7

Some spells don’t use MP

A few days passed, and the school festival arrived.

The scene at Sekitomo High School was transformed.

Inside the regular gate was another gate, which read WELCOME TO THE SEKITOMO FESTIVAL! and had been decorated with colorful paper flowers and garlands. After stepping through it, I walked down the hallway, smiling wryly at the signs reading OKONOMIYAKI, GAME CENTER, HORROR! HORROR CLASSROOM! COUPLE-LAND , and MAID CAFÉ WATANABE, and headed for my usual classroom—that is, Sewing Room #2.

Even though I arrived pretty early, I spotted a smattering of students in the hallways and classrooms finishing up some last-minute preparations. Maybe because of all the distractions, no one spared me a glance as I headed to the abandoned wing of the school.

This would be my last meeting with Hinami before the festival.

Over the past two weeks, I’d considered everything that had happened and come up with the best answers I could.

I’d only completed two of the three assignments she’d given me, but the key point seemed to be what I would do from this point on.

I arrived at Sewing Room #2. As I walked through the door, I saw that Hinami was already there.

“…Hey.”

“Morning. You’re in a good mood today.” With that simple greeting out of the way, Hinami went on. “Well, have you made up your mind?”

The punch came out of the blue, striking right into the heart of the matter. The school festival hadn’t dulled her edge at all.

But she couldn’t keep me twisted around her finger forever.

“Yeah…I have.”

She nodded, apparently impressed by my succinct answer. “That’s a relief. I didn’t know what I’d do if you were still floundering around.”

“Finally managed it.” I was getting nervous as I thought about what I was planning to do.

Hinami smiled. “Well, the rest is up to you. I’m looking forward to hearing how it goes.”

“…Yeah.”

We’d checked in on my progress and confirmed what I still needed to do. Now that we’d each said what we had to say, I figured the meeting was over—but no.

Hinami wanted to chat for once. “…Have you seen the script?”

“What?”

I was caught off guard by the change of topic.

I wouldn’t say that we never had casual conversations, but it was definitely rare for her to suddenly bring up a subject this unrelated to my assignments.

“Of course I’ve seen it. Some parts she just told me about, but I’ve been helping her out the whole time,” I answered confidently.

“Ah,” Hinami said, then fell silent for a moment. “That’s fine then. I was just wondering how much influence you had.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know you did those interviews,” she said vaguely, then stopped. This was out of character, bringing it up again after she’d acted so uninterested.

“All I did was lend an ear when she was unsure about something… The play is almost entirely her own work.”

“…Ah,” she replied curtly, then rearranged her expression. “That’s all I was wondering about. Well, today’s the big day. You ready?” A silent challenge was in her eyes; she was trying to motivate me.

Something about it unsettled me, but to be honest, I was already feeling really anxious. For now, I’d better focus on the challenge right in front of me.

“Of course. Gamers want to win—we know better than anyone how to bring everything to the table when it matters.”

I tried to psych myself up.

Today, I was going to say how I felt, so I could do what I wanted to do.

I absolutely couldn’t mess this up.

* * *

After the meeting ended, I walked down the hallway to “Manga Café Banchoo,” aka the second-year Class Two classroom. I’m not sure why we decided to do a parody of Manga Café Manboo, and no one knows why we chose the name Banchoo, either—I think Izumi, Takei, or Mimimi thought it would be funny, and people just rolled with it. Whatever, it’s the school festival; anything goes.

As soon as I walked into the classroom, I heard an overly cheerful voice call my name.

“Braaaaaaaain!!”

She ran up to me with a smile so wide, even the extra excitement of the school festival couldn’t fully account for it. Her recent tension seemed to be gone, and the usual Mimimi was back in full force.

“Morning. You’re really loud.”

“Ooh, ouch!”

The awkwardness between us was almost completely gone—probably had skit practice to thank for that. We’d been obsessively recording ourselves chatting with a “comedy-skit tempo” and then listening to the recordings and critiquing them—basically, a two-person version of what I’d done to get better at talking. So this progress was really a matter of course.

We’d kept this up for less than two weeks, but with feedback from Mimimi the expert, I’d gradually gotten a feel for what a “comedy-skit tempo” actually was. I was ready to take on the challenge of the real thing.

But…

“Uhhh…”

I let out an inarticulate noise. What was she wearing?

She didn’t miss my reaction. “Can’t take your eyes off me in this, huh?!”

“Uh, that’s not true…”

Yeah. Instead of her usual uniform, she was wearing the class T-shirt.

“So?! How’s it look?!”

She stretched it out for me to see. Her figure was already attention-grabbing, but it stood out even more in that shirt. Come on, did you do that on purpose? Are you trying to throw me off-balance?

Since we’re second-year Class Two, the shirt was orange with an illustration of a crab making two peace signs. The famous haniwa clay figurine took a place of honor on the back, which I was sure was Mimimi’s idea. She’d rolled the sleeves all the way up to show off her shoulders, and that plus the unique combo of a T-shirt with her uniform skirt made for a particularly eye-catching outfit.

“…Awww, cute.”

“What?!”

“The crab, I mean.”

“The crab?!”

We were enjoying our silly banter. Compared with a few weeks ago, it was amazing how relaxed our interactions were, and I also felt like our practice sessions had improved my basic ability to joke around.

I glanced at the people nearby. About 80 percent of our classmates were wearing the T-shirts, and I’d slipped mine on under my button-down, too. To tell the truth, it was the first time in my life I’d bought something like this.

“Out of my way, out of my way!”

Suddenly, our festival-committee chair, Izumi, came barging by. When I turned my head in surprise, I saw she was hugging a few dozen manga to her chest. She’s a gag-manga fan, huh? She was already so off-balance, I was sure she was going to drop them all over the floor whether we moved out of the way or not.

“B-be carefu—!”

I’d better prop her up instead of getting out of the way.

“I gotcha!” I called, successfully catching her.

Supporting her with one hand on her shoulder and the other on her side, I managed to prevent Izumi and her books from flying onto the floor, but…

“Ah, thanks.”

“Uh, um…”

Her shoulder and her side. As the sensation of her soft, warm body spread through my hands, her usual vanilla-y perfume tickled my nose. Her shoulder and side. Her pretty face was just centimeters away from my own. Shoulder and side. I didn’t know exactly what was different, but maybe she’d put in some extra work on her makeup, because she was even more dolled up than ever—shoulder and side—and her hair had some extra bounce in the curls for a kind of party-ish look. All of it suited Izumi’s cheerful personality perfectly and at least doubled or tripled her attractiveness, but she was Nakamura’s girl.

There was a vivid, electric sense in the air. Our eyes met, and my brain went blank.

Just then…

“…Huh?!”

Feeling a pair of sharp eyes on my back, I turned around, and a chill ran down my spine. There was Nakamura, glaring at me in full force; I think his anger had even turned his hair bright red.

Wait, what?

“R-red…?!”

I stared at him in surprise. This was no metaphor or mistake. His usual bleach-blond hair had been dyed bright red. Wait, what is going on?

“Hey, Tomozaki.” He walked toward me, his usual intimidation factor increased significantly by his scary face and bright hair. He grabbed the back of my neck. “Let’s tear it up!”

“Yeah, ow, ow, ow!”

“Okay.”

He was obviously pissed that I’d touched Izumi, but he didn’t say anything. Guess it was his pride as the top of the class. Stuff like this was what made him a power-normie.

“Ooh! That looks pretty good on you, Shuji,” Izumi remarked, with no sign of surprise.

“Thanks.”

They were talking like everything was normal. Um, wait a second, guys.

“Wait, wait, wait, is that allowed?” I asked timidly.

I mean, he might be able to get away with it now because of the school festival, but didn’t hair dye last for a while? No way the teachers would put up with it after today. Although, they did put up with his bleached hair; did that meant they’d let this go, too? I had zero experience with the rules of dyed hair, so I didn’t have a clue.

“This? Ya know…”

“Farm Boy’s here!!”

A loud voice interrupted Nakamura’s answer. Of course, the idiot behind the voice was Takei, and Mizusawa was walking behind him. But.

“’Sup.”

The two of them didn’t seem surprised by Nakamura’s red hair, either.

“H-hey, i-is that…?” I said, pointing an unsteady finger at Nakamura’s face.

Mizusawa laughed. “Heh-heh. Count on Fumiya for a good reaction.”

When I looked over at him, I noticed that his bangs were pushed up off his forehead, which somehow made me think of a bar or club. Takei was just Takei.

“Y-you look really different, too, Mizusawa…”

“Ha-ha-ha. Meet Takahiro Mizusawa the bartender.”

He bowed, seeming extremely used to the gesture. I’m sure if he actually was a bartender, he’d be hugely successful at it. I didn’t get why the hairstyle was necessary to begin with, but I guess this was just part of the school festival.

Anyway, when the red-haired Nakamura and the slicked-back Mizusawa stood next to each other, they really stood out. And Takei was so buff, it was like he was their private security guard or something. Quite the trio.

“Hey, would you help me carry these?”

“Huh?”

“Please!”

I listened to the conversation between the couple next to me. Izumi wasn’t the tiniest bit scared of Nakamura’s intimidating voice. Well, she was his girlfriend. Maybe she knew a side of him no one else did, so she wasn’t not afraid of him anymore or something.

“Come on, just help me out!” she said, giving him a big smile.

Izumi basically has no dark side, and as far as I can tell, she’s a really good person—but sometimes, I suspect she purposely uses her girliness as a weapon. Not many guys would say no to that smile.

“…God. Fine, I’ll help you.”

Apparently, Nakamura was no exception.

Nakamura glanced at me as he took some of the books from her, then handed them over to me like that was the obvious thing to do. The hell, dude?

“You take some, Takahiro and Takei!”

“Sure,” Mizusawa said, casually taking a stack.

