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 navyblue 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.
8 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!
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. Mmhmm, 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 for 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.
Afterword
Long time no see. I'm Wataru Watari. And nice to meet you. I'm Wataru Watari.
This may sound sudden, but the youth you generally hear society describe is all wrong. It's all total lies. Going on a date to a big mall like LaLaport in your school uniform with your cute girlfriend or getting introduced to a girl from another school through your friend and going out to eat and stuff…none of that ever happens. It's fiction.
In a teen rom-com, they add this line at the end, right? This is a work of fiction and has no connection to any real incidents, persons, or groups. In other words, any teen rom-com like that is a pack of lies. Everyone is being deceived.
Real youth is when two guys stop by a fast-food joint like Saizeriya after school and loiter around until evening, surviving only on fountain drinks and focaccia, desperately bad-mouthing people and complaining about school to kill time. Stuff like that. That is the real teen experience. I've gone through it myself, so it's absolutely true.
But that kind of experience wasn't so bad.
Mixing melon soda and orange juice and calling it melonge and getting excited about it, going on field trips and playing mah-jongg in a brutal atmosphere with three other guys, seeing the girl I had a crush on with her boyfriend and me suddenly going quiet… Now I consider those good memories.
Sorry, that's a lie. I hated it. I wanted to go on a date with a high school girl in uniform, too. No, I still want to now. I wrote those feelings into this. I hope you enjoyed it.
Now, my acknowledgments.
To my manager, Hoshino-sama: If I were to write all my feelings here, I'd write a whole book, so I'll abridge it. You helped me with everything, big and small. Thank you very much.
To Ponkan -sama: Your extremely cute and wonderful illustrations gave me strength every time I felt as if I would falter. I'm sincerely glad that I asked you to illustrate the book. Thank you very much.
Though she didn't know me at all, Yomi Hirasaka-sama wrote a blurb for me. When I felt as if I would be crushed by anxiety and worry, Hirasaka's comments gave me courage. Thank you very much.
To my friends: My friends! You only ever talk about money when I see you! I'm disappointed in you! Talk about your life and stuff!
To all my readers: The author Wataru Watari couldn't exist without you. Every single word you send me gives me energy. Thank you so much!
And finally, to myself in high school: This work was born precisely because you were so bitter in those days, always saying stuff like This is so boring; this is so stupid. Please be proud. Your youth was all wrong, but I'm sure it was totally right. Thanks.
Now, the story. Whether it continues or not is up to certain factors, but I trust I will see you all again. While I polish the next plot, I think I'll end it right about here.
On a certain day in February,
In a certain place in Chiba,
Feeling nostalgic for how I was so long ago, While sipping on sweet, sweet coffee.