I'd been attempting, with each fleeting second that my subconscious tallied, to remain awake; or rather, to pay attention. I genuinely, geniunely tried, on everybody's souls.
What I mean is that it is not as simple as merely focusing on the words being uttered on that stage. Were I to remain still for even the briefest of pathetic moments, I would most likely find myself slumping into a drowsy stupor, my eyes glazed over and vacant.
Even within this lethargic, dim-lit environment—where, for the most part, nothing particularly notable seems to occur—the tedium is unparalleled; it could hardly be more soul-numbing than watching paint dry. Truly impossible.
Although, perhaps I'm exaggerating. Complaining in such a manner, openly confessing my utter lack of concentration, makes me sound like a petulant child whining halfway through a Stanley Kubrick film—an image, personally, I find rather intolerable.
The point is: both the teachers and the students clearly know, and consider, that the matters being presented are of importance; and so do I, or at least I wish to believe so!
Thus, dozing off would hardly be to my benefit; what if something crucial was said: something that, despite not understanding a word, I ought to have paid attention to?
Therefore, as things stood, the opening ceremony of the third semester was underway, presided over— I presume—by the principal: a middle-aged man, bespectacled, slightly pot-bellied, clad in an unremarkable gray suit. No doubt about it.
Before that, all the students had risen from their seats to show respect—applauding, bowing slightly, and remaining standing. Naturally, I followed suit, mimicking their movements, albeit a little frantically because I was caught off guard by the suddenness of it all.
And so there I was...! Adrift in sea of equally unfamiliar, youthful faces—halfheartedly tuning in to the commencement of speeches, not without first singing the national anthem; or rather, pretending to: mouthing the syllables silently, fumbling through whatever lyrics they might have been singing, until finally we were allowed to settle back into our seats.
Once he began his address, the principal wasted no time in making it abundantly clear just how proud he was of his students—how, in his words, they "adorn these halls each and every day with respect, benevolance, and creativity."
Of course, I wouldn't have expected anything less than a stream of heartfelt praise for his beloved little insurgents, striving so earnestly to grasp the intangible threads of knowledge. Could you even imagine if he had veered off-script and started hurling insults at us instead? That would be crazy.
In any case, after concluding his lengthy, monotonous, and mind-numbingly soporific homily which dragged on for well over half an hour, he introduced a third year student. Unfortunately, I let his name slip past me, since I was unbothered; but apparently, the guy was the student council president.
This classmate—or rather, former classmate, seeing as I would never cross paths with him again, given that he was on the verge of graduating from this place—proceeded to extol the recent favorable conditions the school had been experiencing.
He praised the positive energy that had blossomed from the Cultural Festival and the school trips: events I did not lived through physically, but had nonetheless experienced virtually.
In addition, he encouraged active participation in clubs and sports, expressed heartfelt gratitude to the school staff, and, last but certainly not least, emphasized the importance of preserving this spirit of positivity as we approached the culmination of our studies—namely, the upcoming final exams, scheduled to take place at the beginning of February.
With those sentiments lingering in the air, and aided by the cooperation of several other teachers and students who took turns stepping onto the stage, a total of one hour and thirty-four minutes quietly slipped by.
Yes, I kept mental count of every second, as I had mentioned earlier; although, to be fair, as I listened in a sort of numbed state of senselessness, my eyes wandered toward the furthest edges of my field of vision.
Up, down, left, right: I surveyed uneasily at each margin, much like a peregrine falcon combs the desolate Arctic mountains in search of some elusive prey scurrying among the rocks. In my case, I was simply hunting for something, anything, that could serve as a distraction.
As if that weren't enough, I sighed incessantly—so much so that at times I thought I might faint from overheating. I kept rubbing my eyelids and the bridge of my nose as if I were sweating profusely, though, in truth, it was all merely part of my little performance.
I was far too bored; and more than that, overstimulated. I genuinely didn't know what to do with myself.
Remaining trapped in that state throughout the entire ordeal, my interest slowly withering away, until, at last, the people onstage bid us farewell. We applauded out of sheer habit, and the official instruction was given: rise from our seats and proceed to vacate the coliseum.
