling softly.
A beat passed.
She pondered for a moment, her lips forming a subtle bilabial consonant sound, before continuing with contemplation: «To be more specific, my parents live in the eastern part of Semboku-shi district. The town used to be called Tazawako-machi. It's quite traditional. You'll see plenty of wooden houses with curved rooftops and narrow garden paths... homes that still hold the breath of the past, and makes you feel like an old-man...»
«Mm, I see. Okay,» I nodded, as though I'd registered every syllable, though in truth, I was still caught on the phrase "homes that still hold the breath of the past". It felt like a line stolen from a poem.
«And... well,» she resumed, her voice growing a little more animated, «the first thing that comes to mind is Lake Tazawa. It's the deepest lake in all of Japan—over 400 meters, if I remember correctly. And since it's winter now, it doesn't freeze over because of its depth. Even at those temperatures. Impressive, right?»
Honestly, I wasn't particularly enthralled by geographical trivia... but she was glowing with earnestness. And I didn't want to smother that spark by interrupting.
As if sensing this, she pressed on, her enthusiasm compounding: «Speaking of winter—temperatures there can drop well below freezing. So it's better to drive, even though the roads can get treacherous. But here's the thing about Tazawa—it's not a huge lake. If the weather's kind, you can complete a full circuit around it in about thirty minutes. Non-stop, of course. But that's not the point. The real charm lies in stopping, you know? Pausing. Letting yourself see. Just... soaking in the view as it unfolds like a painting every few meters. Wait—I'll show you something.»
Without another word, she reached into the right pocket of her blouse and pulled out her phone with practiced ease. Humming softly—a tune so gentle it almost felt like the whisper of snowfall—she scrolled through her gallery.
After a few seconds, she turned the screen toward me, her voice tinged with something close to pride: «Look. Take a peek.»
I paused mid-step, a vague curiosity finally catching up.
The photo was a selfie—half-playful, half-staged. She was captured in a mid-shot, fingers forming a peace sign, positioned squarely before a vermillion Torii shrine carved from stone. Behind her, the lake sprawled, quiet and immense, its stillness reinforcing everything she had described.
Yes... vast. Indisputably vast. And for the first time that afternoon, I saw what other person had seen.
«Ah, that's incredible!» I exclaimed with genuine astonishment—my surprise utterly unfeigned.
«It is, isn't it?» She beamed. «This photo's from last autumn—the leaves were just beginning to blush, and the air smelled like wet stone and pine, mh-mh. Every time I look at it, I just ache to go back. It never lets me down. Oh, and—»
She flashed the photo again, tapping a finger against it: «You know? This shrine here is called Gozanoishi. The name comes from Satake Yoshitaka: a daimyo of the Kubota domain, who—well, allegedly—rested in this exact spot during his visit to the lake in the mid-Edo period…... Though, well, that's just history, hehehe.»
She giggled, then immediately stiffened in a despairing manner, commenting: «I-I got carrried on, sorry. I only looked it up because I found it interesting. The real history is boring... Yeah. I'm not sure if you'd care to hear the whol—»
«Ah, what? No-no-no. Don't worry about it.»
Upon reflection, I'd discerned that her speech diverged sharply from the three individuals I'd encountered earlier.
Her choice of expressions—the lilt of certain syllables—slipped just beyond my grasp. Given my studies and so-far knowledge of my vocabulary, I'd probably mastered standard Japanese, yet this girl clearly wielded a distinct dialect or accent. Is it one from Akita, perhaps?
Likely, she was sanding down her regional quirks into a Tokyo-centric cadence for outsiders' sake. Personally, I harbored no objections—or so I told myself. There remained the nagging possibility I'd fail to fully parse her nuances.
«No, it's fine, really. But thanks,» she said. «And, um... speaking of this area—or I guess switching topics a little—there are other places nearby connected to the legend of Tatsuko»
«Tatsuko?»
