Chapter 11: If I Were a Genius

‘Character’ and ‘Breath’—Kai had a feeling that he could now tie those two themes together. Between the two prompts, he had easily come to comprehend ‘Character,’ but truthfully, he had been stuck on ‘Breath’ this entire time. That may have been one of the reasons he hadn’t been able to make any progress.

If he connected the two literally, it would be ‘A character breathing.’ He imagined this concept as an animated character, breathing in and out. They might take deep, slow breaths, or they might go for a run and be panting. Either way, it came down to the sound of breath. Aya had laughed at his makeshift proposal of ‘A character blows up a balloon’ because it’d been a dumb idea that didn’t have any interesting twists—he knew that now.

To begin with, the characters weren’t alive. Illustrations were illustrations, and 3D models didn’t change that. However, ‘Breath’ was on the other end of the spectrum: it was unique to living beings. One could argue that this was exactly why you needed to breathe life into a character with a beautiful drawing, and that sounded well and good, but Kai had to wonder whether or not that was really the case.

He simply couldn’t bring himself to agree with that theory of character design. There had certainly been times when he had seen an overwhelmingly beautiful illustration and felt the character had come to life. With the skills of Kuroba Eru at their disposal, they may have even been able to replicate that effect. But in that case, there wasn’t any need for the rest of the social game club to be involved in making the app, which was unacceptable.

The final hint necessary to his overcoming this puzzle had been Kai’s LIME conversation with Nanaka.

If they were to breathe life into Eru’s art, they could put all their stock into polishing her drawings. They might animate them, or make use of 3D technology, like Kongouin Academy. There were a lot of avenues from which to choose, but in the end, they’d all come down to improving the quality of their visuals.

Meikun’s social game club was not an environment that had limitless time or unlimited capacity of expression, so Kai didn’t want to engage in a head-on battle with Kongouin Academy. He didn’t want to compare the raw quality of their assets.

Yet the moment he’d looked up at the moon beyond his window only to have Nanaka send him a photo of the same lunar body, he had felt it: on the other side of this tiny screen that fits neatly in my hand, she’s there, he’d thought. In her bedroom—which I’ve seen once before—she, too, has her phone in one hand as she gazes up to the same moon.

Of course, this had all been his imagination. Still, Nanaka’s sense of presence, as she may or may not have muttered, “It’s beautiful,” to herself, and her breath had been there. Strangely enough, that sense of closeness felt stronger than it might have had they been in the same room.

If he could cut out that one moment and turn it into a game, Kai pondered, wouldn’t that be the perfect way to convey the ‘Breath’ of a ‘Character’? This concluded the flash of inspiration Kai had gained from his conversation with Nanaka.

“...What do you think?” he asked cautiously, surveying the reactions of the others in the clubroom. Each of them read seriously through the five pages of content in his project proposal, and the first to raise her head was Aya.

“I think it’s fine,” she said. “Basically, this is a novel game that you play through a LIME system, right?”

“Y-Yeah, you can think of it that way,” Kai affirmed. “The main UI will be the same as LIME’s for the most part, and we’ll have a multiple-choice dialogue system for the messages. As the correspondence continues, we can have our character send pictures in the form of Kuroba-san’s illustrations, or have a phone call with Aina-san’s voice... That’s what I’m picturing, at least.”

“I’m so happy that I get to play a part! ♪” Aina said with a beaming smile. “Thanks, Kai-kun! I’ll do my best!”

“You’re the model, Nana-sen,” said Aya, shifting the conversation away from Aina’s role. “What do you think?”

“Huh?!” two voices exclaimed as Kai and Nanaka looked at each other and instantly averted their eyes.

“C’mon, senpai,” said Aya, goading Kai. “It’s obvious that you thought of this plan after messaging Nana-sen over LIME. Or, is there someone else you could’ve messaged...? Honestly, that would be a real shocker.”

“...Is she right?” Nanaka asked him.

Since it was true, there was no place for Kai to run or hide. Instead, he just quietly nodded his head in affirmation.

