The judo tournament was just for fun, just a bit of goofing around.
Or so we claimed, but the event had pulled in more participants and a greater audience than we expected.
Right before summer vacation might have been the perfect time for this. Soon, we would be away from school for a little over a month, so maybe this little diversion was a good last event to get excited about before the break.
The dojo wasn't all that big, so the presence of a standing audience told us the event was a success.
Shiroyama, on standby near the head of the dojo, scanned the whole scene. He didn't seem like the expressive type, but this time, apparently, he found this something to be impressed over. "I didn't think we'd get this many people. Thanks. You've been a big help." He thanked us, but none of this would help anyone.
Our job was starting now—and I doubted he'd thank us after it was done.
So I didn't touch on that and instead brought up something else. "Anyway, that graduate is going to be coming today, right?"
"Yeah. I made sure to invite him, just like you said. I think he'll be here soon."
As long as he was coming, that was good. That was the one thing out of my power, so I'd had to rely on Shiroyama for that. His attendance was uncertain and, in fact, my biggest concern.
Thanks to Shiroyama, the graduate should be watching the tournament right from the start. How might he react? I didn't know what his views would be on doing judo for fun. "Did he say anything about this?"
"…No. But he didn't seem particularly angry." Shiroyama appeared to be recalling his exchange with the graduate, making sure he was speaking accurately. For now, the graduate wasn't opposed to this.
The guy was taking the trouble to come back to a club he'd retired from. I'd been worried he might prefer they remain exclusive, but it seemed that wasn't the case, at least.
Well, this event was basically being held under the pretext of attracting new members. Maybe that was why he would let it go.
"I see, then that's good," I said. "We have to show him you're all really trying hard to breathe some life back into the club."
"…Yeah." Shiroyama suddenly seemed shy. His face was potato-like to begin with, so it was real hard to tell, though.
"Well, I hope it goes well for you. Later, then," I said to Shiroyama, walking up from the back of the dojo to the entrance.
A long table had been set up there as reception for the entering teams. Currently, Yuigahama was sitting there, zoning out. Behind her, drawing up a tournament chart on some poster board was Yukinoshita.
In all, there would be eight teams in the tournament. Aside from the team of me, Hayama, and Zaimokuza, and the team the judo club was having compete, everyone else was on a first-come, first-serve basis until we were full. If we allowed too many people, we wouldn't be able to handle them all. More importantly, it would slow things down.
The more fun you're having, the shorter the time feels, so maybe keeping the tournament short and dense would make it more fun. It was a paradoxical way to stage the show.
Also, if it ended up being, y'know, super-boring, ending it quickly would provide its own sort of joy…
"Just about time to start, huh?" I said to Yuigahama, who was on her phone like she had nothing to do.
Without raising her head, she answered, "Yeah. I think everyone'll probably come once Hayato's here?"
I recalled that Hayama had said he was slipping out of his soccer club practice to do this. It wasn't a problem, since I was on his team and I was here, and I'd registered Tobe's team, too. Now we just had to await their arrival.
I glanced over at the tournament chart.
Yukinoshita was filling out the names of the teams that had entered. The judo club team was positioned right opposite ours.
So we wouldn't compete until the finals.
"Hikigaya." Yukinoshita seemed to notice me behind her and spoke to me without turning around.
"Hmm?"
"I did place you at either end like you said, but you still have to win your way up, or things won't go according to plan, right?"
"…Yeah, that's right."
"…Yet another shaky plan…" Yukinoshita breathed an exasperated sigh.
But it wasn't like I had no plan at all here. "If we lose, we'll run an exhibition match or something. We can still make it work. It'd just change how we do it, not what we'd be doing."
"All right… It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth." Yukinoshita drew the last line with a squeak of her marker and finally turned around. Then she grinned wide. "But even if it's not me personally, I wouldn't like my club having a blot on its record. So if you're going to lose, I'd at least like for you to do it well."
"Don't assume I'm gonna lose…" She was wearing down my motivation before the match had even started. Why does she smile when she says stuff like this?
Well, it was true it didn't matter if we lost.
We were holding this event, and the graduate was coming, so the plan had an 80 percent chance of coming together, regardless.
It wasn't a lie that this was a PR event for recruiting new club members, but that was just one side.
The other purpose was to get rid of that graduate.
And to that end, he needed to lose his authority. I had to hurt him badly enough he would struggle to show his face here at school again. I'd come up with a number of methods for accomplishing that, but since I couldn't say they would have no effect on the judo club down the road, I had to take that into consideration, too.
The smartest thing to do would be to have the graduate join in this tournament and then lose the match. But that really seemed unrealistic. This guy had gotten into university on a judo sports recommendation, so it'd be safe to assume that an amateur couldn't beat him. Which led us to plan B.
"It's just about time…," Yukinoshita said as she checked the clock. Following her eyes, I looked over to see it was indeed about time to start.
With perfect timing, the entrance area burst into loud chattering. It seemed Hayama and his friends had arrived.
"I'm getting so pumped!" I could hear Tobe's voice above the rest. I looked toward the sound to see Miura and Ebina among the others with him.
Hayama, at the center of their group, noticed me and quickly rushed over. "Sorry we're late."
"No, you're right on time." I pointed at the clock, and Hayama breathed a sigh of relief.
"I see; that's good. Also, he's here, too." Hayama turned around, and there was a guy glancing around suspiciously, looking like a bear wandered down into the city.
"Nghnn… What is all this commotion?" He put his hand to his mouth, occasionally making suspicious herp derp noises.
"You're late," I addressed Zaimokuza when he showed no indication of coming in.
Zaimokuza twitched, tense as a mouse about to bolt for the wall. But then when he realized I was the one addressing him, he gradually relaxed. "Ngh, 'tis Hachiman! Upon your summons, I leaped forth to appear and see, but what is this?"
"Oh, it's a tournament. You're competing. On my team."
"Uh? Hey?! Mr. Hachiman?!" He wailed his incomprehension.
But wait, he never got an explanation? Oh well. "Anyway, the competition is starting, so hurry up and let's go."
