110. Then, with unwavering resolve, the cultural festival commenced. (14)

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The first day of the cultural festival. I arrived at school early and stood at the gate, staring at the promotional poster for a long time.

If I were to give my opinion, Jinguji must be what people call a chosen one—truly enviable.

Lacking any talent, I had given up painting back in middle school and devoted more time and energy to music.

Sometimes, I wish I could open his mind just to see what’s inside—how he manages to score 700 on exams, how many girls he’s charmed, and how many secrets he’s yet to reveal to me.

I even suspect that if needed, he could silently sit at the piano and flawlessly play “Moonlight Sonata.” If that happened, I’d definitely complain, be mad at him, and probably ignore him for a whole week.

Inside the school auditorium, a few committee members were arranging chairs, the lighting crew was adjusting the lights, and the banner above the stage read “The 54th Kamizakura Festival.”

“President, good morning.”

“Good morning. Have you seen Jinguji yet?”

“The vice president hasn’t arrived.”

“I see.”

I headed backstage and chatted briefly with some acquaintances. Not long after, Jinguji appeared.

I waved to him with a smile and teased him, daring to arrive later than me, his lazy senior: “Ah, the great hero has arrived, my dear right-hand man.”

He didn’t fall for it; ignoring my greeting and others’, but I enjoyed watching the scene.

Whenever this cold and aloof youth interacts with others as if he were ordinary, I genuinely feel joy.

Jinguji looked at me and suddenly handed over a stack of papers. I looked at him, puzzled.

“What’s this?”

“What else but the opening ceremony speech?”

Although he spoke as if it were obvious, I decided to play dumb.

“So why give it to me?”

After a bit of back-and-forth, it seemed he was destined to lose to me. With his intelligence, he probably saw through my thoughts and half-reluctantly agreed, showing a cute expression of compromise.

This monster of a junior, who always scores 700 on exams, seems to entertain me with his rare moments of defeat.

“President, you’re really something…”

“Something what?”

He turned his face away, refusing to look at me—such an unstraightforward junior.

I held back a laugh, imagining how mad he’d be if I laughed out loud right now.

Jinguji no longer looked at me, tapped his Bluetooth earpiece with one hand, and then spoke in a surprisingly deep voice that startled me:

“I am Jinguji. Attention all groups: maintain order in the auditorium. When time’s up, let the students enter in an orderly fashion.”

Only then did I realize that his calm, steady voice was truly charming—it caught me off guard.

Seeing him busy, I left quietly without disturbing him, and he didn’t seem to notice.

Soon after, students began entering the auditorium one by one. I stood alone at the back; the hall darkened gradually until the stage lights flashed brilliantly, igniting everyone’s enthusiasm.

Behind me stood two people who looked like parents, standing out amid the sea of students, and I found myself glancing at them again.

Members of the street dance club performed energetically on stage. Honestly, the opening didn’t interest me much, but the students were surprisingly delighted, their faces all glowing with smiles.

Next came the opening ceremony, hosted by a beautiful first-year girl.

Not long after, Jinguji—the actual planner of the festival—calmly stepped onto the stage.

I tried to read his expression, but as always, it was unreadable. He delivered a dull speech.

Without holding a script, I couldn’t tell if he recited it word-for-word or improvised on the spot.

Either way, it felt like he was flaunting his intelligence arrogantly—my junior is truly audacious.

After finishing, he paused for a few seconds, hesitated, then lifted the corner of his mouth into a somewhat comical smile.

Suddenly, the auditorium filled with screams from girls, and I realized why he always wore that serious face.

He had a face that effortlessly won girls’ hearts but a heart that wanted to keep them at a distance.

Jinguji quietly retreated backstage, and I couldn’t stop laughing, clutching my stomach. I thought he must regret showing that smile and maybe secretly blame me for dumping this task on him.

No matter what, at least I was amused, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

“Hey, who was that guy on stage just now?”

“Huh? Didn’t you hear? That’s Jinguji, the student council vice president.”

“I was too busy looking at his face to listen.”

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“Huh? Isn’t Jinguji that rumored bad boy?”

“Who could resist being a bad boy looking that handsome?”

“That… makes sense.”

Strange whispers from the girls around me reached my ears. Hearing such gossip from an unknown corner left me unsure how to react.

Afterward came the club performances. Not everyone stayed in the auditorium; a schedule booklet was already handed out, so students chose to watch programs they liked at their leisure.

I suddenly noticed Youmiya nearby. Her outfit was odd, and her mouth was stained with red sauce, which puzzled me.

I slowly walked over to where she sat; there was an empty seat beside her.

“Youmiya,” I greeted softly.

“Oh, President senior.”

She stretched out her arms and shook her oversized sleeves. I looked at the triangular headscarf atop her head and recalled her class was running a haunted house.

“Your mouth…”

“Huh?”

I pointed to my own mouth, hinting at the sauce on her lips.

“Eh? You want me to kiss you? Sorry… I haven’t awakened my yuri spirit yet.”

“……”

No wonder Jinguji always wanted to tease her.

After some clarifications, I realized the red stain was paint, not sauce, due to the dim auditorium lighting. I felt a little embarrassed.

“Hey hey! Did you see the expression on senior’s face during his speech? It was hilarious!”

“Yeah…” I softly agreed.

“He must be so frustrated now, maybe even thinking the festival’s no fun at all.”

