Come to think of it, it made sense. Hatano had no obligation to go that far for her sake. If you considered that she was acting on Rokai’s behalf, both her hiding this connection and her actions lined up perfectly. Pessimistic reasoning found coherence in the worst possible place, but even if her actions weren’t for his sake, everything he had received from her had been genuine, so he couldn’t bring himself to hate her. Caught between his fondness for her and the realization that her actions stemmed from Rokai, Shinomiya was tormented by anguish so intense it made him nauseous.
Just then, the sound of a toilet flushing reached his ears, and Shinomiya snapped back to reality, lifting his head. After confirming the lit smartphone screen had auto-dimmed, he bit his lip hard, pinched his arm, and suppressed his painful emotions to feign composure. While there was an intent to cover up the impropriety of having looked at someone else’s phone, more than that, if she had been trying to hide it, he couldn’t expose it.
“Well then, I’ll be going now. Sorry for intruding.”
Hatano returned, wiping her washed hands with a handkerchief. For a moment, his heart wavered—What should I do? How should he interact with her? Should he ask about what he just saw? But no matter how much anguish and conflict churned within him, Shinomiya had become all too adept at masking his feelings and expressions.
“—No, please come again.”
I think this is how you make a smile. As if confirming it to himself, Shinomiya formed a smile and saw her out. The matter of the earlier message, the matter of the secret… He desperately wanted to confirm things with her, and he was struggling to correctly perceive a world that now felt violently warped.
But if she had been trying to hide it—no.
Shinomiya tried to deceive himself, then negated the thought as if scolding himself.
He was afraid to know the truth. And yet, somewhere deep in his heart, he was already convinced.
The kindness Hatano had shown him was surely from Rokai.
That Hatano and Rokai were connected, that Rokai had been acting on his behalf… Those thoughts should make him happy; there was no reason to be sad. It was just that the fact the kindness he had received from Hatano—the genuine, tangible kindness that had undoubtedly left its mark—was something bestowed by Rokai was unbearably painful. Pathetic as he was, he had harbored a faint hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a tiny part of it that was mutual.
What a hopeless one-sided crush it had been.
Even so, what he had received was undeniably real, so Shinomiya desperately maintained his smile. And so, he sent his important senior off. “Please come again,” he said, not even knowing what face he should make the next time they met.
The train car was nearly empty. The interior was comfortably warm from the heating, a cozy atmosphere that made one want to surrender to drowsiness. Hatano gazed absently at the starry sky spreading beyond the window.
She couldn’t get the girl named Shinomiya out of her head.
Her image was burned onto Hatano’s retinas, her voice wouldn’t leave her eardrums. Her nostrils endlessly pondered the brand of her shampoo, her fingertips yearned for her. Shinomiya, who occupied the majority of her heart and wouldn’t leave. She had hugged that girl before leaving. She had thought she acted logically, quite naturally, but looking back, it had been half impulsive.
So that must be it, then.
Hatano acknowledged that fact as if it concerned someone else, then reconsidered, thinking it was pointless to dwell on such things on a train moving away from her. If she didn’t somehow tuck it away in a corner of her mind now, she’d likely start overthinking, so as an escape from her thoughts, Hatano pulled her smartphone from her pocket.
Then, she noticed a message from someone on the illuminated screen.
The sender was Rokai. From the girl she had exchanged contact information with the other day, a message had arrived inquiring about Shinomiya’s recent well-being. Laughing to herself about how she was still such a doting sister, Hatano considered the wording of her reply, thinking that if Shinomiya had family who cared for her this much, perhaps there was no room for her to intrude.
Her thumb moved to tap the on-screen keyboard, then suddenly stopped.
The receipt time was just before Hatano had left Shinomiya’s house.
For an instant, the image of Shinomiya’s stiff smile as she was leaving flashed through Hatano’s mind. It had been a natural enough smile that one might not notice, but compared to the beaming smile she had worn just moments before, it was clearly rigid. Hatano had kept her connection with Rokai hidden from Shinomiya until now. And just before leaving the house, she had left her smartphone on the sofa and gone to wash her hands.
