Tokiwa Sakura had once aspired to become a fashion designer.
That much was clear from the sheer quality of the piece she’d made not long after joining the club.
Her technical skill suggested years of prior study in sewing, and she’d carried enough passion to make even the sewing club’s advisor use the word “serious” about her. And it wasn’t just skill or sense — those countless design sketches carried a sense, filtering through that sketchbook, of Sakura having genuinely poured her heart into every one.
Which was exactly why it made no sense: why had someone who’d knocked on the sewing club’s door with such a clear vision ended up abandoning all of it for a completely different life?
Aya spent the entire stretch until lunch break turning this over, drifting through class, only half-present.
At lunch, sitting across from Takagi as usual, eating her lunch, she stayed lost in thought. Normally they’d chat idly about whatever came to mind, but today Takagi noticed Aya was off and, without a word, respected her space to think.
Still a friend with a good sense of distance, as always.
They’d started really talking properly toward the end of first year. Thinking back, it had been Takagi, back then, who’d casually looked out for and casually dragged around a directionless Aya who’d just quit track.
Back then, Aya had wanted someone to do exactly that for her. In the same way — for Sakura — but Sakura had told her to leave her alone. Aya let her thoughts settle there and sighed.
“Happiness is gonna run away, sighing like that.”
“Sharing the wealth. Since I’ve got plenty.”
—Taking the hand of a lost child. That was how Aya thought of Sakura.
How arrogant, really. It meant she considered herself someone who knew the right path, and unilaterally cast Sakura as some kid who’d wandered off it. Thinking about it that way left her feeling low.
Wanting to offer advice without any real confidence that she herself was right was nothing but Aya’s own arrogance — and yet, it was also true that Sakura’s approach genuinely didn’t look like a good one to Aya’s eyes.
Arms crossed, Aya’s eyes landed on Takagi, and she looked up.
“Speaking of which.”
“Hm?”
Takagi, mouth full of sandwich, gave a noncommittal grunt.
“Last year, when I quit track. Why’d you reach out to me?”
Thinking back, Takagi wasn’t exactly the meddling type like Aya, and yet she’d seen through Aya’s put-on composure back then and stepped in to help. Calling it “unlike her” might be slightly unfair, but it did feel a little unexpected, even now.
Takagi wiped mayonnaise from the corner of her mouth with her tongue and answered offhandedly.
“Well, we were already talking some before that. I’d filed you under ‘friend’ by then. If a friend’s clearly down, you say something, right? That’s really it.”
Hearing that slightly embarrassing answer, Aya found herself unable to say anything, groaning, managing only a small “I see.” A grateful thing to hear, but a little embarrassing to have said to her face directly.
“So then — hypothetically, if it were someone you weren’t that close with, just a passing acquaintance, kind of a bratty underclassman, no real proof but the vibe was maybe she’s down about something?”
Takagi immediately caught that this was based on Aya’s own real experience.
But without commenting on that, she narrowed her eyes, took a sip from her juice carton, and thought it over.
After a few seconds of silence and thought, Takagi propped her chin in her hand and answered.
“I wouldn’t reach out. Worrying as a friend and being nosy as an acquaintance are different things.”
“…Yeah, figured.”
Having reconfirmed that her own instinct fell under “unnecessary meddling,” Aya, grateful for the honesty, tried to shut the thought down there. But the thought stubbornly refused to move on. Thinking, as always, how stubborn and unable to let go she was, and resigning herself to living with this conflict for a while, that’s when—
“Though,” Takagi continued.
“You’d go anyway.”
Takagi said this with a knowing smile. Aya’s eyes widened.
“Why?”
“Because that’s who you are. — There’s a certain skill, valued in modern Japan, of just accepting things as they are without needing an answer, swallowing them down. You don’t have that skill. If something doesn’t sit right with you, you go looking for an answer that does. If you run into something you don’t understand, you rebuild your own ruler to measure it. You take in someone else’s distortion and reshape the scale of who you are to fit it.”
Aya sat there, unsure whether that was a compliment or an insult.
“You can’t just leave someone struggling alone. So go. The guilt and the regret catch up with you later. In other words, there’s no point overthinking it beforehand.”
Aya felt some strength return to her legs. It felt like just one more small push and she’d be up out of her seat.
“I can’t judge whether you’re right or wrong. My ruler’s different from yours.”
Takagi folded her index finger, made a measuring gesture with her middle finger and thumb, and “measured” Aya’s upper body with it.
“But you can push someone else’s rightness forward. Because you can rebuild your ruler.”