"Herk! A competition?!" Zaimokuza groaned, looking right and left, then at the tournament sheet right in front of him. "Herm…at least
tell me what sort of tournament this is… If 'twere a duel, I could manage somehow, but…"
"It's something like that. It's a Japanese-style duel."
"No, I know thou lieth…" I could see Zaimokuza was starting to gush sweat, but I prodded him in the back, conveying us into the dojo.
On the way, Hayama approached us, too, pushing Zaimokuza together with me. He's a good guy. Although I think a really good guy probably wouldn't have been pushing people at all. "Let's do this, Zaimokuza." Ever breezy, Hayama prodded Zaimokuza along as he greeted the other boy.
"Y-yeah…" Zaimokuza, on the other hand, was an eternally overheated human tropical rain forest. He didn't even give Hayama a decent answer. "Who? Whassisface Hayama…," he muttered.
Well, regardless, we had the whole team here.
I shifted my gaze over to the reception to see Yuigahama making a big O with her arms. Guess all the other teams were here, too. I looked over at the tournament bracket to see Yukinoshita nod, then point to her own watch. We were a little behind schedule, but it seemed everyone was ready to go.
At last, I glanced to Shiroyama, up at the back of the dojo.
He seemed not to notice my eyes. He was talking with the graduate, who'd just arrived. Instead, the first-year potato crew, Tsukui and Fujino, greeted me with little heys.
Now all the actors were in place.
Finally, the curtain was rising on the S1 Grand Prix, the tournament to decide the strongest in Soubu High School…
Shiroyama, the ceremonial organizer for the event, gave a brief opening speech. He spoke as simply as ever, but the audience was full of enthusiastic types who cheered wildly for him anyway.
Then, without much delay, the first match began. This one was between the judo club and some guys I didn't really know. The judo club had an easy victory in a lighthearted match, and that vibe was probably why the second and third also went by with a good energy. Tobe's team, which was in the second match, also safely moved their token to top four. Well, there were only eight teams, so we were all in the top eight to begin with.
We went through the scheduled matches one by one until we reached the fourth. This was our first sortie.
Now changed into a borrowed judo uniform, I headed out to the square battlefield at last.
On the way there—I found Zaimokuza moaning nonstop. "Hachiman…? Hey…what is this…?"
"Shut up, I told you—it's judo," I replied, and Zaimokuza turned a reproachful gaze on me.
"You told me 'twas a Japanese-style duel…"
"It's…you know. It's like, I figured it'd be good reference for your novel."
"Herm…I see." I'd just spouted out the first thing that came to mind, but that actually seemed to convince Zaimokuza, and he nodded with a fngggh. Uhhh, that's not a normal sound of agreement, though.
But it seemed I'd managed to flip Zaimokuza's M-2 attention-seeking switch. Or maybe he was just so nervous in front of such a crowd he'd lost his marbles. He'd switched gears into Master Swordsman General mode, so he wouldn't be bothered by how people saw him anymore. Another dark chapter in the life of Zaimokuza… We lined up on the mats.
Working as judge was one of the judo club potatoes…Tsukui? Or was it Fujino? I think they had to be taking turns doing it. I'm not sure, but that was probably what was happening.
As instructed by the judge, both teams bowed to each other, then backed away, except for their first-round competitor. It seemed the other team had already decided their order.
"Who goes when?" I asked. Order was a part of strategy. This tournament wasn't a knockout competition but rather a round robin. The first team to two victories would win.
I'd been addressing Hayama, but for some reason, Zaimokuza answered. "Herm, I would be first. I shall not yield the honor of point warrior."
"I suppose that's fine." Being a mature guy, Hayama dealt with Zaimokuza's sudden fit in an extremely humane manner. "Then I'll go second. Hikitani, we'll be counting on you to be the boss."
"You okay with that?" I'm not wearing a construction helmet or anything, though. Maybe I should get fatter and fuzzier.
"I'm at my best in a position with less pressure. Zaimokuza, you can do it," Hayama said with a smile and a light pat on Zaimokuza's back.
"U-uh, okay." Just that casual interaction with Hayama had already gotten Zaimokuza worked up. He was starting to drip with sweat.
Just how nervous are you—or do you like Hayama?
"Sorry to ask this of you so suddenly. Thanks," I said to him.
"Oh, no need for such formality! You leave this to me!" For some reason, Zaimokuza answered me boldly. Feeling I could rely on him, I patted him lightly on the back like Hayama had. It was slimy-slick.
…Huh? What is this guy, an amphibian? Is this sweat? I wondered if he'd slathered himself with Vaseline. Wow, Hayama, I thought. He hadn't even winced. He really was amazing.
Once we left the mats, the first match began immediately.
As we watched, Zaimokuza moved far more quickly than I'd anticipated. But his opponent could also move around decently, and he quickly grabbed Zaimokuza's sleeve.
But instantly, the opponent's face twisted in fear and loathing. Despite having managed to grab a sleeve, he jerked his hand away and looked down at it in horror.
He'd fallen into…the Zaimokuza Swamp…
Zaimokuza took full advantage of that opening. He firmly grabbed the collar of his opponent and forcefully yanked him around. With their difference in weight, he tossed the opponent easily.
"P-point?" For some reason, the judge said it like a question.
The stir that ran through the audience was rather restrained. The applause was sparse, too.
But even so, a victory is a victory.
Zaimokuza strolled coolly back toward us. "How was that,
Hachiman?"
"Incredible." Incredible amounts of sweat… In a fairer world, you'd be executed for the illicit manufacture of salt. See, that judo club guy wiping the mat right now looks like he's suffering. Now I feel bad for him…
"Then next is my turn, huh?" Hayama said, striding gallantly to the center of the mats. Instantly, an intense applause swelled, and then there was the Hayama call.
HA-YA-TO (whoo)! HA-YA-TO (soiya)! Over and over.
They must have revised the chant at some point; they were even adding gestures. Come on, is everyone practicing this?
"Hayatooo!"
One voice stood out particularly among the high-pitched cheers: Miura. She was waving a fan and cheering him on. She's surprisingly fangirlish, huh? After she was completely uninterested in the other matches, fanning herself the whole time and moaning about how it was so, sooo hot… Also, not like it matters, but Tobe's gestures were obnoxious.