Now she was launching into folklore. Just how much did she know, or how much is she planning to share?
«Yes! …Uhm, do you want me to tell you?» Her tone transformed in total bashfulness, a timidity seeping back in after her burst of fanaticism.
I realized that... I didn't mind her talking about random stuff. No, more than that. In fact, I might've even started to grow fond of her.
Wait, seriously? Fond of someone? Not the first time, but—wow—how pathetically predictable. Probably just the brain's cheap trick on dopamine, mistaking proximity to a girl for genuine connection.
Uwah, what a terrifying feeling.
But she radiated—like some misplaced sun, all warmth and no regard for collateral damage! Odds-on, I got swept up by the way she spoke. Had I been hypnotized by her words?
No, the truth was worse: I'd been ensnared by her, by the way passion sculpted her voice into something tactile when she questioned the attractiveness of the things she loved. Was that her charm? The unguarded kindness, the way she mistook my tolerance for interest?
And yet again, who am I to complain? Let me be blinded by her celestial glow; let me feign rapture as she spun tales. I'd gladly lose myself in her stories, hanging onto every freaking spittle she could throw.
«Yeah, I'd love to,» I said politely.
Regret arrived later. As pathetic as it sounds—I kind of wish I could take that answer back.
Unbeknownst to my better shrewdness, I'd endured a seven-minute oral dissertation on the Tatsuko legend and its associated tourist traps. Seven minutes, seven minutes!
To most, it would be a minor span of time: relative to a coffee break, a commute, or doom-scrolling. To me? Imagine a Boeing 747 attempting a transatlantic flight with only five gallons of fuel, where the fuel was my attention span and the ocean was her relentless enthusiasm.
Let me be brutally and exploitably honest with everyone and with myself: I'm not an attentive person.
My focus expires like milk if the subject fails to prick my interest. And this? This was simply courtesy—a decision I now rued with every fiber of my being.
By this point, I was just nodding along, devolved into a puppet of passive affirmation: "Yes. Yes. I see. Yes," doled every time she paused to breathe during her passionate storytelling, my voice flat as a tax form.
To sum up the entirety of her long-winded exposition—which included the full legend and all the countless things you can do around the area—here's the gist:
Tatsuko, a beautiful maiden from Innai, wished to preserve her beauty for eternity. She prayed every night to the goddess of compassion, Okura Kannon, who eventually instructed her to drink from the miraculous spring of Katagashira. After doing so, Tatsuko was transformed into a dragon, becoming the guardian deity of Lake Tazawa—known as Tatsuko-hime-no-kami.
Shifting away from the legend, she explained that if you head south—counterclockwise around the lake—there's a golden statue of Tatsuko, standing tall against the water. A landmark... and, of course, a popular tourist spot; she even showed me a picture of it.
As for activities? Options abound: You could dip in the town's hot springs, ski the "promising" slopes by the lake—her adjective, not mine—, or, thrillingly, bike around the perimeter: season permitting.
Does any of this matter? No, obviously not. Well, this time... not exactly. It's, again, trivia—more like a fun anecdote, really.
Anyway, to wrap up her slightly long-winded—and arguably superfluous—speech, she transitioned seamlessly into talking about some delicious ice cream, so I seized my moment. Taking the chance during the lull, I finally jumped in, wearing the calmest expression I could manage:
«The way you describe it... it does sound amazing. I'd love to try it. Actually, scratch that. I'd love to visit the place itself. You've totally got me excited now.»
Her face lit up, eyes sparkling as she nodded enthusiastically:
«Yes, yes! It's an unforgettable experience. [2]But the weather can be unpredictable—sometimes really stormy—so luck plays a part too. I found that out the hard way during my last trip.»
«I see. Well, lucky you then,» I faintly chuckle.
«Yup…...! Uhm..... and, what about you?»
«…What about me?» I blinked, caught off guard.
«You mentioned having a quiet break over these two weeks, but… spending all that time at home with your mom; is that, like… normal?»
