In truth, the distance from that park to either of their homes hadn’t been all that different.
Aya’s claim that hers was closer had been a lie, judging it better to hear Yuki out than send her straight home.
Whether that had really been the right call, she couldn’t say for sure — but seeing Yuki now, calm, sitting on the heated living room sofa in a fresh undershirt and a set of Aya’s own loungewear after her bath, it seemed like it hadn’t been such a bad choice.
Having taken her turn in the bath after Yuki, Aya came into the living room with a towel still draped over her hair. Seeing Yuki’s left arm as she stared blankly at the TV from the sofa, Aya narrowed her eyes at the hives and scratch marks there.
“My dad’s not coming home tonight. Want to stay over?”
It wasn’t that Aya thought Yuki’s own home was a bad place, but for someone like her, a space where studying was possible probably wasn’t a good thing right now.
Making the suggestion with that in mind, Yuki gave back a dazed look. Then, registering its meaning, her eyes widened slightly, and, tense, she murmured “no.” She stared into empty space as if remembering something, then tried to shake her head.
But like a toy running out of batteries, her movement rusted to a stop for a few seconds, and eventually she fell completely silent.
Reading this as “wants to stay but is holding back out of consideration,” Aya decided to force the issue.
“Then it’s settled. Let your family know. And — I want to talk to them too, for the record.”
At that, Yuki fell silent with a thoroughly troubled expression, but eventually gave in and nodded, “okay.”
While Aya was preparing warm tea in the kitchen, Yuki started a call with her family from the sofa. “…Yeah, that’s right, Mizuki-san’s place, the one I mentioned before. She said it was fine.” She glanced this way, and Aya nodded back to confirm that was correct.
“Ah, um, it seems her family isn’t home right now… Mizuki-san wants to say hello instead.”
Once things landed there, Aya turned down the kettle’s flame and went to take the phone.
Holding it to her ear, quietly swallowing a faint tension, she greeted them.
“Sorry, this is Mizuki.”
A bright, cheerful voice came back.
“Oh, Mizuki-san! We just talked! Thank you so much for everything.”
“Ah, please, there’s no need. It’s just what a friend would do. More importantly — I imagine Yuki-san’s already mentioned this, but I’d like to have her stay at my place tonight.”
“Oh my, honestly, we’re the ones who should be thanking you. Our daughter’s seemed like she’s been cramming too much lately, looking pretty worn out, so I hope this gives her a good chance to breathe. But — are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”
Judging from how she spoke, they really were a kind family. Yuki’s problem, too, could probably be solved if she just talked it through with them.
Which meant the problem wasn’t the environment, but Yuki herself. Whether she could gather the courage, and which path she’d choose.
“Not at all — if anything, my father won’t be home tonight, so I hope that itself doesn’t worry you.”
“Oh, not at all! Don’t worry about our end! We feel completely at ease with you looking after her, Mizuki-san.”
“You’re very kind. Then… I believe Yuki-san will contact you herself about what comes after, but I wanted to let you know in advance that we’re both fully aware and in agreement on all of it.”
“Yes, thank you so much~!”
After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Aya looked at Yuki, silently asking with her eyes whether to continue the call.
At Yuki’s quiet “it’s fine,” she ended the call. Noticing steam had started billowing from the kettle, she turned off the heat and brewed tea into two paper cups.
Bringing the two cups and Yuki’s phone back to the sofa, Aya said “sorry to keep you waiting,” set the cups on the low table, and returned the phone. “Thanks, for everything,” Yuki said, picking up her cup and taking a sip of the warm tea. A relieved, warm breath slipped out of her.
They watched a variety show on TV in silence for a while, and then Yuki laughed, embarrassed.
“So, um — sorry. For all the trouble.”
Aya, exasperated that she’d start with an apology even now, gave back only a flat “mm.”
“Well, I’m just meddling because I want to. No need to worry about it.”
“I will worry, though.”
“Figured. That’s how you are.”
Aya nodded without pushing further, conceding the point, and propped her cheek on her hand against the arm of the sofa.
“Let it all out here. I’ll listen to everything.”
It wasn’t a request asking to be told, but neither was it a careless “say whatever you want.” It was a phrase she’d worked out carefully — one that would properly take in whatever came, while still, all the way through, respecting Yuki’s own agency. Feeling the strength drain from her whole body, Yuki opened her mouth naturally.
“Nothing in particular happened.”
Aya offered a look in place of a verbal response. Yuki gave a self-mocking laugh and reached to scratch her arm.
But Aya reached out and stopped her, and, to the flinching Yuki, asked, “Hives?” Figuring she’d know more about it than herself, Aya asked, and got back an unconfident “I think so.” She stood from the sofa.
Pulling anti-itch medicine from the first aid box in the living room, she pressed it into Yuki’s hands.
“It’ll heal if you leave it alone.” “Just do it.” “It’s fine.” “Put it on.” “Don’t worry about it.”
Deciding this back-and-forth was going nowhere, Aya gave up, sat back down on the sofa, and forcibly seized her arm. Yuki, blinking rapidly, resisted for a few seconds, but eventually let herself be handled, and Aya applied the medicine.
Glancing up at her flustered, embarrassed face, Aya let out a blatant sigh.
—Was this worry as a friend, or just meddling? Even unsure herself where to draw the line on her own behavior, Aya felt it was simply too hard to silently watch someone choose a self-destructive path, and quietly kept working the medicine into her arm.
“I’ve had… a lot of people expecting me to become a doctor.”
At Yuki’s murmured continuation, Aya nodded without meeting her eyes.