Somehow, everyone had been pulled in. Whatever, this is just part of the school festival. And we’re all on the organizing committee.

Izumi was now empty-handed, and of course, she was wearing the class T-shirt, too. Unlike Mimimi, she’d bunched up the bottom of the shirt with a hair tie, and upon closer inspection, I noticed it had little red crab-claw decorations on it. She’s very attentive to detail. The hair tie shortened the shirt, so every time she took a step, a glimpse of her stomach showed. Apparently, in normie language, this is considered “cute,” not “sexy” or “hot.” Native speakers use the same word in many different contexts, you know.

“Yuzu…you’re not ready yet? Everyone’s gonna be here in two hours!”

“I know that! Instead of telling me about it, how about helping me out, Aoi?!”

“Okay, okay.”

Hinami walked over, livening up the atmosphere even more.

Once the six of us finished chatting and setting out the manga in an aesthetically pleasing display, Hinami and Izumi went flying down the hallway, apparently to finish some other work. Well, they are the student council president and the festival chair. As I watched them absently, Tama-chan passed them, coming into the classroom.

“Morning.”

When our eyes met, she greeted me in a completely natural, straightforward tone, which told me it had no hidden meaning whatsoever other than This is a greeting. Typical Tama-chan. Not only was she wearing the class shirt, but she also had a pair of bear ears on her head. She bounced over and stopped in front of me.

“…What are you looking at?”

For some reason, she sounded sullen. Um, what do you mean? If you wear something like that, of course people are gonna look. It’s your own fault for wearing them. Mizusawa and Nakamura were staring, too.

I decided to give an honest opinion.

“They’re perfect for you.”

“Shut up! That’s not a compliment!”

Nakamura and Mizusawa laughed. Which is to say, Nakamura and Tama-chan were still on good terms, and I was happy to see that their relationship had stabilized with no sign of their former friction.

“Why are you getting mad at me…?” I protested.

It seemed that Mimimi had made her put them on despite Tama-chan’s misgivings. So take them off already!

“But she said she thought they’d look cute on me, and she bought them with her own money. So I’m wearing them for her. Just for today.”

“…Hmmm.”

The only comments I could think of were They’re adorable, They’re silly, and I wish you’d wear them for the rest of your life. But they did suit her, and there was no harm, right? Mizusawa teased her (“How sweet…”) and was promptly told to shut up. All was going well.

Finally, Tama-chan turned to me and stared at my uniform. “…Tomozaki, where’s your T-shirt?”

She sounded worried. I didn’t fit in with the class much before, and she and I both had really individualistic personalities, so I’m sure she was imagining all kinds of explanations. I’d let out a sigh of relief when I saw her wearing the shirt, so she’d probably hoped for the same from me.

“No worries. I’m wearing it underneath.”

She gave me a relieved smile, then turned her head away in apparent disinterest. “Good.”

“What’s that mean?”

“What do you think?”

The odd rapport between us, like old friends, was pleasant and comfortable. I bet Nakamura and those guys wouldn’t get it. Tama-chan giggled.

“I’m glad. I think we’ll both be able to enjoy this festival.” Her eyes were straightforward and honest as always; there was more between the lines of that comment, but only members of our unique species would catch it.

We didn’t always fight alongside each other, but I think we did fight in the same way.

I smiled as strongly with as much normie energy as I could and said, “Me too.”

My reply meant more than I’d said as well. She nodded, waved, and disappeared down the hallway.

Takei, who hadn’t been part of the conversation at all, waved at her the most energetically of anyone. “Man, Tama’s really my type!”

That was a real shock to hear. I glanced over at Mizusawa and Nakamura. They were surprised, too.

“So that’s the kind of girl you like?”

For once, Mizusawa sounded confused, but without losing his trademark sense of fun. Nakamura jumped on the chance to tease him.

“That tracks, since you act about as young as she looks.”

“Good point!” Takei said, ignoring the fact that Nakamura was making fun of him. He just seemed happy to hear they were a good match. The three of us smirked. Better run fast, Tama-chan.

“Anyway…” Mizusawa thumped my shoulder, changing the subject. “Ready to go, Fumiya, like we talked about?”

“Uh…yeah.”

Following the three of them, I headed off to the detached guy’s bathroom, which not many people used.

The night before, I’d gotten a LINE message from Mizusawa saying, [Come to school without wax or anything in your hair tomorrow]. So you can probably imagine what was about to happen.

* * *

“What is this…?”

Fifteen minutes or so had passed.

My hair was as perfectly coiffed as a model on the front of one of those magazines you read at the hair salon. After you got a cut, they usually styled it at the salon so it looked all cool, but this was on a different level. I could’ve stepped out of a CG illustration.

“Well, if you really must know…it’s a classic inner-outer bubble mash.”

“A classic inner-outer bubble mash…?”

“Wow, you remembered it the first time.”

Hinami has trained me well in the arcane language of fashion. I have no idea what any of it means, but if all I have to do is parrot words, I’m your man.

But seriously, what was going on with my hair? He’d curled it with some superhot tong things, worked in some wax, exploded my whole head, mashed it all down, and coaxed everything into place with his fingertips to complete his masterpiece.

“…It’s amazing,” I muttered as Mizusawa applied a final mist of hair spray.

Curls were scattered around my head in bunches, like I’d gotten a perm. This wasn’t your average everyday stylish hairdo. And yet, it felt like a logical next step in the path I’d been growing along, so it wouldn’t give a tryhard impression, either. I had zero confidence in my appearance, but this was so amazing, it made even me think I actually looked cool. Seriously, I doubt anyone would see me and think, There’s an Atafami nerd.

“Takahiro, you’re incredible!!”

“You could charge for this. Tomozaki the playa!”

Takei was excited about my hair, and Nakamura was grinning and giving his approval, too. I didn’t like being called a player, but at least the reaction seemed to be positive… I mean, my hair was amazing.

Mizusawa nodded with satisfaction as he surveyed his work.

“It’s a little behind the times, but it’s still a classic, and I think it suits you better than something more casual like the spiral perms, even if they are in right now.”

“Uh, I have no idea what you just said, but I guess so?”

I’m good at remembering new words, but I’m bad at long passages, so I gave up on that one. Guess I better work on my listening skills.

“Right. That color wax looks better on Shuji than I expected, so we’re all good for today.”

“Color wax…?”

I didn’t know that exact term, but that one I could guess. A styling product with color, right? Which meant…

“Oh…you didn’t dye it, then.”

“Ha-ha-ha. ’Course not.” Nakamura smiled good-naturedly and poked me in the shoulder.

“Why didn’t you say so before?”

I slumped my shoulders, and Nakamura wrapped his arms around me and Mizusawa. “No big deal, right? So…let’s go out there and get ourselves some LINE info!”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah!”

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Mizusawa and Takei answered Nakamura in unison—I was the only one to protest.

“Ha-ha-ha, what’s wrong, Fumiya?” Mizusawa laughed. Glad you’re enjoying yourself, dude.

“What’s wrong? …Oh, never mind. That’s just what this thing is like. I get it.” As I resigned myself to my fate, Nakamura flashed a toothy smile.

“I like how you gave in so easy, Fumin.”

“I’m used to it. This is how you guys roll.”

“Ha-ha-ha. You know it.”

His grin widened. He seemed to be in a better mood than usual. Must be that school-festival spirit.

“Ready, men?” Mizusawa said, wrapping his arms around our shoulders to pull us into a circle. “We’ve got me in charge of nightlife, Shuji in charge of cutting loose, Fumiya in charge of salon-dos, and Takei. I think we’re good! Let’s go!”

“Whoo-hoo!” the four of us hooted. Takei didn’t seem to notice Mizusawa’s little dig and actually grinned and shouted louder than anyone else. Yeah, Takei is just Takei. Also, what’s a salon-do?

* * *

After the formal opening ceremony in the gym ended, we had free time.

Kids from other schools wouldn’t be let in for a few more hours, so this was when Sekitomo High natives were supposed to visit one another’s stands. The four of us wandered around, checking out the other classes. Nakamura and Mizusawa were hard to miss when they were by themselves, so with the two of them together, we became the center of attention everywhere we went. I figured that as long as I kept my mouth shut, I should give a pretty good first impression to people standing a couple meters away, which made me confident enough to implement the perfect strategy: standing around with cocky body language and saying nothing. Surprisingly, several first-year girls got swept up in the excitement when Nakamura and Mizusawa asked to exchange LINE info and asked if they could have “their friend’s” info, too. I can’t claim much credit since I did absolutely nothing, but wow, appearance sure is powerful.

We spent the morning doing that until—

“Oh, Mizusawa-san! Tomozaki-san!”

Lunch was over, and students from other schools had been filtering in for twenty minutes or so.

The manga café in the second-year Class Two classroom was already turning into a lazy spot for hanging out when the laziest girl of all showed up.

It was Gumi-chan, wearing an oversize black hoodie with a white print on the sleeves. Apparently, she’d brought along two of her flawlessly cool friends.

“Hey, Gumi…and?” Mizusawa said, pausing for a second. “Oh, it’s Yoko-chan and Hitomi-chan!”

Nakamura and I exchanged glances at his smooth greeting. If Takei had a tail, it would have been wagging in excitement at the cute girls who’d just arrived.

Wait. What did Mizusawa just say?

“Uh, Nakamura…,” I said. “He just called those two by their first names, didn’t he?”

“Yup,” Nakamura replied. “Sounds like you know the other one already?”

“Well, her name is Gumi-chan, and she works at the same place as Mizusawa and me…but the other two don’t.”

“Tomozaki…I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I believe you’re right, Nakamura.”

Nakamura and I were engaging in a historically unprecedented level of buddy-buddy conversation, letting Mizusawa and his friends know we had our eyes on them.

