Interlude…

Over and over.

Over and over, I look back.

As the distance grows and time passes and the point of no return only recedes behind me, I turn back to wonder what would have been right—I want to tell myself this was the only answer, even though I know that’s wrong.

Over and over.

Over and over, I look back.

In the growing light of dawn.

In the afternoon, when the grass is shining with droplets.

In the twilight, when the fine snow is scattering.

In the deep of night, when the hazy moon is wavering.

I’ve had plenty of opportunities to find the answer, and each time, I’ve attempted to derive the optimal solution. I always told myself that this had to be the best one—most likely. Probably. It had to be.

My decisions have been vague and gray—not terribly wrong, but not quite right, either. Never too close and never too far and never enough to hurt. Whether they’re right and true remains uncertain.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t say what I wanted to say—I didn’t even know what I wanted to say. And in that case, did I have the right to say anything?

That’s why, at least—

—I just wanted to be right this time. I didn’t want to let any mistakes or errors slip by.

I couldn’t afford to go wrong anymore.

1

Shizuka Hiratsuka feels keenly nostalgic about the past.

Over and over—over and over I look back. But I don’t stop my feet from moving. Heart pounding, I don’t try to catch my breath or wipe off my dripping sweat.

I couldn’t, or I’d use some single trivial gesture like this as an excuse to stop. But my eyes refused to give up on what was behind me. I hated them for it.

The single teardrop on her face when we’d parted ways wouldn’t leave my head.

The marks from the rain that morning still lay on the asphalt, reminding me of the streaks of tears running down her cheeks. My legs were moving in an unnatural and clumsy manner, and my feet failed to kick up the puddles. With every step, I just about turned back again.

But even if I did go back, what could I do then? What should I say?

No, I knew an ideal answer, or something like it, existed inside me. But I couldn’t choose, enact, or validate it. It would be the standard societal answer, but it didn’t seem like my answer—like our answer.

The sun gradually lowered in altitude, reddening by degrees.

The shadows of the rows of houses, apartment complexes, and shopping centers stretched long, and eventually, they would merge with the coming darkness as the sun sank into the west. I ran on, desperate to avoid being swallowed.

The contact of my feet on the ground was certain and clear, unlike the thoughts that spun around and around in my head.

I thought about what that single falling drop had meant, then ran that thought into the ground, coming up with reason after reason without reaching any real answers. And I left it that way.

Just like I’d always done.

If I continued straight ahead, I’d eventually reach the ocean.

The bitter oncoming wind was sneaking into the cracks between my coat and scarf. The air stabbed at my flushed cheeks, stinging them and making them stiff. I was still chilly, but sweat was beading on my forehead. Even after I peeled off the scarf wrapped around my neck, something inside me still felt strangled.

Panting raggedly, I blew out the thing caught in my chest.

Despite all my impatience and anxiety, it was as if I was literally being pulled from behind, and by the time I’d passed two bus stops, my legs had begun to slow. When a lucky red light finally forced my run to end, I dropped my hands to my knees and let out a deep breath.

After all that effort, everything caught up with me the moment I stopped.

The meaning of her tear, the worth of her words, and a deluge of questions about both.

I was certain I’d made another mistake.

Ahead of me was an old walk signal that looked like they’d forgotten to replace it. The dark, muddy red—the color of diseased blood—went out.

I had to run again.

With a forceful exhalation somewhere between a moan and a pant, I raised myself up and took a step forward.

The signal telling me to move onward was a dark, somber green.

Sounds reached me from distant clubs—shouts, the ringing of metallic bats, the bass notes of a euphonium, the brakes from a rusty bicycle, sheet-iron roofs rattling in the wind.

These were the after-school sounds.

But the closest sound was my own panting. I swallowed it, strangling my breath until it was quiet.

When I went into the school building, all the outside clamor faded away, and it was like stepping into another world. The still, cold air wavered, like a membrane that sucked in all the sounds of a living, breathing school.

At some point, they’d started installing fluorescent lights only on alternating sides of the hallway, making it a little darker when dusk approached. Each step forward brought with it a heavier weight on my heart. Or maybe I was just calming down.

Now that my head had cooled, I could hear the words she’d said so sadly again.

After that phone call, I’d raced all the way here, and my thoughts had been whirling around the entire time, too.

The things that had been put into words, and the things that had not.

The things that should have been given clear form remained vague, but even without giving them form, I clearly understood what was in that unopened box anyway.

With so much unsaid, I couldn’t know if my words on the matter were worth anything. But I’m sure the reason Miss Hiratsuka expressly bothered to make me use those words was because this is the end.