“I... see,” Nanaka stammered. Then she said, “Y-Yeah! I still think this is a great idea! Um... I’m just glad I could help!”

“Nanaka-chan,” Aina teased, “Your face is beet red, you know?”

“No, it’s—”

“I think this plan is fine.” Eru had been silently reading through the proposal, but suddenly dropped it onto the table and began to speak. “However...” she continued, inspecting Kai with a glare. Then her gaze quickly shot over to Aina and she declared, “So long as I’m in charge of the art, I will never let this tramp’s filthy voice dub over my dear characters.”

“But—” Out of the corner of his eye, Kai caught a glimpse of the bloodcurdling expression on Aina’s face. She looked like a rumbling volcanic crater ready to blow. He knew he had to cut into the conversation before she could open the curtains on this theater of war. “Why?” he asked.

“...I’ve already told you once before,” Eru hissed. “I hate the things that I hate. There’s no further reason than that.”

“That’s not an explanation,” Kai insisted.

“Oh, dear, shut up! Of course, it’s not—I don’t have any intention of explaining myself! Did you really think I would open up every nook and cranny of my heart if you just talked to me? At the very least, I don’t work like that. Not with you, and not with that witch next to you.”

“...I never thought anything that absurd,” Kai told her reassuringly. He didn’t mind if Eru hated him. It wasn’t as if he could think of anything he’d done to try and make her like him. He didn’t know what happened between her and Aina. No one had told him. But that wasn’t what they were talking about, here.

“Kuroba-san, I obviously don’t know what you were thinking when you said all this. If you don’t want to explain yourself, then that’s fine,” Kai told her. “However, if you won’t answer my questions, then I can’t take your side into consideration.

“This,” he said, gesturing to the papers scattered across the table. “Is a proposal I put together as a planner for the Meikun High Social Game Club. As clubmates, all of us are developing this game together. Kuroba-san,” he clarified, “that includes you. To that end, as a planner, I can’t accept your veto without any reasoning—without any explanation, just because you ‘hate’ the idea.”

“...Clubmates,” Eru muttered to herself, voice rich with incredulity. “I had a feeling you were similar, but... I’m done.”

“Eru,” Nanaka called out. “I... I think Kai-kun’s right, here. He thought it over and finally came up with a plan, so to just deny it like that... is wrong... I think that’s wrong, Eru.”

Although they were covered by her long bangs, it was plain to see that Eru’s eyes went wide upon hearing Nanaka refute her. She hung her head, and her hands began to shake. She inhaled a sharp, angry breath and looked up to display an expression even more furious than ever before. “...Nanaka,” she spat. “What on earth are you aiming for?! I—” She suddenly stopped, as if she had only just realized what she was doing.

No more words came out of her mouth. Instead, Eru snatched up her bag with a loud click of her tongue and left the clubroom.

◇

“Ahh, Geez! What the heck is with that moron?!” Aina’s voice echoed throughout the clubroom as soon as Eru left, its speaker rising to her feet.

Aina’s usually pleasant mask had been pulverized in rage. “What’s with her?!” she demanded to know, wearing her emotions on her sleeve while she pounded both fists against her backpack. “Does she think that I’m the only one at fault?! No, well, she might be right, but what’s with her attitude?! Don’t screw with meee! Arghhh, geez, geez, geez! I’m so... mad... oh.”

Kai had never witnessed such a clear example of someone returning to their senses before.

“J-Just kidding, ♪” Aina sang out melodically.

“Pff,” Aya’s stifled laugh broke the awkward silence that followed. “Ahahahahaha! Oh my, ahaha, God, oh, ahaha... my sides!”

“A-Ah-chan,” Nanaka warned, “you’re laughing too much.”

“Oh, come on, Nana-sen, you can’t tell me not to laugh at that!” Aya cackled. “Aye-aye, oh man, that was good! I was getting all bummed because I figured that idiot was causing another pain-in-the-butt incident. Plus, it wasn’t trouble with Nana-sen like last time, so I was all, ‘I don’t wanna do anything~ What a pain~’ but that was the perfect catharsis! And the cherry on top: afterwards, you went back to your usual dead-obvious schtick without missing a beat!”