Woo-hoooo!
Kurohagane-sensei, our homeroom teacher, promptly summoned us—the students of class 1-5—instructing us to assemble at one side of the hall without delay. Organizing ourselves into pairs, divided neatly by gender, we marched in an orderly fashion towards the exit and returned to our classroom.
Once most of my fellow students had entered the chamber, engaged in lively conversation and gathered their belongings, Kurohagane-sensei took the front position and began to speak just enough to reclaim our scattered attention:
«Everyone, please—before I head out, listen to me for a few seconds. I just want to give you a brief report.»
«Come on, teach, don't let it be more homework», bellowed, grumpily, a student from the other side of the world, his seat diametrically antagonistic to mine.
«Oh, no-no. Come on, I'm trying to cut you some slack here. Anyway—on Wednesday, when you have class with me, we'll be reviewing pages 162 and 163 of your textbooks. Do yourselves favor and read through the material ahead of time; it'll make things a lot easier for you later.
That... is all. Well, I'll leave you to it, goodbye everyone.»
A handful of students called out polite "bye-byes" behind him, but most simply resumed their boisterous chatter without pausing. As for me, I wordlessly arranged the contents of my folder, then sat back down, legs crossed, perfectly still.
I intended to take advantage of whatever fleeting peace remained before the next class began.
And right on cue, someone else arrived—the door sliding open with a faint buzz. In stepped a grown woman, her posture poised and professional, with her hair swept elegantly to one side and cascading over the shoulder.
A student commanded us to stand up and we obeyed in near unison, without complaint or delay, and greeted the teacher as she entered to commence our Biology lesson.
There's really no point in delving into the banal specifics of what followed—nothing about this interlude warrants retelling, as it essentially means nothing worth mentioning and, frankly, I have no desire to do so either. They are lessons, need I say more?
If there's anything remotely commendable in this stretch of time, it's that everything was delivered in Japanese—Surprise, surprise!—and among the many phrases scribbled across the board, countless sentences attenuated in textbooks, several of them stubbornly eluded my full comprehension.
Care to guess why? KANJI!
For a moment, I toyed with the idea of asking for help—something simple, like "How do you read this one?" directed at whoever was sitting close by. But the very notion made me shrink inward.
I could imagined the awkward silence, the pitying stares, the unspoken judgment—would I come across as a nuisance? Or worse, as someone being willfully ignorant? Or maybe I'm just overthinking things: having an overly pessimistic mindset, as usual?
Being a native of America should, in theory, be enough of a reason for me to be offered a hand. Then again, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to mention my mixed Japanese heritage—subtly hinting that a command in the language of the country I'm even studying is expected. What a shitty fate!
On the other hand—leaving my recent dissertation behind—I found myself in that all-too-familiar state of restless expectancy: the anticipation for the end of this class. I reckoned it was quite a while since it started at 9:39. I know this because I kept an eye on the clock the whole time.
Therefore, as I was slouching at my desk, burying my head in my arms and a thin rivulet of drool made its slow descent from the corner of my mouth down onto my binder, finally a melodic piece of music rang out: the bell.
The transition was abrupt: I deduce that each session likely occupied a forty-five-minute slot; which is a conventional framework, no doubt engineered to simulate efficiency while maximizing psychological damage. Anything less would border on the anomalous.
Aditionally, two periods combined would constitute a ninety-minute monolith—Well, I guess I could handle it. Barely, but I could.
Unexpectedly, however—before I had the chance to properly stretch or contemplate whether I still had a spine—my classmates began to move en masse, insurrectionary; I even felt that Haruki was part of the herd.
I, conversely, remained dumbfounded, still half-mummified in the cocoon of my own apathy. It took several long seconds before the imperative of imitation kicked in because I don't want to drive attention through stillness.
So I rose—clumsily, gracelessly, but I was at least stand—making a cursory hint of walking; not until a voice pierced through, demanding my focus from the doorway: «Hey, Takumi! What's with that slothful dragging? What are you waiting?»