“Hey, Takahiro. Those your friends?” Nakamura asked.

Mizusawa threw us an obnoxiously triumphant smile, but all he said was, “Yeah.” Apparently, the a-hole was keeping us hanging on purpose…

“I have a bad feeling about this,” I said, parroting what Nakamura had just said in a loud voice to poke at Mizusawa.

“Ha-ha-ha. Not quite… What would you ladies call it?” he said, turning toward Gumi-chan’s friends. The two of them exchanged uneasy glances.

“Um…”

“I’m not sure…”

They laughed nervously.

Mizusawa laughed, too, and turned back to us.

“Well, if I had to put a name on it…,” he said, raising one eyebrow. “I think I’d call them customers.”

““…What?”” Nakamura and I said in unison.

The three girls burst out giggling.

“Let’s just call us acquaintances and leave it at that,” said Mizusawa. “Take your time here, you three!”

“Sure,” Gumi-chan answered listlessly, and the three of them sat down at a table.

The “Banchoo” classroom, as it was called, had been divided into four with soundproofing panels, and it had different spaces in each quarter.

In one, little tables and legless chairs had been set out so people could laze around on the floor.

In another, there was a tall bar counter where people could laze around side by side.

In the last two, there were regular tables and chairs for regular lazing around.

Essentially, it was designed for being lazy wherever you sat, which made it the perfect place for Gumi-chan.

At some point, the concept had morphed into one where the kids in charge of the café were goofing off and reading manga with the customers. What a lazy bunch we were.

Gumi-chan and her friends were seated at a table made from four pushed-together desks. And then…

“So you’re friends of Takahiro’s?”

With that slick line, Nakamura sat down next to them. What the hell was this guy doing? Wasn’t Izumi his girlfriend?

“Yes!”

“N-nice to meet you!”

Gumi’s friends both sat up straighter as they answered him.

He gave them a crooked smile. “You guys are too nervous,” he chided.

They both smiled but seemed flustered at the same time, and eventually, their eyes landed on Gumi-chan. Nakamura followed their lead.

“And that one is too relaxed.”

“Huh?”

Everyone laughed, including me, and the mood eased. Damn Nakamura… I guess there’s more to him than a scary face and a cool-guy persona.

“Oh, hi. I’m Tsugumi.”

I couldn’t help smiling at Gumi-chan’s oddly timed, tepid self-introduction. What the heck was she responding to?

“Wait, now is when you decide to introduce yourself?” I interjected with the comedic timing I’d developed with Mimimi.

It went over well, and everyone laughed. Not bad.

“Anyway, you guys sure are acting like players today,” said Gumi-chan.

“Just today? I’m always a player,” said Nakamura.

“Uh, that’s not exactly a good thing, you know.”

I laughed again at the conversation. How do these people do it naturally when it took me so much practice to finally manage a few jokes?

“Why don’t you get yourself a girlfriend and give it a break? I bet you could find one if you wanted to,” she went on lethargically. Her friends nodded, although they still seemed nervous. Wait, did they ever introduce themselves?

I decided to ask their names. Partly because I wanted the EXP, and partly because I wanted to properly meet the friends of a friend. Since they were younger than me, I made an effort to play it cool.

“By the way, what are your names?”

I managed to say it smoothly. I’d gotten some training in talking this way to a girl I’d just met when Kikuchi-san and I interviewed Maehashi-san, and I think I did a fairly good job of it this time.

“Oh, I’m Hitomi.”

“I’m Yoko.”

Even though I was older, I was way worse at being cool about it. They’re introducing themselves using only their first names! Should I copy them and use my first name, too?

“Nice to meetcha. I’m Shuji.”

“Uh, I’m Fumiya. Pleased to meet you,” I said, hiding in Nakamura’s shadow. When everyone else was on a first-name basis, I knew better than to introduce myself as Tomozaki.

“Hi! I’m Takei!!”

Or so I thought, until Takei jumped in with his last name, waving his hand energetically. Well, in Takei’s case, “Takei” is more Takei-ish, so you keep doing you, Takei.

Just then, when we’d finally managed to get a conversation with all three of them rolling—

“Braaaaaaaain!!”

—I heard that overly excited voice for the second time in the same day.

“…Hey, what’s going on here?!” Obviously surprised by the situation, Mimimi surveyed the three girls. “…Am I interrupting something?!”

“Oh, definitely not,” Mizusawa jumped in, and everyone laughed again.

“Whatever. Brain! We better do our final practice soon!”

“Oh right.”

Our skit would be in the evening. We’d be using a little performance space where people could come and go as they liked, and it would only last five minutes, but I was still nervous. I was hoping as few people as possible would show up.

“You’re doing something, Tomozaki-san?” Gumi-chan asked.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just a comedy skit.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Ooh, that sounds really fun! I’m going to come watch you!”

“Shit.”

“Mizusawa-saaaaan,” Gumi-chan whined, “did you hear what he said to me?!”

“What do you want me to do? He’s honest that way.”

Mizusawa had taken my side, I jumped right on the chance. “Yeah! ‘Shit’ was just the word that came to mind. And I say what I mean.”

“Ugh, what the heck?! You need better words to come to mind, then.”

We were having one of our usual lethargic, contentless conversations, just like we did at Karaoke Sevens. Since I’m not a natural normie, I’m good at assessing the battlefield, and once I realized Mizusawa was on my side—that I had an advantage—I was able to go on the attack. Although, I personally thought I sounded like a real jerk.

Mimimi was peering at us with a puzzled expression. “The B-Brain is acting like a real upperclassman…”

Mizusawa chuckled at her surprised reaction, which I didn’t really understand.

“Fumiya’s a good big brother, isn’t he?” he asked Gumi-chan.

She nodded and said, “Yes, he is!” then looked at Mimimi. “When I’m hanging out on the sofas in the karaoke rooms, he always comes by and tells me to get to work!” The nerve of this girl.

“Oh, so you do know you shouldn’t be hanging out on the sofas!” I butted in.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Mimimi listened to our conversation, laughing a little, but she didn’t really join in. I guess even Mimimi gets nervous when she’s around three people she doesn’t know.

“There’s more to Tomozaki-san than meets the eye,” Gumi-chan said.

“What’s that mean?” I asked. She turned an intense gaze on Mimimi before answering:

“Can you believe he was picking up girls at my school when he had such a cute comedy partner in his own grade?”

Mizusawa burst out laughing at her little speech, and her friends both made shocked noises.

I panicked at the sudden turn of events and avoided looking at Mimimi.

“W-we weren’t really picking up girls…”

I tried to think of an excuse to cover up my crime, but since everything Gumi-chan said was 100 percent accurate, I couldn’t come up with anything. Everyone knew I’d been to a festival at a girls’ school, but I was hoping to keep the part with the girls secret. Too late now.

“Explain yourself, Brain! Going to a girls’ school to flirt?!”

“W-wait, Mimimi, it wasn’t like that…!”

“Brain! S-s-since when did you become so sh-shallow?!”

“N-no, it’s just that Mizusawa…”

“You were with Takahiro?! Then I know it’s true, Brain!”

“His name is enough to make me guilty?!”

Contrary to my intentions, I apparently dug my own grave by involving Mizusawa, and now her suspicions were even deeper. Or maybe I should say she’d gotten a step closer to the truth.

“…Okay! Let’s go! Time to practice!” I said.

“Answer the question!” she shouted as I ran out of the classroom to escape her. Of course, then I realized it was pointless because we’d end up together to practice anyway.

* * *

Twenty or thirty minutes had passed since I explained myself to Mimimi and we had our final session.

“I-it’s finally time…,” I mumbled.

We were in the multipurpose hall next to the main school building.

It was about a fourth of the size of the gym, smaller than it looked, and it was where we usually had meetings with the other classes in our grade. Mimimi and I were waiting in the wings off the stage.

“Why are you so nervous?!”

“W-wouldn’t anyone be…?”

I mean, we were about to stand up in front of an audience and do a comedy skit. Characters at my level just don’t do this stuff.

She was wearing an embroidered satin baseball jacket with her uniform shirt and skirt, (very school festival–ish), and I was wearing a sort of gaudy jacket she’d lent me. The usual haniwa charms were sticking out of both of our pockets. Of course, all this was Mimimi’s idea.

“We’ll be fine! I mean, no one expects much, and it probably won’t go that well anyway!”

“What is ‘fine’ about any of that?” I shot back.

She grinned. “Perfect! That’s all you have to do! Just like we practiced!” She slapped my shoulder.

“Ouch!”

I made sure my voice wasn’t loud enough for the audience to hear.

“It comes natural now! So you’ll be fine. Got it?”

“…Got it.”

She did have a point. We’d practiced so much that the patterns must have sunk in. Leaving aside the question of whether this stage was beyond my level, I was fairly sure it was impossible in the game of life for a good effort to lead to no results at all. Fairly sure.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

“Let’s do it!”

We grinned at each other.

A few minutes later, the moment arrived.

“Next up is a comedy skit by TM Revolution! Break a leg, guys!”

Uh, when did we get a name…?

“What did he just call us?!”

“Oh, I got the ‘TM’ from ‘Tomozaki’ and ‘Mimimi’! Here we go!”

“Typical…”

Letting her sweep away the last of my nerves, I leaped out onto the stage.

* * *

“Hello out there!”

We jumped out together and walked over to the stands, where two regular old mics were set up.

A light several times stronger than what I’d expected beamed down on us. With this light in my eyes, I couldn’t see the audience very well.

“Okay, let’s do this!” Mimimi cheered. Maybe because she was in front of an audience, she sounded even more energetic than usual, almost like she was talking to the people watching us. “Guess what, Tomozaki-san?”

“What is it, Nanami-san?”

“They’re letting us perform a skit as a couple! How about that?”