Aina covered her eyes with her right hand and let out a massive sigh. “...Oh well,” she finally said. “It’s not like I was trying to hide it, anyway. I sorta knew that Aya saw through me from the beginning... I’m guessing you caught on, too, Nanaka-chan?”

“U-Umm...” Nanaka’s pupils swam around for a moment, but she quickly straightened up and answered, “...Sorry. Since you were a new member of our club, I asked around to see what kind of person you were... That, and I figured there must have been something, based on Eru’s reactions.”

“Welp, I don’t think it’s that weird for Nana-sen to figure it out,” said Aya, “but I’m surprised that you’re not surprised, senpai.”

“Well...” Kai answered, “A lot happened.” Aina had come to Kai’s house, attempted to seduce him, and then somehow, he’d ended up at her house instead... He had felt completely paralyzed due to the project proposal, but looking back, perhaps a little too much had happened over the past few days.

“...A lot?” Nanaka asked.

“Huh?” Kai was taken aback by the rare pressure in her voice. “Nanaka-san...?”

“I just told him to use me as a voice actress,” Aina clarified. “That’s all, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“...Anyway,” Aya cut in, “Do you have any plans to talk, Aye-aye?”

“Nope.” Aina’s response was shockingly brief and decisive. “You’re getting the order mixed up.”

“...Order? What do you mean?”

Aina threw up her hands in despair at Nanaka’s question and said, “Are you stupid? You’re mixing up the order of who you should be listening to: between Kuroba and I, there’s clearly one person you guys need to hear out first... Don’t make me say it out loud.”

◇

Kai realized he didn’t understand anything about the person they knew as Kuroba Eru.

She was in the same school year as Nanaka, Aina, and himself, and had gone to the same middle school with the other girls. Her hair was long and black, with bangs that covered one of her eyes. She was an illustrator. She had already received business requests and stood at the entrance to the world of professionals, far ahead of Nanaka and Kai. Apparently, she liked illustrations of cute girls. She always had headphones on, but he didn’t know what kind of music she listened to. She looked rational but was actually passionate, hard to please, and quick to anger. She loved drawing more dearly than anything else, reveling in the beauty—and wallowing in the flaws—of her works, to the point where she would pass out from her own emotions.

That... was about it. He had gone home, eaten dinner, and begun thinking about such things when he’d received a phone call from Nanaka.

“Eru hasn’t come home yet!”

“Kuroba-san hasn’t...?” Kai started to ask, before briefly trailing off. “You mean, she’s been gone since we last saw her at the club?”

“No!” Nanaka corrected. “Apparently, she went home once. Her mom came by just now because Eru told her she was coming to my house, and she was worried since it was getting late.”

Kai turned to the clock. It was already past 10:00 pm. “Is there any place you think she’d be?”

“I already checked everywhere I could think of, but she wasn’t there...! Kai-kun,” Nanaka wailed, “what should I do?!”

“...Nanaka-san, calm down.” The sound of her choking back tears ironically served to bring Kai back to earth. He asked her to calm down again as her panicked sense of urgency was transmitted through his phone’s speakers. “I’ll go to look for her,” he promised.

“Th-Then I’ll join you!”

“Nanaka-san, please stay put,” Kai pleaded. “If Kuroba-san comes back and you’re not there, that’ll be a problem on its own.” He took a few more minutes to convince Nanaka of his plan before asking for a list of places to which Eru might have gone, and then heading out.

As soon as Kai stepped out of his air-conditioned apartment, the uncomfortable heat of a humid summer night descended upon his skin. The sticky night quietly stretched out around him, as though he was running headfirst into a thin layer of finely woven spiderwebs. Nevertheless, Kai roughed up his gluey front hair and began to run.

The streets of Tokyo would still be busy at this time of night, but there were only a few stragglers strolling about here in Niigata. There were still a decent number of people around the train station, but a short walk took Kai to a small shopping district where it was rarer to pass by a person than not. The glow of a 24-hour convenience store gently bobbed on the horizon like a real life save point.

