After school. When Yuki arrived at Sagara Books, someone else was already waiting outside.
Tokiwa Sakura, fiddling with her phone, watching the setting sun.
Noticing Yuki, Sakura’s eyes widened, then narrowed into a smile. “Yo,” Yuki said, a little worn out, shoving her hands into her coat pockets and standing beside her.
“Mizuki-senpai not here?”
“Nope. She said she’d come today, but apparently she’s stopping somewhere on the way. Should be soon, so I’m killing time around here. You, senpai?”
“I just wanted to talk to Mizuki-san without any particular weight on it, for once, after a while.”
Hearing that happily, Sakura thought for a moment, then brought something up.
“Heard through the grapevine, senpai — apparently you gave up on the doctor path?”
The color in her eyes seemed to celebrate Yuki’s new beginning, and Yuki looked away, a little embarrassed.
—In the end, her parents, hearing Yuki’s confession, had accepted it without the slightest objection — and, if anything, had apologized for their own behavior. Feeling that didn’t sit right either, Yuki had ended up apologizing back even harder, and her sister had watched the whole ridiculous parent-child exchange, laughing.
There had never been any enemy anywhere. She’d simply been ignorant, built up an assumption, and kept fearing an impossible phantom the whole time.
They say pain fades once the danger’s passed, but now, it already felt almost ridiculous to have worried at all.
“Guess I owe it to you, Sakura-chan.”
Saying this with a smile, Sakura’s cheeks twisted into a grin back at her, and she made a circle with her fingers.
“Oh my, still haven’t cured that naivety of yours. Gratitude isn’t words. It’s money.”
“Ha ha! …Fine, want me to treat you to something? I’m genuinely, seriously grateful to you, Sakura-chan.”
“…No, if you take it that seriously I end up looking like the bad guy here. Well, my motto’s to take what I can get, though. Buy me a cocoa.”
Sakura pointed at the vending machine, and Yuki said “yes, yes,” feeding in coins. “Started a part-time job, so I can spend freely now,” she said, pressing the button, and as the can dropped with a clunk, Sakura’s round eyes turned to her. “A job?” “Yeah.” “Doing what?”
Yuki answered while buying her own cocoa too.
“Some registered day-labor stuff, and a short-term gig at a bakery nearby. Wanted to try out a bunch of different things.”
Answering with an innocent face, Sakura, taking her cocoa, said “thanks” with a stunned expression. “That’s a lot of initiative.” “You think? Don’t feel it myself,” Yuki said, looking off into space.
That part of herself might owe a lot to the pottery experience she’d shared with Aya half a month ago.
“…What about your side? Fashion going well?”
Yuki asked, pulling the tab on her can, and Sakura did the same. She took a sip of her cocoa with a somewhat bold smile, then, drawing it out, answered with obvious pride.
“Started an SNS account for my work, and one of my pieces blew up.”
“Oh!”
“Got a commission from it.”
Yuki watched, speechless, as Sakura threw up a confident V-sign.
It was enough of a leap forward to make Yuki’s own part-time job story seem trivial by comparison. Still visibly rattled, watching her, Sakura laughed a little self-deprecatingly and added:
“Not like it’s some huge company, and the pay wasn’t great either.”
“Aww… but still, that’s amazing. Finding what you want to do and actually acting on it.”
“Yeah. I’m starting to think, whatever else, maybe I’m actually kind of a big deal.”
Sakura laughed a proud little “hmph,” then, looking at Yuki, narrowed her eyes. “Your turn next, senpai.” Yuki gave an evasive smile, looked away, and answered breezily, without much weight, “I’ll do my best.”
Her whole body felt completely light. Like she’d sprouted wings.
Surely — like clay that had failed over and over, maybe she’d been soaking up too much water.
Lost in thought, gazing at the sunset sky, Yuki suddenly remembered something from half a month ago.
She let out an abrupt “ah, I just remembered something!” and squeezed her eyes shut. Sakura, alarmed at the sudden behavior, asked, “wh-what?” But Yuki fell into a pained silence.
Deciding it was pointless to stay silent forever, she steeled herself with a slap on both cheeks.