What was she implying?
It blindsided me—not because it was rude, but because it was unanticipated. Especially after the long-lasting infomercial about her hometown's "must-try" ice cream and "life-changing" ski slopes.
Still, I exhaled, summoning a laugh so light it could've floated away: «Where did that come from?»
«S-Sorry! I didn't mean to pry!» Her hands fluttered like panicked doves. «I just… wanted to know how you spent New Year's.»
Just like that, my smile evaporated.
«Like I said... I spent most of it at home with my mom. Both Christmas and New Year's. As for the reason… I honestly couldn't give you a clear one. I guess I just didn't feel like going out. No real motivation.»
Have I done anything strange these past few days? ...Shit, now that I look back on it, I think so.
Nevertheless, I automatically gave an unusual indifferent shrug, telling the story in my genuine signature tone: flat, detached, almost lazy—like none of it really mattered.
Regardless of my perspective, maybe it did. Consequently, she felt voiceless for a bit, replying with sheepish blandness: «…I-I see.»
«What's the matter? I can't imagine my confession being particularly astonishing.»
Of course, Takumi was human: to claim a lack of motivation for social engagement was hardly some scandalous admission. Yet somehow, in my clumsy attempt at self-deprecation, I may have slightly overshot the mark.
I'd apparently struck a chord that now reverberated uncomfortably between us based on the expression I got. But as I said, Takumi is human—surely she can comprehend that much.
«Ah, no particular reason! Though I wouldn't characterize it as astonishing per se... more like... unconventionally unexpected. Not that there's anything detrimental about that! It's just—you strike me as... well, the type who'd naturally spend most of the time surrounded by friends.»
«...So that's the image I invariably project, is it?» My reply emerged weighted with unintended melancholy, the words escaping before I could temper them with my usual sardonic veneer.
Yet, I didn't make an effort to retract them. For once, I'd offered an unvarnished glimpse behind this stupid face—not that she seemed to properly interpret what she'd heard, so I'm safe.
«I suppose it's a natural assumption. Hearing the contrary must seem rather incongruous with everyone's view, right? But then again,» I shrugged, affecting an air of indifference that didn't quite reach my eyes. «Meh... even misanthropes, people like me, have their moments of solitude. Voluntarily speaking. We're not complete anomalies, you know?»
At least, not in this regard, I added mentally.
Give me a few weeks to properly acclimate on this bizarre new existence, and you'll witness me performing like a trained circus monkey for your amusement. Patience, dear audience—the show's just getting started, haha-haha! Shut the fuck up.
«Nakamura-kun... if you don't mind my asking, what was the real reason you stayed home during the holidays? Y-You don't have to tell me, of course!»
No, I certainly don't, I thought, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes. And what I'd really prefer is not having to concoct these tedious cover stories on the fly just to avoid upsetting Nakamura's delicate social circle. Christ, what a pain in the ass....!
....Alright, fine! Let me think for a second, missy. Uhn... Erg... Ahhh... O-Okay, I guess this one will do, I don't know.
«It may sound peculiar or weird, whatever you may call it,» I began, stalling as my mind raced through potential narratives, «but it was actually my mother's request. With her working late throughout the holiday period, the house would have been... oppressively empty upon her return. Regardless of any plans I might have made; So I... adjusted them accordingly.»
Wow, you saw that?! The lie took shape with surprising elegance—just enough pathos to explain my isolation without inviting further scrutiny, though its edges weren't quite as smooth as I would have liked.
«O-Oh, I see... She must have missed you terribly. It's only natural she'd want to spend the holidays together» ,she commented with a somewhat pleased intonation, but it didn't quite line up with her expectations.
«Mm-hmm.» My noncommittal hum served as both answer and dismissal.
Suddenly, an uncomfortable silence enveloped us.
An unnervingly uncomfortable, even suffocating silence.
The only audible sounds were distant conversations and footsteps echoing through the corridors of the building.