If I had the power to save and load, he wondered, could I have avoided this? No, it wouldn’t have helped. After all, Kai didn’t know anything about Eru. No matter how far back he rewound time, no new choices would appear before him. It was easy to forget this truth, but choices only presented themselves after you’d gotten to know the person you were talking to. Random conversations would never increase a friendship meter somewhere that would beam a multiple-choice dialogue into his brain.

In truth, Kai was sure there had been some better option, but there was no use dwelling on it now. Still, a decision as easy as ‘Search’ and ‘Don’t Search’ didn’t need even a moment’s hesitation.

“...Dammit,” Kai cursed. He had checked all of Nanaka’s suggested locations, but Eru was nowhere to be found. Pausing for a moment, he wiped the sweat off his forehead and chugged a sports drink from a nearby vending machine. As the water he’d lost rapidly soaked back into his body, Kai felt the noise in his mind die down.

He didn’t know where Eru might have gone. But there must be some place, he thought. The only memory the two had shared was when she’d warned him not to get too close to Nanaka, and...

“...It’s a long way,” he said to himself. Still, it was the only place he could think of, so there was no getting around it.

Kai had just steeled himself for a long run when a patrolman returned on bike from his route to a nearby police box. Coincidentally, someone had called him over and he had gotten off his bicycle. He probably hadn’t had time to lock it.

Kai’s body began moving as soon as the thought crossed his mind. “Um, excuse me,” he called out.

“Hm? What do you—hey, wait!”

“I promise I’ll give it back!” With the angry shouting of a police officer at his back, Kai stood on the pedals to accelerate as fast as possible, following along a bypass on a street with sparsely placed street lights until he got to a quiet little shopping district. The wheels on his steed creaked as he made his way onto the main road, and went straight across a bridge to get over the river.

On the other side, Kai passed through another shopping district and found that, from this point onward, the path was almost entirely uphill. He felt like his legs would cramp up any second now. I didn’t know how bad it’d be, since I came on a bus the last time, he thought ruefully. That’s it, I’m never coming here on foot again. After shifting his focus to think about these things for a while, he found himself nearing the top of the hill and switched gears to go flying downhill in an instant.

The way the night breeze wicked away the sweat on his skin was exhilarating, and Kai quickly put the windbreak—made up of trees that smelled like the ocean—behind him. The view opened up to a scene altogether different from what he’d seen before: a pitch black world expanded in front of him, and the roar of the sea sounded like the cry of some unseen monster.

Placing his borrowed bicycle in the corner, Kai walked down the steps leading to the beach. The lighting around here was less than sufficient so he made do with his phone’s flashlight. With the change of seasons, the seaside clubhouse now had a menu plastered on the side. The lively location devoid of people only emphasized the darkness of the quiet waves.

Kai didn’t know what he was going to say. He didn’t know what he wanted to say. Even so, he knew he had to talk to Eru.

She was there, standing in the same place which Nanaka had shown him previously.

As his eyes adjusted to the lightlessness of his surroundings, he could make out the white blouse of a uniform fluttering in the sea breeze. Her long hair draped over it like a raven’s tail, and the ends of each strand melted into the shapeless dark.

“Kuroba-san,” he said. There was no response. Thinking that she may not have heard him, he took a step closer.

“...Why?” She asked, turning toward him before he could try to ask again. “Why... is it you?” The rest of the story resided in her eyes: there was only one person she was waiting for.

Kai was sorry that he couldn’t live up to her expectations, and he himself agreed with her. But there are times when you have to rise onto the stage, even if it’s not the role you signed up for, he told himself. Nanaka was counting on him. He couldn’t back down now.

“What...” Eru paused to let out a giant breath and build up her usual persona. With a puffed chest, she continued to ask, “What did you come here for? Do you want to continue our quarrel in the clubroom? Will you be satisfied if I tell you my history with that bitch?”

“I came here because I was worried about—”

“Spare me the niceties, dear,” said Eru, cutting him off. “I know you don’t believe the words you’re spewing.”