“Actually, there’s something I want to tell you, Sakura-chan.”
At that, Sakura’s eyes widened, and she flashed her canines teasingly.
“What, getting all serious. Did you fall for me or something?”
“Hmm, close. The falling-for-someone part’s right. Wrong target.”
Yuki played along with the joke, and Sakura’s smile briefly disappeared, blinking repeatedly.
Eventually, she must have grasped the meaning. Her expression shifted into understanding with an almost audible click, then, this time, into something bold, like facing down an enemy. Realizing she’d understood and, in her own way, accepted it, Yuki declared plainly:
“I like Mizuki-san too.”
Sakura’s lips curled into a smirk, and she lifted her face, narrowing her eyes as if testing her. Seeing that Yuki’s resolve was unshaken, she abandoned her side tactics and faced her head-on.
“I see, I see. Well, even against you, senpai, I don’t intend to lose.”
“Oh, look at you. Sure, Sakura-chan’s cute, but I do get called beautiful myself, you know.”
“Ahh, no, no. Trying to win on looks is already shallow thinking. That’s not where this fight is.”
“Even so. Isn’t the only thing you beat me on your foul mouth?”
Hit with Yuki’s critical strike, delivered from a place of newfound comfort with her, Sakura’s cheeks flushed with anger, and she bared her teeth like a mad dog, looking ready to bite. Round one’s winner was decided. The winner wanted to savor the sweet wine of victory, but found it too funny not to laugh instead. Laughing with a hand on her stomach, Sakura, watching, glared at her, looking a little pleased despite herself.
“…Annoying, but this is kind of fun.”
Said so plainly, Sakura’s honesty was endearing enough to make Yuki break into a grin too.
“Yeah. Glad it’s you I get to have this with, Sakura-chan. Fun. Guess I owe Mizuki-san thanks for this too.”
If not for her meddling, the two of them probably never would have crossed paths like this. Wondering what Aya was up to, Yuki glanced toward the station, and Sakura added, “oh, and that too.”
“You know, the rumor that you two were dating? Feels like that’s how we ended up meeting, in a way.”
Having completely forgotten about it, Yuki fell blank for a moment, then exclaimed, remembering, “ah!”
“Hey there.”
As Hashimoto Mana studied for finals, as usual, alone in the empty library, someone who’d walked in without her noticing spoke up right beside her.
“Hi—” Hashimoto let out a startled, cracked sound, jerking back to look at the person.
A strange woman. A third-year, maybe. A face she’d never seen before at all. Wondering if she was a chronic truant. But her build was too slender for someone who never left the house. Most striking was her messy, bleached-blonde short hair. A color that would fail any hair inspection — she didn’t look like the shy, withdrawn type.
“Wh— what is it?”
Hashimoto answered, bristling with open wariness, and the woman laughed.
“Wanted to have a chat with you.”
“…I need to study.”
“Even though you got second in midterms. Still pushing hard? Impressive!”
Wondering how this stranger even knew her ranking, Hashimoto glared, confused.
But the woman, waving off a flippant smile, ignored Hashimoto’s resistance entirely and pulled up the neighboring chair to sit. It felt like being coiled around by a snake, deeply uncomfortable.
“How do you know my ranking?”
“Asked around. Some second-year nearby.”
“…Y-you asked about my ranking? Why?”
“No, no, the other way. Asked who was second in the year. Turned out to be Hashimoto Mana.”
Feeling like she was peering into some bottomless darkness, Hashimoto’s spine went cold. Her knees trembling, she quietly planted her heels on the floor and looked down, unable to meet her eyes.
“By the way, changing the subject — there are two girls in your class, Mizuki Aya and Kayano Yuki, right?”
It felt like a hand had brushed against her heart. Her heart pounded wildly, her brain screaming for oxygen. A cold sweat broke out over her whole body, her breathing turning ragged whether she wanted it to or not. She desperately wanted to say “why.”
“Aya’s a precious underclassman of mine. Yuki-chan’s Aya’s precious friend. So, well, both of them are extremely precious underclassmen to me too — and recently, it seems, a nasty rumor’s been going around about the two of them.”