“Yeah, I figured. I get how they feel.”
“I get it too. I was born into that kind of family, and I have the grades to make it happen. But I… don’t want to hold someone’s life in my hands just because of how things turned out. I don’t want to devote my life to someone else’s will.”
That confession, almost a monologue, carried a heavy heat.
“But even so, I’m scared to tell my family.”
“…She sounded like a kind mother, though.”
“I think so too. Actually, they really are a kind family. But — I don’t know. I don’t know, but I keep thinking: they’re kind because my grades are good, because I’m walking the path my parents want. If I changed course, wouldn’t they be disappointed? When it comes down to it, that’s how I end up thinking. Even setting that aside, I feel like I’d be betraying that kind expectation…”
Aya considered that this wasn’t a fear that could simply be waved away.
In truth, whether disappointment would actually follow was uncertain, but the likelihood that it would be a decision betraying their expectations was high.
If Aya had been born into Yuki’s family, and had stayed in it without knowing any better, she’d probably have expected the same prestigious university path too, maybe even bragged about it to others.
So she couldn’t fully deny the feelings the people around Yuki held toward her either.
“I’ve lived my whole life carrying everyone’s expectations, and on the flip side of those expectations, trampled someone else’s dream, someone suffering in the shadows. So maybe ‘Yuki Kayano’ should just — not hang out with friends, not date, study seriously, go to a proper university, become a doctor, help lots of people, and live that way, inside everyone’s expectations and jealousy.”
Having heard her out, Aya thought for a moment, then asked:
“Did someone say something to you? About being envious?”
At that, as if struck exactly on the mark, Yuki’s face twisted, and she answered with self-punishing honesty.
“…I do think I’m more blessed than most people.”
Without missing a beat, Aya pressed further, almost interrogating.
“If the logic holds that someone living in a blessed environment has to live up to it accordingly — does that mean someone unblessed should live within their means?”
At that, Yuki started “that’s not—” but the words caught, and she fell silent. Reflecting that her question had been a little mean-spirited, Aya laid out what she really meant.
“I think everyone has the right to choose how they live.”
Back when she had first learned about Aya’s knee, Yuki had voiced guilt over giving up a superior environment of her own. Relatively speaking, she was undeniably in a blessed position. And if that logic held, then someone in a relatively unblessed position certainly existed too.
But to Aya, these were entirely separate issues.
No matter how excellent an environment you’d been given, how fine a set of rails laid out for you, you were allowed to steer the wheel toward a path others might mock. Likewise, no matter how unblessed an environment you were in, there was no reason to listen to someone telling you to “know your place.”
She did think it was true that environment created a wide gap in what was possible.
Envy and jealousy toward the blessed would naturally arise no matter what.
But everyone should have the right to decide their own path for themselves. No matter what anyone said.
“But… everyone might be disappointed in me.”
Yuki let this spill out with a face twisted in anguish, and Aya, at a loss for what to say next, fell silent.
Closing her eyes, she searched for words to encourage her somehow. It would be easy to dress up something pleasant-sounding and offer it as encouragement. But that wouldn’t be a fundamental solution, and Yuki understood that too. What was needed wasn’t meaningless encouragement, but a grounded, level-headed organization of the situation.
The chance of disappointing them isn’t zero. But you still have to move forward anyway.
But before Aya could say it, Yuki, seeming to let something go, laughed.
“…Doctors really are admirable, huh.”
Aya felt something like a jolt to the brain, a wave of dizziness. Every word she’d prepared flew out of her head at once, and she sat there, dumbstruck, silent. Yuki smiled, looking lonely.
—Idiot. Me.
Hearing the word “doctor” spoken again, she felt something like the old ache of her knee flare up. To a girl who’d despaired, certain she’d never run again, and braced herself for it — a doctor was the one who’d given her legs the ability to run again. That was the kind of “admirable” work it was.
And Yuki was trying to step off that path. Aya had been trying to push her back.
—There’s no guarantee the push sends her in the right direction.
Aya’s whole stance was that she wanted Yuki to be able to choose her own path herself.
But the clear difference from Sakura’s case was this: socially speaking, the path Yuki was walking away from was one that most people would affirm. Say “filling your own ego through romance” and most people would frown; but say “aspiring to become a doctor” and people would cheer that on.
Some say no job is nobler than another, but that’s a lie. A convenient fiction.
Work that saves lives is treated, socially, as more precious than most other work. Work that demands specialized skill nobody else has is called more admirable than work anyone could do. That’s simply the reality.
She’d been pushing Yuki’s back forward without quite thinking it through, but reconsidering it now — that act meant helping her step off an admirable path — and Aya found herself at a loss for words.
While she was caught in that agonizing conflict, a buzzing sound came from Yuki’s phone on the table. On the screen: “Sakura Tokiwa.” Their eyes met for a moment.
“Try not to scratch anymore.”
Aya tapped Yuki’s now carefully medicated arm lightly, and Yuki looked at it fondly and nodded.
“…Sorry, and thanks. For everything.”
“It’s fine. Go answer that.”
Aya stood from the sofa with the medicine, tossed it back into the first aid box, and headed toward her own room. Behind her, she heard Yuki’s voice: “Hello, sorry I’m late.” — Surprising that there was some connection between the two of them worth a phone call; what could it possibly be about?
Crossing her arms in the hallway, waiting for the call to end, Aya’s own phone happened to start ringing with a cheerful tone right then. Checking the screen: “Mahiru Yaehata.” Feeling suddenly pulled back into reality, Aya laughed wryly and answered.
“Yeah, yeah, hello?”