23: I Got My Confession Rejected by Yukinoshita Right Out of the Gate!
[23] 23: I Got My Confession Rejected by Yukinoshita Right Out of the Gate!
[23] In response to Tadayana’s question, Hikigaya said, “Just like you predicted.
The three of them didn’t keep up that friendly atmosphere once Hayama left.
In other words, they’re friends of Hayama’s friends.
As soon as Hayama isn’t there, they’re basically strangers to each other.
Without Hayama Hayato, that group probably wouldn’t even exist anymore.” “I see.
Then it looks like I won this bet, Hayama-senpai.” “…Yeah.
Looks like I lost…
The truth is, I’m not really as good a person as you all seem to think, not when it comes to friendship…
The real me is a pretty awful person.
So it’s fine.
I’ll still treat them the same as always.” At last, Hayama spoke into the silence.
“That’s good.
I was worried we were about to get one more shut-in wreck in here.” “…” At Tadayana’s words, both Hayama and Hikigaya had to fight back the urge to retort.
“Ahh, Tadayanan, you’re so mean.” Yuigahama said it out loud.
No one present disagreed.
Tadayana was obviously trying to mentally crush Hayama Hayato, wasn’t she?
Was it really just because they’d dragged her into handling this?
What a terrifyingly vindictive woman.
“Now that we’ve found the culprit, what are you going to do?” “I’m not going to force any of them to confess.
I’ll wait for that person to come to me on their own and admit their mistake after enough time has passed.” “Really?
You trust them that much.” Tadayana sounded genuinely impressed by Hayama’s answer.
“That’s a very you way of handling it.” Hikigaya felt he hadn’t misjudged this thoroughly good-guy normie after all.
“Yukino-senpai, the case is solved.
Is there anything else?” “N-no, there isn’t.
Now that we know who the culprit is, how they should be dealt with isn’t something the Service Club needs to concern itself with.
Though personally, I’d like to destroy them outright and leave them utterly disgraced…
but we should respect the wishes of the person involved here.
Hayama Hayato is at the center of this incident, after all.
He has the right to decide how to handle them.” That somehow sounded even more frightening.
Hearing Yukinoshita say that, everyone there broke out in a cold sweat.
This girl was even harsher.
Absolutely vicious.
So poisonous.
“Eh?
Wait, how come you say Yukino-senpai’s name so naturally, but earlier you had to call me by my surname plus senpai?” Yuigahama puffed out her cheeks like a little pufferfish.
“Ahem.
Let’s not worry about details like that.” “Then what do you think?
If it were you, how would you handle this?” “Me?” Tadayana pointed at herself.
Hayama nodded.
“If it were me, from your position, I’d probably drop out of this activity altogether and not take part.
That would solve the conflict at the source.
After all, I can’t decide whether this workplace visit happens in the first place.” “That’s a little too extreme.
Really, all Hayama Hayato has to do is say outright that he won’t group up with people he already knows.
Then the other three can still form a group together.
Wouldn’t that be better?” Hikigaya waved a hand, voicing an objection for the first time.
“Mm-hm.
That makes sense.
Hayama-senpai can’t exactly avoid the workplace visit entirely anyway.
Then just go with gloomy guy’s suggestion.” “Wh…
You did that on purpose, didn’t you…?” Hikigaya had the distinct feeling Tadayana had deliberately left that solution hanging there, just waiting for him to say it himself.
What a manipulative woman.
“No.
You came up with it yourself, didn’t you?” Without claiming any credit, Tadayana let the matter conclude just like that.
Her dialectics demonstration lesson had also come to a smooth end.
…
After school, at the front gate.
“Senpai, about this whole incident—if something similar happens again later, do you think you’ll be able to solve it properly on your own?” “I…
don’t know…
But I’ll do my best to try.
And if I can’t…
then…” Yukino Yukinoshita began, only to trail off there.
“Then…?” Tadayana didn’t understand.
Did she have some other idea?
Was she planning to give up?
“Even giving up would be fine.
Don’t put too much pressure on yourself.
No one’s forcing you to do this.
Until the day I can stand on my own…” Yukinoshita finished the second half of that sentence in a tone that came off a little ambiguous, but Tadayana already knew for certain that she wasn’t a lesbian, so naturally she didn’t overread it.
She probably just needed someone to help her come up with plans.
In other words, she wanted free labor.
So Tadayana’s answer was— “I refuse.
Too much trouble.
Once in a while is fine, but that’s enough.
I’m busy, senpai.
Unless you’re willing to pay me.
Though for a club that runs on pure passion, I doubt there’s any need for that.” “Ah?
Wh—” Without waiting to hear what Yukinoshita still wanted to say, Tadayana had already walked off.
She had neither the time nor the interest to work for someone else for free.
As far as she was concerned, helping Yukinoshita like that would be nothing but asking for trouble.
The one who needed to grow through an incident was the person actually doing the work.
If Yukinoshita didn’t handle things herself and just relied on someone else, then for her, there would be no more upward spiral of growth.
…
After finishing work, heading home, and taking her usual shower, Tadayana lay on her bed like a cat soaked through with warm water, lazily sinking into the fluffy bedding.
Her freshly bathed body still carried a damp heat.
When it met the cool air in the room, a faint shiver ran across her skin.
Her trademark white hair still wasn’t completely dry, and the tips had bled a few dark, damp marks into the beige pillowcase.
A few wet strands of fringe clung to the smooth skin at her forehead, softening the cool detachment she usually gave off.
By now she had changed into an oversized white cotton T-shirt.
The collar sat slightly askew, exposing half of one delicate collarbone.
Her skin, still steeped in hot water moments before, was tinged with a pale flush, like petals fallen onto new spring snow.
Below the hem, her long legs were loosely crossed.
Her knees still held a faint post-bath pink, and in the warm lamplight her ankles looked especially slender.
The cold glow of her phone screen lit her face.
Those distinctive eyes of hers—paler than even her hair, like light-colored glass—were fixed on the scrolling messages, her pupils sometimes widening slightly at what she read, sometimes narrowing.
Her damp lashes hung low, casting fine shadows beneath her eyes.
Then she tossed the phone aside.
“So tired.
Not reading anymore.
Sleep first.
Survival comes before anything.”