Hayama met these cheers with confidence, casually raising a hand in reply. He was so overflowing with composure that it was revolting. Meanwhile, his opponent had been completely engulfed by the atmosphere.
Basically, victory was decided before the match had even begun.
And the match was over startlingly quickly. As soon as it started, Hayama took the opponent's hand for a beautiful one-arm shoulder throw. With the splitting cheers behind him filling the dojo, Hayama walked back to us like it was nothing. "Now we've won."
"Y-yeah…"
Frankly, I felt a little awkward about being included in that we when I hadn't even done anything, but anyway, victory was good.
Man, Hayama's a seriously high-spec guy… And yet, I hear a certain someone once beat this gentleman in a tennis match, you know? Well, even though I won the match, I lost the war… Still, I hardly did anything in that match, did I? If I can nab a victory without doing anything at all, then I should really not get a job.
But even if my plan was to avoid getting a job in the future, right here and now, I had a job to do.
"We still have some time before our next set. Go kill time however you like," Hayama said to Zaimokuza, and I left the two of them. My feet took me to the head of the dojo.
The other matches were still ongoing. They were now in the first match of the semifinals, and the judo club and Tobe's team would be on. Hayama and Miura and their friends would be watching them together, while Zaimokuza would have turned into a statue with no place to go.
And the one at the head of the dojo was watching the match, too— with total boredom.
It was that judo club graduate. I didn't know his name. I didn't really care. I had no direct connection to him and no reason to show him respect as a senior, but I went out of my way to address him politely.
"Excuse me." I went up to the head of the dojo and stood beside him to strike up a conversation.
He turned to me, looking annoyed. Perhaps because I was an unfamiliar face, he looked momentarily confused, but he quickly covered that up and gave me a casual reply. "Hey."
Once he had responded, I continued. "What do you think of this new judo club venture?"
"…Yeah. I guess it's not bad. Once you're out of high school, you can't really play around like this, after all," he said as he fanned himself restlessly, as if trying to take up more space. I listened, digesting every word he said.
I get it—so this is what he talks like; this is what he acts like. Once I had made sure that my evaluation of him from what I'd seen at practice was correct, I said, "Really? Shiroyama came to us for help, so we thought up lots of ideas. We figured something fun like this was important. That's why we got all these people."
The graduate gave me a hard look, then blinked wide two, three times. "…Oh, so you did all the work to set this up? But just playing around won't do them any good, so don't spoil Shiroyama, all right? The world out there is harsher than you think. You have to practice and study hard now, or you're not gonna cut it." He closed the fan with a snap, and I resisted the urge to burst out laughing.
Instead, I said, "Oh, I know. Why don't you join the competition, too?"
"…Huh? O-oh… I'll think about it."
"Come in at any time, if you feel like it," I said, then left him.
There must have been something about the way I'd approached him that irritated him, as I felt his suspicious gaze following me, but I shook it off and walked away.
It was about time for our match—though the other guys on my team would probably win, so it didn't matter if I wasn't there.
On my way back, I ran into Shiroyama, who had just finished judging the match.
"…What were you talking about with him?" So Shiroyama had seen me. We'd been at the head of the room, after all, and Shiroyama must have had his attention on the graduate, too.
"Nothing, really. Just having a meeting to discuss staging."
"Staging?" Shiroyama tilted his rustic head like a potato rolling to the side.
"Oh yeah. I should mention this to you, too. Me and him are going to have a match for the last round of the finals, so you act as judge."
"That's fine, but…"
"I'm counting on you for staging the show."
"Hmm?" Shiroyama tilted his head, a questioning look on his face.
In the end, I didn't join the semifinals, either. All I did was hand over a mop to the judo club guy to deal with Zaimokuza's sweat.
Zaimokuza and Hayama both won their fights, taking us up to the finals. Zaimokuza's slimy defense and Hayama's one-arm shoulder throw yet again were the clinchers. I'd come all this way without lifting a finger.
The judo club beat Tobe's team to become our opponents for the finals. I hadn't even noticed those guys lose.
By the way, since Shiroyama was club captain, he was staying out of the tournament as a handicap. Competing were Tsukui, Fujino, and one guy I didn't know and thus dubbed Japanese Yam.
While watching two of the Brothers Tuber start warm-ups out of the corner of my eye, we started getting ready for the finals.
That was when Yuigahama and Yukinoshita, who had just been watching from a distance, approached me.
"Do you need something? Be considerate; don't talk to me before matches," I said.
Seemingly unbothered by the heated atmosphere of the dojo, Yukinoshita replied coolly, "Then you're in a competition all year round, hmm?"
"Basically, yeah. So what?" I casually deflected her sarcasm, and Yuigahama responded with a raised hand in greeting.
"I figured we'd cheer you on at the end, at least."
"Oh. Thanks. Only if I go on, though," I said, looking over at Hayama and Zaimokuza. Those two might actually just win this thing.
"You will. Nothing will be resolved if you don't," Yukinoshita pressed, as if she could see through me. I actually wasn't sure how much Yukinoshita had figured out, but she sounded strangely and disconcertingly convincing.
Indeed, this was not yet over. "…Yeah."
"Yeah, yeah! Give it your best shot, for the judo club!" Yuigahama threw up her arms in a happy-go-lucky manner.
But I just couldn't get in on her enthusiasm, not sincerely. "It's not just for them."
"Huh?" With just a blank, innocent look, Yuigahama asked, "Then who is it for?"
But before I could answer, it was time for the match to begin.
From the very first round, the finals were a madhouse.
Five seconds after both parties bowed at the start: "Doof."
Along with the fierce bam of impact came a plainer sound, like when you hit the wall in Dragon Quest.
When I looked to see what had happened, I discovered something like a washed-up sea lion lying there. Zaimokuza had been thrown. He didn't even twitch.
"Point!" was proclaimed loudly.
"Zaimokuza…lost…?" I can't believe it. Zaimokuza has thus far prided himself in his unequaled strength, and yet, he lost so easily… So he was the Yamcha here, huh?
"The judo club boys must be used to his type," Yukinoshita explained, having appeared to kneel next to me.
"Ngh! So the slime has backfired on him!"
"Gross…" Yuigahama added insult to injury. She was sitting beside Yukinoshita on her rear with her knees in front of her.