Strangely, that declaration went down easily.
“I can’t watch a bunch of different people as closely as you do, but at least I make sure to really watch the people close to me. Maybe more than you do, even.”
—Lately, Aya had been getting evaluated by a lot of people.
Yuki, for instance — the source of so many recent developments — had praised her insight, her habit of really watching people. Sakura had mocked her as the pushy, overbearing type who “seemed like the sort to lecture sex workers.” Saeki, the sewing club’s advisor, had called her “nosy” while also recognizing the stability she brought — being someone whose presence put people at ease. And now, Takagi had called her formless.
Watching people. Starting from unwanted meddling. Reshaping herself to fit whoever she was dealing with.
Maybe that was the shape of Mizuki Aya, the person left behind once track was gone.
Before she knew it, Aya had pushed her chair back and was standing up. Takagi looked up at her quietly, going back to her lunch, and said “off you go,” closing her eyes.
“I’ll be right back. Probably.”
Arriving at the first-year classroom, Aya ignored the sharp stares directed at her and called out for the person she wanted.
“Tokiwa.”
Tokiwa Sakura, eating lunch alone, a little lonesomely, at her desk, looked up at Aya with an expression like she’d seen a ghost. Her cheek twitched.
Even though some of the girls resented her, not all of them did — Aya knew she also put on a good face for popular boys and even some girls.
Which meant: calling her out like this, in front of everyone, made it impossible for her to give the same arrogant, dismissive brush-off as before.
“Let’s get lunch. I want to talk.”
Sakura, a vein visibly throbbing on her forehead, opened her mouth to shoot something back, but caught sight of the many classmates’ eyes drilling into her and bit down hard on her lip instead. Then, smiling, she closed her lunch box and picked it up.
—Sitting side by side on the same courtyard bench as yesterday, Sakura, after confirming no one else was nearby, greeted Aya with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
“Really, quite the personality you’ve got. Doing that knowing full well I couldn’t say no in front of everyone.”
“I know it was bad. That’s the first and last time I’ll do that.”
“Yes, please. I’d rather you not get arrested for violating public nuisance ordinances, senpai.”
“You— you, honestly, you conveniently forget your own behavior fast. You’re the one who pulled this trick first, remember?”
Confessing loud enough for the whole classroom to hear had been her attempt to boost her own reputation. Aya had done the reverse — speaking loud enough for the classroom to hear, to cut off her escape routes. Not so different, really.
At Aya’s blunt counter, Sakura, unable to argue back, fell silent and glared instead.
“—So, what. Are you after me? Sorry, but I don’t even consider you a friend, senpai.”
Aya didn’t respond to that, just looked at her seriously.
“Tokiwa. Why’d you quit the sewing club?”
Sakura’s eyes went wide, then, as if realizing something, narrowed.
“Eavesdropping? Lovely hobby you’ve got.”
“That’s a little unfair. Overhearing a hallway conversation counts as eavesdropping now?”
“…Please stop bothering me. I already apologized for the other thing.”
“I know it’s a burden. So I’m promising this is the last time I reach out first.”
Aya did have some vague line she wouldn’t cross — not doing something Sakura genuinely didn’t want.
So this would be the last time she called her out. If Sakura voiced her refusal here, the conversation would end.
Sakura looked ready to say something exasperated, but seeing the seriousness in Aya’s expression, her brows drooped, and she let out a blatant sigh. She pressed her lips together for a few seconds, then let out a thoroughly done sound.
“…Please stop. I’m trying really hard to just let this go.”
Taking that as a refusal, Aya let out a sigh and started to rise. But just as she put weight on her legs, preparing an apology, Sakura’s words continued.
“If you laugh, I’ll hit you. If you interrupt, I’ll kick you.”
Aya froze, mouth shut. Sakura, cheeks faintly coloring, forced the confession out.
“I wanted to be a fashion designer. Me.”
Aya already knew. But hearing it directly from Sakura’s own mouth still hit her with surprise and admiration.
Plenty of people had dreams. But how many people, at this age, had built up this level of skill with such a clear goal in mind?
Nothing to be embarrassed about, Aya wanted to say, but she didn’t want to interrupt right now.
Sakura, eyes narrowed, glared at her, a little embarrassed.
“Not laughing?”
Aya, briefly caught off guard by the question, denied it plainly, serious.
“No, not laughing. Actually — I saw the piece you apparently told the sewing club to just do whatever they wanted with, in the sewing room. A beautiful one-piece dress. I thought it was gorgeous. But… I can’t really judge technical skill properly, so honestly, what impressed me more were the design sketches.”