In truth, I wasn't waiting for anything. Not knowledge, not purpose, not ABC-like instruction. Just "waiting" I guess: in the dullest and most existential sense.
Nonetheless, as I was observing my surroundings, I noticed that the students were walking out the door placidly, stripped of their belongings. Are we moving to another classroom, or...?
«Um, wait—is this…? No, uhm. Where are th—Where are we heading?» The words stumbled awkwardly from my mouth so I rephrased mid-sentence, as though that would mask the confusion.
«...Cafeteria, where else? I'm going to grab something at the shop. Been craving Taiyaki since I arrive. You tagging along?»
«Ohh, right. Yes—yeah, I'm coming, definitely. But, uh, you two go on ahead. I've got to hit the bathroom first. I'll catch up in a bit.»
«A-Again?» Kaito asked with wry bemusement.
«That's not really something you need to inquire about,» I muttered flatly.
«No, I know. I was just taken aback. But don't come whining if the Dorayaki's already gone by the time you get there. You know people here love those. We're not saving you one, okay?»
And with that parting jab—light-hearted but, tragically, plausible—the two of them melted into the slow-moving crowd heading toward downstairs, leaving me alone in the semi-deserted classroom with nothing but my excuses and a vague sense of social jet lag.
Sooooo... Evidently, we are within this recessional limbo—that midmorning intermission euphemistically called "recess." Or so it would appear; though, I haven't received any formal, vocal confirmation to cement that classification.
My conjecture—admittedly provisional—was drawn from the seemingly nonchalant exodus of my classmates, and the equally silent departure of the teacher, who vanished without saying shit. And Kaito's casual corroboration merely acted as circumstantial reinforcement.
On the contrary, any hypothesis regarding a possible relocation to another room of the school reveals itself as categorically unfounded; this, based solely on the glaringly obvious fact that the instructor had begin her lesson here, with zero inconvenience whatsoever.
A phenomenon, I might add, thoroughly different from the established norms of American educational systems—where students routinely leave the rooms while the teacher remain anchored to their seat like sedentary monarchs of pedagogical inertia.
Though, to their credit, all teaching paraphernalia lies in the classroom; thus, from a logistical vantage point, it is, perhaps, more efficient for the learners to perform the daily pilgrimage rather than the tutors, right?
I mean, when transiting from one classroom to another, it affords us students the rare luxury of idiotic engagements in those precious fragments that exist between bells.
Yet in our current predicament, such motion is denied; we are expected to remain planted, decaying slowly in our seats—like forgotten statues—until some educator deigns to manifest before the door.
Ah, but jumping to conclusions is crazy. A look at the calendar, or maybe our schedule, would really relieve me... if we even have one right here; although, I doubt I'll submit anything about it, I'll at least see what I'll have from now on.
Affixed to the front wall, beside the blackboard, stands a bulletin board bedecked with clusters of paper announcements, each one clipped orderly. I drew closer, eyeing the texts.
The documents divulged little of substance—recycled reports on semester performance, ceremonious praise for our "immaculate learning environment," and hymns extolling our attentiveness and discipline. Self-congratulatory drivel, again.
A handful of notices also lay scattered about; I don't really intend to take the time to glance at them. They are devoid of my in-te-reeeest.... Hey-Hey! This, this is what I'm looking for!
Encased in protective plastic hung a laminated sheet resembling a two-column chart. Unmistakably, the class schedule. And yet… something was unmistakably amiss: the calendar, though present, bore no discernible markings; an austere, skeletal frame devoid of content. What the fuck?
Wait; or rather, not entirely devoid. Upon closer inspection, a spartan scattering of symbols scrawled in black marker was all that punctuated its barren surface.