It's not good to kick corpses.
A judo club guy rolled away the fallen and still Zaimokuza. He was moist like a wet sponge, and his wake was like a slug's slime trail as they tossed him out.
In the meanwhile, the dojo was abuzz. Zaimokuza's dramatic and abrupt defeat had come as a shock. But once they were ready for the next match, the welling cheers drowned out those murmurs.
The shock of the first match was overshadowed by the Hayama call.
This was the finals, and Hayama's was the fight we absolutely could not afford to lose. A lot of competitions you "definitely can't afford to lose" end in a loss or a scoreless draw, but this one we really couldn't afford to lose. If Hayama lost the second match, that would mean we were over.
The audience just got even more excited. Ebina was cheering loud the whole time with an enormous grin, while Miura might strip if Hayama won…or so the boys hoped, given how excited she was. Did I mention Tobe was obnoxious?
"Hikitani." Hayama stood. His voice was not lost among the cheers; I could hear him clearly.
"Hmm?"
"You should warm up." The moment it left his mouth, Hayama had already started walking out. This declaration of victory, so very mildmannered and yet so very arrogant, was unbearably Hayama. It was rather irritating, but he was about to win now, embarrassingly enough.
And then, right when Hayama walked out into the ring, the Hayama cyclone peaked, whipping the audience into a chaotic whirlpool.
Suddenly, Ebina was quiet. Right as I noticed this, I saw her lying down on Miura's lap with a wet handkerchief over her head. What? What did she see? What is she thinking…?
Finally, Hayama and his opponent faced each other.
That was when the dojo door flew open.
"Ahhh~! I finally found you~! Hayamaaa! Please come to club~!"
That stupid-sounding voice clashed entirely with the sense of tension in the dojo. Looking over, I saw a girl with blond shoulder-length hair wearing a pink tracksuit. Completely ignoring the mood, she marched straight for Hayama.
She disregarded everyone's astonishment without a care.
When Hayama saw the girl, he was uncharacteristically rattled. "IIroha…"
"Hayama, the first-years don't know what to do with you gone."
"O-oh. Um, right now I'm a little busy." Hayama attempted to put his foot down harder, but this Iroha girl or whoever didn't listen at all and grabbed the sleeve of Hayama's judo uniform.
Huh? Who is that girl…? I thought.
From the audience, Tobe stood up and called out, "Sorry, Irohasu. I'll go back with you, so let Hayato off the hook."
"Nah, you can stay, Tobe."
Smoothly rejected with a smile, all Tobe could do was say "O-okay…" and sit back down again.
"Is that someone Hayama and Tobe know?" I asked, looking between Yukinoshita and Yuigahama.
Yukinoshita shook her head to indicate she didn't have an answer, but Yuigahama did happen to know. "Ohhh, that's Isshiki-chan. She's the soccer club manager, a first-year girl."
Oh-ho, Iroha Isshiki. Chii is learning—that that is a hazard.
…That thing is dangerous. That girl is absolutely dangerous. My ghost is whispering to me that you have to be careful of pretty, sweet, and gentle girls like that.
This Isshiki girl—this cute soccer club manager with a treacherous air about her—secured Hayama, then attempted to continue on out.
She was just like a willful princess, and no one could reproach her.
"Shouldn't someone stop her?" The only one among us who thought to do something was Yukinoshita, but she didn't know what and so turned to me.
"Uh, I think we can just leave 'em." "Can we?" she said doubtfully.
You've just been sitting there. You're not trying to make a move at all, are you?
But the ice queen's inaction to correct the princess's misconduct was no problem, since the other queen took action instead.
"Hey, you." Like the waves of heat from the ground in the midsummer, Miura rose. "Hayato's busy right now." Her tone could burn the earlobes of those who heard it.
But it was ineffective on the princess of the breeze. "Huh~? But the club needs him…," Isshiki argued back casually.
Miura kicked up the temperature a notch. "What?"
"H-hey, guys." Unsurprisingly, Hayama realized the situation was deteriorating and cut in between them, attempting to calm Miura. Isshiki delicately plucked at the hem of Hayama's shirt, trembling behind him.
That mouse-like gesture just raised Miura's hackles even more. She looked down, then sucked a deep breath in and out like a bellows and said, "Hayato, you go on to your club. I have to have a little chat with this girl."
"Huh?" Hayama's voice cracked, and he froze, staring at Miura's raised face.
"Go work hard at your club~. "
This was probably the first time I'd ever seen Miura's ultimate smile.
Then she dragged Isshiki away. "Hayamaaaa!" Isshiki nearly shrieked, but Miura totally ignored her cries as she escorted her out.
Of course, Hayama couldn't just watch this happen, and he followed after them. "Sorry, Hikitani! I'll be right back!" he said, putting his hands together in apology to me, then rushed off.
Uh, there's no way you're coming back, though… Everyone's gonna be more interested in that off-site brawl now…
The crowd murmured, wondering what was going on.
Useless in the moment of truth… But he'd brought us to the finals, so we'd call that good enough.
The problem now was getting through the second round of this match.
"Wh-what's gonna happen?" Still sitting with her knees up in front of her, Yuigahama scooched toward me.
"We lose by default? Or maybe we move along the roster and have me go…"
"But then you'll have to forfeit the last one, so what's the difference?" Yuigahama was right. What would happen now?
As we were puzzling over this, a cool voice came from beside me. "It won't end up as a default."
Oh, as expected of Yukipedia. She was knowledgeable on the rules of judo.
"All we have to do is have me compete," she said, getting to her feet.
Uh, that's ridiculously arbitrary… "Uh, I don't think you can do that." "Yeah, you're a girl." Yuigahama and I both attempted to stop her.
But Yukinoshita wasn't listening. "I don't recall ever setting any such requirements for participation. And it's not an official tournament. You don't mind, do you?"
"I do mind! You can't! No way!" Despite Yukinoshita's logic,
Yuigahama made her feelings so abundantly clear, even Yukinoshita winced a little.
Well, there was no need to force Yukinoshita to compete now.