Apparently not expecting Aya to have seen that much, Sakura bared her canines, hissing “you saw those too?!” But Aya faced her seriously, without a hint of mockery.
“Hundreds of sketches in just a few months of membership. That’s — I don’t think that’s an easy thing to do. It’s proof of having a clear dream inside you, analyzing where you currently stand and what effort you need to put in, and pouring your whole heart into it. You put in enough effort to be genuinely admirable. So your dream makes complete sense to me. I’m not laughing at it.”
Regretting, slightly, how forceful her tone had gotten as she caught her breath after finishing.
Beside her, Sakura’s face had gone alarmingly red, staring at the lawn. The red of her skin and the white of her eyes created a vivid red-and-white contrast, and she hid her deep-crimson ears behind a hand peeking from her cardigan sleeve, muttering unintelligible things like “whatever” and “it’s not that big a deal.”
“—Which is exactly why I couldn’t understand why you gave it up.”
Forcing her expression to stay serious despite an unconscious urge to twist, Aya squeezed out the question. Sakura’s eyes, still fixed on the lawn, trembled visibly, and for a moment her face crumpled like she might cry.
“You said you had nothing left but your looks, but I didn’t buy that. And yet you said it. I know you probably don’t want me digging into this, but I couldn’t help being curious.”
At Aya’s frank admission, Sakura placed both hands on her tightly closed knees, eyes wandering over the lawn, cycling through expressions — conflict, anger, shame, anguish, humiliation, sorrow. Biting down hard on her lip, digging her nails into her knees, she forced out a hot breath.
“I decided it didn’t have to be me.”
The words slipped out, quietly.
“If I show up late to a job that’s been working fine without me — is there any ‘meaning’ in that? Do I matter?”
The words, laced with heat and resignation, came out like she was questioning herself.
Aya murmured “meaning” under her breath. — Did work even need meaning to begin with?
Most people chose their work without much meaning attached at all — just based on circumstances, or aptitude. If that was the case, did Sakura even need to seek “meaning” in choosing the path of fashion?
But the fact that most people in the field didn’t need meaning to justify their place there didn’t necessarily mean someone about to choose their path for the first time shouldn’t think about meaning at all.
Sure, thinking about the meaning of one’s own actions or position might genuinely be worth considering.
But — it seemed hard to believe that kind of self-questioning alone could have snuffed out all the passion Sakura had clearly once had. Aya set aside her increasingly tangled thoughts for a moment and sharpened the one question that had surfaced, as precisely as she could.
“Did someone tell you that?”
The self-questioning had come on far too abruptly for it to be purely internal; Aya suspected someone else’s harsh words behind it.
And apparently, that guess landed dead center. Sakura’s eyes, still fixed on the lawn, went wide, a flicker of indignation and desperation burning in her irises. Her eyes, both intimidating and visibly shaken, met Aya’s, and she folded her trembling fingers into a fist on her knee, forcing out words.
“…That’s none of your business, senpai.”
She’d hit a nerve, apparently. Feeling like she’d found the last, invisible wall standing between them, Aya searched for words.
There was hesitation. To begin with — there was no real reason for Aya to be this invested in Sakura.
She didn’t think of herself as a good person, or as some model student who valued fairness and equality above all else. She didn’t think of herself as kind, or particularly serious.
She just found it unpleasant, having someone nearby who was sinking, stuck, rotting.
That was probably empathy born from having rotted herself once. Not sympathy — empathy.
She’d lived through days like licking mud-flavored candy over and over. Sunny days and rainy days, weekdays and weekends, endlessly swallowing sludge, lost in thought on her bed.
She still remembered clearly the nights she’d spent awake, unable to sleep from overthinking.
That was why Aya couldn’t just leave someone rotting like that alone.
But there was one decisive difference between the two of them: Aya had, of her own will, given up what little chance she’d had of a comeback, while Sakura still had a real path back open to her.
That, for Aya, was more than enough reason to keep meddling.
“I get a little of what it feels like, to have your hopes crushed. Might be arrogant of me, but I want to help.”
Shaking off her hesitation, Aya admitted this honestly.
Sakura’s eyes went wide. Her face twisted, and she clenched her back teeth.
A faint anger and self-loathing burned in her eyes, and Aya thought, internally: ah.
—Wrong move.
“Don’t act like you understand. What do you even know about me, senpai?”
