111. Then, the School Festival of Resolve. (15)

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The second day of the cultural festival.

Early in the morning, Sayakura forced me to wear the bright yellow class culture shirt, which looked almost like a couple’s shirt. On the train, I kept feeling like some middle-aged ladies were sneaking glances at our shirts with sly smiles.

After arriving at school, Sayakura and I parted ways; she went to her class, and I headed to the school auditorium.

Thanks to yesterday’s experience, today’s performance went smoothly again. The stage program was the same as the day before, but the audience changed batch after batch.

After the morning auditorium performances ended, compared to the hectic first day, today finally allowed a bit of breathing room, time to wander around the cultural festival.

I followed the crowded flow toward the school building. Temporary stalls were set up everywhere on campus, and the enticing aromas of takoyaki and fried noodles teased my nostrils.

It was incredible that a mere high school cultural festival could produce scents comparable to those of a summer night market.

Before, I never cared about such things; I thought these holidays, made for people who enjoy life, had nothing to do with me, far less appealing than napping alone on the rooftop.

Rather than wandering for fun, it was almost instinctive—I examined everything from the organizer’s perspective.

Which class was the liveliest? Which stall had the best food? I felt like personally conducting market research to rank them before I could be at ease.

It wasn’t boring though; it had its own unique charm.

Obviously, I was swallowed by the atmosphere monster called the “cultural festival.” At this point, I had no will to resist. In fact, deep down, I hoped this festival would bring joy to those who had once ignored or excluded me.

I knew well this wasn’t some noble act of repaying evil with kindness—that image just didn’t suit me. I simply wished to ease the burden on that person’s shoulders.

Besides, putting aside external factors, I seemed to have immersed myself somewhat. This so-called youth was far larger and more daunting than I had imagined, pulling me into its rosy whirlpool.

Entering the school building, before returning to my class, I first went to Class 1-C, where Yoh Yagami was. To my surprise, there was a long queue—turns out the more traditional the program, the more popular it was.

At the door of 1-C, Kudo was sitting at a desk, apparently in charge of reception.

“Kudo.”

“Hmm, senior Jinguji…”

“What are you doing sitting here? How about the club?”

“Takanashi is watching over it, so no problem. The class booth rotates shifts, I’ll go there later. How about you, senior?”

“Taking a break at the auditorium, thought I’d drop by. How’s Yoh?”

Kudo pointed with his thumb toward the classroom behind him: “Scaring people inside.”

Near the back door of the classroom, a pair of girls holding hands burst out, shrieking loudly. I could even hear a certain someone inside laughing with a “hehehe.”

That guy sure was having a blast.

I suddenly recalled the drama club’s performance yesterday afternoon. I had thought Kudo would personally play the lead, but he never appeared on stage. I found that a bit hard to believe.

“Hey, Kudo.”

“What’s up, senior?”

“Why didn’t you perform yourself?”

“Huh?”

My junior looked at me blankly, apparently not understanding my question.

“I thought you joined the drama club because you really wanted to act and thus took on the president role.”

After a moment’s thought, Kudo’s face lit up with realization:

“Senior, you misunderstood. I didn’t join because I wanted to act. Actually, I’m completely clueless about acting.”

“Hm, that much I already know.”

“Senior, you’re mean!”

“But isn’t acting something you can improve with practice? Though I don’t really know.”

Having spent time with Kudo, I didn’t think he was one of those who just talked without effort. On the contrary, I deeply felt his passion for drama.

In many things, talent might determine victory or defeat, but without sufficient passion to sustain you, you often can’t even last until the outcome is decided.

So I believe it’s very important for a person to have strong passion for something. Kudo has that, and I envy him for it.

“That said, my future path isn’t to become an actor.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, because there’s something I want to do in the future.”

“Something you want to do…”

“Do you mean a dream?” I blurted out.

“Hmm… calling it a dream is a bit embarrassing. I’m not sure if it qualifies as a dream, but it’s what I’m striving toward.”