Though the opponent was in judo club, it looked like he was in first year, like a Chinese yam or Japanese yam or something. I could probably manage him. Glancing over to check, I saw the potato in question huddled with the other two having a secret talk. Then he looked over at Yukinoshita and gave a little blush.
…Oh-ho. Setting your sights high, Potato.
"I'll go out first," I said. "Hayama might come back before then." It seemed unlikely, but that was a better plan. I started getting to my feet, but Yukinoshita yanked my sleeve, and my head whipped back. "Erfh, ow… What?" I coughed at the unexpected attack.
Yukinoshita stared at me even more directly than usual. "What point would there be in that?"
"Huh?" I wanted to ask what she meant. My sour look did the asking for me, and Yukinoshita answered dispassionately and calmly.
"This is your shoddy plan. Didn't you set this up so that you could draw the graduate out in the final round?"
"…"
She had a point. We'd spent all this time planning out this event for the sake of luring out that graduate to this stage. Considering the effort we'd expended to get here, it would be a foolish decision to drop it all now.
This plan would work most effectively precisely because the ultimate stage had been set. So the safest plan among our remaining options would be for Yukinoshita to go out now.
Yukinoshita's cold gaze had cooled my head, and what she said next was like another splash of cold water. "Besides, you don't have to concern yourself with me." With a determined smile, she fixed a glare at her future opponent. "Essentially, all I have to do is keep him from ever laying a finger on me."
"…Is that the question here?! …At least… At least get changed?" Yuigahama protested tearfully, having abandoned trying to talk Yukinoshita out of this.
Yukinoshita nodded with a hmm of apparent agreement. "Fair enough."
"Okay, let's go!" Once that was decided, Yuigahama acted fast. She grabbed Yukinoshita's hand and immediately rushed off, only to return in fewer than ten minutes.
Yuigahama flopped down, exhausted, and for some reason, she looked like a mess. Yukinoshita, on the other hand, was crisp and dashing. She wore a white martial arts top tucked into red hakama pants. Her hair was tied up—in a bun, in fact, just like it had been the day before.
"Why's she dressed like that…?" I asked.
"We borrowed it from the girls' kendo club!" Yuigahama sounded awfully energetic, considering how she looked completely exhausted.
Yukinoshita twisted and stretched around to check her outfit, adjusting her collar. "Well then, let's get started," she said, walking out to the center of the dojo.
The audience, which had been watching all this happen, applauded Yukinoshita's dignified arrival.
Shiroyama, the judge, tilted his head in confusion. But when his eyes met mine, he turned pensive, then nodded. It seemed he interpreted this as "the show."
Uh, it's not, though…
For this second round, opposing Yukinoshita was once again the purple yam or sweet potato or whoever. Both competitors went to their positions and exchanged glances. Already, Yukinoshita had won on glare alone.
The flag was flown, and the judge cried, "Begin!"
Instantly, Yukinoshita's opponent snapped into action. He was fighting a girl, so he must have calculated that if he just got hold of her, he could use his strength to throw her.
But that would only work if his opponent were a regular girl.
Just who do you think you're up against? This is Yukino Yukinoshita. She has some of the best base stats in the prefecture, with superior ingenuity, strategy, valor, and beauty to go with a calm, collected, sharp, and vicious personality. By the way, she's also a perpetual winner and an extremely sore loser. In all competitions, she is, provisionally, the greatest.
She wouldn't let the rank and file even touch her.
And indeed, Yukinoshita didn't even let him touch her sleeves.
She read her opponent's breathing, predicting when he would step out from his inhalations. Then she simply reacted to these predictable actions with her optimal response. She danced around him with agility, redirecting her opponent like a matador.
And the direction she had designated for him was thin air.
Before he knew it, victory had already been decided.
There was a dramatic thud, and then the dojo was so silent I could even hear Yukinoshita's sigh.
The air was different. Not a single person in the audience made a sound.
Breaking the stillness was the flutter of the flag and the voice declaring her victory.
Having witnessed such a rare and excellent performance, the audience welled with applause and cheers. Yukinoshita walked down the red carpet of their acclaim and returned to where we sat.
Yuigahama leaped up to glomp her. "Wow, wow! That was so cool!"
"Hey… You're suffocating me." Yukinoshita complained, but she didn't peel Yuigahama off. Even she couldn't dodge this.
The pair made for a pleasant sight, but the fact of the matter was that what Yukinoshita had just pulled off was less pleasant.
She threw someone just by dodging… What the hell, is she Kenichi's teacher? She had actually kicked that guy's butt without letting him lay a finger on her.
"You really are incredible," I said.
Yukinoshita smiled mischievously. "Oh, I suppose. Was that a little too much for an opening performance?"
"I don't think it's nice to be a bully."
Before going out into the ring, I stretched wide one last time. "Right, then. Let's go…," I muttered. I meant to talk to myself, but I got a reply.
"Come back safe!"
"Be good."
Are you guys my mom?
At last, the final match. With this, this ridiculously named S1 Grand Prix festival would be over.
The audience was already starting to thin.
Well, to be frank, this was superfluous. This was like an extra arc after the main story. The audience would have been fully satisfied by
seeing Hayama's exploits, the dramatic interruption, and Yukinoshita's acrobatics, too.
That was why from here on out, I would do as I pleased. I'd planned out everything. So they would let me have this.
I went into the middle of the ring, and my opponent was about to approach. I'd already forgotten if I was facing Tsukui or Fujino or whoever, and I held up a hand to stop him. Then I called out to the head of the dojo. "How about it?"
He must not have expected I would seriously call him down, as he did a double take at me. We'd already broken the rule of changing the lineup in the last round. The rules didn't restrict us anymore.
The only thing holding him back would be shame.
He was embarrassed over being an outsider in the school, a real judo athlete being rounded up to this kind of game.
But if the needles pointed in the other direction, he'd be forced to join in.
He would be ashamed over not having the courage to come out when called onto the stage in a finals match in front of an excited audience.
Only he could know which would win over, but I was certain he would protect himself from the latter shame.
The audience was holding their collective breath, watching as the graduate pushed himself to his feet. Then he picked up his judo outfit and went to change.
That action caused the audience to give an expectant "Ohhhhh."
Meanwhile, Shiroyama, acting as judge, was expressionless. "…He's good."