I took a breath and focused on a natural delivery. “Funny how we have different last names, then.”

That line got a laugh from about a quarter as many people as I’d hoped for. Uh, that’s showbiz?

But so far, we were just testing the waters. We could get the audience back with the main skit.

As the little ripple of laughter continued, I thought about the situation. My line was next, but Mimimi seemed to have set the right tone, like she was chatting with someone out in the audience.

Normally, it was just the two of us going back and forth, but we probably should talk to the people watching sometimes. That fit with our goal to sound as unscripted as possible, and the audience would probably have an easier time following along. The way Mimimi had slipped in that little improv bit so easily was another sign of how good she was in front of a crowd.

I swiveled toward the audience, making an effort to adapt.

That’s when it happened.

I hadn’t been able to see the audience before—but suddenly, I could see several dozen people looking straight at us.

That instant.

The worst imaginable scenario happened.

It was simple.

“…Gulp.”

My mind went blank.

I broke out in an oily sweat, and the world went dim around the edges.

My hands were shaking so much that even I was surprised, which made me even more nervous.

Flailing for some kind of life preserver, I visualized the flash cards I’d used to memorize the script, but I couldn’t remember anything—even though I’d rehearsed the gist until it should have been beyond perfect.

To be absolutely sure I didn’t forget, I’d practiced it over and over during breaks and after I got home from school until I knew it backward and forward. Even on the train to and from school, I’d used flash cards with our lines written on them.

Of course, I didn’t memorize specific words or phrases, just the general sort of thing I was supposed to say. I didn’t want to sound like I was acting. But whenever I reviewed it, I only gave myself a pass if I was able to turn those abstract concepts into concrete lines, so I’d even gotten practice in a certain level of improv.

That’s why my blank mind was so unexpected.

I’d assumed that if my nerves made me mess up, it would be because I couldn’t come up with a natural-sounding line on the spot, or because I ended up reciting exactly the lines I’d memorized, like I was reading a script out loud. Those were the mistakes I expected.

But at that moment, every last hint of what I should say next disappeared from my mind.

“So…”

I smiled, saying anything just to fill the silence. It was my turn to talk. The audience probably didn’t realize yet what was happening, but I was fairly sure that Mimimi sensed something was amiss.

Just then.

“But anyway, Tomozaki-san!” Mimimi abruptly went off script. “Do you know where the name ‘TM Revolution’ came from?”

This wasn’t a minor change in the script; it was total ad-libbing.

“The name? No, I don’t.”

Desperately trying not to break the rhythm, I completed my half of the call-and-response.

“Well, ‘T’ is for ‘Tomozaki.’”

“Uh-huh.”

“And ‘M’ is for me, Minami-chan.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“And…”

Mimimi turned her palms toward her face and struck a pose.

“…Revolution!”

No one laughed.

Of course they didn’t—she was just running in place.

But I still knew what she was doing—she was throwing me a lifeline.

I had to save us from our plight.

We only had this one chance. I was the one who’d messed up by forgetting the script, and the whole thing would be crap if I didn’t fix it. All our practice and all the ideas she’d thought up would be wasted, leaving Mimimi alone to spin her wheels.

I couldn’t let that happen.

I took a breath and tried to think of some words.

What should I say?

I considered following Mimimi’s lead and giving some exaggerated, obvious comeback.

But that didn’t seem right.

Mimimi had said we should be as natural as possible, like one of our normal goofy conversations.

So I thought about what my usual reaction would be if Mimimi did something like this.

“So anyway, we’re doing a comedy skit…”

“Are you ignoring me?!”

The audience laughed.

I’d decided to ignore her. Or I should probably say, the part of me who always talked to Mimimi was used to not giving her a reaction. After all, she’d said our normal conversations were practice, right?

Well, they sure had come in handy.

More than the laughs, though, it was Mimimi’s attempt to rescue me that did the trick—my nervousness disappeared completely.

“But anyway, Nanami-san. I got some time off work, so is there anywhere you want to go?”

Mimimi gave a small nod and turned her lips up in a confident smile. That was the cool Mimimi I knew.

I can’t even tell you how grateful I was for her. Just to save my butt, she’d taken a bold fall in front of all these people. She’d embarrassed herself to help me recover.

“Well, I’d love to go to the zoo!”

“The zoo? But…”

Under the overly bright lights and too many eyes, we managed to make it through the rest of our skit together without any more mishaps.

* * *

“Well, that went okay!”

“Ha-ha-ha. Yeah.”

The skit was over, and we were standing outside the multipurpose hall.

Buffeted by the cold wind, we were critiquing our performance.

“I’m sorry about that! My mind just went blank… You really saved my butt.”

Mimimi laughed it off like she always did. “It’s fine! Pay me back with a bowl of ramen!”

“Ha-ha…for sure. Thanks, though, seriously.”

“Well, let’s just say all’s well that ends well!” She was saving me again by laughing off my mistake.

“…Agreed! We did pretty good for beginners…didn’t we?”

“Maybe! I’m fairly sure we did okay!”

“Ha-ha-ha. Maybe you’re fairly sure?”

But seriously, the laughter didn’t sound forced, so I’d say the skit was a success. Whether it was a hit was another question, but as one show of many, I think we just barely made the cut.

To be totally honest, a big part of it was the warm mood of the audience, thanks to the crowd of friends who showed up—Gumi-chan had already said she would come, but Nakamura’s group and Mimimi’s friends were there, too.

I feel like some of the people who knew about the situation with Mimimi and me might have been laughing because we said we were a couple, but I promise not to say anything about that.

“Well, I better get going soon…”

I checked my phone and saw it was already four. The play was starting in an hour. The script was in Kikuchi-san’s hands now, but I had to help out with the final check for the lights and sound system. I turned my thoughts to the performance and what would happen afterward.

Suddenly, I felt Mimimi’s anxious gaze on me. There was an odd heat in her eyes as she glanced back and forth between me and the clock on my phone.

“The play’s starting soon?” Her voice seemed to catch on my sleeve, to flicker like a match in the wind.

“Yeah.”

“The play with…Kikuchi-san?”

For some reason, she repeated her question with an emphasis on Kikuchi-san. It was like she had caught some glimpse of the future, and the look in her eyes pricked my heart. Was I reading too much into things, or—?

Well, it didn’t matter.

“…Yeah. I’ll see you later.”

There was nothing I could do for her.

“Right,” she mumbled.

The sinking sun shone its orange light on her profile. A dry wind blew, sending the fallen leaves dancing.

Suddenly, Mimimi smiled, threw her head back toward the cold, hazy sky—and shouted:

“Aaaaah! It’s over!”

Her expression reminded me of a frail, scared little girl.

“Hey, Brain?”

“…What?”

“That was fun, doing the skit.”

“Yeah…it was,” I agreed. Why was Mimimi looking off into the distance?

“…Yeah, that was fun,” she said again.

“…Yeah.”

She bit her lip for just a second—then nodded slightly, although I wasn’t sure at who. “Well, see you later.”

“…Okay.”

She definitely meant more than she had said.

I didn’t know what she sensed or what she predicted would happen.

What I did know was that my only option now was to follow through with integrity on what I’d decided. That was all.

* * *

An hour later, I’d finished the final light and sound check and joined the crowd of students in the gym.

Various classes and clubs, like the pop band, were taking turns presenting performances on a voluntary basis—and next up was Kikuchi-san’s play. It had gotten a lot of buzz thanks to the starring roles of the student council president and Mizusawa, who’d been her campaign manager during the election. I kind of understand why famous actors and TV stars always get cast in live-action versions of books or anime. If you put in all that work, you want a lot of people to watch!

The gym was filled with rows of folding chairs, and at a glance, I’d say there were enough to seat three or four hundred people. About half were filled, which I guess was a decent turnout.

The crowd of students was chatting noisily as everyone waited for the show to start, and I got the sense that rather than watching the play, they were more interested in seeing a show with famous people in it. I doubt more than a handful had any expectations for the quality or message of the play itself.

Well, I’d known that from the start.

If we managed to give the people who came for that reason something to take home, that would be enough.

“Our next presentation will be an original play by second-year Class Two, ‘On the Wings of the Unknown.’”

The introduction from the school-festival chair, Izumi, rang across the room. The lights dimmed, and darkness fell over the gym, soothing the noisy atmosphere into silence. The only sound was a clattering on the black stage.

The first voice to break the silence was Hinami’s.

“Aren’t we there yet, Libra?”

There was a hint of exhaustion and anger in her voice. As she spoke, the lights gradually brightened on the stage.

“You okay, Alucia? We haven’t even walked very far.”

Their voices echoed through the speakers. So far, the only thing on stage was a whiteboard with a big sheet of paper on it showing a drawing of a castle interior.

“This is exhausting. If I’m going to walk for so long, I’d at least like to know where I’m going.”

“You’re the one who said you wanted to explore. You didn’t have to come.”

As they delivered their lines, Alucia-slash-Hinami and Libra-slash-Mizusawa walked onstage from the wings. They were wearing fantasy-style outfits, which I heard they’d gotten online for cheap, but you’d never guess. Maybe that’s because they were so good-looking to start with.

As the two popular students appeared, murmurs of “It’s Hinami!” and “Isn’t that Mizusawa-kun?” rippled through the audience, along with some whistles. That wasn’t quite what I’d imagined…but I guess that’s what school festivals are like.

“True, but I didn’t know exploring was your only goal.”

“In a place like this, exploring is fun all by itself… Hey, there’s a door.”

“Well, it is more fun than listening to Granny Mia tell me stories in my room…”

“Right? Plus, if we get caught, I bet they’ll go easy on us with you here.”

“I may be a princess, but I wish you wouldn’t use my status like that.”