Bit by bit by bit, the inevitable separation inched closer as I gazed up at the reddening twilight sky from the window.

I didn’t pass by anyone in the hallway that led to the teachers’ room. It was utterly silent.

I’d already caught my breath, and all I could hear was my own footsteps and heartbeat. They should have been ticking at around the same tempo, but one was slowing as I approached the door, while the other raced.

I peeled off my coat and balled it up in my arms along with the scarf I’d been carrying. Once I was standing in front of the door and reaching out to knock, my hand suddenly dropped.

I was losing my nerve, wasn’t I? I sighed at myself.

But I couldn’t be standing here pathetically forever.

She would—

Miss Hiratsuka would leave me eventually. I hadn’t known, so I’d still failed to show her anything in the end.

But the one thing I had understood was that I couldn’t let her see the worst of me.

I let out one last big, hesitant sigh. Reaching out again, I knocked loudly, then immediately touched my fingers to the handle.

The end of the school year was always a busy time, and there were a number of teachers briskly rushing around the staff room. Meanwhile, my gaze drifted entirely on its own to just one point. The place where I always looked first whenever I came here.

And there was Miss Hiratsuka.

Her back was turned to the entrance, and she must have been dealing with some paperwork. She appeared almost graceful—her spine straight, her long black hair occasionally swaying, and her narrow shoulders rotating in a stretch.

I wasn’t really used to seeing her working seriously, so maybe that was why I never got sick of the sight. I felt bad about bothering her again, and I almost couldn’t bring myself to disturb her. No, that’s kind of a lie. Actually, mostly a lie.

It was just that I was reluctant to bring this time—the time in which she’d been unchanging—to an end. So I didn’t call out to her. Only now was I realizing that losing someone meant losing these scenes you’d taken for granted, too.

And so I moved along one sneaky, soundless step at a time, hoping to watch her for just a little longer, as I wondered how I would usually address her.

But before I could open my mouth, she said to me, “Sorry, can you wait a bit?” Even without looking over her shoulder, she could tell I was coming and pointed to the back of the teachers’ room where we always talked.

Miss Hiratsuka spoke calmly, no different from usual. This was how she was supposed to behave around me, with the distance of a teacher to a student and the boundary line between adult and child.

So I replied with just one word. “Right.”

“Mm-hm,” Miss Hiratsuka replied, gaze still on her work. And with that, our very brief and meaningless exchange was done.

I didn’t say anything else and walked ahead to the partitioned-off area and its faint, lingering smell of cigarettes. I placed my balled-up coat and scarf to the side and sat down right in the middle of the leather sofa, just as I had some time before. The aged springs creaked.

That smell, that sound, brushed up against a memory.

It was right before I’d brought up the subject of the prom, when I came to get the clubroom key that I’d never touched before. I’d spoken with Miss Hiratsuka in this reception space back then, too. Now I had a name for the expression on Miss Hiratsuka’s face when she called out to me as I was leaving: desolation. Gentle, but tinged by loneliness. It was the first time I’d seen that emotion from her.

I realized now she must have been about to mention her departure. Or maybe she’d been trying to bring it up, even before. All of it was finally ringing a bell.

But I hadn’t even imagined the possibility then.

I didn’t know how many years she’d been teaching here nor any of the particulars about the transfer system in public schools, so it never would have crossed my mind. There was no point in my regretting it now.

I mean, if you included elementary and middle school, I haven’t had much personal interaction with teachers during my almost ten years of school. Well, I have had a couple grievances… Wait, no, when I actually think about it, maybe five or six, but now that I’m older, I really don’t care about that stuff much anymore. All I hold toward them is the simple thought that I hope they burn… Hmm, maybe I’m more upset about this than I thought.

So this would probably be the first time I’d ever said good-bye to a teacher who had really taught me things.

It just didn’t feel quite real, like it was happening to someone else. Well, more like I was making an effort to take an objective bird’s-eye view. I was aware this was helping me stay calm about it. And the word calm has an abnormally Shizuka Hiratsuka vibe to it. As I was mentally making nonsensical jokes to myself, I let out a chuckle under my breath.

I waited on the sofa without even a twitch.

Because of the partition, I couldn’t see what Miss Hiratsuka was doing right then. This divided area was filled with a suffocating tranquility that put me a bit on edge. The sounds of the school staff and the shrill ring of the phone told me that time was moving, albeit slowly. The glimpse of sky beyond the window was darker than it had been earlier.

As the view blurred distantly, I heard a tunk.

I looked over to see Miss Hiratsuka rapping on the thin partition wall. “Sorry for the holdup.”

“Oh, it’s fine…” At her faint, lonely smile, I couldn’t even complain that she’d made me wait or shoot back a joke. I’m sure I should have said something tactful, but now wasn’t the time for that, either.