“A goal, you mean?”

“I want to work behind the scenes in film and TV. Right now, my goal is to get into an art university.”

Shy, bashful, yet resolute.

When he talked about his dream, there was no hesitation. His eyes shone with a brilliance someone like me could never show.

Kudo was most likely aiming to become a film director. I couldn’t help but admire this seemingly ordinary junior who harbored such grand dreams.

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Indeed, judging by appearances is the most foolish thing.

Probably, every person who passes me by daily harbors dreams unique to themselves.

Sayakura has hers, so does the student council president, and perhaps even Iwasaki, Hanamori, and Tsuchiya have theirs.

Only I remain empty.

Not long after, a petite girl wriggled her sleeves, her face still showing satisfaction as she proudly emerged from the classroom. Sweat beaded on her forehead, smudging the blood-like paint on her cheeks.

This little creature wiped her sweat, acting as if she had done something truly remarkable.

“Phew… that felt great! Huh? Senior, when did you get here?”

“Just arrived.”

“Hoho… let me guess, you came specially to see me?”

“Came to see if you were slacking off.”

“Oh come on~”

She glared at me, then greeted a few other girls before suddenly pulling me outside.

“What’s up?”

“Senior, you came just in time. I’m a bit hungry. Let’s go buy something to eat.”

Originally, I planned to go upstairs to my class, but since she said that, I didn’t intend to refuse. She had worked hard for the festival, so I’d treat her.

“Just so you know, I’m only buying one portion for you.”

“Huh? Senior’s treating me?”

“Huh? Didn’t you want me to treat you?”

She stopped suddenly, staring at me without blinking. I looked down and noticed the red paint on her face, blurred by sweat, hadn’t been wiped off. So I took a handkerchief from my pocket to clean her face.

“Wipe your face first.”

“Mm… thanks.”

At a stall in the school courtyard, I bought two servings of takoyaki. Because she looked so eager, I reluctantly bought her cotton candy.

By her insistence, we each paid for our takoyaki separately, but the cotton candy was on me—a meager reward for her hard work.

We found a corner to sit. Yoh sat silently beside me, just as she did in the student council room—same spot, same distance. I seemed to have grown used to having this small creature nearby.

She lowered her head, using a skewer to poke at the bonito flakes on the takoyaki.

“What’s wrong? No appetite?” I asked.

“No.”

Yoh was a mysterious girl. Since the day I met her, I’d thought so—a somewhat biased thought that hadn’t changed to this day.

She picked up a ball, puffed up her cheeks, and blew on it. White mist swirled away, vanishing into the air.

Like a kitten playing with a fishing rod, she lifted the takoyaki high, stretched her neck back, and swallowed it in one bite. Then she turned into a little monster blowing steam out, softly calling, “So hot, so hot.”

Once she swallowed everything, she suddenly looked at me with a triumphant expression.

“What do you mean?”

“Am I cute?”

I tapped her head, telling her not to say nonsense.

She used two skewers like chopsticks and scooped all the wood-flake-like bonito flakes onto my takoyaki.

“Being picky isn’t good.”

“It’s okay if it’s in soup.”

I said “Oh” in realization, then poked a ball with a skewer, spun it around to coat it in sauce and the flakes she had put on it, and slowly ate.

“Hey, Yoh.”

“What?”

“I want to ask you: what kind of person do you want to become in the future?”

“What kind of riddle is that?”

“More like a life discussion than a riddle.”

“I see.”

Did she really understand?

“I’m still a kid. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“But everyone around you has things they want to do or dreams, right?”

Her big eyes blinked repeatedly as she stared at me: “Because everyone has them, do I have to have one too?”

I was stunned, not knowing how to reply.

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“I’m only fifteen. A fifteen-year-old who has already planned out their life path and works toward it as a creed—that’s incredible! Truly the elite of the elite. So that’s how senior sees me?”

Seems like it.