"I'm sure. That's what'll make this final match exciting, right?" I replied as I checked my collar, sleeves, and belt, and Shiroyama tilted his head.
Shiroyama was sharper than you'd assume from his appearance. And that acuity would lead him to consider the meaning of what I'd just said. He was thoughtful enough to have explored the possibilities himself somewhat before coming to consult with us at the Service Club and had come to a reasonable decision. That was why I could expect that much from him.
But he wasn't much sharper than that. Even if he'd read into what I'd said, he wouldn't reach further into any deeper layers.
I'd made just one preparation. Well, it was something like insurance. It would be best if I could avoid using it.
The graduate was unsurprisingly used to slipping into his uniform, so he got changed quickly and came into the ring. He drove away the first-year with a hand, then approached the middle, facing off with me.
The eyes he had fixed on me were blazing with anger and humiliation. But I wouldn't lose on a glare. My perspective can make even the brightest light dull and murky.
This was how I could see the graduate well, too.
"Both competitors, bow. Begin!" Shiroyama commanded in his low voice.
Once it started, the graduate and I both inched in a bit, measuring the distance between us, advancing and retreating over and over. He didn't fiercely charge in. Of course, neither did I. Judo is all about falls. In class, about all I've been doing, to the best of my ability, has been falls, which I can practice by myself.
Day after day, falls.
I've mastered taking hits so well, rolling with the punches has become my whole life, really.
I knew full well that I'd never beat this guy legitimately. Even I'm not that full of myself. That was why I maintained a fixed distance as much as possible, always waiting for my moment of attack.
However, a master of technique will quickly see through an amateur's thoughts. Having realized that I was not going to attack, the graduate took a haughty step forward, breaking the balance in the space between us. By the time I was thinking Oh no, he'd already grabbed me, and he cut my pivot leg with a leg sweep from the outside.
I felt the floor come out from under me, and a shock ran through my back. An "…Ow" left my mouth. What was that speed…? That was way beyond anything I could properly catch in a fall…
The graduate must have been certain of his victory, as he was already returning to the start line.
The audience was sighing, too, starting to stand up.
That was why now would be my moment to attack. "Oh, you got me, man. Sweat is so slippery," I said, completely shamelessly.
Everyone was looking at me, like, What the hell is this guy talking about? That included the graduate, the audience, Yukinoshita, and Yuigahama. Oh, I was thinking the same. There was no way an excuse like this could fly.
But it just had to work on one person.
The judge, Shiroyama, still had yet to raise the flag and had not yet made the call, either.
Noticing this, I added, "Just checking here—but tripping is invalid, right?"
Shiroyama was silent. Then he took a good look at my face and nodded. "Both competitors, return to the starting line."
Why? Because this was "the show."
The audience was indignant, and so was the graduate. "Come on," he pressed, "clearly that was a down! He didn't trip…" As he spoke, he looked at his feet. There remained the trail from when Zaimokuza had been towed away. In all the hullabaloo with Hayama and Yukinoshita, they'd forgotten to wipe it clean—despite how they'd wiped it properly after every match.
"But that was a point!" The graduate snapped at Shiroyama.
But that didn't change the decision. No—Shiroyama couldn't decide if it was okay to change the decision.
I don't know much about sports, but even I know that it's unusual for a misjudgment to be acknowledged—in student athletics, pro sports, or at a national-level tournament.
And, as the pièce de résistance, there was a rule to keep in mind: "Defying the judge disqualifies you, you know."
"What?" The graduate shifted his gaze from Shiroyama to me. He was like a raging beast. Frankly speaking, it was terrifying.
I quelled the tremble in my voice with a shrug of my shoulders.
"That's what the world is like, right? It's harsh out there, isn't it?"
The graduate's expression turned bitter. As expected, he seemed aware he had a habit of saying that. He didn't have to tell me that he meant to crush me thoroughly this time.
"Both competitors, return to the starting line," Shiroyama said, taking control again, and the graduate reluctantly went back. But when we faced each other again, he glared at me with bloodshot eyes.
This was bad. This was very bad.
That cheat I'd just used for the sake of "the show" was only a onetime insurance. I couldn't use the same thing again. The audience wouldn't allow that, and my opponent definitely wouldn't. Most of all, Shiroyama wouldn't do it. The evidence for that was in the pallor of his face. This was quite a load of stress for him.
"Begin," Shiroyama called. His tone lacked its earlier strength.
In fact, even the audience's calls had petered out. Some had gotten bored and were leaving, too. That was why my panting breaths and the graduate's shouts were clearly audible.
And that was why he'd be able to hear me clearly when I spoke to him. "It's funny, isn't it?"
He'd probably never had someone speak to him in a match before, as he gave me a dubious look. The audience seemed to notice that I was talking, too, as I could sense their eyes and ears on us.
"I mean you got into university on a sports recommendation… It's surprising you still have the time to come check out the judo club here."
I saw his feet clearly stop in their tracks. "…Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about." His fists, lifting me up by the collar, clenched harder.
But he wasn't looking at me at all.
He was looking behind me, and to either side. At the audience.
They were murmuring, probably questioning why the match was suddenly in deadlock. Or maybe they were suspicious of what we were talking about. But regardless, from the graduate's position, he would feel that our conversation was creating the stir.
That was why I kept going, making an effort to stay calm and observe him so that I could respond to his movements. "Your club in university isn't a casual one, right? You're doing it for serious? You can only play around when you're in high school."
"Shut up." The graduate took an impulsive step inward, as if he meant to end the match quickly and stop me from talking any more.
I stepped back in equal proportion, maintaining a fixed distance. Then I gave him a nonchalant smile. "It really is a harsh world out there."
Just how many in the audience heard me?
The audience was clearly smaller than it was at the start of the match. But even this many was enough.
To be clear, it didn't matter if anyone actually heard us or not. It was enough for him to worry that some people might be.
"It really is like you said. That's why you came back here, isn't it?" "…" With that, I'd silenced him—with his own words.
And now I had accomplished my goal: denunciation before an audience. To damage his dignity, his pride as their senior. To make this graduate think that a crowd of students had heard me. Whether they'd actually heard it wasn't the issue. I just had to make him question if he was capable of showing his face to society.