Despite the hubbub in the rest of the room, it was like the air around Miss Hiratsuka was frozen solid enough to block off all sounds. The moment she sat down on the sofa opposite me, all I heard was the creak of leather.

“All right, where should we begin…?” she said, but nothing followed. Instead, she set the usual ultra-sweet canned coffee she was holding on the low table and slid it over toward me.

But I wasn’t thirsty, so I gave my head a little shake. She held out the black coffee in her other hand instead. Now I had to take it, so I reached out reluctantly to the familiar label and nodded back at her.

The canned coffee must have been in the refrigerator, as it was cold and wet with condensation against my skin. Warming it in my hands, I patiently waited for Miss Hiratsuka to speak.

But all I got was a rhythmic tapping and no words.

Miss Hiratsuka was lightly tapping the cigarette in her fingers on the table, filter down, maybe gathering her thoughts, or maybe just to pause. I know she was also packing the tobacco, but right then, it felt as if there was something else in the gesture.

Eventually, Miss Hiratsuka lit her cigarette.

Tobacco smoke drifted up from the tip, with the strong scent of tar.

Hardly anyone in my life smokes. So there will come a time when I won’t smell this anymore. And then, every time I do, I’ll remember this woman—until I eventually forget her.

Those thoughts were swirling around me like the smoke itself, and I waved my hand in an effort to disperse both. “Well, first…should we start with the prom?” That was the reason I’d run back here in the first place. But I found myself implying there was something else I should have been asking.

I’m sure Miss Hiratsuka noticed that, too, but she didn’t show it. She just nodded. “Yeah…” She paused there, letting out a short huff of smoke, then crushed the fairly long remainder of her cigarette in the ashtray. When the brightly burning cherry went out, it left a mess of white ash and fresh brown leaves there, smeared in black.

As I stared down at the contents of the ashtray, Miss Hiratsuka let out a weak sigh. “To get to the point—it’s under review by the school administration. They’re leaning toward canceling it.”

“Under review?”

“Mm-hmm. The final judgment is still deferred, but the administration’s attitude probably won’t change much. Therefore, they’re asking those running the event to ‘exercise self-restraint,’” she said dispassionately. She was hiding her own feelings well.

The way she was stating it all as immutable fact made me cut in. “Self-restraint? That’s just a fancy way of saying it’s canceled, isn’t it?”

Miss Hiratsuka lightly scratched her cheek as if she didn’t know what to say, staring off in the other direction. “The school…and the parents are both in a delicate position. Since they gave informal permission once already, they really can’t just tell you it’s canceled…so they’re gently requesting that you do it yourselves.” Then her gaze flicked to me.

“Uh, but before…”

“Mm-hmm,” she replied bitterly, and I realized there wasn’t much point in saying what I’d been about to. Yukinoshita and the others would have already talked about this. I should be asking something else. “You don’t agree with the school’s consensus, do you?”

“I don’t. I think we should have a discussion about continuing it and try to convince them to understand. And I did tell the administration that during the review. But…” She stopped there, but she didn’t need to continue. I could figure out the rest.

When some of the parents and guardians felt uneasy after seeing photos on social media of the pre-prom—a mini-event for testing out the prom and filming the PR video—Yukinoshita’s mother, a trustee of the parents’ association, had come to the school to act as their proxy. That had just been a few days ago.

Mrs. Yukinoshita had pulled up examples for comparison, saying that even in the countries where proms had originated, issues had been reported of drinking and improper sexual conduct. Thus, she had come to inform us of their objections.

Most likely, by this point, the school administration had already made up their minds to cancel it.

“…Well, with someone actually marching right in here, I’m not surprised they said what they did,” I said.

“Yeah. Once it’s out of my purview, I’m just on the bottom. Anything I say is just advice to them. That’s the tragedy of working for the man.” She chuckled at her own expense, and I shrugged and nodded back at her.

She was quite correct. She wasn’t the only one getting ignored in their decision. There were the other students, as well as the graduates and everyone else at the bottom. And now, their conclusion after considering everything was to close the curtains on the matter without causing open conflict, by having the weaker side put away their spears.

Self-restraint truly was a great way to go about it. Honestly.

“Having a job really is the worst,” I said.

“That’s not true at all. It’s a lot of fun, if you climb up to the top. You get to do whatever you want.” We both laughed at the clear irony. What else could we do? Her cynical joke was, in a sense, right on. At this very moment, we were at the mercy of those above us.

