11. Hoshino Morihoshi’s Diary. (We’ve made it onto the recommendations list—please keep reading!)-I Uninstalled the Blonde System(The one and only god, Sakaoka.)

Golden sunlight poured down from behind me, making the documents on the desk glaringly bright. The black letters seemed to be coated in a layer of transparent paint, making them difficult to distinguish. I looked up at the clock hanging on the wall.

So, it was already time to leave school. The school broadcast should have sounded by now—I must have been lost in thought. Gazing at the somewhat messy stack of papers on my desk, I realized, once again, I wouldn’t finish today’s work. As expected, running the student council alone was a struggle.

As for Yamada… Well, he did an excellent job as treasurer, but no matter what, I couldn’t burden him with other duties. It would be best to take some of this back home, I decided.

I went to the sink in the hallway, washed the teapot and cups, put them back in the cabinet, checked that all the doors and windows were locked, returned the student council room key to the staff office, and bowed to the teacher on duty as I left.

I, Hoshino Mori Hoshino, had finished another day at school.

Standing at the school gate, I turned to glance back at the classroom building. There were no students left on campus, yet it felt as if the fading echoes of the guitar from the light music club’s practice still lingered in the evening sky. I closed my eyes and listened carefully.

As I thought, there was nothing to be heard.

Now that I considered it, I always seemed to be the last student to leave school. Of course, I wasn’t dissatisfied with this.

On the contrary, in this tranquil twilight, the school was as serene as a deserted city, inside and out imbued with a sense of peace that captivated me.

This didn’t mean I was someone who loved solitude. I enjoyed socializing and got along well with my classmates. On weekends, I sometimes met with friends from my former club.

But that certainly didn’t mean I was cheerful by nature. If I were to label myself, “cheerful” or “optimistic” would never be my first choice; those words always seemed better suited to someone more carefree.

I wished to be someone delicate at heart, but that, too, was difficult for me—at least when it came to dealing with Himemiya and Jinguuji, I couldn’t treat them as gently as I wanted.

Why was that?

I so desperately wanted them to embrace their youth to the fullest.

I was confused by this feeling, which seemed to arise from nowhere.

As a high school student, as the president of the student council, I believed I always showed my best side.

There were times when I felt exhausted, and sometimes I wanted someone to rely on. But, unexpectedly, I seemed to be even stronger than I had imagined.

I thought I had a good memory.

Yet I couldn’t recall if I had always been this strong.

Or perhaps, I had relied on someone after all.

I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but I always felt a subtle, invisible gap between myself now and the Hoshino Mori Hoshino I used to be.

It wasn’t that my tastes had changed, or that I’d become a different person. I still loved the honey and pork floss bread from the bakery near the station, and I still disliked frivolous boys.

I was still Hoshino Mori Hoshino.

Yet, just as I once told Jinguuji, there was surely something missing from me.

And I knew, too, that perhaps for my whole life, I would never realize exactly what it was that I lacked.

When that thought crossed my mind, I found myself unable to let it go. A sorrow welled up within me, and I could not help but want to cry.

…

“I’m home.”

No one answered me. My father was rarely home, always busy with business, and my mother had just sent me a message telling me to handle dinner myself.

Once again, I was alone at home today.

It couldn’t be helped.

I always felt some guilt toward my parents—sorry that I could not become the daughter they had hoped for. Deep down, I truly felt apologetic.

I suppose I was born into a relatively well-off family. We lived in a luxury apartment in Roppongi 3-chome, just a three-minute walk from Roppongi Station.

Every day, I commuted between Roppongi and Nakameguro. After school, I never took any detours, heading straight home, then following my mother to various lessons. That was the entirety of my daily routine.

From an early age, I was given so-called elite education: art, dance, piano, foreign languages. While other children played on swings or in the sand, I was always busy with these pursuits.

At first, I did try to resist, but I was too young then, and I can barely recall what exactly I did.

Only one thing my mother said lingers in my memory—so vivid that it wakes me from nightmares at night:

“If you cannot become the most outstanding young lady, you will no longer be a daughter of the Hoshino Mori family.”

Ah… So that was it.

It turned out that the reason I couldn’t play on the swings or in the sand was simply because I wanted to remain their daughter.

That couldn’t be helped.

Family, after all, was more important than swings or sand.

I practiced painting diligently, practiced dance, practiced piano, practiced everything they hoped to see in me.

Fortunately, I was an accommodating person. There was nothing I particularly disliked, and with time, I naturally came to enjoy those things.

Because my heart was an empty shell, I absorbed things all the more quickly; perhaps that was my strength.

Yet, even for someone like me—someone who could accept all the passionate love my parents gave—there was still something I could not accept.

According to my mother, I betrayed her, betrayed the Hoshino Mori family.

When I was fifteen, I was given a fiancé.

Had things gone smoothly, had I remained the ever-accommodating Hoshino Mori Hoshino, I would likely have become that boy’s wife after graduating from university.

He was a boy about my age; I had only met him once, and I didn’t even know how to write his name in kanji.

Perhaps it was then that I awakened to a feeling I had never experienced before.

I longed for freedom, longed for courage.

But longing alone could not break the cage.

Awakening did not mean I could act.

I was like a canary in a gilded cage, and my caretakers did not lack love for me—they simply never heard me say “no” to their love.

Until this summer.

That was when I truly grew, when the emptiness inside me was finally filled.

Courage, resolve, dreams… love.

Were these mere fantasies of mine?

I didn’t know.

Seventeen-year-old Hoshino Mori Hoshino took the most important step of her life.

I shattered the routine that had defined me until then.

Alone, I went to that boy’s house, explained my feelings to his parents, and finally bowed deeply to them.

To my surprise, that boy—who had almost become my future husband—already had someone he loved. Like me, he simply didn’t dare defy his parents. When he heard what I had to say, he stood by my side.

I was deeply grateful to him for stepping forward at that moment, and I wished him true love.

But because of this, an irreparable rift formed between me and my parents.

For the first time, I learned just how hysterical my mother could be, all because the boy was a politician’s son.

I wonder, if my mother at seventeen were asked to choose between true love and a politician, what would she have chosen?

Yet I have no regrets. I am glad I found the courage, that for the first time I said “no” to my parents’ love, broke the rusted bolts with my wings, and flew toward the sky.

I thought I had a good memory.

But I cannot remember where that courage came from.

All I know is that, in the moment I broke free, the taste of freedom intoxicated me, leaving me unable to stop.

…

I found some ingredients in the fridge and made myself a simple but delicious meal. All the dishes I could prepare were ones my mother had personally taught me.

In my memory, she was always a gentle mother.

I am so sorry, Mom.

Returning to my bedroom, I didn’t bother to change out of my uniform before starting to work on student council documents—maintaining my “at school” mindset.

There weren’t many documents to bring home. I worked until eight o’clock, finally finished, stretched, rolled around on my bed for a while, then stayed in the same position for over ten minutes before getting ready to shower and sleep.

Somehow, there was a hole in the back of my pajamas. There were no wounds on my back, so perhaps it was scratched during drying or storage.

I remembered there were new, unopened pajamas in the closet, so I reached inside.

And in a corner of the closet, I found a small box.

Inside was a diary.

Although I kept a diary, this one felt completely unfamiliar to me.

I opened to the first page.

“August xth.

Today marks one month since I officially started dating him.”

…

I thought I had a good memory.