Chapter 15: Yozakura Aina’s Memory

She didn’t give off the faintest hint of a good impression. In fact, initially, I thought she was the worst. I don’t want to sound like the beginning of a romance manga, but she was stubborn, annoying, thorny, and hard to approach. Actually, it was more that I didn’t want to approach her.

These are the honest feelings I held for Kuroba Eru in middle school.

She would sit in the corner of our clubroom and scribble away with her pen, and whenever she opened her mouth it was to bite at someone, regardless of whether she was talking to an upperclassman or not. She’d tell them the brutal truth—that they were terrible at drawing—which brought the entire atmosphere grinding to a halt.

No one wanted to approach this rabid dog. But most importantly, all I wanted at that time was to sink to the bottom of the ocean so that I could be all alone. Everything was in my way: the name Yozakura Aina, my looks, everything.

Whenever some oblivious boy confessed to me, I had to restrain myself from telling them to go home and look in a mirror, all while they told me with pure hearts just how serious they were. Then the girls would gossip behind my back about how high and mighty I was for having spurned their classmates’ advances. But to my face, these same girls would make up pointless lies about how they’d never say such things about me... All of it, all of it, all of it made me miserable.

So, I joined the manga society. I figured no one would understand why I was there in the first place, and I was right. It being a manga club meant that, at the very minimum, I had a few volumes of manga to leisurely pass the time with. If I turned into a ghost member and went straight home, my grandma would worry about me. I didn’t want to see her worried face.

I ended up being a sort of ghost member within the clubroom anyway, and I was satisfied that everything went according to plan. There were a few club members who tried to close the distance in the beginning, but they left me alone once it was clear that I wasn’t interested. I spent my days watching from afar as they chatted about their meaningless trifles. I also looked on as Eru drew without rest and eventually collided with them.

There was one other place I visited every now and again. “You fool,” she told me. “No one can perform like that off of talent alone.” I had only known my teacher since I’d moved to Niigata, but this was something of a catchphrase of hers. She was a once-divorced woman around forty who’d previously worked as a voice acting instructor at a training school in Tokyo. Now, she lived freely while managing a small troupe in Niigata and writing her own plays.

I hated both the fact that I had been pathetically abandoned and that I’d let myself wallow in self-pity. I had wanted to throw everything out when I’d left the capital, but my old coach from my child star days in Tokyo introduced me to her, saying that I should think things over again—that it was a waste to toss it away.

There’s nothing going to waste, I’d thought. I truly believed that, but listened to her all the same. I think it must have been because I enjoyed acting in and of itself.

“I know you don’t hate acting, you fool,” my teacher told me, as if she had me all figured out. “It’s fine if you hate yourself. There isn’t anyone who doesn’t. If you hate yourself so much, use your voice to become someone else. That will still be you, but it won’t be the you that hates you.”

Even though I didn’t quite understand what she was saying—even though I didn’t try to understand—I think the reason I couldn’t get mad at her was because I really did like acting. My teacher called me a fool every time I saw her, but I found it strangely comforting.

I would haunt the clubroom, pop in at my teacher’s place, smile for my grandma, and go back to being a ghost. As my own lifeless days went round and round in circles, Eru became more and more alone in the club. It was easy to tell from the outside looking in.

Pursuit begets loneliness. The sight of someone working diligently to chase their dreams is poisonous to the eyes of some people.

The manga society’s clubroom was an empty classroom, so it was pretty spacious for the amount of people we had. Most of the members huddled around President Igarashi, near the blackboard in the center of the room. Eru had claimed the corner seat closest to the hallway, and I watched them from my spot next to the window.

Igarashi and company chatted away; Eru drew.

And the next day.

And the day after that.

And again, the day after that.

It never changed.

They were incompatible.

I did my best not to get involved with Eru—to not even look her way—so I didn’t know how good her illustrations were, but I had a feeling they were well made. If not, the other club members would have turned her into a laughing stock. Not only was that unfeasible, but approaching Eru only ever served to hurt their feelings, so there could be no doubt that she was skilled. As they drifted listlessly along, her existence must have been venom to their eyes; Eru was someone who stood far above them in skill, and showed no signs of slowing down.

“She’s so gross.” I’m sure the offhand remark I heard one day was their honest opinion. In that case, it was only natural that Eru and the others would have clashed over the cover art for the culture festival.

I didn’t have the slightest intention of intervening. It’d be a pain, and if Eru was going to play the lone wolf, she needed to suck it up and solve her own problems. At least, that’s what I’d thought... until I saw Eru’s drawing.