Ugh. Whatever. I don't want to get tangled up any more into this institutional ambiguity. As far as I can see, based on the available evidence, I was pretty correct. I've only miscalculated a handful of minutes:
[児童登校 (Arrival of the students) | 7:30 ~ 8:00]
[朝の会 (Morning meeting) | 8:00 ~ 8:20]
[Morning Activities | 8:20 ~ 8:40]
[1 | 8:40 ~ 9:30]
[2 | 9:35 ~ 10:25]
[休憩 / Recess | 10:25 ~ 10:35]
[3 | 10:35 ~ 11:25]
[4 | 11:30 ~ 12:20]
[昼休み凹部 / Lunch | 12:20 ~ 13:10]
[5 | 13:10 ~ 14:00]
[6 | 14:05 ~ 14:55]
[7 | 15:00 ~ 15:50]
[終わりの会 (Closing Meeting) | 15:50 ~ 16:00]
[ホームルーム清掃 (Homeroom/Cleaning) | 16:00 ~ 16:20]
I retract my prior optimism. Even a cursory skim of this document feels like a red tape crucifixion—an ordeal I have neither the patience nor the existential stamina to endure right now.
The sheet indicates a morning meeting at 7:40, and another gathering scheduled post-dismissal. I'm not entirely certain what either entails. The whole setup radiates peculiarity, and to be brutally honest, I'm in no mood to investigate further; I'll let the mystery remain there.
I won't be asking anyone, either. I'll wait it out—today, tomorrow—until circumstances unravel themselves of their own accord. I've found that answers have a way of revealing themselves to those who wait... or loiter convincingly.
Now, one of the columns bears a grand "1"—which, I presume, denotes the first period of the day. It begins at 8:40 a.m. and concludes by 9:30. Curiously, this appears to be the range each period shares; It isn't a brevity at all.
A slim row, flanked by delicate hiragana, reads "休会"—which my foggy kanji instincts interpret as "Recess." A laughable ten minutes of reprieve, it seems, before we're artlessly flung into another two academic skirmishes. Then, at last, the coveted lunch hour: fifty glorious minutes—that right there feels a lot more respectable.
At the tail end of this gauntlet, we're tasked with cleaning our own classrooms. This much is made evident by the dispassionately listed entry: "Homeroom / Cleaning"—admirable in theory, appalling in practice.
I severely doubt it's limited to a light broom sweep and calling it a day. One must wonder: do we rotate this duty, or is it a collective sentence all students must serve, day in and day out? If it's the former, I sincerely hope the cruel hands of fate pass me by.
But enough of that. Turning back to the agenda, it fails to outline the precise daily subject schedule. Instead, it offers only a minimalist grid displaying the sheer quantity of them per day. No mention of what lies ahead; which is mildly infuriating, really—because I won't have any idea what will... we have... next.
Uhm, hold on a second.
I cast my gaze to the next sheet of paper clipped to the board, and found the actual weekly timetable of classes, with the courses assigned with the corresponding hours.
Are you fucking kidding me? It's almost embarrassing how I missed it at first. No—actually, what the fuck? Why do they have this one then? It's unnecessary!
Whatever. At first glance, the whole schedule strikes a rather familiar chord—reminiscent of my former high school, though not a perfect replica, since we share the standard academic suspects:
Mathematics, English, Biology, Chemistry, Physics, Global History/Geography, Physical Education, Information Technology, and Music.
However, there are a few intruders on this—foreign to me in both form and function. For instance:
Japanese Language, Public Speaking, Kanji Practices, Reading Books? A certain.... Wow, "Individual Development and Identity", "Home Economics[1]" I guess? Ehhh, I... I can't read this shit: "Research[2]"? And finally the Selective Courses/Clubs.
In addition, there is a peculiar element within this sheet: the squares are coloured-coded in three shades—blue, yellow, and green. And it is this particularity that I am referring to, because it explains minimally in which language the classes will be conducted.
It is the lines in green that will be taught in English; yellow, in Japanese; finally in blue, both languages are mentioned. That's comforting, I guess, or at least not completely disorienting.
Regardless, returning to the subject list, there's no real information provided about the clubs. It seems to operate on the assumption that you either already know what's available, or you'll simply figure it out later through social osmosis. Neither of which applies to me.
Evidently, there are probably sports clubs—that's a safe bet—but I'd wager there are also more eccentric options. Chess club, maybe? Or something equally archaic involving game boards and suspiciously competitive silence. I honestly wouldn't know.
