Chapter 4 - Underneath the Camphor Tree
Tuesday arrived with a gray sky hanging low over Tensei High. It hadn't begun to rain yet, but the air carried a dense, damp stillness, as though the clouds were holding their breath.
Nanami Murakawa walked to school beneath her umbrella, her bag pressed tightly to her side, eyes focused on the pavement.
The weight of the upcoming Culture Festival loomed over her like the clouds above.
Inside her classroom, a large white poster now stretched across the blackboard with the words "Class 2-B Culture Festival Planning" scribbled in red.
Underneath, a list of suggestions was already growing: Maid Café, Haunted House, Live Performance, Photo Booth, Manga Art Gallery.
Nanami flinched at that last one. Someone had scribbled it in messy, almost sarcastic writing.
"Who wrote this one?" one of the girls asked with a laugh, pointing.
Nanami sank lower into her seat.
Yoshiro strolled in not long after, hanging his jacket and greeting a few classmates before sliding into his seat. Their eyes met across the room. He gave her a wink.
That tiny gesture was enough to stir the calm she had built around herself.
By mid-morning, the voting had begun.
Each student was given a piece of paper to write down their top choice. Voices filled the room, debating pros and cons. Most of the class leaned toward flashy ideas—things that drew crowds and guaranteed attention.
Nanami held her blank slip of paper, the pencil in her hand unmoving.
She didn't want to be forced into a costume or serve people or talk to strangers. But she also didn't want to be the reason people complained. Her heart ached with indecision.
Then, just before the papers were collected, Yoshiro leaned back in his chair and held his paper high.
"I vote for the Manga Art Gallery."
Half the class turned.
"Manga gallery? Seriously?" someone said. "That was a joke suggestion, wasn't it?"
"Nope," Yoshiro said simply. "I think it's a great idea. And I know someone who could help make it amazing."
He didn't look at her.
But he didn't have to.
Whispers broke out. People turned in their seats. Nanami stared at her paper, her chest thudding like a slow drum.
"Let's do something unique this year," Yoshiro added. "Something that no one expects from Class 2-B."
By the time the votes were tallied, Maid Café won by a narrow margin—but the teacher smiled as she read out the second-place.
"Manga Gallery came close. Perhaps we can include a small exhibit in the hallway. It could be a side attraction."
Yoshiro turned around and looked at her, mouthing the word: okay?
Nanami, cheeks burning, nodded.
Lunch came, and the library offered its usual peace. Today, Nanami arrived before him and sat with her sketchbook already open.
She was halfway through a background when she heard footsteps.
"You've been drawing me, haven't you?"
She froze.
Yoshiro slid into the seat across from her, holding a plastic bag with two milk breads. He handed one to her.
She took it slowly. "…Yes."
He grinned. "Can I see?"
She hesitated, then flipped through a few pages. Yoshiro, playing soccer. Yoshiro, sitting with his chin in his hand. Yoshiro, laughing.
"You make me look way cooler than I actually am," he said.
"You are cool."
He paused, surprised.
She quickly looked down. "I mean… to people."
His voice lowered. "What about to you?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she handed him a new sketch—a clean sheet where she had drawn both of them, standing under a tree with books in their hands.
"I was thinking," she whispered, "if we do the gallery… we could make a short manga together."
His eyes lit up.
"That would be amazing. You'd draw it?"
She nodded.
"And you?" she asked softly.
"I'll write it," he said with no hesitation.
That afternoon, after school, Yoshiro waited for her near the shoe lockers.
"I want to show you something," he said.
She blinked, surprised. "Where?"
"You'll see."
They walked in silence down the side road that curved behind the school, lined with plum trees and a few vending machines.
Eventually, they reached a small park—old and mostly unused—with a worn bench beneath a massive camphor tree.
Yoshiro sat and patted the space beside him.
"This was my quiet spot," he said. "I used to come here after my mom passed."
Nanami's heart tightened.
"…I didn't know."
He smiled, but it was faint. "It was a while ago. But this place helped. It's where I felt okay being quiet. Where I didn't have to act like the guy everyone sees."
Nanami sat beside him, her hand resting just a breath away from his.
"You don't have to act around me."
"I know," he said. "That's why I want you here."
Their hands brushed, but neither moved away.
Above them, the camphor tree swayed in the soft wind, leaves whispering secrets only the two of them could hear.
In that moment, Nanami knew—something inside her was changing. And for the first time, she didn't want to stop it.