Although the conversation was casual, it explained the situation and the relationship between the characters. I’d been wondering how Kikuchi-san would incorporate background information like that from the novel, and it was impressive to see she’d slipped it in right at the start of the play. That sort of thoughtfulness toward the audience reflected her personality.

“You always do that, Libra.”

But Hinami was equally impressive. Even with her shortest lines, she expressed so much with her hands, voice, and face, not to mention her simple presence onstage. Just by standing there, she emanated Alucia’s strength. This was more than acting skill; you might call it Hinami’s inherent ability.

“Let’s go!”

Libra’s honesty and awkwardness came through, too, but given that Mizusawa was the one playing him, I wasn’t sure I could say he’d completely stamped out his own easygoing smoothness. He’d put his bangs back down again, and his performance was flawless, but he was just too damn handsome.

The two of them went on poking around the castle, Alucia complaining about this and that while Libra was obviously excited—until they reached the play’s first turning point, the scene in the garden.

The stage went dark.

Libra and Alucia had reached the door to the garden and were debating whether they should break the rules and open it.

“I think I want to see… I’m curious,” Libra said.

That was the final push that decided it—they’d look inside.

A creak played to simulate the door being opened. The lights went on, revealing Tama-chan in a white dress. The otherworldly outfit suited her small form perfectly, and her usual strong aura was skillfully neutralized by her expression and delicate gestures.

The backdrop had been changed, too, to a picture of a dragon that filled the whole sheet. The layers of vellum paper on the whiteboard were like a page-a-day calendar that could be peeled back one sheet at a time to convey the information that the actors and minor props couldn’t. It was low-budget but effective. Impressively, this was another one of Kikuchi-san’s ideas.

“When they opened the door, they found a flying dragon five or six meters long, and a girl standing quietly beside it.”

As Izumi narrated the scene, the three characters faced one another onstage.

It was one of the play’s most iconic scenes, with all the main characters together for the first time.

At that moment, Alucia-slash-Hinami moved.

The gesture was practically nothing—she stared at her left palm and bit her lip. Then, as if she’d made a decision, she clenched her hand into a fist and shot a spine-chilling gaze up at the dragon.

Every motion was exaggerated so that the audience could see it, and by pausing for a few seconds between each one, she helped the audience track her moves.

She hooked her fingers into a threatening claw, pulled back her arm to strike, and walked several steps in the direction of her gaze.

Libra grabbed her.

“Alucia. What are you doing?”

When the audience saw that Mizusawa had grabbed Hinami’s wrist, some of them began shouting shrilly, apparently unable to contain themselves. Huh. I guess having a handsome leading man and a beautiful leading lady is enough to qualify as entertainment. My feelings about that are kind of complicated, but I won’t dwell on that.

“Let me go.”

Hinami’s hard-edged voice filled the gym. I bet none of them had heard her this way before. The audience fell completely silent at the difference between the Hinami they knew and the one onstage.

“If I don’t do it now, they’ll kill you.” Her delivery left the auditorium spellbound. “Let me do it.”

The powerful words sliced through the silence.

“Ooooh…”

I let out a soft gasp as I watched from my seat.

This was the scene Hinami had acted out on the first day of rehearsals. Her performance had been almost perfect already, but I was surprised that she’d added even more power to her delivery. Casting her as Alucia was the right choice after all.

This wasn’t even a scene with a lot of action, but she’d already used her presence and ability to wrap the audience around her finger. She’d done the same thing during her speech for student council president, so I knew she could do it—but back then, she’d only been able to speak as Aoi Hinami. A situation like this, where she could do anything—where she could stab people in the heart without concern for her image—was her strong suit.

But Mizusawa-slash-Libra didn’t budge.

“No.”

“Just let me go. I have to break that dragon’s wing.”

“I knew it. I won’t let you. You’ll die otherwise!”

“Don’t worry; I’ll be fine. I’ll say it was an accident. And I’d have to do much worse for them to execute a member of the royal family.”

“I still won’t let you.”

“Why not?”

“Because even if they don’t kill you, Alucia will die.”

I’d read this part of the script countless times, but it was still fun to see it onstage, with Hinami and Mizusawa breathing new life into it through their performance.

After that scene, Libra and Alucia became “siblings,” and the relationship between the three characters began to develop.

We were a few minutes into the play. At first, it seemed like the audience just wanted to see something weird, but I could gradually feel them getting pulled in by the play itself. Hinami’s powerful performance was the catalyst, but I think the appeal of Kikuchi-san’s script, with its subtle but intricate layers of meaning, was slowly reaching them, too.

In the next part of the play, Alucia became Kris’s tutor, and Libra became her caretaker. Then together, through trial and error, they worked toward getting the dragon to fly.

“Go on, eat! Yes, that’s it! What a good dragon!”

“Okay! So maybe it’ll fly now…?”

“…It won’t? Libra?”

“Wh-what? Kris, don’t look at me like that.”

“Libra, remember what we talked about.”

“Hey, don’t pinch me, Alucia!”

They tried feeding the dragon special plants from the Valley of the Flying Dragons.

“Look how pretty you are!”

“O-okay, I’m sure this time it will…?”

“…S-still nothing? Libra?”

“Wh-what? That’s odd…”

“…Hmph.”

“Ouch, Alucia.”

They groomed each of the dragon’s scales with a special magical cloak.

“If we stroke it, it should lift off the ground… Libra?”

“It’s not going to fly, is it, Kris? I was worried this might happen!”

“Hmph…”

“I said I’m sorry, Alucia!”

They read to it old books about how to fly.

Still, the dragon would not take flight. But all the same, Kris gradually came to accept the two intruders she’d feared at first.

Little by little, the three of them came to understand one another—but…

“Alucia, I heard you won the Magic Arts Tournament! Congratulations!”

“Ah-ha-ha. Thanks, Kris.”

“And you’re the youngest person ever to win?! That’s so amazing!”

“You’re good at everything, Alucia.”

“Well, I worked for it.”

Alucia’s answer was curt.

“Let’s celebrate!”

“Really?”

“Definitely! Alucia, what’s your favorite thing?”

“That reminds me, I don’t know, either!”

“My favorite thing?”

“Yes!”

“…Why do you want to know?”

“Don’t ask me that! You’ll know soon!”

“Ah-ha-ha. I suppose I will.”

Despite the cheerful conversation, Alucia’s face was growing gradually gloomier.

“So tell us! What is it?”

“Well, let me think…”

The easygoing mood shifted.

Alucia smiled, but there was a darkness in it directed toward herself.

“I don’t think I have a favorite thing.”

Her unexpected and strangely sad answer hit the audience right between the eyes, including me.

Startled, Kris rushed in to alleviate the tension.

“What? I—I mean, you know so much! You’re so good at making things, and you’re even great at magic! I bet you like lots of things!”

“Not really. I’ve got royal blood, and one day, I have to be queen… That’s the only reason I work so hard. It’s not because I enjoy it.”

You could hear her regret, and she refused to look straight at Kris’s bright and cheerful face.

“You said it’s the only reason, but it’s an amazing one! Compared with you, I don’t have anything.”

“That’s not true.”

“I want to be like you, Alucia.”

Alucia was quiet for a moment.

The silence beat down on us almost aggressively, laying the groundwork so that her next words would land as powerfully as they could.

“—Like me?”

Each word was desperately empty and cold—and obstinate enough to reject any attempt at understanding.

“I think your view of me is mistaken, Kris.”

“It is?”

“I’m not the wonderful kind of person you think I am.”

“What do you mean?”

Hinami drew in a long, slow breath onstage. Her eyes were pitch-dark, like a black hole. She had the audience in the palm of her hand.

“I have everything. But—”

She took in all the silence, a silence as dark as night, and ripped through it with her next words.

“—that’s exactly why…I have nothing.”

Those hollow words were a chillingly lonely confession that laid Alucia’s heart bare.

Her performance left my mind blank, lost in the echoes of those words.

Still, the play went on. Finally, Alucia lowered her head, rearranged her expression just like she was putting on a mask, and adopted a fake voice.

“I’d rather you give me something you like yourself, Kris.”

“Y-you would…? …All right then!”

“Great! I’m so excited! A present from Kris!”

Alucia painted over the darkness in the air with her cheerful voice, obliterating it in moments.

“Wait, Alucia. Kris never said she was giving you a present.”

“He’s right! Why’d you say that, Alucia?”

“Oh, true! Sorry, sorry.”

“Sneaky, sneaky!”

“Ah-ha-ha. But it’s a promise, right?”

“…Of course!”

Awash in the gentle mood created by Kris and Libra, the conversation returned to normal. Once again, Alucia had hidden her own feelings away.

The story was about to reach its first climax.

The dragon had marked its thirteenth birthday, but it still could not fly.

It was Libra who discovered the reason.

Watching the dragon as it slept by the water’s edge, he delivered his lines.

“Dragons—can see into the hearts of humans.”

He was about to reveal the truth.

A truth that bound the dragon’s wings like chains.

“You don’t want to fly, do you, Kris?”

I heard whispers ripple through the audience. This was evidence that the students were invested now, and that Kikuchi-san’s story was reaching them.

Here was the weakness within Kris: Her fear of the unknown outweighed her desire to fly away from her enclosed world.

But Libra made her an offer.

“Let’s fly together.”

“But…”

“I know you’re just scared to go alone. So…”

“So?”

“…I’ll go with you. We’ll see the world together!”

Libra was always direct about these things, and that was enough to move Kris’s heart.

The two of them climbed onto the dragon, joined hands, and made their wish.

Fly for us!

The stage went black.

A few seconds later, the lights came back on—and I was surprised at what I saw.

In place of the black-and-white backdrop was a brilliantly colorful painting of the town.

I could hear some delighted gasps from the audience. This plan must have materialized while I was practicing my skit, because I didn’t know anything about it.

But I was certain it was Kikuchi-san’s idea.