Her heart pounded like a war drum. Her fingertips went terribly cold, her back teeth chattering.
The woman’s pretty lips curved into a crescent moon, and in the empty library, a fatal certainty was murmured.
“It was you, wasn’t it. Who spread the rumor.”
Her lungs contracted in small, frightened spasms, breath moving in and out unevenly. Her breathing grew so ragged it felt like her lungs had become nothing but a hollow vessel, and sweat beading on her palms left a damp mark on her skirt.
Forcing her dry mouth to move despite it all, Hashimoto answered without meeting her eyes.
“N-no, that’s not me.”
A poorly told lie, but Hashimoto decided to push it through anyway.
“Do you have any proof?”
Carefully tracing each rumor back to its root might eventually reach the source — but if anyone had actually done that, there was no way Hashimoto wouldn’t have noticed. And even if someone had, finding the perfect point of origin was nearly impossible. So there was no proof pinning it on her specifically. That calculation had been made.
“Nope. Just a guess. But your reaction confirmed it.”
This wasn’t a courtroom. Vigilante justice needs no proof.
Her heart raced faster and faster. Her blood pressure climbed high enough that it felt like it might burst from somewhere it shouldn’t. Thinking why did this happen, heat pooled behind her eyes, and, humiliatingly, she nearly cried. Even if she kept playing dumb now, the other side was already convinced she’d done it. If that was the case, arguing her way out was the better option.
“So what — if it was me, so what, is that a crime? I just thought they were dating because they were watching a movie together, is that really something I need to be attacked over?!”
“As long as there was no malice behind it, sure.”
Said with a cold smile, a chill ran down Hashimoto’s spine. Guilt smeared thick, dark stains across her chest, and to cover it, she flared up in a burst of fiery emotion and shouted back.
“Because— because it’s unfair! I’m working so hard too, but she’s the only one who gets praised, nobody looks at me at all! My parents keep saying first place, first place, nothing but first place! And then, on top of that, a designated recommendation?! It’s ridiculous! For someone who spends all her time messing around with friends!”
She shouted, face flushed red, breathless. Before she knew it, hot tears traced down both eyes.
The woman watched Hashimoto in silence, hand over her mouth, thinking. Then, expressionless, she answered.
“I see. So, now that Yuki-chan’s given up on being a doctor, this is your moment to shine.”
“…What’s wrong with that?”
“Do you know why she gave up her dream of becoming a doctor? Someone who’d dreamed of it since childhood, repeated bloody effort, endured strict parental discipline, and clawed her way to first place with everything she had — why, of all times, now, has she given up on medicine? You really have no idea, do you?”
Guilt tightened around her heart, bit by bit, like a vise.
A sudden nausea struck Hashimoto. All the resentment that had dominated her mind transformed entirely into remorse. As if scooping up the barely-managed “eh” that spilled from her, the woman said:
“If you don’t know, that’s fine too. Sit comfortably on the throne you gained once she disappeared, and live in peace. You’re not the bad guy. You know nothing. Forget all about her, and live healthily.”
Saying this with a gentle smile, Hashimoto shook her head side to side.
“Was it… my fault?”
The rumor. Or that snide remark she’d made in front of the staff room.
There was plenty to point to. A wave of intense self-loathing hit Hashimoto at once. — She’d assumed, on her own, that Yuki was someone born into a blessed position. But while intelligence might be innate, knowledge is entirely acquired. Yuki’s vast knowledge had been the product of nothing but her own effort, and Hashimoto had closed her eyes to that.
Only now, an overwhelming guilt began eating away at her.
But the woman laughed off Hashimoto’s question breezily.
“Nah, not really. Her quitting medicine has nothing to do with you at all.”
“—Eh?”
“For that matter, the whole ‘wanted to be a doctor’ thing was a lie too. My own fabrication.”
The strength drained out of Hashimoto enough to make her want to punch something. She stared, dumbfounded, at the woman’s infuriatingly amused smile.
“But it’s true she was putting in real effort. Same as you.”