What the hell is happening? Why has she stopped talking? Have we stumbled into the infamour conversational dead zone: where neither of us knows how to proceed?
God, this is unbearable. No: agony, this is agony! If the floor were to yawn open and swallow me whole, I'd thank it for the courtesy.
Wait, wait. As I scrutinized her, she seems somewhat.... unsettled: I detected the faintest tremor in her lower lip, the restless flutter of her fingers against her skirt, or so it seems to me. Was she deliberating about something?
Shit, now I regretted lying to her. Maybe she was disappointed in herself for buying into my harebrained excuse—or worse, disappointed in me for feeding her such a flimsy narrative.
What worries me more was how readily she'd swallowed it. Did Takumi's words carry that much weight? Or was it simply because I was a classmate?
I mean, if someone fed me that spectacular improvisation, I would swallow it like water. Why question it when the messenger delivers it with such nonchalant conviction?
Then, without further ado, and breaking the ice with a touch of sleeplessness evident in her report, she revealed: «Kaito-kun called me a few days ago.»
Wait, what?
…She knows him?!
Brilliant deduction, Sherlock; of course she knew him. Why didn't I even consider the possibility? We'd been conversing with the ease of longtime associates—no, at this point, I wouldn't hesitate to call her a friend.
Also, I didn't mention this earlier, but days prior, in a fit of masochistic curiosity, I'd combed the internet for any trace of this accursed dating sim—Typed in the name, clicked through the results, and... nothing.
No visual novel. No gameplays or walkthrought videos of 2 hours. Just some forgettable mobile RPG—a soulless hack-and-slash about slaying neon-colored demons for loot boxes.
The realization struck like a mallet to the sternum, since the irony was exquisite: the very game I'd scapegoated for my displacement didn't even exist in the form I remembered.
And during those two weeks of self-imposed exile, I hadn't spared it a passing thought. I'd been too consumed with assembling a convincing facsimile of a person, too preoccupied with memorizing the script of a life that wasn't mine.
Felix, you colossal imbecile.
You should've compiled a dossier. Yeah, at the very least, make a damn list of every social connection, every obligation, every fucking face you remember so that it won't bother me foward. But no—I'd opted to wing it like some overconfident amateur.
In any case, I simply responded: «Oh, really? …And, what did he say?»
Without preamble, she lanced through the silence delivering a prepared statement as if it was for a courtroom: «First, he greeted me energetically—asked how I'd been spending my days, all that. Then, out of nowhere, he asked: "Hey, do you know what Takumi-kun's up to right now?"»
«And what did you tell him?»
«Well, I didn't know how to answer,» she admitted, her fingers knotting themselves into anxious origami. «I had no idea what you were doing at the time. So I just said: "No, why?" And then he mentioned he'd texted you to hang out, but you'd ignored him—even after reading it. You... didn't reply until New Year's Day, right?»
Busted.
Yes. Just as she said, that was the incontrovertible truth of the matter.
Flashback to that godforsaken evening—the eve of Japan's nationwide fireworks spectacle. My phone had lit up with a LINE notification from one "Kaito": 「よー, たくみ,明日遊ぼうぜ!」Or, translated with bland simplicity: [Heyyy, Takumi, let's hang out tomorrow!]
He was the first unfortunate soul to message me that break. And honestly? I saw it coming. I knew someone would hit me up eventually.
The only thing I didn't know was whether he was someone from the game—aka my high school "reality"—or from whatever other place Takumi had existed in before I showed up. Meaning, how many Kaitos does this guy knows?
Given my strictly enforced quarantine beyond the walls of my new home, venturing into unfamiliar territory was strictly verboten. I'd erected this invisible barrier for my own protection—a failsafe against social hangouts.
This self-preservation protocol applied universally: no outings, no exceptions. Not for guys, not for girls, not even if they were classmates. Of course, this self-imposed rule was strictly a holiday measure. I didn't want to get myself into something messy; I just couldn't risk it.