On this issue, Yukinoshita’s mother was in control; she had a certain level of power underpinning her authority. That was the kind of person who had strode into this school, and she’d also alluded to a discussion with the higher administration, too. With such a visible performance, no matter what the discussion was about, problems would inevitably surface.

No matter what the truth was, her actions were what everyone saw.

Even if the engagement between Mrs. Yukinoshita and the school administration was simply a “chat” or “visit,” if a figure with a certain degree of status went to the trouble of coming in person, that created pressure, and it was very likely the school would “make inferences” and act based on what they believed she wanted.

Even if it was just two VIPs having a trivial chat over tea, the fact that they were talking privately and out of earshot would give rise to suppositions and encourage people to make assumptions about what they wanted.

And honestly, we do things like that on a daily basis—it’s why we tell people to “read the room.” It’s using nebulous information to personally interpret the implicit, and it even takes that to be a virtue.

“Reading the room” and “guessing what a superior wants”—these abilities keep people in line in a peaceful and insular way. Those high-context negotiation skills are vital, especially in communities that are closed in a sense, such as schools, neighborhoods, or workplaces.

Seriously, man, don’t you think we have to do this way too much? Like how the guy has to be the one to ask the girl’s number or the one to message her on LINE to invite her to hang out, and then he has to generate an aura around the third date that says, like, You can tell me you like me now. Like, what the hell? It’s like turtling with Guile. If you’re playing Zangief, you’re shit out of luck, you know? Actually, it’s pretty bad even when you’re not playing Zangief. Friendships create their own local rules, too. Once people start saying stuff like He doesn’t really vibe with us, huh? or He’s not a bad guy, but…, then you start reading ahead into each other’s moves like you’re Yoshiharu Habu at a shogi tournament, and before you know it, you’re getting sorted into the social equivalent of Habus and Habu-nots. In these games of reading one another, if you lack the Guile to roast the competition, then forget T. Hawk or Eagle or even Birdie—you’re just a cooked goose.

Since each individual community has its own local rules, you have to be sure to catch these small signs while also melding in with their vibe. Being someone who has failed to fit in everywhere, from preschool, elementary, middle, and high school to clubs and cram school, I’ve been crowned with all seven titles in social exclusion. I’ll even have another run at it in university, so being an eight-title champ isn’t just a dream! It’s exactly like shogi.

This is me, with my reputation for reading the atmosphere. Well, leaving aside whether I’m actually successful, I do have a good understanding of how important it is.

Which was why I couldn’t argue with the answer the school administration had come up with. It’s easy to label this sort of response as bureaucratic, but if it were me, I bet I’d wind up making the same decision. I mean, it’s way too much trouble to bother opposing social pressure!

I turned my face toward the ceiling. “…I see,” I said, expressing both understanding and disappointment. My tiredness must have shown on my face, as Miss Hiratsuka slid the untouched canned coffee on the table toward me. I bowed my head in thanks at her and accepted it with gratitude.

Scraping at the pull tab with my nails, I gathered my thoughts.

With things as they were right now, it would probably be impossible to reverse the decision made by the school administration.

As long you don’t make a problem out of a problem, it won’t become a problem. But once it does, the fastest way to deal with it is to expediently cede everything to those in charge.

If someone tells you you’re doing something ill-advised or being inappropriate, then the correct choice is to go Ugh, get off my back, I won’t do it again and make whatever apologies needed for the moment, making it clear self-discipline is all you need as you quietly lie low until the matter is forgotten. Society these days is particularly suffocating, you know, so there’s nothing you can do about that. The Treasured Tool called the Staff of Political Correctness is too strong. Maybe soon enough, they’ll be saying the term political correctness is discriminating against people who failed their civics class, and that word will be politically incorrect, too, I dunno.

But regardless, the problem here wasn’t actually the issues raised or the demands for change. It’s common to point out where there’s room for improvement, and that act could well enable the reforms that make society easier to live in. Making those considerations, in and of itself, is not at all a bad thing.

The problem is the people who proclaim themselves on the side of righteousness and virtue, the good common people, who refuse to open their mouths.

They always think the same way. Conflict is bad, causing issues is bad, having a critical opinion is dangerous, and they won’t examine the background or core of a problem. They’ll just sort of keep it at arm’s length until finally they all get together to loudly sing the victory song of justice: It’s bad, so we should stop it! They’re both irresponsible and eager to dog-pile you, and even if you apologize, there’s no forgiveness.

And I, of course, am the most pure, upright, noble, righteous, and correct person ever to exist since the beginning of time, so of course I won’t go anywhere near those things or do anything that could be misconstrued.

Words like political correctness, ill-advised, or inappropriate become causes on their own, and with a loud minority and the silent majority all mixed together, they construct a majority that prefers to maintain the safe status quo.