I can’t imagine a stage effect that could have expressed her emotions more perfectly.

Kris and Libra talked as they took in the beautiful sights.

“Wow! What is that, a frog?!”

“Ha-ha-ha. We’d never be able to see a frog from up here. That’s a dragon!”

“No way! It’s so small! I mean, aren’t giant dragons more like thiiiiis—?”

“Hey, watch out! Keep your hands on the dragon!”

“Ah-ha-ha!”

At first, they were focused on the sprawling landscape below, but before they knew it, their gazes were directed forward—far into the distance.

Gradually, their expressions grew peaceful and gentle.

“Is that…?”

“Yeah.”

“The sea, right?”

“Right.”

The ocean glittered in the sunlight ahead of them. Kris had never seen it before.

“It’s…so beautiful.”

“Yeah…I can’t believe it.”

“What do you mean? I thought you’d seen the ocean before, Libra?”

“Yes…I have, but…”

“But what?”

Libra smiled kindly.

“…I never realized it was so beautiful.”

“…Oh.”

They shared a view of the world no one else had ever seen—and then they returned to the garden.

The stage went black again. Not a single student took advantage of the darkness to chatter, and I could tell the whole gym was waiting to see what happened next. That was how I knew the play itself had got them.

But I was also affected by a layer of meaning that no one else knew about.

When I read the play the first time, I hadn’t realized…but that scene by the ocean?

It was an homage to Kikuchi-san’s beloved Poppol.

After that, Kris got Libra to take her outside the castle for a day.

But what she encountered was not the beautiful scene she’d seen from the sky—it was a world full of poverty and unfamiliar rules.

When they went to the market district, the shopkeepers got mad at her, she was too shy to talk to strangers, and soon, it was time to go home.

She had been confronted by reality, plain and simple.

“Libra? I think…I’ve kind of been getting a free ride, haven’t I?”

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t had to work at all to have a good life…and I’ve stayed here, cut off from everything. This garden is so big, but it’s so small.”

“…I don’t think that’s true.”

“No, I realized something.”

Kris spoke haltingly.

“It was easier when it was someone else keeping me in here…but now that I know I can leave if I want to, staying here would be so much more unbearable and lonely and horrible.”

She was trying to put her sense of inferiority into words, to parse it out for herself.

“When you look at the outside world from far away, it’s as beautiful as magic fireworks…but if you really want to be part of it, you’ve got to work hard.”

“…Kris.”

“Libra, I’m going to try.”

Starting that very day, she began to work as hard as she could.

Little by little, she learned the skills that didn’t come easily. She was clearly changing.

But those changes were unsettling to Libra.

He thought there were other paths she could choose.

From that point on, I’d heard about the story—but I hadn’t read the script.

One day, Kris and Libra got in an argument.

“I’m…against it.”

“Why…?”

“I just think you have other options, Kris.”

“What other options?! You think I should stay in this garden forever?”

Kris hurled her real feelings at Libra more passionately than she ever had before.

The person she wanted to be, her frustration at not being able to become that self, the places she wanted to go, and the things she wanted to see.

All those feelings, those raw, visceral thoughts, had been honed and woven into the play for us all to see.

“Libra?”

Kris turned directly toward the audience before speaking her next words.

“The world we saw from the sky was full of brilliant color. But…when I went there myself, everything was the color of ash.”

Once again, I felt I’d heard someone else say those things before.

“I wanted to see that beautiful world for myself.” Kikuchi-san’s true feelings, spoken through Kris, took my breath away. “Is it so wrong that I want to see what everyone else does?!”

Her violent emotions, desires, and inner conflicts had been transformed into words.

“I felt trapped in here, when the possibilities outside were endless. But I couldn’t survive there. I was just useless and small.”

The revelations pulled me in, sweeping everything away in a powerful flood.

“Why can’t I get along with everyone? Why don’t I know the most obvious things?”

Each shouted line shook me so completely that I felt hypnotized.

This was a scream from her soul, the alienation she could no longer contain.

“Am I…just too different from everyone else?”

And—the cry of a girl who had lost her way, caught between ideals and reality.

“Tell me, Libra, am I…?”

This was the worry that gripped Kris, the girl who had grown up all alone in the garden with reading as her only diversion.

She suffered from a fear that she was fundamentally different from the rest of humanity—a deep and cruel inner struggle.

“On the Wings of the Unknown” marched toward its final climax, the hearts of the audience firmly in its grip.

Some time passed.

Libra entered the garden where Kris lived, carrying a bag.

Depressed, Kris looked at the bag curiously.

“…What’s that, Libra?”

“Oh, this? Well, you know all those things you gave me the other day?”

“…You mean the flower garlands?”

“Yeah.”

Several days earlier, Libra had asked Kris if she would give him all the garlands she’d made in the past.

“You said you wanted to learn how to make them, right?”

“Right. I’m sorry, but that was a lie.”

“A lie…? What do you mean…?”

“Actually…”

Libra pulled a piece of paper from the bag.

“What’s that?”

“A letter.”

“A letter?”

Libra handed it to Kris.

She read it slowly, and surprise came over her face.

It was no wonder.

“‘Thank you for the very beautiful garlands. I will treasure them’…?”

The clumsy but heartfelt words were written in a child’s hand.

“That’s not all,” Libra said, and he began to pull out all kinds of fruits and vegetables from the bag.

“Wh-what are those…?”

“Payment.”

“For what?”

“For the garlands. I traded them at the produce shop.”

“You did…?”

The produce shop—the same shop whose owner had scolded Kris for not knowing the unspoken rules when she left the castle that day.

Libra explained.

The shopkeeper had been trying to find a present for his daughter. She’d loved the garlands as soon as she saw them, and he offered to trade produce for them. On top of that—the daughter loved them so much that she gave Libra extra.

“When I told the owner that you were the one who made them, he apologized and said he shouldn’t have acted like he did.”

“Oh, Libra… Really?”

“Of course! Look, there’s more! This one’s from the wife of the innkeeper. This one’s from the son of the armorer. There was a seven-year-old boy who was all excited because he was going to propose to a girl he was friends with… I wonder if she accepted!”

“Libra…”

Kris was standing rooted to the ground, stupefied. Her view of the world had just been pushed wide-open.

“So do you see now? Those flower garlands you make for fun—there’s tons of people who want them.”

“Yes…”

“That means you’re not too different. You have a place in the outside world, too.”

“Yes…yes!”

“So…”

Libra spread both arms wide and gestured for Kris to follow him.

“…let’s fly! This time, with our own wings!”

With those words, even the garden scenery changed from monochrome to color with a flip of the paper.

The strangely shaped trees, the green leaves that filled every corner, and the familiar old water’s edge… How could the scenery she knew so well be this beautiful?

Kris looked to be on the verge of tears, but instead, she smiled and nodded.

You could tell from the brilliance of her smile that her petrified heart was melting.

The stage went dark and then lit up again as the story entered its epilogue.

Once Kris decided to leave the garden to pursue her passion, Alucia used her connections as a member of the royal family to introduce her to a workshop where many flower artisans worked, and Kris was offered a position as an apprentice.

The day of her departure arrived. The three friends gathered in the garden.

Libra turned to Kris.

“You can always come back if things get too hard out there.”

The garden and the castle would always be Kris’s home.

Kris wiped her tears away as she answered him.

“I know… Thank you, Libra.”

“I don’t plan to coddle you like Libra does,” Alucia said. “I expect you to become the best flower artisan in the world…and…”

“…And?”

It was as if Alucia was unable to keep her next words inside.

“…when you return, don’t come to this garden. Come to the castle, Kris…!”

“Okay…! I will, Alucia…!”

The two girls hugged, sharing their sadness.

Kris said her farewells to the rest of the castle residents and began her apprenticeship.

She had thought she would never fit in anywhere.

She had thought she was fundamentally different from the rest of the world.

But in the end, she found her place.

“I’m glad I did it!”

With those words, she expressed her overwhelming gratitude for her freedom.

Kris stood in the center of the stage, illuminated by a spotlight and staring straight out at the world.

“On the Wings of the Unknown,” this story made for Kris, was coming to its end—

“I finally learned to fly!”

—or so I thought.

The lights went out again as Kris spoke her last line. That was the end of the last scene I’d heard about from Kikuchi-san, and I was ready to start clapping.

But the story wasn’t over.

The lights came back on.

Hinami-slash-Alucia and Mizusawa-slash-Libra were standing onstage. For a second, I didn’t understand what had happened, and I just sat there with my eyes glued to the stage.

“Look, Libra, look!”

The voice was mellow. It sounded almost like that of child seeking affection.

“What…? Oh! A letter from Kris!”

The words sent a slight chill through me. I had no idea what story Kikuchi-san was about to tell.

“I heard she’s been very active since she began her apprenticeship, and now she’s taken over the workshop!”

“Wow, that’s amazing! What great news.”

I was still anxious.

The words and the way they were delivered suggested some time had passed.

What was Kikuchi-san going for with this time jump? And why hadn’t she let me know? When she told me how the play ended, why did she keep this part to herself?

I had no idea.

“Let’s read it.”

“Okay.”

I’m sure I was listening more closely than anyone else in the gym.

My sense of uneasy premonition was ringing a warning bell, telling me not to listen.

“Dear Libra and Alucia.”

The stage was starting to swim in front of me, and I was getting light-headed. I couldn’t shake off the inexplicable jitters.

Finally, a voice reached my ears that seemed to poke a hole in the flood of thoughts that were dammed up in my mind.

“Congratulations on your marriage!”

Alucia relayed what Kris had said—and those words sliced through my expectations and hopes as abruptly as a guillotine.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come to tell you in person. It’s the busiest season for weddings right now, and I just couldn’t get away. Since I have so many students, everything falls apart when I’m gone.”