Kai could tell that she wouldn’t believe him even if he refuted her; every inch of Eru’s attitude was expressing the fact that she had no plans to open up to him.

“...Not with ‘that bitch,’” he told her calmly. “But rather, if you’re willing to tell me what happened between you and Aina-san...”

“One time.” For good measure, Eru repeated herself. “I’ll only explain this to you once. Just thinking about her is punishment enough for me.”

“Do you hate her that much...?” he asked.

“It’s not a question of whether I like or hate her. She’s... my enemy.” Having said so, Eru’s tale came flooding out.

◇

As Kai had heard previously, Eru had been a part of the manga research society in middle school.

No club was ever comprised of one member. There were around ten other members, with a roughly even split in gender, and one of those girls had been Aina.

Even as seen from Eru’s eyes, she was out of place in the manga society. Aina’s looks were clearly unfit for the role; one glance between her and the other girls was enough to make you feel that they were worlds apart. Afterwards, unable to overcome her first impression and blend into the club, Aina often went home alone.

Aina may have been on her own, but that had applied to Eru, too. Eru had expected some amount of drawing and study from the manga ‘research’ society, but of course, that wasn’t the case. No matter the school, manga societies were generally not that passionate about the craft. It was usually a place for people who liked manga to gather and discuss the things that they liked, and there were often participants who had no plans to ever draw a manga.

It was easy for Kai to imagine a younger Eru, silently honing her skills all on her lonesome. The fun-loving crowd of ten, and one, and one. That was the club she had been in.

“If that had continued forever... I wouldn’t have minded one bit,” Eru added. But, of course, it had not been meant to be. With ten-some people came the guarantee of annoying interpersonal issues, and failure to fall in with a group—even if one wanted to be alone—meant dealing with the sparks flying about the room on your own, too.

The most influential person there had been a girl named Igarashi, who was also the manga club’s president. From Eru’s perspective, Igarashi’s art was far worse than her own; utterly ambitionless, and unfit to be appraised as anything more than a doodle. However, she was the most skilled in the club and had grown to be quite proud of that fact. Igarashi would draw fanart, receive praise from her peers, and grow ever more boastful.

In and of itself, that hadn’t necessarily been so bad. Igarashi must have felt that it was simply fun to draw, and that wasn’t something to scoff at. However, that only held true so long as one didn’t fall into the trap of using their talent to spite someone else.

“‘We can use my drawing, can’t we?’ she said,” Eru explained with a sneer. “Her head was obviously stuffed with flowers or something, so I just told her that crappy artists ought to know their place.”

Apparently, the trigger for the whole incident had been the culture festival. Every year, the manga society published a club magazine for the culture festival. According to tradition, the cover was to be drawn by ‘the club member whose art is the best.’

Besides Eru and Aina, Igarashi probably was the best artist in the club, and she herself prided herself on that fact. Still, Eru’s illustrations must have made their way into the corner of her vision. Thus, Igarashi had asked her, “We can use my drawing, can’t we?”

Eru had chosen to flatly snub the other girl. Her exact words were likely verbatim, “Crappy artists ought to know their place.” Naturally, this led to a fight, and there was no chance of Eru voluntarily choosing to bend. After all, she was the better artist, no contest.

So, the club president had hatched a plan: the two of them would each spend a week completing one illustration. Then, the other club members would vote to decide which was better fit to go on the cover. Eru wasn’t the type to back down from such a challenge to begin with, and had agreed to participate.

A week later, two pieces of art hung from the blackboard. Even without having seen the art for himself, Kai had no trouble imagining the overwhelming difference in quality. It should have been plain for anyone to see who was the better artist.

However, once the members of the club had tallied their votes in chalk underneath the drawings, the results told a different story. Eru’s piece only had her own vote, while all the other members cast their lots with Igarashi.

The competition had been rigged from the start. Rather, it hadn’t even been a competition at all. Instead, it was an exercise in pre-established harmony, maliciously orchestrated by a girl who liked being praised.