It was like my eyes were fixed directly on a light source. Hung on the blackboard, Eru’s sublime work of art was radiant. I had figured she was good, but her real talent was so far beyond my expectations that it stunned me into silence. Igarashi’s crappy drawing next to it caught my eye so little that I don’t even know if I saw it. That’s how overwhelming Eru’s art was.

I couldn’t believe it when the others still tried to pull their stunt, and by the time I came to my senses, I was already running my mouth: “...But I can’t help but think this one’s better?”

Eru looked taken aback, but I was the most surprised out of everyone there. But since that’s how I felt, there wasn’t any helping it. Besides, there was another thing that surprised me, because the character in Eru’s illustration was unmistakably modeled after Yozakura Aina.

The me that she’d drawn was beautiful, dignified, and a far cry away from my actual dawdling self. I couldn’t feel a shred of remorse for the massive gap between the real me and the reflection that resided in her eyes; I was just mad at myself. It wasn’t like I’d suddenly recalled my teacher telling me to use my voice to become someone else. I naturally wanted to act. I wanted to be the beautiful stranger on the other side of this sheet of paper; a me who wasn’t me.

That’s when I started talking to Eru. At first, she was puzzled and annoyed, but she didn’t seem to mind all that much. After I’d improvised a few lines for the character she’d drawn, she opened up and we began to talk a little.

“Hey,” I remember asking, “Why are you in a place like this?”

“I could ask you the same,” she answered, thoroughly displeased.

“It doesn’t matter for me,” I’d told her. “I’d be fine anywhere, so long as I don’t stand out too much.”

“...You stand out plenty here,” Eru pointed out.

“And whose fault is that?” I’d asked, and Eru glared at me in dissent when I said it. She’d probably wanted to say that she hadn’t asked for my help.

It was true that she hadn’t asked—that I had, instead, acted of my own volition—as if you could call my unconscious outburst a decision. I really wanted to tell her, “For better or for worse, your illustrations have the power to move people. Keep that in mind!” But the thought of saying that out loud made me feel like I was losing somehow, so I kept it to myself.

“All I’m saying,” I’d continued, “is that you don’t need to be here to draw.”

“...Club participation is required, dear,” Eru reminded me.

“Yeah,” I’d agreed, “but wouldn’t the fine arts club have been a better fit?”

“...Nanaka’s over there.” The words got uncharacteristically caught in Eru’s throat. I think that was the first and last time I’d ever seen her like that.

“Nanaka...? Wait, you mean Aoi Nanaka?” I’d asked, feeling confused. “You’re friends with her?” I wasn’t in the same class as Nanaka, but at least I knew her name.

At every school, there were a few people per grade that everyone knew, and Aoi Nanaka was one of them. She seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t have had anything to do with Eru unless the world was ending. However, much to my surprise, Eru nodded. She and Aoi Nanaka were childhood friends who’d apparently spent their youth drawing pictures together. And apparently, that continued even now.

“...Wooow,” I’d said. “In that case, isn’t that all the more reason to join the fine arts club?”

“There’s no need for that,” said Eru, speaking with absolute faith. “Nanaka’s pursuing the same thing I am.” Then, when I tried to ask her more, Eru fell silent, pulling the headphones that dangled off of her neck back up to her ears. This was the sign that our conversation was over.

Then, the familiar, pleasant sound of pen on sketchbook reverberated throughout the air. Before my eyes, the lines converged to outline the exquisite shape of her next character.

Ever since the day I’d helped Eru out, I began to attend my lessons properly. Every time I dubbed over one of Eru’s characters, the feeling of turning into someone else seeped into my body. Neither Yozakura nor Aina, I was merely the voice of the character in front of me. As a voice actress, my work wouldn’t necessitate my face, and I could even change my name.

All these burdensome reasons aside, the powerful gust of wind which blew straight through my mind when I first saw Eru’s illustration had moved me. I’m sure that was the moment I knew I wanted to be a voice actress.

That hasn’t changed, even now, in the social game club. It hasn’t changed, but... just because her art opened my eyes, it doesn’t mean that I’m the type of person to let someone influence me forever.

Kuroba Eru might not need any friends, and it’s not like I want to be all buddy-buddy with her, either. The little amount in which I’ve conversed with her has only driven home how much of a pain she is. I can tell, since we’re of the same flock. Us getting along is foundationally impossible.

It’s not that I want to be friends.

It’s that I want to show you.

I want you to know that—though we may take separate paths—there’s someone beside you who’s spent the same hours you have.

I want you to believe that I’m seeing the same thing as you.

This time, I want to be able to convince you, you stubborn fool.