I pondered and disagreed.

“Jinguji is probably broader-minded than we think.”

“Really? But I think he must be upset.”

Youmiya spoke with certainty, her smile fading. I looked at her in surprise and asked, “Why do you say that?”

“Everyone only notices his looks and judges him based on rumors; no one tries to truly understand him. Though he seems cold, inside he’s as sensitive as a girl.

“To others, it’s natural not to try to understand him, or they’d be seen as self-centered. That’s the painful part.

“No matter what changes he makes, he’s ignored as if it’s expected. If it were me, I wouldn’t say anything, but I’d feel secretly sad.”

It seemed Youmiya was venting her anger for Jinguji. I heard that emotion in her words.

“Hm… Jinguji probably doesn’t care, or rather, he’s uninterested in outsiders’ opinions.”

“That’s because caring doesn’t help, so he pretends not to care.”

I sighed inwardly. People who score 700 can be so paradoxical.

“…Youmiya, you see right through him.”

She shook her head.

“No, I don’t understand his thoughts at all.

“To me, he’s strange. When something doesn’t bother him, it’s fine, but if the same thing happens to someone close, he secretly gets mad.

“He pretends to be indifferent, but inside he’s furious.

“Senior President, don’t you think he’s weird?”

I was at a loss for words, instinctively looking back at the stage, where Jinguji was no longer visible.

The wind instrument club was now performing.

I suddenly remembered something and looked back at Youmiya, who watched the stage intently.

“About that day when you went to the wind instrument club…”

“Oh, that? Didn’t senior report it?”

Youmiya pointed to a girl near the center backstage.

“That girl’s Senbonki, vice captain of the wind instrument club. Becoming vice captain as a first-year is impressive.

“If all goes well, when the current captain retires next year, she’ll take over.

“But it’s not going well. Her father got transferred, and the whole family is moving to Hokkaido. They’ve sold their house and have no place left here. They leave at noon today—no time even to visit the booths.

“Too bad I couldn’t scare her in the haunted house to get back at her.”

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Though her words sounded mischievous, Youmiya’s tone was surprisingly gentle.

“So far away…” I couldn’t help but sigh.

“Senbonki kept it secret, but the captain found out, so the club suddenly changed plans just to perform today and share the stage with her one last time.

“I’ve never heard of such a selfish request. If it were me, I’d make things difficult and refuse, ruining their little romance.

“Who wants to pay for their selfishness?”

“Romance?”

“They like each other.”

“Huh? But they’re both girls.”

Youmiya glanced at me lightly. I couldn’t tell what kind of look it was—only that it made me uncomfortably embarrassed.

“Are Tokyo people that old-fashioned? It’s quite common in Kansai.”

“No no no, I haven’t been to Kansai, but it can’t be like that!”

I accidentally blurted out a rebuttal. When talking with Youmiya, I often become the one who complains; normally, Jinguji plays that role.

“But why?”

“Why what?”

“Proof that they like each other.”

“All the club members say so, but only the two don’t know the other’s feelings. Everyone’s worried sick for them.”

Isn’t this a romantic comedy?

“So, after learning the truth, Jinguji agreed to the wind instrument club’s request?”

“If so, I must criticize him. The cultural festival isn’t a joke—it’s unfair to the other clubs.”

“Hm… so he personally asked all the clubs and got their approval before changing the schedule again.

“Can you imagine? The usually taciturn Jinguji bowed and begged the senior club members who were angry. I almost thought he liked someone in the wind instrument club to go that far.”

“Well, it is Jinguji. That’s possible.”

I nodded, but couldn’t picture Jinguji bowing to anyone.

“But after getting everyone’s consent, I asked him why he did it…”

I perked up, wanting to hear the reason, but Youmiya fell silent, watching the wind instrument club’s passionate performance filling the auditorium.

When the beautiful music ended, the hall erupted in applause. The girls on stage hugged, crying and laughing. Youmiya’s voice rose again.

“To let every club perform at their best, so President Hoshinomori won’t be disappointed,” she said calmly, applauding the wind instrument club.

I was stunned for a moment, forgetting to clap—embarrassed.

Imagining her saying this, I felt a faint ringing in my ears, which took a while to fade.

“Always saying cool stuff. If you love showing off, why not say it to me directly?” I joked, adding my applause.

“Probably because begging is embarrassing. If you knew this embarrassing side, President senior might tease him about it sometimes.”

I closed my eyes, feeling the stage lights too dazzling.

“If he’s like that, how could I tease him? Geez…”

…

Backstage again, he was discussing something with a few students, focused on giving orders through his earpiece, unaware of my arrival.

“The equipment crew, check everything again. Lighting crew, take your positions. Announcer, get ready to go on. The president is watching outside—don’t embarrass us.”

A student looked up and saw me, about to greet, but I shushed him and tiptoed over.

That day, when I saw the diary, I was truly confused and lost. But what I remember most was the bone-chilling fear.

I was afraid I had become a different Hoshinomori Hoshino, afraid that two souls inhabited my body, afraid I had recklessly given my true feelings.

Hesitant, wandering, struggling—I tried to accept my past self, striving to become the me I envisioned, choosing to trust my instincts, and irrationally choosing to believe him.

I think my choice was right.

Thanks for the support from “Floating Mayfly.”

(End of chapter)