At that point, Eru found the whole ordeal to be pointless. Still, it wasn’t in her nature to back down quietly. She was standing up to cause a scene when a voice had interrupted her.

“Hmmm? Isn’t this weird?” The voice came from a spot separated from the rest of the club members, where Aina sat on an isolated island of her own, separate and distinct from Eru’s. With a questioning tone, she pressed, “But I can’t help but think this one’s better? Hey, I don’t know that much about art, but is this one really worse? Hmm, then leave it to me! I’ll take these two drawings and show them to everyone around! ♪ Then... we’ll be able to find out which one is truly the best, won’t we?”

As a result, the vote was suddenly overturned before Aina had a chance to enact her plan.

From that point on, the two of them began talking to each other—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Aina began talking to Eru. Eru would sit at her desk and draw, while Aina sat in front of her and talked.

Aina only ever spoke to Eru. She told her that, while she couldn’t draw, she was good at acting, and would sometimes improvise voice lines for Eru’s completed pieces. Her lines were invariably too good to think that they had all been ad-libbed.

“I let myself believe in her skill,” said Eru, who hadn’t known what kind of practice went into voice acting. However, all skill originated from effort and the use of countless hours of time. Eru believed in this principle. She’d believed that Aina must have gone beyond acting lessons, and was giving everything she had to the art—just like her.

Eru had believed that Aina was her only friend in the club. “...That was a terrible mistake,” she said now.

The incident occurred on a Saturday, which meant that club participation wasn’t mandatory. The only ones to show up on days like this were Eru and Aina. Eru only went to school because Nanaka was required to attend the fine arts club, and she had always found it strange that Aina showed up for the sole purpose of watching someone else draw.

That day, Eru arrived at school late. When she’d opened the door to the clubroom, she’d found Aina standing there with little pieces of torn-up paper at her feet. It was unmistakably the remains of the illustration Eru had poured her heart and soul into for the culture festival.

“That’s all there is to it,” concluded Eru, her voice devoid of both anger and sorrow. “I will never forgive her... for the rest of my life.”

If that’s true, thought Kai, then what do you mean by “That’s all there is?” Every. Single. Day. Whenever he’d see her, Eru was always engrossed in drawing. To see Kuroba Eru was synonymous with seeing somebody draw. For someone like her, it was wrong to say that was all there was to it. Still, to Eru, that was more than enough justification for her rejection of Aina.

“But was that really—” A few words of doubt escaped Kai’s mouth, and he instantly felt sick of himself. The image of Aina’s fingertips lovingly petting Miyo’s neck appeared in his mind. He didn’t want to believe that those same hands could do something so awful, and now he was doubting his friend as a result. A precious friend who had helped save him in his time of need, at that.

“You’re... I knew that vixen had you wrapped around her finger.” Eru shrugged her shoulders in disbelief—no, this time, it was scorn. “Don’t take me for an idiot like you, dear... I asked her, ‘Did you do it?’ She didn’t even bother to defend herself. I slapped her as hard as I could... and that’s the end of the story.

“Ugh, my chest hurts,” Eru muttered, and the sound of her voice faded into the background noise of the waves. “Now, you need to answer the question I asked you at the beginning.”

“What question?” asked Kai.

“I asked you, ‘Why?’ Why... are you here?”

“That’s because Nanaka-san told me you were missing, so I looked around—”

“That’s not what I meant!” Eru flared back with downcast eyes. She repeated, “That’s not what I meant... This is... Nanaka’s—and only Nanaka’s—secret spot.”

“Oh.” Kai finally understood. “Nanaka-san introduced me to this place herself. When I was... bottled up inside, she showed me this spot and told me she comes out here whenever she’s feeling down.”

The ocean winds howled, causing Eru’s long bangs to fly up. This was the first time he had ever seen both her eyes: they were frail and heartbroken.

“...Why?” she asked again.

“Kuroba-san...?” he asked uncertainly.

“I...” The words dripped from her mouth into the endless dark. “I never heard about this place from Nanaka. Nanaka... comes here when she’s sad? I... didn’t know. I didn’t... I...”