Aya watched Sakura’s expression, blank for a moment, then gradually registering the weight of what she’d just said, self-loathing creeping in. But the fault wasn’t in how Sakura had phrased it — it was in Aya’s own words.
Too arrogant.
Just because you’d stood in a similar position didn’t mean you’d suffered the same pain, and whatever Aya had gone through was, in the end, someone else’s story to Sakura — not something to be wielded as a weapon.
Before Sakura could take back her words, Aya put on an apologetic expression, closed her eyes, and bowed her head.
“…Sorry. That was all self-satisfaction on my part.”
Sakura stared at Aya’s bowed head, looking utterly deflated. None of her usual sharp comebacks surfaced; if anything, her expression looked like it might apologize instead. Her face twisted like paint smeared carelessly across a canvas, mouth opening and closing repeatedly. But since it wasn’t Sakura who owed an apology here, Aya, having reduced herself to nothing more than a trigger for guilt, rose quickly to leave.
“Sorry. I won’t talk to you again. I promise.”
Leaving just those words behind, Aya picked up her still-unopened lunch box and walked away.
Sakura watched Aya’s back grow smaller, eyes wavering. Their positions had reversed from before. She hadn’t meant to use words that harsh. The fact that Aya had been worried about her — honestly, she understood it, and it made her happy. There’d even been some relief in getting it off her chest.
Which was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to make Aya do something like that.
But even so. She hadn’t wanted her casually acting like she understood, either.
“…I have things too.”
She muttered this complaint, and the autumn wind carried it away.
Just before fifth period was about to begin, Sakura returned to her classroom, lunch box in hand.
A few girls shot her resentful looks, but Sakura, with no room left to smile back, just went to her desk.
Her mind was a complete mess. All of it, Mizuki Aya’s fault. She shouldn’t have even considered using her in the first place, if it was going to end up feeling like this. Unwittingly — she’d let herself hope, just a little, for someone to comfort her after admitting something painful. She’d been sarcastic that morning, but calling out her name had probably just been to chase off the girls gossiping about her. Coming to invite her to lunch, clearly, was because she’d learned about the sewing club and couldn’t just stay quiet about it. If they’d met under different circumstances, Sakura might have even wanted to get closer to her — that’s how kind a person Aya was.
But that, too, was over now. Aya would never speak to her again.
No motive, no justification left for Sakura to reach out first. So, that was that. Over.
“Tokiwa, were you and Mizuki-senpai friends or something?”
As Sakura prepared for fifth period, the girl two seats over lowered her voice.
Sakura looked over, startled. The girl looked a little tense too. Her name was — Makabe, probably.
They’d never really talked properly before; if anything, Makabe was part of the group of girls who found Sakura irritating. She was getting a suspicious look from someone in her own friend group right now, probably, and Sakura probably looked similarly out of place.
“Yeah, I guess. Are you an acquaintance too, Makabe-san?”
“Ah, no, I just — know about her through rumor, kind of.”
“Ah, the recent one?”
Sakura, assuming this was about the dating rumor with Yuki, nodded to herself, satisfied, but Makabe, sensing the misunderstanding, waved both hands frantically. “Ah, no, not that,” she said, a faint glow of admiration in her eyes.
“Um, I’m in track. That person’s kind of a legend in the track club.”
“…Punched an oppressive coach or something?”
Track was an unexpected affiliation. Not knowing anything about Aya, Sakura offered this guess half-seriously, figuring Aya seemed like the type — and apparently, it hit some strange nerve for Makabe.
“Pfft!” She choked, coughed a few times, then talked about Aya with obvious pride.
“Last year, when she was a first-year, she went to nationals in the heptathlon and placed third.”
For a few seconds, Sakura’s thoughts went completely blank. Coming back to herself, she checked her own expression.
Was she making a stupid face? Or a horrified one? It took her a moment to fully process the meaning. Nationals — some kind of championship tournament, probably. Third in the nation meant, among all the high school girls across the country competing in the heptathlon, third from the top. Hard to believe, on short notice.
Now that she thought about it, Aya’s build had struck her as remarkably refined. But if that was true—
“So why is she now…?”
The obvious question barely made it out of Sakura’s mouth.
Makabe looked at Sakura seriously for a few seconds, then answered, expression twisting into something like a wry laugh.
“Apparently she got injured. Pretty serious knee injury. Recovery would’ve taken over a year, so she quit.”
Sakura touched her own face. Again, she had no idea what expression she was wearing.
—I get a little of what it feels like, to have your hopes crushed.
“A little?” Only Makabe heard Sakura’s trembling, muttered repetition, puzzled by it.