It’s the way of the world that the majority is the strongest. War is numbers. Numbers are strength. Strength is power. Power is dangerous stuff. If you have the power, you can do most things and beat down most opponents. In other words, muscle, which generates power, is the ultimate good, and lifting is the most powerful solution. You get what I mean? Because I sure don’t.

What I do get is that right now, the prom was in an extremely precarious situation.

Right now, the only ones who knew were the student council and related parties, some of the parents’ association, and the school administration, but if the students and parents learned of the opposition to the prom and the demand for self-restraint, it would help the anti-prom faction gain momentum.

If we just stood by and did nothing, it would be hard to turn it around. But there wasn’t anything effective to be done.

“We’re shit out of luck here…” A tired chuckle slipped out of the corners of my lips.

Then, my eyes happened to meet with Miss Hiratsuka’s. There was a little heat in her gaze, and she seemed to be patiently waiting for my reaction. She set her elbows on her knees, unlaced her fingers, and slowly said, “You’re still trying to make the prom happen, huh.”

When she repeated what she’d said to me over the phone, I found I didn’t know what to say.

Her manner of speaking was entirely gentle, nothing accusatory about it. But I couldn’t answer because I was still unsure whether intervening in the prom was right or wrong. I’d also add that I was kind of embarrassed about running my mouth over the phone. But now that that cat was out of the bag, I couldn’t deny it.

And so I gave in to gravity and nodded—although it mostly looked like I was letting my head hang. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing, though…,” I said, turning slightly away. My words were neither black nor white. The term flickering through the back of my mind made them come out weak.

Codependence.

I couldn’t help but feel like Haruno Yukinoshita’s evaluation had been the most accurate expression of our relationship. Even if I wanted to deny it, I didn’t have any evidence to disprove it.

I lowered my gaze as the energy left my voice.

At the foot of the sofa, some lopsided, blackened circles had been rubbed into the flooring. The marks must have been made through use over the course of many years. There was no sign of any attempt to fix them, either. The concrete below was peeking through these rounded scratches.

As I was zoning out, staring at them, in the corner of my eye I saw Miss Hiratsuka fold her long legs the other way. “Indeed. Yukinoshita doesn’t want your intervention.”

When I looked up again, Miss Hiratsuka’s serious gaze met mine.

Yes, Yukino Yukinoshita was rejecting any assistance from me. Miss Hiratsuka had been there and heard the whole speech. So she was saying this now because she’d found out then. Or, considering how she had avoided telling me at first about how the prom was heading toward cancelation, it was possible she’d heard about Yukinoshita’s intentions at another point. Maybe Miss Hiratsuka was aware of some information that had been kept from me.

That thought made me hesitate to carelessly step into it, and all I could do was offer a flimsy half smile in return. I wasn’t used to moving those muscles. Oh, so this is a forced smile.

To be honest, I knew this would inevitably be a huge hassle, and just thinking about the fruitless exchange of words I was about to have with her was so depressing. I knew that it wouldn’t lead us to a worthwhile conclusion, but I’d made my decision that I had to do it anyway. That had to be why I went to the trouble of trying to smile at all.

It was a vague and strained attempt. Miss Hiratsuka’s gaze softened, and her lips curved up slightly. “…So you’re going to do it anyway.”

“Well, I’m used to being unwanted,” I said.

That’s how it’s always been. I’ve always been going too far, and I wasn’t going to fix that habit now.

Miss Hiratsuka gave me a blank look, blinking a few times. Then, as if she couldn’t resist, she turned her mouth away and smiled. There was something like glee in it.

When I glared back in mild protest, she cleared her throat quietly and schooled her face again. “Ohhh, sorry. Well, I am a little glad.” She paused there, her eyebrows turning down in consternation. “It’s just that Yukinoshita is struggling to make a change, and I want to support her, too. So I don’t know if giving her a hand so casually is the right idea. It might hinder her. Especially when she has so much to worry over.” Miss Hiratsuka’s gaze, which had been drifting downward, flicked over to capture me. I could tell she wanted to say something, and I could sense in it her consideration for Yukinoshita.

“If it’s that stuff about dependence or whatever,” I said, “I feel like she’s worrying in the wrong direction.”

“Mm-hmm… Well, I don’t think dependence is the right word for it, either, but it’s about how she interprets it. When someone is biased, a lot of the time, nothing you can say will get through to them.”

“Yeah… Well, you’re right…” I knew that kind of stubbornness. To be more precise, I knew what it felt like when someone else saw it in me.