“I’m sure she just never had a chance to tell you,” he consoled.

“...You’re wrong,” Eru denied flatly. “I didn’t stumble across this spot by coincidence. On... On the days I spent drawing with her, I noticed she’d go somewhere the next day. I got curious, so I followed her and... That was how I found out she came here to begin... with. Of course, she didn’t tell me. How could you tell the very person who hurts you in the first place? Now it all makes sense... why Nanaka’s not here.” Eru’s gaze pierced through the night, and there was no telling what shone in her melancholic eyes.

Kai couldn’t think of anything to say.

“...I’ll move on from Nanaka myself,” Eru said, but not to Kai. She was building up a pile of pebbles, one by one. Every stone was a word pulled out of her soul. As she placed it upon the mound, she was preparing to let go.

“...Dear me, perhaps I had the wrong idea of us being close. Nanaka was far away to begin with,” she mused. “Ever since we were children, she was bright and had lots of friends... I was a moth drawn to that light.

“It just so happened,” she said, staring into the palm of her hand. “Yes, it just so happened that I had the key to a room where I could have Nanaka all to myself: it’s called, ‘I can draw.’ We were going to have our art in the same game. I foolishly thought the two of us could follow that childish dream forever. When she’d say, ‘With everyone’... I couldn’t have cared less. My dream isn’t something I could realize ‘with everyone.’ But I suppose it’s the same for everyone.”

Eru raised her head toward Kai. “I’m sure you must understand,” she told him. “In the end, you’re alone when you create. You can say all you want about ‘teams’ and ‘everyone,’ but the essence of it never changes. If you want to be special, you have to bet everything on yourself, or you’ll never have a chance of reaching that goal.” In the clubroom, on the train to Tokyo, and wherever else, Eru was always drawing. Surely, that was her in her purest form, trying to climb above and beyond her current limitations.

“In the end, you’re alone.” Eru was right, as Kai was painfully aware. He was reminded of the development room he’d spent so much time alone in at Tsukigase. Reminded of his computer’s dim glow, and the lone shadow he cast upon the wall.

Game creation was team creation; that wasn’t a lie by any measure. But even if the team created one final game, each team member was alone when they faced their portion of the work. There was no getting around that fact, and it always gave way for a single doubt to form: was there any need to try so hard? Would anyone even notice if you improved this one parameter by a small margin? Would they? Was there any meaning to effort that went unnoticed?

The only one who could answer that dim voice was yourself. Yourself, and you alone—and in that way, too, you were undeniably by yourself.

“If I were a genius...” Eru muttered, “I wouldn’t have turned out like this.”

Kai hadn’t known what to talk about in the event that he found her, but now, for the first time, he felt as though he’d heard her true feelings. And that was why...

“Kuroba-san...” he asked slowly, “were you scared?” When he saw her surprised face, he knew that his suspicions were correct, because she and him were the slightest bit similar in that

Nanaka had blinded them. Now, they feared the day when that light would leave them. Kai understood Eru well, indeed.

“How can you tell...?” Displeased from the bottom of her heart, Eru spat, “Dear me, this is horrid.”

◇

Fortunately, Kai got off with a stern lecture after explaining the reasons behind his bicycle ‘rental.’ After a lot of bowing and apologizing, he and Eru headed to Nanaka’s house, which was just across the street from Eru’s. He had texted Nanaka the news beforehand, so as he brought Eru home—though honestly, they only happened to be going the same way—Nanaka was waiting for them outside.

“Eru!” she called out, running toward them.

But Eru averted her eyes with hesitation. She tried to look up, failed to do so, and ultimately walked past Nanaka to slip into her own house without a single word.

Kai couldn’t see Nanaka’s expression as she tried to chase after her.

“...Thanks, Kai-kun,” Nanaka said gloomily.

“Don’t worry about it.” Checking his phone, he saw that it was nearly midnight. The story wasn’t so simple, he thought, and it wouldn’t be easy to explain things now. So instead, he asked, “Can I borrow a bit of your time tomorrow?”

Nanaka picked up on his tone of voice and nodded gravely.