Scrawled lines connected dots in her mind, and anxiety swirled in her chest. I hope it’s just needless worry—Hatano stared at the text sent by Rokai, deep in thought. The train arrived at some station, but without even confirming which one, she thought. Could she have seen this message? Since the only way to confirm was to ask directly, she changed the subject of her thoughts.
If she had seen this message, what would she think?
She would probably suspect the nature of my relationship with Rokai. She might even think we’ve been connected for a long time. If so, she’d likely conclude that all my actions were secretly orchestrated by Rokai behind the scenes. —That despite stealing all the attention directed at her within the family, yet loving her more than anyone else in that family, and despite running away from everything about the family including her, in the end, it was only her sister who tried to reach out to her.
The spiraling thoughts reached that point, and the word “Shinomiya” slipped from her lips.
Without thinking, Hatano dashed off the train, receiving the suspicious gaze of the only other passenger, a salaryman on his way home from overtime as she searched for the contact on the station platform. Finding the name ‘Shinomiya,’ Hatano, her breathing slightly ragged, called her.
If it was just needless worry, that would be fine. But if not…
With each overlapping ringtone, irritation and anxiety grew. On the eighth ring, just as she was about to give up, thinking Shinomiya might be in the bath, she answered.
“Hello, what’s wrong? Did you forget something?”
Hearing Shinomiya’s innocent, bright voice in response, Hatano nearly let out a sigh of relief. But listening closely, that voice was faintly trembling, and Hatano’s anxiety turned to certainty. She fell silent for a few seconds, thinking about what she should do. But without arriving at an answer, Hatano called her name.
“Shinomiya.”
How that serious, strained voice was woven from what emotions was probably beyond consideration now. Amidst ragged breaths turning to white vapor in the early winter night breeze, the girl on the other end of the phone remained silent for a while. There was no longer any need to confirm, and Hatano cursed her own carelessness.
After a silence that felt like it stretched toward a minute, the voice from the other end confessed, trembling.
“…I’m sorry. I saw the message from your sister.”
A weak voice, on the verge of tears. Hearing it, Hatano, regretting her own blunder anew, ran through her thoughts. It would be easy to deflect blame or condemn with something like, ‘How dare you look at someone else’s phone without permission,’ but she had been keeping the worst possible secret from her.
At this point, she shouldn’t mention that aspect.
“Shinomiya, I’m sorry. Hiding my relationship with Rokai from you was entirely my fault. I thought if you heard about it, you’d be upset, so I decided I shouldn’t tell you. I made that judgment on my own and kept it a secret. The fault lies entirely with me.”
Wanting to ensure the serious-natured girl didn’t blame herself even a little, Hatano apologized for keeping the secret and stated that the fault was hers. But a weak voice said, “No,” refusing that.
“I’m the one who should apologize, for looking without permission. I’m really sorry.”
After that apology uttered in a sorrowful tone, she fell silent.
The conversation wouldn’t continue. It was the first time silence with Shinomiya felt this uncomfortable. Cursing her own inadequacy thoroughly, Hatano gritted her teeth with a bitter expression. Then, she immersed herself in thought. It was clear Shinomiya was shocked. Of course she would be, given the worst possible secret had been kept from her, but if she was misunderstanding, she had to clear it up.
I should probably start by explaining the circumstances, Hatano thought, moistening her lips.
However, before Hatano could speak, Shinomiya squeezed out her voice.
“…You don’t have to force yourself to see me anymore, okay?”
A voice that sounded terribly sad yet strained to sound somehow bright, trying to end this relationship. The moment she heard those words, Hatano found herself speechless.
Speechless, yet still trying to somehow call her name to stop that train of thought, only a ragged breath escaped. She shut her mouth as if biting her lip, eyes wide open. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, held her breath, and in her heart, condemned herself for making Shinomiya say such words.
“Why?”
If she didn’t ask how Shinomiya had arrived at that conclusion, she couldn’t resolve that anguish. So, she had to ask that first, but tension made her voice stiff, and her tone ended up sounding almost like an interrogation.
She tried to correct herself with softer words, but before she could, Shinomiya replied.
“Your sister asked you to come check on me, right? ‘How’s my little sister doing?’ That’s what it is, isn’t it?”
Words spun from an unstable voice and emotions pointed toward the worst misunderstanding Hatano had anticipated.
“It’s n—!”
