Mashiro doesn’t answer my question.
Whether she’s thinking up some plausible excuse or not, she remains silent, her gaze fixed on the floor.
It’s been over a month since I approached her. There’s no doubt I still need money. So even if I’ve been monopolising Mashiro’s time after school every single day lately, it’s absolutely essential.
I’ll say it again and again: I need money.

　It’s true that our time alone together is comforting to me, and I’m aware that there’s a part of me that seems to crave it.
But that doesn’t change the fact that my priorities are clearly different.
Money comes first. These feelings I have for the time spent with Mashiro come second.

That’s how it should be. That’s how it should be, but…

When was it?

　The day Mashiro bought me that fluffy, hooded loungewear with cat ears that I often wear at home. That day, when we both fell asleep on the train home and got off at an unfamiliar station.
I don’t know Mashiro very well. Even now, there’s still more I don’t know than I do, but back then, somehow, I felt like I knew Mashiro.
　Partly because I happened to recall a girl named Kuroda I’d passed by in a dream during our first year. And when I realised that Kuroda, who I felt resembled me, was the same person as Mashiro, I compared her unusual traits with her ordinary ones and concluded we were still alike.

I don’t know if that was a mistake or not.

But when I was looking at the electronic display at the station we got off at, Mashiro started talking to her parents on the phone.

　Two of a kind.
What did I think made us alike? Leading dull lives? Lacking vitality?

Or perhaps our circumstances?

Back then, I unconsciously compared my own parents with hers – the parents she spoke to in that cool yet affectionate manner.
I saw Mashiro smile awkwardly.
But somehow, she seemed pleased.
　Just seeing her like that, I somehow understood how close she was to her family.

So what about me?

Who was that question for?
The doubt arose: what about me?

My parent? Well, there was only one.
Or was there? Perhaps I didn’t even have a parent.
Still, on paper, my guardian was my father.
　There was no mother. Not that she had died; apparently, she simply left the house soon after I was born, abandoning both my father and me.
The more I heard, the more it seemed the man and woman who were supposed to be my parents were lacking in common sense.
To begin with, it seemed my father had opposed my mother having me from the start. She had forced the issue, and I was born. That was strange enough. Having a child when the couple couldn’t agree? It seemed like they had no intention of raising it from the outset.
　Then, having ignored his objections and given birth to me, my mother vanished into thin air.

In the end, those left behind were a father who harboured rejection towards my very existence.
And then, a colourless girl who had received nothing from the very parents who should have been closest to her.

　Amamiya Tōru, forged in such an environment, is a glass doll. One with numerous cracks, on the verge of breaking.

Yet that fragile spirit, which could shatter at any moment, finally encountered a warm light.
That is the current Mashiro.
The Kuroda Mashiro from first year could never have been my light. But the current her… she should become my light, my very own light.

What is light?

　It looks only at me.

It stays by my side forever.

It shines only upon me.

It rescues me from a transparent world of utter solitude.
That is her.
My pure white light.

When did I start feeling this way?
It must have been when Mashiro first stroked my head.
It was warm. It was the first time.
　The first time someone offered me such pure, snow-white kindness.
The warmth radiating from Mashiro’s hand stroking my head spread through my entire body. I realised such warmth existed, and tears welled up in my eyes then.

To hide them, I buried my face in Mashiro’s chest in that moment.
Even this act of hugging felt more comforting than anything I’d ever experienced with my ex-boyfriends.

　I think surely, from that moment, I had already begun to depend on this girl named Mashiro.

But precisely because of that, the fact that Mashiro —who should have been my own personal light —was opening her heart to someone else, someone other than me, gnawed at my soul. Even if it was her family.
Something black and viscous stained my heart, which should have been transparent, black as far as the eye could see.

Mashiro and I are alike.
　I never received love from my parents. To me, parents and strangers are all the same.
Then I wished Mashiro would be the same.
I wished Mashiro would become alone, just like me, as soon as possible.
Only then would Mashiro shine light solely for me, and I would become Mashiro’s colour alone.
A warm white, like Mashiro.

For that to happen―――.

　That day I overslept with Mashiro, who’d returned home consumed by dark emotions, my father was at my house.

Ah, today too.

He punched me where no one could see.
He yelled at me, making a terrible racket.

And finally, without fail, my father would snatch my wallet.
He’d pull every note out of it, then kick me in the stomach as I crouched, before leaving the house.

　I’ll be back to borrow more.

Leaving those words behind as usual, he departed from my dark, cramped home.

This is a matter of priorities.

Money comes first; time with Mashiro is secondary.

But right now, Mashiro sitting before me in class seems to have plans after school with someone other than me. She’s remained silent all this time when I asked what those plans were.

　If this continues, I won’t get the money.

If Mashiro’s plans involve hanging out with someone else, I might lose her.

The money. Mashiro. The money. Mashiro.
Money. Mashiro. Money. Mashiro. Mashiro. Money. Mashiro. Money. Mashiro. Mashiro. Mashiro. Mashiro.

　My head is all jumbled up.
I want to stop thinking.
I’m so tired.

But there was just one thing I wanted to ask Mashiro.

“Hey, Mashiro. Is that business… important?”
“………Yeah.”

Mashiro nodded.

My throat tightened. My eyes welled up.
　To be thinking all sorts of things on my own, imagining things, throwing a tantrum and crying.

What on earth has come over me?

A tear trickled down my cheek.

Mashiro stared at me, looking startled.
But with my mind in such a mess, I couldn’t care less about anything anymore.
It was fortunate that it was the empty classroom after school.

　Through blurred vision, I asked Mashiro.

“Then what about me? Am I not important?”

Suddenly asked this, context completely disregarded.
Mashiro must have been utterly shocked. No wonder she’d think I was a troublesome woman.

　But my thoughts were jumbled, and I desperately wanted to clarify my priorities.
Money should have been the most important thing, yet here I was, wanting to put Mashiro above it.

Ah, just because Mashiro turned me down once.
My heart felt like it could shatter this easily.

I didn’t want to think about anything anymore.
If this is how it’s going to be.

I want you to take responsibility, Mashiro.