I try and try to convince myself to live through vague, cotton-candy days, but I can’t avoid seeing it somewhere along the line. I can’t quite fool myself, no matter how many words I expend in the effort, and I wind up obsessing over it. I’m fastidious to the point of insurmountable self-consciousness. That self-consciousness continues to live in my heart even now. I feel like it’s always patiently lurking in the darkness overhead, one step behind me.

That’s why I get it. The perception I had of myself can’t be wiped away so easily. That would be the same for Yukinoshita, too. Maybe this wasn’t truly dependence, but at the very least, she perceived it to be so. I could deny it all I wanted, but it probably wouldn’t convince her.

“Besides, what Haruno said isn’t necessarily wrong,” said Miss Hiratsuka. “It’s important to Yukinoshita. It could be like a sort of trial she’s laid on herself.”

“A trial?” I asked. That wasn’t something I heard often.

Miss Hiratsuka gave me a little nod in return. “Mm-hmm. Or perhaps you might call it a rite of passage.” She picked up the cigarette on the low table and lit it. Taking a longer drag than the last time, she let out a slow, thin breath of smoke. “You think I’m being dramatic?”

“…No.” I gave my head a little shake. “I think…well, it happens.”

“Yes. It’s pretty common. It could be anything—music or manga, submitting a piece of writing, or a sport. It can also be a moment of punctuation, such as a tournament or audition. Entrance exams or gaining employment, or possibly turning thirty… Well, I suppose it’s all the same. There are a number of periods when you face yourself like that.” Her tone sounded faraway, as if she were nostalgic for her own past.

“For you, too?”

“Of course.” Miss Hiratsuka smiled brightly back at me, then put her cigarette to her lips again. She let out a short breath of smoke and narrowed her eyes. It must have hit her hard. “There were lots of things I wanted to do, things I wanted to become. And plenty I didn’t. Each time, I made a choice, faced it, failed, gave up, and chose again, then did it over… I’m still like that.”

Her words hung forlorn in the air, like the smoke.

Whatever past she was referring to, I didn’t know about it. But even Miss Hiratsuka, who seemed complete, had attempted to prove things many times to get to this point.

So as I said…this stuff happens.

We always seek the foundation, confidence, and accomplishments to be able to live our lives alone. Nobody will guarantee you anything, and even if they do, you still have to believe in it. That’s exactly why you hope to prove yourself, by yourself.

Was it the right choice to barge in and try to help Yukino Yukinoshita with her determination, her decision, her life? That was what Haruno Yukinoshita had asked me before.

Those choices, challenges, failures, and resignation should all belong to her alone. Would others be allowed to intervene? I had no answers. What title, what degree of involvement, would permit someone to touch that?

As I struggled with my indecision, Miss Hiratsuka loudly tapped the ash off her cigarette, then gazed at me through the hanging white smoke. “All of that is why I want to ask—how do you plan to engage with her, from here on out?”

I was sure this would be the last time she would confirm this with me.

So I considered carefully. Whatever I said had to be truly honest.

“…At the very least, I don’t think completely staying out of it is an option.”

The answer I’d given her over the phone then still hadn’t changed.

But I wouldn’t say it twice. My decisions and my words aren’t that cheap.

I didn’t even have to consider the question. I’d already decided. The only thing there was left was the conclusion. Whatever Yukinoshita wanted, it wouldn’t change what I would do. What she’d told me before all this was reason enough for me.

That’s what I’ve always done. I only know a few ways to do things, and I can only ever select one method. I’ve never managed anything else well. The more I try to avoid mistakes, the more complicated and twisted I make them, and it all goes wrong.

That’s why this is the one thing I’ll do, in the way I can do it.

Miss Hiratsuka leveled a frighteningly serious look at me, and I didn’t run. My eyes weren’t wide—they were rotten, dull, and muddy, but I would never avert them.

Eventually, the corners of the teacher’s lips slowly rose in a little smile. “I see.” Her eyes softened.

Her satisfied nod was a little surprising, and I was taken aback. I’d felt pressured by her before, but now the pure gentleness in her manner made me relax, too, and my mouth got away from me a bit. “I see? Wait, that’s it?”

“That’s enough. I believe in you,” she said immediately and without hesitation, without even looking at me.

“…Well, thanks.” If she was gonna be so direct, I couldn’t even be properly embarrassed about it. I gave a little shake of my head, replying with a flustered thanks under my breath. My cheeks were burning.

She chuckled. “Listen, Hikigaya. Just lending a hand with the prom isn’t going to help her. What’s important is the way you get involved. You get that, right?” she asked, and I nodded.

Miss Hiratsuka was correct—if I just said I was going to help with the prom, she wasn’t going to accept that. That was exactly why I had to consider how I’d be involved. Plus, the success of the prom had to guarantee Yukinoshita’s independence, her self-reliance.