Kris’s words felt exactly like a response to something.

“But when I think about it, I feel like the time I spent with the two of you made me who I am today. I didn’t know anything, and I wanted to know everything. The time I spent with you was so important—it taught me the world.”

I wanted to press my hands over my ears as the words struck my eardrums and turned my heart to ice.

“That’s why I want you to have a small token of my thanks! As a much sought-after flower artisan, I offer you the most beautiful flower garlands in the world. Alucia, do you remember? I promised I’d give you something I liked, didn’t I?”

I felt an irreplaceable something spilling from the wound inside me.

“Libra. Alucia. I wish you all the happiness in the world! Love, Kris.”

Libra and Kris didn’t end up together.

* * *

The play was over.

It must have been far better than the audience expected, because the applause was thunderous. There was a curtain call, the cast gave a simple bow, and then it was time for the next show. Apparently, the brass band was going to perform.

A lot of people stuck around for that, but I didn’t feel like staying.

I mean, that play?

“On the Wings of the Unknown”—that was Kikuchi-san’s story.

My own words and actions were clearly reflected in Libra, while Kris reflected Kikuchi-san’s own path, from the way she lived to the way she thought.

And then there was what I’d said to Kikuchi-san a few days earlier.

“After the play ends on the day of the festival—there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Her reaction had convinced me that she’d guessed my intent, and what else could that invitation at that moment have meant?

And knowing that—she’d added that ending.

I didn’t even need to put it into words. The meaning was obvious.

I wobbled out of the gym and through the breezeway to get outside.

The cold of the late December wind was welcome on my face, which was so hot that it was pulsing.

“…Huh,” I mumbled to myself.

I’d met Hinami six months earlier and gradually transformed myself. I’d built myself up little by little, not only on the outside, but also inside, too.

At first, fear and escapism had kept me from choosing anyone.

And now, when I’d finally made a clear choice—

—that girl—was rejecting me.

Even my smallest breaths were white in the cold air, giving vivid form to my shaken emotions.

But strangely enough, one of the emotions I felt at that moment was satisfaction.

“Well…this is life.”

Yes.

I knew that better than anyone. I mean, this game was so freaking hard that even I, the supposed best gamer in Japan, had almost given up on it.

I’d lost at it for sixteen years straight.

Granted, I’d changed over the past half year. You’d hardly recognize me now.

But this game wasn’t easy; a change like that wouldn’t guarantee that everything would go smoothly.

I had to conclude that life—

“It isn’t a shitty game after all.”

I couldn’t leave it behind.

I mean, I knew one thing.

This game was tough, and lots of times, it didn’t go well. Plenty of things seemed nonsensical, and other parts only got harder the more you tried.

But still…I’d kind of gotten to like who I’d become. The guy who wanted to get to know others, who managed to connect with totally different people, who was pursued by those I’d thought were beyond my reach.

This game was a masterpiece, filled with drama and stories.

“…Guess I’ll head home,” I muttered and took a step.

The school festival was still going on, lively and happy. I’m sure all kinds of love stories were playing out in there without my knowing. Some people say normies should die in a fire, but the way I felt right then, having taken a step forward and fallen, I didn’t even have the energy to wish for that.

At the moment, I was just grateful for the cold, dry air that cooled my racing thoughts.

“I’ve gotta rest a little… Then I’ll be ready.”

Ready to get back to the game. That’s how much I’d come to like it.

I took another step and looked ahead of me.

And—I got a shock.

Right there in front of me…was a girl I knew well.

“Tomozaki…”

Her long, silky ponytail was blowing in the north wind. She seemed to have trouble saying my name from her throat as she gazed at me with sad, subdued eyes.

“…Mimimi.”

I wasn’t sure why, but I had a feeling that she knew everything I was thinking and feeling.

That she accepted my sadness from the bottom of her heart, and she understood it.

That was almost enough to make everything come spilling out.

“About that play,” she forced herself to say, keeping her eyes locked on mine with some effort. “We know what it means, don’t we?”

So she got it.

“I thought she modeled the characters on everyone… Libra was you, Alucia was Aoi for sure, and that means Kris must be Kikuchi-san. I wanted to tell you how amazing I thought it was. It was so good.”

She’d figured it out.

It made sense, I guess. It might not be as clear to her as it was to me, but those characters and that story—any decently intelligent person could probably guess what they were based on.

Mimimi was incredibly sharp at reading people and seemed to have sensed something even before we parted ways after our skit—and she liked me on top of that.

Noticing the connection between me and Libra was probably a piece of cake for her.

Given that she had feelings for me and understood me so well, I’m sure she watched me more closely than anyone else.

Which meant that quite probably, she’d realized that I liked Kikuchi-san—and maybe even that I planned to tell her I did.

Mimimi’s eyes were filled with bigger tears than mine.

“But…then there was that scene at the end. And afterward, the two of you seemed to almost be running away from each other. I mean, that was weird. You worked so hard together on the script, and it was such a huge success. Why wouldn’t the two of you be together now?”

“…Oh.”

That’s how she’d figured it out.

The obvious way Kikuchi-san and I had gotten close all of a sudden. The amount of time we’d been spending together. And then—the last scene of the play.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

I nodded.

“She said no.”

I made myself smile so she wouldn’t feel too sorry for me.

At the same time, I promised myself something.

Mimimi knew me, worried about me, and came running to my side.

But I couldn’t let myself lean on her kindness.

I couldn’t give in to momentary emotions and choose her.

But just then—

—she took a few steps forward and crossed a certain line.

She took my hand in her own and squeezed it hard. Her fingers were cold.

My thoughts stopped. For a second, I didn’t understand what was happening.

All I knew was that Mimimi was less than half a meter from me, squeezing my hand.

Her grip was obviously too strong, and she was staring straight at me and only me.

She was too close; my emotions were turned up full blast.

There was nothing to stop me, and I felt like the electricity in the air was about to sweep away all my lofty resolutions.

Finally, her eyes welling with tears…

*     *     *

…she shouted:

“—The library!!”

Her eyes were serious, but they were also filled with the acceptance of defeat, and tears.

I glimpsed weakness and uncertainty in the depths of the gaze that pierced me.

“Kikuchi-san is in the library right now!! You can’t just get your answer from the play!! That’s a horrible idea!!”

Still, Mimimi bit her lip, trying to survive the moment.

She pulled both my hands with her own, dragging me toward the main school building.

“You hate losing, don’t you, Brain?! And you’re an all-star gamer?! Well then, don’t give up until the very end, until you’re knocked out or whatever!”

Her words were a punch to the head, far stronger than the cold air.

A fat tear spilled from Mimimi’s eye, traveled down her cheek, and splashed onto the ground.

She wound up her right arm and hit me on the shoulder with an almost desperate kind of strength.

“Walk in there with your head held high!! You’re a man, aren’t you?!”

Despite the cold wind, the place on my shoulder that she’d touched was burning hot.

I took it all in—the pain, the cold, and her words.

One last time—I’d let her rescue my motivation.

“…Thanks. See you later.”

She looked out for me more than I looked out for myself.

I made sure to meet her eyes as I spoke, and she grinned brightly.

“Sure! Pay me back with dumplings!”

With her words pushing me forward, I jogged off toward the library.

* * *

“…Tomozaki-kun?”

The last rays of the sun were filtering in through the windows.

“…Yeah.”

Instead of our usual greeting, our exchange felt out of sync. The library was empty aside from Kikuchi-san, with big piles of stuff here and there, probably left over from festival preparations.

The only light was a faint orange glow sifting through the closed curtains, but the smell of books was the same as always.

“…So,” I said, sitting down across from her.

My mind was empty, and I was almost unable to think. At the same time, there was a mountain of things I wanted to say to her.

“Yes…?”

I was certain she knew.

She knew I understood what the play’s ending meant.

If I’d come here to talk anyway…

“That last scene.” Instead of hesitating, I dived right into the heart of the matter. “That’s the ending you chose.”

She bit her lip uncomfortably. “…I’m sorry.”

Her apology dug into my chest more sharply than any other words could have.

“No…there’s nothing to apologize about.”

But she shook her head. Still biting her lip, she turned her tear-filled eyes toward me. “That was the ending…I chose.” Her voice was tight—pained and earnest.

“Why…?” I started to ask, then stopped.

It was the wrong question. I shouldn’t ask why she hadn’t accepted me.

The answer to that—could only be the same reason I hadn’t accepted Mimimi’s confession.

She hadn’t had enough reasons or feelings to accept me. That was all.

“Why…?”

I bit my lip out of frustration.

But still, even if it was pitiful or pointless…I couldn’t give up.

“Okay…maybe it’s not the kind of thing I should ask, but…!”

I knew this was incredibly uncool. Embarrassing. And more than anything, weak.

“But I still want to know…!”

I didn’t care what other people thought.

I mean, Kikuchi-san was the first girl I’d ever chosen of my own free will.

“You want to know…why?” She looked down. Then, for some reason, she smiled, slowly and a little self-mockingly. “Well…this is how I feel.”

Her words rang hollow, like she was weighing something in a scale. I saw the same uncertainty she’d had before when she was trying to choose a path.

“Maybe Kris likes Libra.”

I swallowed.

Kris likes Libra.

If the metaphor still held…

“But for Alucia, Libra is the only one.”

Her expression was strong, full of determination.

I was sure she’d come to this conclusion after extensive deliberation.

But I couldn’t accept it.

“Wait…why is that true?”

What Kikuchi-san was saying right now…

“Alucia is good at everything, but there’s nothing at her core—she’s hollow. And Libra is awkward and clumsy, but he’s curious—there are things he wants to do.”

It was wrong.

It was based on everything from before.

“They’re polar opposites—and so they make an ideal couple.”

Her powerful tone and the firm end to her explanation made her sound as if she’d discovered perfect clarity.