I'll ask someone eventually—a teacher or one of these walking-talking student guidebooks around me—but before I forget, I should probably take a photo of this for later reference. Or… should I? Is it prohibited to take my phone right now?
I spied demurely from my shoulder behind me, and see a group of girls at the back of the class engrossed in their mobile phones, holding them casually over their tits.
Ah. No problem then!
I'd expected this place to be a lot more buttoned-up—maybe even oppressively so—but it seems there's a surprisingly lenient stance when it comes to distractions and leisure. A welcomed inconsistency; or are they just sneakily chatting?
In any case, I reached into the inner pocket of my blouse, pulled out my phone, and—discreetly as a seasoned thief—snapped a quick photo of both sheets. Just in case. Then tucked the device right back into its silk-lined hiding spot.
And with that, I've covered at least one essential part of the high school experience. I know what classes I'll be having tomorrow, when they begin, and—more importantly—when this academic purgatory comes to an end.
Actually… should I join a club? Hmmm… Initially, I scoffed at the idea—but now that I think about it, something about it does pique my curiosity. Maybe I should consider it. No need to rush into a decision just yet, of course; there's time to overthink this properly.
With nothing else demanding my attention, I decided to finally step out of the classroom. The break period was pitifully short-lived, and the sweet distraction it offered to a kid like me barely left a taste on the tongue.
No sooner had I crossed the threshold than I was met with a ceaseless stream of students, ambling either in clustered chatter or solemn solitude—some cradling snacks, others clutching precarious stacks of paperwork, like really tall towers on the brink of collapse.
And there I stood, entirely idle; practically non-existent, as if my presence dissolved in the air around me. Then, that suffocating sense of being watched settled over me like a weight—not through sight, but scrutiny. Oppressive, in a quiet, insidious way.
Bwegh—as expected, fortune had, once again, artfully eluded me. I hadn't the faintest image where either the cafeteria or that store Kaito mentioned was located. I already claimed this would happen; damn it, I told myself this exact mess would totally happen.
But in any case, assuming the most obvious possibility, I concluded it was on the first floor. Thus, I descended the stairs and resumed my wandering, each step propelled more by inaction than conviction.
As a passerby, I would have skim every room that came my way: walking in a slow-paced rhytm, briefly checking out the insides before moving on to the next door, never quite entering, never quite stopping.
Eventually, the tour ended by transporting me to the shelter of some wooden eaves, ventilated by the breeze in the air. It was the garden, but it would practically be classified as a park; the space was not crowded, but neither was it totally devoid of people.
Nevertheless, at this point I decided to temporarily abandon the search for the tent and opted to quietly wander around the unexplored areas on my part. I should tell the boys later that someone had spoken to me on the way, so I had no choice but to give in.
«Oiiiiiii[3], Nakamura-kun!»
What, already? Now? No, please! This was too sudden, too abrupt a turn in the plot!
A girl's voice rang out behind me. Still, disregarding my better judgement, I stupidly examined my sides like a frightened meerkat, without even looking back, until a sharp object pulsed my back.
«Weeeee—agh! Huhhhh?» A strangled, unholy yelp escaped my throat as I spun around soullessly.
«Hahaha, what?! What's up with that scream? A cowboy? It made a funny sound. Let me try again!»
Her nail! It was just her stupid, dagger-like nail that'd made me squeal as if I was a chinchilla. I'd genuinely mistaken it for something much more threatening, man.
«Uwah—hey, wait! Wait!»
Dodging its drumming attack aimed at my abdomen, I moved my torso to the side. I repeated the movement a couple of times until I finally reached for her hand and pleaded:
«Stop, stop-stop[4], pretty please!»
A delicate giggle danced across her face—clearly, she was a little amused by this interaction. With a resigned sigh, I lowered down and released her wrist. But before I could catch my breath, another voice intervened:
«Yeah, give it a rest. We didn't come here to play with him.»
«Owww, fiiine. It was fun while it last. So, hiiii~ How ya doin'? It's been a while.»
«Uhm… fine, I guess?»
Lately, I've been all about vague answers.