This was something we had been lectured on countless times by this point, but the way to help someone was not to give them a fish, but to teach them how to fish. Ultimately, Yukinoshita should achieve salvation on her own, but I couldn’t think of how to fulfill that condition right now. Just holding the prom was technically doable, but it didn’t seem like that was the best answer.

I found myself scratching my head. “This is pretty difficult…”

“Well. I wouldn’t call it…easy. Especially with you kids.” Miss Hiratsuka blew a puff of smoke around the cigarette in her lips and cracked a little wry smile.

“Yeah. And I feel like this tends to happen when the other person wants help… We’re totally at odds with this, so…,” I said, making an X with my fingers.

Miss Hiratsuka shrugged in mild exasperation. “Come on now, what are you talking about? What have you all been doing all this time?”

“What have we been doing…?” I don’t remember at all… I felt like we hadn’t been doing much.

As I was racking my brain, Miss Hiratsuka made a fist and thrust it right in front of my face—but then suddenly she was shadowboxing. Oh no, she’s gonna hit me and then she’s gonna be all nice afterward and the whiplash will make my heart go pitter-patter and then will this turn into full-fledged domestic violence…?

While I was internally freaking out, Miss Hiratsuka was grinning boldly. “Since time immemorial, a clash of ideals between two individuals has always been resolved through competition.”

I’d heard that at some point before. “Ohhh… That brings back some memories…”

“Right?” She gave me a lighthearted grin. But her smile lasted only a moment. The corners of her mouth remained raised, but her gaze wandered a bit sadly through the air. “It sure does…,” she added, although not to me. I don’t think she even realized she had spoken. I’m sure she was talking to herself.

I rocked my head a few times. The motion was kind of like a nod, but it wasn’t as if our thoughts were in the same place. So I didn’t respond out loud.

As if to fill up the silence she’d created, Miss Hiratsuka continued. “You’ve disagreed plenty of times. But you’ve always managed to get past that. I think you can have a bit more faith in what you’ve built together,” she with a kind smile, and I listened to her, digesting it.

“Yeah, I guess…”

Yukinoshita didn’t want me to save her, but I couldn’t just not touch this at all. So I had to find a different way to be involved. When I considered this, based on what we’d done until now, I could vaguely see what that involvement might look like.

Miss Hiratsuka smiled in satisfaction once she could tell I had convinced myself. “If you’ve decided on a course of action, then we can get to the point. Yukinoshita should still be in the student council room. So go on.”

“Okay.” I started to get up but then remembered something that had been bothering me, and I sat back down again. “Oh, but one last thing.”

“Hmm?” She cocked her head at me, an innocent gesture that belied her age.

Meanwhile, the corners of my lips pulled up in a smirk in spite of myself. “For the prom, it’s just self-restraint, right?”

“…I believe I heard someone saying something very similar recently,” Miss Hiratsuka grumbled.

Then that meant Yukinoshita and the others hadn’t given up on the prom after all. Just like me—in fact, they’d come to that conclusion even faster than I had.

Miss Hiratsuka closed her eyes in a deliberate-looking way and breathed a sigh. While she was at it, she set her half-smoked cigarette in her lips again, looked off in the other direction, and blew a puff.

I could tell that was a gesture of tacit consent. Thanks…, I thought, but I also got a little worried. “Is that okay? If I pull something stupid, you’ll be taking the heat, won’t you…? Won’t that make things uncomfortable for you?”

If there was a problem, then Miss Hiratsuka, being our club’s teacher-advisor, was bound to have her responsibility called into question. I didn’t know specifically how she would be punished, but I was sure they would needle and gripe at her. Emotional vigilantism in the name of social sanctions is common in any community.

Cigarette in her lips, Miss Hiratsuka fluttered a hand as she winked jokingly at me. “I won’t be around by that time anyway. I don’t care about what happens after I’m gone.”

“Ooh, don’t you sound like the kids these days.”

“I’m not like. I am these days. I’m so young, I can’t even.” Miss Hiratsuka smacked at the table as she protested in a particularly affected parody of a young person. Then she got even sillier and started chopping her neck with the side of her hand. “Well, if something happens, then it’ll just be my head flying. It’s not something for you to worry about. So do whatever you want.”

“Whoa… Now I feel like I can’t do anything…” Could you not casually put your neck on the line? That’s actually a hell of a lot of pressure, mach stress on my life span, okay?

“I’m joking. Don’t worry about it. I’ll make it work on my end. If I do get fired, then maybe I’ll just get married. Not that I have anyone lined up,” she said, swishing aside her long hair with a masochistic na-ha-ha-ha-haaa.