Call it caution. Call it cowardice or paranoia. Either way, I refused to humiliate myself in front of strangers.
But here's the rub: I'd recognized Kaito's name. And yet—I'd chosen radio silence. Trouble was, I got overwhelmed by all the incoming notifications of the apps, and without thinking, I'd accidentally opened our chat, triggering the dreaded "Read" receipt.
It wasn't that I didn't want to reply, the real inconvenience was: I hadn't known how to reply. What I needed was a well-crafted explanation, something airtight—something believable both from me and from Takumi.
However, I couldn't come up with anything convincing. My brain locked up; the pressure made me want to invent some elaborate lie, but the more I tried, the worse it got.
By the time I'd mustered the courage to reply—it was January 1st, no less—all I could manage was a limp, half-hearted:「すみません,忙しかったです.あけましておめでとう!」[3]
Busy with what, exactly?
Even today, I couldn't give a straight answer. I couldn't be honest with him, or with anyone. But given the precarious house of cards I was building, and the path that led me to converse with this girl should have pushed me in that direction. Yeah, I should've just claimed I wasn't in the mood.
At least, that's what I'd hoped—based on my woefully limited intel on Kaito—he might've accepted. Yet, as of right now given my position, I had a sinking feeling he hadn't.
«I didn't know what to say to him too, in that moment. I didn't want to say yes, but I also didn't want to decline and invent some lie to avoid it. I could have explained it to him properly, but... that would have taken time, I think.»
«Oh, that's okay. I... I get it,» she said with that apologetic register, shrinking a little into herself.
«Don't overthink it, please.» The platitude tasted stale in my mouth. «I recognize I should have been honest, considering that ultimately, I—»
«You just didn't feel like going out,» she cut in, finishing my sentence before I could.
«...Yeah.»
«I'm really sorry for asking you this, Nakamura-kun; I shouldn't have brought it up in the first place,» she bowed slightly forward, the motion so formal it stung. «I didn't mean to sound like I was blaming you or anything. Kaito-kun seemed kind of upset, and when I saw him that day, I thought maybe you were avoiding him… but I guess that wasn't the case. I'm sorry.»
«Hey-hey, I told you not to worry about it. It's not like this was some sort of conflict or anything as serious as an argument, just a simple miscommunication between us two. That's all. At least... it's somewhat comforting that you understood the situation.»
I didn't have complete faith in myself.
Perhaps all I wanted was for her to feel better. Perhaps I tried to persuade myself that I wasn't acting like such a disaster. Or perhaps I simply feared the consequences of her not understanding me. Perhaps I was already ruining this—the second opportunity, the relationship, whatever it was between us or person that will appear.
But for the time being, I held fast to the straightforward fact that she didn't despise me. And I was surprised at how reassuring that seemed.
«Next time I see Kaito, I'll clear things up. I'll apologize and explain the real reason. Not because I owe him an explanation necessarily, but because—well, if it'll help ease any tension you're carrying on my behalf, then that's enough for me, haha,» I offered what I hoped was a reassuring smile, though my facial muscles seemed to have forgotten how to perform the motion naturally.
In the interim of my peroration, she raised her gaze and met mine, and I could distinguish on her cheek—revealing itself like an unwelcome guest—a soft rosy warmth. She delicately covered her cheek with a gentle hand, surprised by the sudden heat, and stammered as she spoke:
«E-Ehm, y-yes... I didn't do anything at all. But, thank you...»
Hmph. I might've pretended not to notice, just to be kind. But it's impossible—I absolutely noticed. However, she's still unrecognizable for me; I don't know her name, nor what position she's in the game.
«No need to thank me. Really. Anyway, setting all that aside: what time is i—The time!»
I burst out vehemently: «Hey, what time is it?!»
Oh damn, I phrased that quite rudely, and I still mixed Japanese with English?
«Shit, forgive me! Ugh—Nooo!»
Why'd I have to go and curse now?