«What kind of answer is that?[5]It doesn't sound fine at all.»
Fuck me. Alright, I get it: time to play the charming host.
«I mean, I'm just chilling. Roaming around with no destination. Nothing happened… apart from your unexpected, ahem, tickle ambush. What about you two?»
«We're good too! Or at least… I think so?» One replied, half-sure. «Actually, we came to ask you something.»
«Yeah, but first—what's up with those bags under your eyes? Been pulling all-nighters or something?»
«Ahh, it's true! I didn't even notice until now. What happened?»
Ugh, they noticed it already? I hope it doesn't spread too much. If this is their reaction, and considering what Haruki mentioned earlier, what's going to happen if it gets worse?
«Yeah, I stayed up,» I lied smoothly. «I was watching videos on my phone until my eyes went out. Next thing I knew, I was out cold.»
«Hey, me too! High five!» The second girl chirped, raising her palm towards me, hoping for a reciprocal gesture. In return, fair and square, I obliged.
«Seriously? I don't see what's worth celebrating,» the punchy one muttered.
«Who cares, really? You'll bounce back in a few days once you sleep like normal again. As for me, I'm definitely going to keep oversleeping. It's just way too fun, heh.»
«Well, you're insane—but that's par for the course with you. Either way, I won't stop you, but don't come crying to me when your face starts breaking out,» she huffed, turning away.
«Ugh, nooo![6] If that happens, you better comfort me. Please, Lissa, pleaaaase!»[7]She whined, grabbing Lissa's sleeve and shaking it side to side like a desperate child.
«Agh, you're so loud, loud[8]! Fine, fine! Just let go already!» Lissa relented, prying herself free from her friend's grip.
«Ah!» She gasped. «How dare you insult me? Don't even think about speaking to me.»
«Ahaha, hmmmm! The princess is now mad.»
They'd completely forgotten about me. Their conversation flowed so effortlessly that I felt more like a bystander caught in their rhythm than a participant in it.
Now, oddly enough, I started to feel something like admiration. Or maybe it was just that both of them—well—were kind of charming. No, actually… they were really pretty, what the fuck?
The one who'd played the role of the aggressor—introduced as "Lissa" by her friend—had wavy, medium-short hair. Not messy, not quite tidy either; it was styled deliberately, two little buns tied low at the nape of her neck; colored in a deep brown shade.
Soft-featured freckles graced her semblate, softening the subtle smile and slightly sharp cut of her eyes. Her eyebrows—thin but a little wild, arched upward—gave her a smug look, but not in any conventional sense. It was understated: easygoing.
She wore a gray cardigan with sleeves long enough to half-hide her hands—probably to show off or protect her nails, which looked like they'd been carefully done.
Markedly, with all the information I could gather from just one look at ther, she definitely wasn't local. She had to be from another country, or even mix, I wondered which.
Then there was her companion; her pookie, let's say. Long blackish hair fell over her shoulders like a cascade, a short fringe hanging unevenly across the forehead. She wore the school uniform without a single extra accessory—no flair, no pins, not even a bracelet.
Her voice was sullen, though I suspected deliberate, in contrast to her friend's more measured tone. And not to sound too disturbing, but I noticed that she had braces.
She held her phone with disinterest, thumb flicking across the screen. Each tap and swipe echoed louder than necessary, a kind of background static that filled the silence between the lovely outside environment and us.
Was she texting someone? If so—please, turn down the damn sound effects.
«Hey, let's go sit down. There's still a couple minutes before the bell rings»," Lissa suggested.
«Ah, yeah. Sure,» I replied, trailing after her.
We both made a beeline for a curved bench along the flagstone, shaded by the canopy of a tree; laxly, we sat in comfort. Her friend, however, remained standing in the same spot, adopting a relaxed posture.
«And her?» I asked, subtly nodding toward the still figure.
«She's mad at me—can't you tell?» She replied, perfectly matter-of-fact.
«Wait, seriously? I thought you two were just messing around.»
«We are messing around. Reimi-chan's always like this.»