At that continuation, the chest that had just been about to settle in relief was stabbed with guilt all over again. Her heart pierced with dark feeling like a bed of nails, Hashimoto looked down, face twisted. The woman looked down at her and laughed.
“—The reason I came here was to identify the culprit and warn them off. So the moment I confirmed you have no intention of doing it again, my goal here’s already met. If you don’t repeat the same thing, I’ve got no further business with you.”
Her wildly pounding heart gradually returned to calm. Her mind returned to normal life.
But — something remained caught, refusing to settle back into place. A hollow emptiness had opened up. Hashimoto kept her hands on her knees, staring down, dejected. The woman put a hand on her hip.
“By the way.”
Hashimoto looked up, and the woman offered a faint smile.
“I’m going to go see those two after this. What’ll you do?”
Eyes wide, Hashimoto, unable to decide right away, looked away, drowning in conflict.
Guilt shoved at her back, urging her to go apologize, but fear shoved right back at her chest, pinning her in her seat. Doing something this nasty — what would they think, what would they say? What if it spread among her classmates? Unlike Yuki, who had plenty of friends, Hashimoto was alone.
But then, was she supposed to just live carrying this guilt forever?
As Hashimoto wrestled with that, the woman’s hand landed lightly on her shoulder.
“It’ll be fine. Both of them are kind.”
Embarrassed that her thoughts had been seen through so completely, blood rushed to her head, and before she knew it, fat tears were spilling from both eyes. Letting out a choked sob, she broke down crying as if a dam had burst.
After a few ragged breaths, a small apology finally spilled out.
“I’m sorry…”
Crying into the woman, Hashimoto was gently hugged back, her back patted.
“There, there.”
The woman — Yaehata Mahiru — let out a small sigh, and her mouth softened faintly.
“Well… what you did was wrong, but you’ve been working hard too. You deserve at least one person on your side. That’s what I think.”
Finishing up for the day and heading down to the first floor with her bag on her shoulder, Aya stood in the hallway, students and staff passing back and forth, and looked at the staff room for a while. Two sliding doors, one at each end. Between them, a green bulletin board, pinned with countless career-path materials.
Higher education. Employment. Certifications. Exams. Consultations — she felt reality lightly tap her on the back.
A student is clay that hasn’t become anything yet.
From here, she could become anything, and even after becoming something, she could still turn back and choose a different road. Countless paths spread out, stretching far into the distance. Once — Mizuki Aya had dreamed of leaving her name in the world of track and field. The result, as everyone knew: retired due to a knee injury. Already a thing of the past now.
For a while, that had eaten at her.
She’d recovered quickly enough on the surface, but even so, for a while, she’d lost sight of her own outline.
She’d kept asking herself, over and over, what she wanted to become. While meddling in Sakura’s and Yuki’s futures, sticking her nose into other people’s lives, Aya herself hadn’t been able to see her own path at all.
There was nothing there. All this short life held was a bit of track experience, and a not-terrible level of intelligence.
She’d thought she had no real weapon at all.
That perception changed on a night half a month ago. The day she’d let Yuki stay over, when she’d talked with Mahiru on the phone. Asked by her about the axis she used when facing people, Aya had drawn a clear line around her own sphere of interference.
Taking the hand of someone lost. Offering another option to someone heading in a bad direction.
And wanting to be able to push forward the back of someone chasing after something.
She’d wanted, just a little, to see what lay beyond that desire.
Aya took a deep breath, steeled herself, and knocked on the staff room door. Opening it, she looked toward the seat of her now-familiar homeroom teacher. “Aizawa-sensei,” she called out, walking over.
He raised his eyebrows in mild surprise, but greeted her with a calm expression. “What’s up?”
“It’s about the career survey. I’d like to change it a little.”
“Oh! What, found something you want to try?”
Saying this, he pulled out the bundle of survey forms and quickly located Aya’s, sorted by student number. On the survey she’d submitted the other day, Aya had written, with no specifics at all, just the two words: “Further education.”
Looking at it, Aya narrowed her eyes slightly, then, a little bashfully, said:
“I want to go to a university where I can study psychology.”
— END —