No, she tried to deny loudly. But a voice, very quiet yet quivering with what seemed like lonely passion, cut off Hatano’s words.
“You’re being kind to me because my sister asked you to, right?”
That voice sounded like it was about to cry. And then, belatedly, Hatano realized Shinomiya’s misunderstanding was slightly different from what she had assumed.
She had thought Shinomiya would feel aversion to being helped by Rokai.
But that was wrong. Shinomiya was afraid of the possibility that Hatano’s actions might not stem from Hatano’s own thoughts. She was afraid Hatano’s feelings weren’t directed at Shinomiya. Shinomiya had come to place far greater importance on Hatano’s presence than Hatano had realized, and Hatano had underestimated that. Chewing on that painfully evident fact, Hatano steadied her breath and then spoke to Shinomiya in a calming tone.
“That’s wrong. That’s not it, Shinomiya. Listen, I met Rokai after I got to know you. And while Rokai did ask me to look after you, it’s impossible that I’m acting because she said so. I act according to my own will.”
There were no lies. It was all true.
After conveying everything, silence descended once more. An early winter night breeze blew across the deserted, open platform close to the last train. Whether her body grew terribly cold due to the season or something else, she waited for Shinomiya’s reply, disregarding the chill. From the other end of the phone, she heard a sound like sniffling. Along with a sound like a suppressed sob, Shinomiya squeezed out a trembling, hoarse voice.
“Then… why are you so kind to me, Senpai?”
Asked this, Hatano tried to reply immediately, “That’s—”
However, the moment she opened her mouth, Hatano was left speechless, standing frozen.
Why was she so invested in this person named Shinomiya? She had no answer to that simple yet most desperately sought question.
She couldn’t answer why she had reached out to her. Realizing there was no answer within herself, Hatano stood dumbfounded, eyes wide open, and retraced her thoughts. It had started from a vague inability to leave her way of living alone. Without reaching any conclusion within herself about how she wanted Shinomiya to live, she had simply thought it would be good if Shinomiya could face forward, and kept doing what she could. But why? That fundamental motivation was missing.
No, she was self-aware enough to know she wasn’t the type to act without motivation. But she lacked the means to put it into words. Pathetic, for someone who writes novels.
“That’s—”
Unthinkingly, she almost cobbled together a convenient excuse to get through the moment. But reconsidering that she shouldn’t lie, she fell silent, and in the end, Hatano could say nothing.
‘The doors are closing. Please watch your step.’—After that announcement, the train doors closed with a whoosh of air. Unable to even watch the train, several before the last—heading toward her home, Hatano simply stared into empty space, at a loss for a reply.
Eventually, without waiting for Hatano’s reply, Shinomiya broke the silence.
Swallowing a tiny, tiny sob, she spoke in a soft voice.
“…I’m sorry for saying something mean. But no matter what the catalyst was, the many things I received from you, Senpai, are treasures to me. And thanks to you, I was able to move forward just a little. I was able to start liking, just a tiny bit, the painting I used to hate so much. So really, I’ll be okay now. Please tell my sister that too. …I love her. Goodnight.”
With a click—or something that sounded like something snapping—her voice was gone. “Shinomiya!” she called out in a panic, and a moment later realized the call had ended. Aware that such a ridiculous action showed how severely shaken she was, Hatano dumbly moved the smartphone away from her ear and stared at the screen.
The characters ‘Shinomiya’ and ‘Call Ended.’ After gazing at them for a while, Hatano continued to stare at the screen with an indescribable expression, housing an emotion like a bucket of various paints all mixed together. Strength drained from her entire body. Feeling intense lethargy, weariness, and a headache, Hatano unthinkingly dropped the smartphone she was holding onto the station platform. Clatter—it bounced with a terrible sound. Crouching to pick it up, she reached out, but then found even that effort bothersome and stopped.
The hand stretched toward the smartphone instead roughly tousled her own hair.
She had intended to wait for the right opportunity, a time when the two of them could talk calmly, and bring them together. She had meant to keep the secret for Shinomiya’s sake, but it had backfired. This was the worst.
Neither Rokai nor Shinomiya was at fault. It was all her own blunder.
“Damn it…”
As if reproaching her pathetic self, Hatano spat out the curse.