But what she was saying—was based on the way she used to think before.

The world’s ideals. How things “should” be. What she “should” do as a result.

It was wrong. I’d told her before—I wanted her to forget about ideals and try following her own desires.

She’d seemed convinced, stopped forcing herself to fit in, and tried to find a place for herself on social media as an “aspiring author.”

I thought she’d freed herself from “ideals.”

But what she said just now—

“Why…? Didn’t you decide to try going after what you want?”

Just like before, she was tied down.

She shook her head slowly. “I thought so for a little while. I thought that was okay. But…it wasn’t.” She touched the script sitting on the table. The pages in the second half looked slightly wrinkled, like they’d been crumpled up at one point.

“You convinced me at first. You said I didn’t have to look at life like an author—so I tried to examine my own feelings and stop trying to create the best possible world.” Kikuchi-san spoke quietly, but like Kris, her words were full of life, and they revealed her true feelings. “When I did—everything looked so alive. It was really like when Kris saw everything from dragonback and saw the brilliant color in a world she’d once been indifferent to. I thought you were amazing.”

“Well then…”

“But,” she interrupted, “it wasn’t right for me after all.”

Her long, slender fingers trembled with an uncertainty I’m sure they’d never experienced when she was writing stories.

“To live according to my emotions…is far too selfish in terms of the story of this world, and of the feelings of those characters. It’s such a self-focused way of living. I can’t help feeling insincere when I live like that.”

“Insincere…”

That was the very same abstract sensation that always bothered me. When I didn’t understand the logic, but I felt something was wrong—it was always that nebulous but deeply rooted and inalterable sensation.

Little by little, Kikuchi-san’s voice took on a mixture of hesitation and passion.

“But on the other hand…when I try to respect everyone’s feelings, and align my emotions and actions accordingly, I can like and respect myself, too… I feel sincere. It’s a beautiful thing to me.” She placed her hand on her chest and clenched her ribbon. “When I do that, I’m being true and kind not only to my own feelings, but to the world, too, and the feelings of everyone else in it.”

Gradually, her words were falling into place and becoming more peaceful.

“So I decided to keep my author’s perspective. To rein myself in and to live in a way I can feel is sincere. That was my conclusion.”

With that, she very clearly communicated her verdict to me.

“That’s…how I want to live my life.”

She had finished speaking.

There was nothing else I could say. Unlike me, Kikuchi-san felt that being true to ideals instead of emotions was a better fit for her.

She was able to be more sincere as an author than as a character.

“—But still!”

Her voice, more emotional than I’d ever heard it before, burst from her throat and seemed to shake every book in the library.

“…I can’t forget it.”

Tears spilled from her eyes. The white hands I loved formed small fists on top of the script that I also loved.

“That beautiful scene…that brilliant world… I can’t forget the other ending.”

A tear rolled down her cheek, fell onto the first page of the script, and blurred the title.

“I know it’s wrong, but…I want it both ways…!”

The tears wouldn’t stop falling from her eyes now.

“Even though it’s completely selfish!”

Her overflowing emotions hit me like a waterfall.

She was divided—truly divided in her core—and it was tearing her apart.

To live with sincerity, she had to abandon her self and obey the world’s ideals.

But when she tried turning her back on those ideals and living selfishly…she glimpsed something magical and unforgettable.

And now she was satisfied with neither selfless sincerity nor pure selfishness.

She was in an impossible situation, incredibly complex and inflamed.

The two roots of her heart were entangled, and the more she struggled, the more of herself was torn away until she had lost so much, she could hardly stand.

This fundamental contradiction in values was hollowing out her heart and keeping her in chains.

—But.

At the same time.

Like pure spring water seeping into cracked earth…I found myself understanding with surprising ease all the contradictions she faced.

And right away, I knew the reason, too.

After all—it was the same.

“Kikuchi-san.”

That time during summer break came back to me. Back at the café. The time she taught me something that had become more important to me than anything else.

I thought about that day as I slowly told her my thoughts.

“Do you remember?”

She looked at me without wiping her eyes.

“Until…until about six months ago, I ignored everything outside of myself. I had no interest in ideals. I put what I wanted before everything else and lived in total freedom.”

Kikuchi-san was still crying as she waited for me to go on.

“But—then I met a certain magician. The magician told me I had it wrong and taught me how to get closer to the ‘ideal.’”

“…You…did say something like that.”

I’d talked to her about my experience before.

She wiped her tears and sniffled a few times.

“After that, I fought toward that ideal as hard as I could. I was getting good results, and I felt my work was paying off… But in the middle of it, something still felt wrong.”

That’s why I did what I did that day. Without dressing up at all, without putting anything in my hair, I went to meet Kikuchi-san.

I thought that was the real me, unburdened by “skills” and “ideals.”

“For me, getting by on the skills I’d learned was insincere. Being true to my feelings was being true to myself.”

I spoke my next words slowly—and I told Kikuchi-san the answer, the meaning, the reason.

“Doesn’t that remind you of something?”

She stopped breathing, her eyes round.

I nodded before continuing:

“I’m the opposite of you.”

—Yes.

“I started with pure emotions and learned to aim for an ideal. You started in the world of ideals and learned to be true to your feelings.”

It was almost funny how similar the logic was, and how opposite the route.

“But I started thinking ideals were insincere, and you started thinking emotions were insincere.”

In which case…there was something only I could tell her in this situation.

“Kikuchi-san. Do you know what I did then?”

This girl in front of me, who I cared so much about—she wasn’t a fairy or an angel or an elf.

Those were only cloaks I used to hide my own feelings.

She was just a girl sincere enough to struggle this deeply over how she wanted to live. I wanted to tell her about the choice I’d made. I wanted to tell her what was in the very center of my heart.

I wanted to say it exactly as the thoughts came to me.

“Both.”

It was a simple word.

“All I had to do was work to have both at the same time. Desires and skills. Ideals and emotions.”

Maybe those things sound like contradictions in reality.

But if they’re both important to you?

Then they can coexist, even if it does take a little work.

And the person who taught me that—

“You’re the same.”

Little by little, I could tell she was searching for something, holding on to something.

“I am…?”

I looked straight into her black eyes and nodded.

“I decided to think about which skills I could use to achieve the things I wanted. So—”

I gave her back the exact same lesson she’d given me.

“—you can think about how to get what you want without abandoning your ideals. That’s all you need to do.”

I confidently affirmed every part of her, just as she’d done for me.

“You don’t have to choose one or the other. You can put your all into having both.”

I smiled. “Simple, right?”

But Kikuchi-san’s eyes darted around; she seemed lost between her feelings and words.

Her eyes, with their fragile, unsteady gaze, were still wet and shining.

“But…I don’t know how to do that,” she said, rejecting herself again. “Libra should be with Alucia. That’s how the story should go. I can’t twist that plot for the sake of my own emotions… Isn’t that selfish? Isn’t it egotistical?”

“Well…”

Essentially, she was worried about the world’s ideals. The consistency of the story. The feelings of other people.

According to the world’s ideals as she saw them, Libra… No. No more smoke and mirrors.

According to the world’s ideals as she saw them—she and I shouldn’t be together.

I’d already decided to stop pretending I couldn’t see it when other people liked me.

So there was one other thing in this current conversation I was determined not to ignore.

Kikuchi-san liked me.

In which case—

—I had to take these two completely contradictory things—the ideal that said we shouldn’t be together, and the personal feelings that said she liked me—and make them coexist.

Nothing more than that.

“Okay, I understand.”

Maybe she was right that in the fictional story of “On the Wings of the Unknown,” where Kris, Libra, and Alucia lived, doing that would be slightly difficult.

But here in the real world—it was easy.

“Kikuchi-san. There’s one failproof way to do it.”

I wanted to reassure her, to satisfy her, and to get what I wanted.

“…What’s that?”

I used one of my “skills”—a tone full of confidence.

And I answered her.

“I like you. I’d like to go out with you.”

She widened her eyes.

I gave her a broad smile, full of strength.

It was that simple.

This idea she had of how things should be? This ideal that Libra and Alucia should be together? If it was wrong for Kikuchi-san to subvert that based solely on her own feelings…

Well then, Kris shouldn’t do it, and Kikuchi-san shouldn’t do it.

Fumiya Tomozaki should choose Kikuchi-san.

Just to be doubly sure—just to add a “special reason” to our “story”—I said one more thing.

“And I told you before, right?”

“What?”

I ran my hand over the tearstained script. “Well, you said Libra and Alucia each have what the other one is missing, so they have to be together.”

This time, I wasn’t just taking her hand.

This time, I was joining her heart and my heart together.

I took the fair, delicate hand of this great author who had spun the story I loved so much, and I gently squeezed it.

“Don’t you think the same is true for Libra and Kris, too?”

Caught between desires and skills.

Lost between emotions and ideals.

These two things might be described in different words—but the core was the same.

“I mean, the end point is the same, but the path to get there is opposite… They’re inverses.”

It was a very peculiar relationship.

“You and I, we’ve been struggling in exactly the opposite order.”

It was like a story that was too good to be true.

“But we helped each other solve our problems. We gave each other the words we needed to find our way forward.”

We’d started in completely different places, with specialties that only existed where we were.

But by giving each other the crucial thing we lacked—we’d learned to use both in balance.

No matter how you thought about it…

“Even from an author’s perspective on the story of life, don’t you think this relationship is pretty ideal, too?”

The air of her garden carried the words to her—or maybe it was the warmth of our hands that transmitted them.

Either way, I could tell they’d reached the door of her heart.

After a long time, tears spilled once more from her eyes—though I was sure that this time, they meant something different.

She nodded, broke into a huge smile, and answered:

“I always knew Libra was good at opening locks.”

She was right. After all, Poppol had said it, too.

Words are magic.