I can’t laugh with you, y’know…

I smiled anyway, though. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Huh? You’ll take me?” she replied instantly, expression blank.

Why would I? I’m not gonna take you. You’re wasted on me, okay? Argh, hurry up! Hurry, someone, marry this woman! Before I change my mind!

As I was thinking this, Miss Hiratsuka’s watery eyes reminded me of an abandoned black lab. She must have felt the futility of the arrangement as well. Aww man, just like a big dog. So soothing…

But I shook my head. I have a cat at home, sorry! “I do plan to resolve things as peacefully as possible, okay?” I said, but that wasn’t a promise I could truly make. So I wound up adding the caveat, “More or less.”

We were at an overwhelming disadvantage in this situation, after all. And on top of that, I couldn’t even guarantee Yukinoshita and I could work together.

I was already starting to think, This is actually impossible, isn’t it…? but I had to force myself to stay positive. If I don’t, then Doraemon can’t go back to the future…

Yes, I was bluffing; yes, I was full of myself; and yes, I was pushing myself, but I forced my lips into a grin.

Miss Hiratsuka gave me a long look in the eyes. “…Sounds like I can count on you,” she muttered gently with a soft smile, as if she were watching the lights of a nighttime train departing into the distance. It was really embarrassing for her to say it straight to my face, and I pretended to pull the hair at the back of my head, turning my face slightly away.

Dramatic declarations weren’t my usual style.

I had to resolve this somehow, without causing harm to Miss Hiratsuka. I felt like the difficulty level had gotten bumped up a notch.

But I had a ray of hope now.

If I could just handle this well, Miss Hiratsuka might not even have to take any heat, and it shouldn’t wind up affecting her career. Probably. Maybe. I think it’ll be okay. Not that I know. Well, I’ll brace for it anyway. Whatever will my parents say if they hear my bride is nearly ten years older than me…? Wait, is that what I’m bracing for?

Anyway, now that it was settled what I should do, there was nothing else for us to talk about. The silence that descended was natural.

After a few seconds of it, I finished the rest of the sweet coffee in my hand, swallowing something bitter along with it, and got to my feet. I balled up the mess of bag, coat, and scarf beside me and left everything else behind.

“Bye, then,” I said briefly, and Miss Hiratsuka just nodded back.

“See ya.”

With that, our conversation was over. And that was fine, ending it there.

But then as I was moving on, Miss Hiratsuka called out behind me, “Hikigaya.”

I didn’t turn around, but I couldn’t ignore her, either, and I came to a stop.

“…Sorry. For not being able to say it.”

I couldn’t see her expression, but I could easily imagine her face, sadly tilted down. I think I was doing something similar.

When I started opening my mouth, the faint bitterness of the coffee came back, and the sickly-sweet milk caught in the back of my throat.

I swallowed them, along with a sigh, and cleared my throat instead. “…No, you don’t have to apologize.” I glanced back over my shoulder, put a proper smile on my lips, and quickly found the words. “There’s nothing you can do about it, right? That’s just how work goes. I get that sometimes you can’t say things before they’re announced officially. Besides, it’s still not actually been decided that you’ll be transferred, right?” I tried to stay as normal as possible, as cheerful as possible, even though I didn’t mean a word of it. But Hachiman Hikigaya isn’t a constantly cheery type, so it rang hollow anyway.

Miss Hiratsuka’s gaze quietly fell. “Well, you’re right. I haven’t received the official notice yet.” Her job being what it was, she couldn’t speak about things that hadn’t been released through the proper channels. Those were the rules.

What she said was a type of excuse for the both of us, but that rule was clear, certain, and hard.

There was no choice but to accept it and rely on it to make a compromise. There was no malice or goodwill in what was unsaid, just a hard rule being applied. We knew that. Which was why we just smiled and accepted that this was nothing.

“If I’m not transferred now, how embarrassing would that be?” The teacher swept her long hair away with the back of her hand and laughed. “Ha-ha.”

“Seriously.” I smiled at her, too, and just for an instant, that made my heart feel lighter.

But it was an empty feeling.

I understood it myself.

I could joke about it all I wanted, but I couldn’t laugh it off; even my jokes were superficial. I was aware I was just fooling myself with this exchange of words.

But it served as a punctuation mark. Our conversation would end here.

“Well, I’m going,” I said.

“Mm-hmm. Good luck.”

With a casual bow to excuse myself, I started for the door. I heard the sound of a lighter flicking open behind me. There was the fshht of the flint and a short inhalation.

Miss Hiratsuka would be staying here to continue her work.

I left the teachers’ room without turning back.