"Reimi-chan", huh? The names are starting to stack up like droplets in a bucket during a downpour. God, I need to write that down somewhere—what a metaphor. Maybe I should make a book.
«So, what were you planning to do?»
«Hm? What do you mean?»
Damn it. That came out way too suddenly—answering a question with another question. Rookie move.
«Haha, you're slow, Nakamura-kun,» she teased, lips curling. «I was asking what you planned to do when you came out here.»
«Oh—right. Well, originally I was going to head to the cafeteria to meet up with some friends, but... I changed my mind. Decided to come to the garden instead, spend a bit of time alone.»
«Mmmhh~. So, we're a disturbance now? Did we interrupt your sacred moment of peace?»
«N-No, not at all. I didn't mean it like that,» I rushed to clarify. «I just wanted to sit outside for a while, and then you two showed up. I don't mind chatting now... for a bit.»
«Ehhh, I see. Maybe I'll stick around and bother you, then... for a bit.»
«...Why?» I asked, visibly thrown.
«Because I'm bored,» she confessed, folding one leg over the bench's surface, curling herself into a pretzel. «If you asked me what I planned to do later, the answer's nothing special. Probably just wander around the school with Reimi-chan until the bell rings. I didn't feel like staying in the classroom like we usually do—doesn't seem worth it with so little time left.»
«Hm. Sounds kind of jaded. Ironically, I was going to do the same thing.» It is a worhtless recess!
«Oh? Really? But... alone, or were you waiting for someone?»
«Nah, just me.»
«Why?»
I shrugged, then explained with a lightness I hoped masked the honesty in it: «Why, you say? Well, sometimes you need time alone just to... I don't know. Be still, I guess? Doesn't hurt.»
She nodded slowly, seemingly digesting the thought. Then, after a brief stretch of silence: «Nakamura-kun, you can be weirdly unpredictable sometimes, haha.»
«What do you mean? Did I say something strange?»
«Not exactly. Don't overthink it,» she reassured. «I just think it's interesting. That you enjoy being alone too. Personally, I wouldn't mind a little solitude myself—but not now. I'll stay here 'til break ends, and if you leave, maybe I'll tag along... just to annoy your precious moment of silence.»
«You still with that... Are you going to be a constant nuisance?»
«I have no idea; but I don't mean it, don't worry. I just want to amuse myself, you know,» she replied, with her lips in a dull, duck-like grimace.
«Hey, Lissa, look. What do you think?»[9]
Out of nowhere, Reimi-chan slid right into our conversation, holding her phone up like it was a rare artifact. Her voice didn't exactly ask—it just... floated there: «Cool, right? What do you think?»
«Ohhhh, It's so good, so good! Uhmmmmmm? Yeah, It'd totally suit in that if you actually buy it. It's good.»
«Rightttt?! I knew it! But like... I'll probably have to order it online. Uniqlo never has what I want in store. It's such a pain because... I told you before, I don't trust some websites.»
«Yeah, unfortunatey. Official ones always chase whatever's trending.»
«Yeah. Like—what's that style called again...?»
«What style?»
«The one that Koyomi-san talked a few days ago... um, Mori... Mori-kei! That's it!»
«Oh, what about it?»
«I keep seeing stuff that almost looks Mori, but it's all just knockoffs. I'm not inclined to it, but it's like the last desperate breath of cutesy feminine fashion, and everyone goes for it because it's trendy. I mean, it's adorable, sure... but too puffy for me. I'd look like I fell into a pile of curtains.»
«True, but you know what? I read this thread on GirlsChannel where Mori-kei girls were like, obsessed with how comfy their stuff is. Even if it looks vintage-y and weird, they said it's way better than fast fashion. That is why I think it's a difficult genre that can only be pulled off by people who have a natural, warm personality, mannerisms, and speech patterns since childhood. The peope who follows that trend are just... superficial. Still pricey as hell, though, haha.»
«Mmm, figures. So what do you go for then?»
«Me? Ehh, honestly... I'm a basics girl. Like: I don't like going on skirts; give me straight-leg denim or cargo pants, maybe a slouchy shirt. Or something tighter on top, I don't know. I gotta balance it out—oversize bottom, fitted top. Makes the silhouette cleaner I think.»