It frankly didn't matter who won or lost after that.
The fact was that his eyes had been darting around for a while now. He was rattled, focused on what the people around him thought of him.
I could clearly see his spirit breaking down. The signs had been there from the start. I'd gotten a hunch back when I'd first heard about him.
Glorification of the past is proof of a weakened heart.
The desire to talk about bygone glory is evidence of a spirit grown old.
That graduate had probably experienced failure at university. He'd lost his confidence, pride, and everything that went with it, and that was what had sent him running back here.
He may not have been aware of what he was doing. Maybe he'd come by on a whim, found it surprisingly comfortable, and then he'd just stuck around.
But that didn't mean it was okay for him to be here. For the people below, those who descend back down from on high are a nuisance. The world doesn't have the time to take care of those who come running back.
That was why I would drive him out. Expel him. Eject him.
Oh, it's exactly like you said: The world is harsh.
The graduate was biting his lip. His grip on my sleeve had already weakened.
He probably wouldn't come anymore. A fugitive has to keep running.
But if I was to make absolutely sure… …then it would be best to win.
The ultimate humiliation of losing to an amateur like me in front of an audience would break his spirit completely.
And so I hammered in the final lynchpin. "You didn't come back here. You ran away from there."
It seemed I'd managed to pull that final trigger. The graduate reacted as if he'd been struck.
So now was the time to do it. I pulled at his sleeve, an invitation. It tricked him easily. Where he'd been slack before, he was now firmly tensed. Had I succeeded in provoking him?
He came for me.
I didn't dodge.
I was conscious of every point of balance.
I'd been through class, and I'd felt his throw just now, so I understood the form. Guess getting thrown around does count as practice. I made up for my inept technique with extra force.
I just had to manipulate him into a position where I could throw him. I focused all my strength on that endeavor alone. I showed no other resistance and just left it to the gravity of the earth, the law of inertia, and fighting instinct.
I got him over my shoulder, and then from behind me, I heard him say, his tone both harsh and also somewhat calm, "Shut up. I know all that."
And then there was only the fall.
Without a moment's delay, the flag went up.
I could hear the audience applauding the victory, echoing loud in the dojo.
"Point! Match over!" This cry was, more than any I'd heard from Shiroyama, the most perfectly clear and beautiful.
By contrast, someone else's voice was dull and pathetic.
"…Ow."
The remaining time before summer vacation sped by like a whirlwind, and a few days later, my heart was dancing with summer vacation finally within reach.
So even though I didn't really want to be in the Service Club room, I came in humming.
A few more sleeps, and it'd be summer vacation. The dillydallying of the days ahead was waiting for me.
When I opened the door of the clubroom, as usual, Yukinoshita was reading a book by the window, and Yuigahama was facedown on her desk like a dog, on her phone. I took one last look at this scene.
"Hey," I greeted them casually, then sat down on a diagonal from Yukinoshita, in the most distant seat.
She looked up from her paperback. "My, is your back better already?"
"Nope. But it got me out of gym class," I replied.
And now Yuigahama raised her head. "Judo, right? How admirable of you to keep your promise."
"Nothing admirable about it. It was just the silver lining."
At the very end of the judo tournament, that graduate had thrown me down hard. Rubbing my creaking, injured back, I'd been forced to make a promise as the loser.
That promise was to never get involved with the judo club ever again. Yuigahama and Yukinoshita had both been very angry about my attitude, railing on at me about how I was a bad influence on the members and had been disrespecting judo and stuff. And so the dream of becoming an Olympic gold medalist in judo had been stolen from me before I ever even thought to have it.
Well, with my back in this state, I doubt I could do judo even if I wanted to try. It really hurt, and all night I'd been muttering as much.
It still hurt, but since I got to sit on the sidelines in gym for a while, the pros and cons balanced out… Actually, I get the feeling there were clearly more cons. Was I this bad at arithmetic?
"Well, it's good that was all you got," said Yukinoshita. "You should be thankful to Shiroyama."
"Yeah, yeah. That guy was glaring at you so hard it looked like he was gonna kill you, Hikki." Yuigahama agreed.
And that made me think back. "Hmm, Shiroyama, huh?" I hadn't even spoken to Pota-yama-slash-Shiroyama since then.
This was partly because I'd been forced into making that weird promise to the graduate. But, well, both of us were tiptoeing around each other. And I don't do a lot of tiptoeing, so this was quite the event. Yeah, I'll admit I kinda forced him into a cruel position. The greatest kindness I could offer him would be to ensure we never interact so he wouldn't suffer any further.
"So what's gone on with the judo club since then?" I asked. Of course, with the geas cast on me preventing me from being involved with them again, there was no way for me to know.
Unsurprisingly, Yuigahama was well connected and informed. She clackity-clacked into her cell phone, probably texting someone about it. "Um, well, they haven't really gotten any more new members, but they say a bunch of the guys who quit have come back."
"Oh?" Well, if a demonstration like that would get new people to join, no club would ever struggle. And that's not even touching on how the biggest stars of that event had been Hayama, Zaimokuza, and Yukinoshita. There wasn't much that would have inspired people to join the judo club, as an organization.
"It wasn't quite all of them, but some former members came back because that graduate stopped coming," Yukinoshita supplemented as she turned the page of her paperback.
"Oh yeah. That's surprising, huh? He did win in the end, so you'd think he'd be all, I'm the strongest! Augh! And come more."
"Uh, I don't think so," I remarked, snickering at Yuigahama's ditzy gesticulating.
Yukinoshita seemed to find fault with this, as she dropped her bookmark into her paperback and closed it with a smack. "I don't suppose you figured this would happen and lost deliberately?"
"Uh, I did pretty seriously go in to win…" In fact, I'd even thought I had won there at the end.
"…Wow, that's sad."
No need to be quite so honest, okay, Miss Yuigahama?
"Is that right…? It looked to me as if you were provoking him. I thought for sure your plan was to cede victory to accomplish some greater end."
Yukinoshita had the habit of thinking too much about things, but I could see where she was coming from.
"It didn't matter if I won or lost; that's all. But if I had won, then the guy would've been more likely to stop coming."