«It's fine, it's fine... Chill.»
She only watched me, bewildered by my unpredictable spectacle, and then asked more complete with her poignancy than courage: «What's the matter?»
«What time is it?» I quizzed.
«What time is it? Let me check. Uhm, it's seven o'clock... forty!? It's seven forty! Oh, my goodness.»
«Seriously? Alright, we need to get to the coliseum immediately. Let's go!»
And just like that, I took off down the hallway we'd been strolling through not five minutes ago—except now I was basically sprinting it, with her hot on my heels.
«Nakamura-kun! Where are you going? It's shorter this way!» She called out.
On impulse, and since I wasn't familiar with the layout of this place, I turned around and followed her lead.
We ran together down a hallway, darting through the corridors with agility—but not recklessly, in order to preserve the integrity of our outfits and appearance; that was my intention. Mid-run, I reminded my companion of that very fact.
«J-Just wait, wait a minute! Slow down a little!
«Eh?»
«Let's...not sprint like maniacs. We'll probably arrive very slovenly.»
«...Huh? Oh, yeah, you're right. My hair is going messy, guh.»
We passed through a door that led us into a stone-paved passage, cutting through the courtyard. I kept trotting behind her, and soon, just ahead, we reached a group of buildings enclosing an open area, which I assumed was the Cultural Pavilion.
At that moment, I caught sight of a long line of students entering one of the buildings—likely the coliseum. And right then, my companion exclaimed: «Look! They're still letting people in! Let's hurry!»
We made our way toward the entrance, hoping to blend in with the flood of students.
However, my heart sank as I discerned the unyielding figure of the same teacher responsible for my supervision and escort, standing stoically to one side, still waiting for me. Apparently, I am in a precarious situation.
Damn it, this is bad. He, as far as my instincts could discern, saw me, and then diligently approached. And, despite remaining imperceptible to the casual observer, I found myself shaking uncontrollably.
«Nakamura. You're finally here,» he said with that all-too-calm authority. «Mind telling me what took you so long? Don't tell me you were casually touring the campus with Miss Aizawa. I'm impress she even accepted the invitation. Although… you're both here now… Geez, young people these days... So? Do either of you have something to say?»
Aizawa? Aizawa-san? Aizawa-chan, right? He just called her by her last name, and that one word lit up something faint in the back of my mind: a name I should have kno—Wait, what the fuck?
Aizawa? She's Aizawa?!
As is well known, there were—or had been, I guess—multiple potential love interests in the game. And this girl... she was the second most important among them. If you went by the stats, she was objectively the secondary main heroine.
«Y-Yes,» Aizawa-chan stammered nervously. «I deeply apologize for any inconvenience, Kurohagane-sensei.»
Kuro... hagane? So that's his name. My lovely chaperone, I see.
But damn it... I didn't even realize I was already talking to one of the actual heroines from the game apart of Matushita Ayame-san. As I'd mentioned before, the 2D character designs and voices from the game weren't exactly helpful when it came to recognizing people in real life. How the hell was I supposed to know who was who?
«Likewise, Sensei,» I jumped in quickly, wearing a sheepish expression. «We're very sorry for being late to the ceremony, truly,» I said, bowing in apology—partly out of respect, but mostly to hide my ridiculous face.
He held his silence for a moment— deliberately—before responding with an air of understanding; this time laced not with irritation, but with the weary patience of someone reluctantly conceding to circumstance:
«The ceremony hasn't started yet, you're aware of that, aren't you? Nakamura, I emphasized—quite clearly, I believe—the importance of students being seated in the coliseum punctually. The goal is to avoid any disruptions once things begin. But, given the current situation… no harm done. You've made it in time. Barely. Consider yourselves lucky.»
As his words trickled down, I felt a subtle wave of relief wash over me. It swelled in my chest, then escaped through an audible sigh, unceremoniously mirrored by Aizawa beside me.