How should I put it? Though it was a very meaningful topic, with her it became strangely twisted, as if having dreams was somehow wrong.

“Of course, I’m not looking down on those who work hard chasing their goals. It’s just that this doesn’t apply to me.

I’m the kind of person who loses interest quickly. I might want to learn guitar after watching a band anime, or want to learn drawing after seeing some cute illustrations, then later have new ideas after seeing other works.

But so what? Should I be criticized for that?

Senior, not having a dream is not shameful.

Knowing what you want but deliberately ignoring it and deceiving yourself with self-comfort—that’s shameful.”

Honestly, I was shocked by her words—not by the argument itself, but that such words came from a mere fifteen-year-old girl.

And this girl was Yoh Yagami.

“Jinguji-kun, Yoh, what a coincidence.”

Just as I wanted to say more, a female voice came from nearby. It was senior Fukada, the wind instrument club president.

Yoh and I greeted her, and she smiled as she sat beside us.

“Am I disturbing you?”

“No.”

Senior Fukada looked worn out, which was understandable. After yesterday’s performance, Senbonki had immediately left with her parents.

I didn’t know what had happened afterward, nor whether I should mention Senbonki’s name. I just carefully watched Fukada’s words and actions, avoiding touching her tender heart.

“Thank you so much to both Jinguji and Yoh this time.”

Besides “don’t mention it,” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Yoh, however, started chatting warmly with her.

After this incident, Yoh and Fukada seemed to have formed a curious friendship. I didn’t quite understand girls’ thoughts in this regard.

As for the accident in the meeting where Yoh was accidentally pushed down, it was completely unintentional. Fukada apologized sincerely, and Yoh had already forgiven her.

In conversations, I once again witnessed how Yoh Yagami chats with people.

“So, senior, you never confessed to Senbonki, right?”

Fukada’s expression was priceless; she probably hadn’t expected Yoh to be so blunt. But that was Yoh’s nature—no intent to mock or be sarcastic, just pure curiosity.

Yet Fukada gave an answer that stunned both of us.

We stood there stunned, and after a long while, I finally managed to say congratulations.

Not sure if that was something to congratulate.

Two girls, one a senior in high school, the other a first-year, from Tokyo and Hokkaido.

Love ferments after parting; stories begin after endings.

This must be a difficult romance, a bitterness I will never understand. Perhaps it will end with the close of their youth.

But now, I—who usually keeps my distance from others to find inner peace—truly want to cheer for them.

I looked at Yoh’s face; her expression seemed to mirror my thoughts.

It seemed Fukada came just to tell us this.

Looking at the fatigue and weariness on her cheeks, I couldn’t help but recall the night three years ago, the first night Sayakura and I dated, both of us unwilling to close our eyes to sleep while listening to each other’s voices on the phone.

After parting with Fukada, Yoh returned to her class to continue her great career of scaring people. I stood before the first-floor bulletin board, plastered with all kinds of posters, including ones I had drawn.

My brain, which never cared about others before, was now filled with things unrelated to myself.

Kudo, Yoh, senior Fukada, and Senbonki.

Their personalities and ways were all different, yet without exception, each had deeply thought about their future.

Even that little creature—everything she did was elimination: trying everything she was interested in, so she would surely find her own path in the future.

That’s why she never seemed lost, always lively and full of energy.

So what about me? What do I truly desire in my heart?

I want to deny that I am an empty shell. Long years of isolation have numbed me; inside, I have long since dried and cracked. I desperately hope something will fill my heart, hoping for a storm to wash me into a Jinguji Tsuki no longer numb.

Perhaps I should learn from Yoh. Even if I don’t know what I like now, it’s okay. Experiencing everything once might bring change.

But I know there is no rain without cause. Standing still won’t bring transformation. It’s better to jump into the lake before me. If I can swim to the other side, maybe change will come.

I think I should grant myself a dream.

Thank you for the support from “Used to Watching Idle Birds and Flowers.”

(End of chapter)