"What do you mean?" Yuigahama's eyebrows quirked upward thoughtfully as she considered with a hmm.
But it wasn't that complex. "Nothing much. All I had to do was teach him how 'there's no seat for your ass anyway!'" I said.
But that just made Yuigahama's eyebrows even more confused. My point had not been communicated.
Yukinoshita, however, cracked a smile. "…I see," she replied. Just that one remark, as if she understood, then she returned to her reading.
The gesture piqued Yuigahama's curiosity, and she went over to shake the answer out of Yukinoshita. "Huh? What's that mean? What's that mean?"
Yukinoshita looked extremely annoyed at being rattled around, but she was stubbornly committed to reading. It looked like the pair would be fooling around for a little while more.
Like Yukinoshita, I pulled a book out of my bag and opened up to my bookmarked page. But even when I ran my eyes across the lines, my head didn't really absorb the content, and I gave up and closed it again.
That graduate must have seen this school as the place he wanted to come back to. It had made him feel nostalgic, comfortable, and glad—so much so that he'd heedlessly wanted to make it his escape.
But his escape here had trapped him even further. So with that stress on his shoulders, he'd wanted to run even further—an endless loop of running from reality. That was why, unless he saw himself in the mirror and felt the gaze of society and the light of day, he wouldn't have even been able to recognize that fact.
In the end, if you generate stress for yourself, you're the only one who can relieve it. You either keep running, or you turn around and face it. Which option did that graduate choose?
Well, it didn't matter. His final remark to me at the end of the match still echoed in my ears.
I looked out the window.
Big, billowing columns of clouds rose up over the distant line of the horizon over the sea. I could hear the yells of the sports clubs, the tones of the brass band, and the lively voices of the girls' chattering filling the clubroom.
Suddenly, I wondered.
One day, would I have a place that I wanted to go back to?
The question stayed in my mind.
Short Story 4
Regardless, Hachiman Hikigaya's positive thinking is completely twisted.
It was now the time of cool breezes—or rather, winds that occasionally ran cold.
"The Chiba Prefecture–Wide Advice E-mail…" I announced the title as listlessly as the stirring fall wind, and Yuigahama gave a patter of applause. But then Yukinoshita gave her a dubious glance, and the applause wilted away.
Yuigahama pulled herself together, opened the inbox, and started reading the first e-mail. "Umm, the first message of the day is from Chiba city, username: Master Swordsman General."
Request for advice from username: Master Swordsman General
A deadline for one of the biggest imprints in the industry is nigh.
Victory, how?!
…He sends way too many of these. He's scary, like someone aggressively trying to talk to a bot on Twitter.
"What is this?" Having read the e-mail, Yuigahama tilted her head, and with a sigh, Yukinoshita summoned me.
"Hikigaya."
"I know, I know."
At this point it's like—like taking care of your aging parents. It's fine; I'll stay with you until the end… Having attained this state of benevolence—of sheer enlightenment—I typed out an e-mail.
Response from the Service Club:
Don't give me this selfish stuff about the biggest in the business. Just send it in to Gagaga Bunko. It'll be fine; they're with Showgakkan (or whatever they're called). Also, as a Gagaga author, it seems you will not be able to marry a voice actress.
"Well, that's one down. Next, Yuigahama." Despite not having done anything, Yukinoshita wore an expression of relief as she prompted the next.
Not even questioning it, Yuigahama started reading out the next email. "Um, next message. In Chiba city, from the username: Bro's little sister."
Request for advice from username: Bro's little sister
Maybe it's 'cause it's been cold lately, but the cat's been coming into bed with me, and he uses my arm as his pillow. I've never even done that with my bro! (That was worth a lot of Komachi points.) Komachi can't roll over, and he keeps huffing right in my ear. It's kind of annoying. Is there a good way to deal with this?
Once Yuigahama was finished reading it out, both girls gave me strangely unenthusiastic looks.
"So she says, Bro."
"There you have it, Bro."
"Shut up. And don't call me Bro." Komachi is the only one allowed to call me that. If they say Bro Bro too much, I'll go and found Chanko Dining or something.
"…By the way, ah, does your cat actually, um, sleep together with you? A-and sleep on your arm?" Yukinoshita glanced over at me, eyes upturned like she was somehow embarrassed. It was a sweet gesture, but unfortunately, her tightly clenched fists robbed it of any cuteness.
"No. With me, that cat always comes straight on top of my stomach," I said, and Yuigahama laughed at me.
"Doesn't that mean he's treating you with contempt? Kamakura sees you as beneath him, Hikki."
"He's not like your dog."
"Cats are fundamentally solitary creatures, so they don't have a social hierarchy. They will form groups, but in their case, it appears to be closer to a parent-child relationship. It may be that with Komachi, he's displaying the sort of dependent behavior he would show toward a mother cat." Yukinoshita expertly rattled off an analysis-filled something or other… Yuigahama and I were both kinda weirded out.
"You know everything, huh, Yukipedia…?"
"Would you stop calling me that?" Yukinoshita glared at me sullenly. It seemed she was not as all-knowing as a certain other -pedia. Well, if she didn't like it, it was best to revise that form of address.
"Sorry, Catipedia."
"There you go."
"You're okay with that?!"
It seemed she was, as Yukinoshita ignored Yuigahama's surprise and gave a satisfied nod.
Thanks to Yukinoshita's pointless lecture, I basically understood what my cat was doing. "…In other words, you're saying he climbs onto my stomach because of my overflowing househusband aura." Even cats recognize that I was made to be a househusband. I'd expect nothing less of myself. I believe I'd like to live a catlike lifestyle in the future.
But Yukinoshita's lips twitched in a cold smile, ready to destroy my ambition. "Couldn't you also say that a cat sitting on you is similar to a feline parent holding its kitten?"
"So he's being treated like a kid."
"…Heh, so, like, my overflowing dependent aura is what makes him do that." I even made a cat want to support me. Wow, me.
"That's some serious positive thinking!"
"We've gone beyond positive thinking at this point; it's downright mania… Well, maybe there's something to be learned from such a perspective," Yukinoshita commented, then began typing a response e-mail.
Response from the Service Club:
You get to sleep with a cat. You can put up with a few annoyances, can't you?
Just get a cat already.