«Well, quit standing around—move it, move it,» the teacher scolded, trying to make his tone of voice into a bureaucratic sharpness. «Luck may have carried you here today, but don't make a habit of this. Your seats are still empty—go on now.»
In perfect sync, we both responded in submission: «Okaaaaayyy.[4]»
Once inside, as we slowly made our way across the polished wooden floor, the full scope of the space gradually revealing itself: an open, stage-like expanse that struck me as unnecessarily grandiose for what was, at its core, a glorified homeroom roll call.
The architecture of the gym followed the typical design you'd expect from most school facilities. But there was something... different. The place gave off a strangely formal vibe—like it was trying just a little too hard to be presentable, serviceable, uninspired, but mildly impressive in its scale.
Orange walls framed the space, broken up by white lines that marked the basketball court. Folded ping-pong tables leaned against the far wall, along with an assortment of various other sports-related paraphernalia cluttered the edges. Who knows how much more they had stashed away?
What really stood out, though, was the sea of students already inside aligned in rows and columns that stretched so far I couldn't be bothered to count them in the first place. It looked less like a school ceremony and more like a grassroots political rally for some local campaign.
At the far end stood a raised wooden platform—modest in size, but clearly the focal point. Seven folding chairs were lined neatly across it. In the center, a podium stood sentinel, where a middle-aged man wrestled with a misbehaving microphone. Finally, flanking the stage on either side were two towering black speakers—ominous, boxy, and humming faintly, as if eager to ruin someone's hearing later.
The only thing I could muster—and I mean this in the most underwhelmed tone imaginable—was: "Huh. That's… impressive." But, to be fair, it wasn't that impressive. Let's not exaggerate.
The only thing that genuinely struck me—the actual marvel here—was the eerie, borderline surreal sensation of standing in a place so alien, so entirely detached from everything that had once been familiar. A foreign land. Because, well… I was in a foreign land.
Still, I lingered—slack-jawed, wide-eyed—basking in the quiet absurdity of the moment like some protagonist in the opening shot of an arthouse film. Then, quite suddenly, a hand landed softly on my shoulder; not aggressive, but unmistakably meant to jolt me from my philosophical stupor. A voice followed, crisp and mildly irritated:
«Nakamura, now what exactly are you doing? Is there something on the ceiling? A volley-ball? ...No? Go take your seat—immediately.» It was the teacher again, raising his eyes briefly following my gaze, as if humoring the idea that maybe there was something worth seeing above us.
Apologising for my momentary mistake, I proceeded and had to separate from Aizawa-chan as our seats were assigned in different places, since I realized that I wasn't in the same class as her. Tragic, truly.
Threading through the rows of students felt oddly reminiscent of maneuvering through a crowded movie theater: the slow sidestep dance, the awkward "my bad", and the occasional brush of someone's knee.
Eventually, I reached the vacant seat that, by some combination of logic and gut instinct, I assumed was mine. It was empty, at least. And it seemed to match the vague pointing gesture my teacher had offered earlier—close enough.
As I finally collapsed into the chair, a wave of subtle relief unfurled through my body. My back sank into the plastic with a quiet thud, as if my spine had finally negotiated a ceasefire with gravity.
Apparently, we were organized alphabetically—a tried-and-true method, based on the first letter of our last names. This categorization also extended to our classroom sections and academic year.
And how did I know this? Well, I asked the girl seated to my left. Aya Nakano. She looked at me with the kind of polite confusion, but she answered me anyway. That face was the result, not of my ignorance of the regulation, but because I asked her name.
In any case, now there was nothing left to do but wait—silently—for the ceremony to begin.
[1] 「ぜんぜん、だ、大丈夫だよ、心配すんないでください！」(I'm really not good at japanese, I'm just trying my best... I need a good translator buddy to help me with this :C)
[2] 「はい、あるよ、忘れられない経験です」
[3] (“Sorry, I was busy. Happy New Year!”)
[4] 「はーーい！」