«Ohhh, so you're into contrast styling? A little edgy, huh?»
«Hah? Don't say it like that. It's not "edgy," I'm not trying to look like a Yurufuwa Gang. No offense.»
«No, I get it. But, I mean, for me, I like skirts and stuff, but only if they've got a little shape. Not those shapeless ones that look like tablecloths.»
«You'd wear anything if it came from a pop-up in Laforet, don't even lie.»
«Oh my god, rude! But... also kinda true, ah-hahaha!» Reimi stuck out her tongue.
«Idiot. Anyway.... Hey, show the photo to Nakamura-kun» Lissa gave a casual head-tilt toward me. «He's been silently judging us this whole time. Might as well let him a glance.»
Ah, you caught me unawares. I wasn't really interested; I was simply looking at them because I had nowhere else to look, but a little curiosity wouldn't hurt either.
Moments later, Reimi leaned over and pointed the screen of her mobile phone in my direction: «It was... this one.»
It was on the Pinterest app, and it featured a photograph of a woman with a keen sense of fashion. A rather exotic outfit, in my opinion; with multiple layers that intricately complemented each other.
As for her hairstyle... it was quite an exhibition, though I refrained from harsh criticism. Oh, but wait... this style of clothing looks familiar.
It's the Gyaru fashion! Or am I mistaken? The photo looked dated, reminiscent of the early 2000s. If I got it right, no wonder the makeup matches her outfit so well.
«Hmm... I guess it's cute» I said, doing my best not to sound like a clueless tourist.
«"Cute"? Yeah, that too,» she frowned, eyeing her screen again.«Aghhhhh, I wanna dress like this all the time. I'd show up to school like this, no regrets.»
«Yeah, because that wouldn't get you suspended in five seconds,» Lissa shot back.
«I know, but if I could? I wouldn't even hesitate. I want people to look at me.» That grin of hers could burn a hole in the wall. «I want to be the kind of person you can't ignore.»
«You are a special case, do you realise that?»
«Ah-Hahahahaha! Maybe. But, noooo, I hate how people see me.»
«Why? What do you mean? Something happen?» I unintentionally asked, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
«She's just nuts,» Lissa alleged.
«Don't call me nuts! I just have a strong voice. Everyone is shy here: quite reserved and self-conscious when you talk to them directly, so listening to someone like me speak, they automatically assume that I want to hog the limelight like I'm some attention-hungry freak. That's why I get labeled "annoying" or "too much." It's ridiculous.»
«But you do wanna stand out, right? You literally just said it,» I pointed out.
«Yes, but not in the sense of being constantly in the limelight. Talking to others is exhausting. I mean, like celebrities, you know?» Her eyes lit up with a whole new sparkle. «People admire them from a distance, beg for selfies, but they still keep their mystery. That's what I want.»
«It's good to have delusions—I mean, dreams», Lissa added.
«I'll get there someday. And when I do, you two are done. You'll never hear from me again. Not one! You'll all be my fans, and I'll be too busy counting likes and swimming in cash from useless product posts I make.»
«Nobody's gonna care unless you say something that actually matters.»
«Oh please, don't be naive. People don't follow girls for substance. They follow them because they're hot. And I am hot, hehe», she declared with full-body confidence.
«Yeah yeah, sure you are» Lissa replied sarcastically, sniggering.
«Hey! Don't "yeah yeah" me. Admit it!»
Am I intruding on something? I shouldn't feel obliged to participate in their discussion, but I found myself intervening naturally and they both seemed meek to keep me in the loop.
So I should be a close friend, should I? Perhaps the time has come to finally ask the question: who the helly belly are these two girls?
[1] 「家庭科」
[2] 「探究型授業」(Inquiry-based classes)
[3] (おーい)
[4] 「ストップストップ」
[5] 「何その返事？」
[6] 「あああっ、いやだ！」
[7] 「お願い、リサ、お願いー」
[8] 「あー、うるさいうるさい」
[9] 「ねえ、中村君、見て。 どう思う？」