Unable to fully grasp a portion of the conversation between the two, Shijima watched them with a slightly dissatisfied yet pleased expression, happy to see the good rapport between friends. As their conversation reached a natural pause, Shindo raised the plastic bag in his hand and made a suggestion.
“Hey, we’re heading to my place for drinks now. Wanna come? Don’t worry, I’ve got no ulterior motives.”
“…I wasn’t worried about that. But—”
Shindo was fixated on Rokai, and Shijima had publicly declared he had no interest in romance to begin with; Hatano understood his character well. So, no, he wasn’t worried about that. But they weren’t particularly close, he didn’t feel like sharing drinks with anyone, and above all else—
Hatano narrowed his eyes slightly and glanced at the night streets with nowhere in particular to go.
“—I have some things to think about. I’ll pass for tonight.”
Hatano let his white, misty breath mingle with the neon lights. Hearing this, Shindo didn’t press the invitation further, instead giving a cheerful laugh and waving the hand he’d had in his pocket. “Alright then.” The invitation was appreciated, but right now, Shinomiya was his foremost concern—nothing took priority over her. Still, he was grateful for the offer.
“Invite me again sometime. Next time, I’ll treat you as thanks for last time.”
“I wanna try Johnny Blue.”
“Keep dreaming. —Well then, see you later.”
Laughing at the thought of being able to afford something so expensive, he relaxed his shoulders, feeling slightly refreshed. Just as he was about to bid farewell to the two of them.
Shijima, who had been quietly observing, spoke up.
“Hatano.”
Turning to face Shijima, who had called out to him, Hatano found himself pierced by a sharp gaze that seemed to peer into the depths of his heart. Shijima had many ‘faces’—active writer, club president, ordinary university student—but the expression he wore now was that of a friend who knew Hatano well.
“—If something’s bothering you, I’ll listen.”
His tone suggested he could see right through Hatano’s troubles, but coming from him, it wasn’t surprising. When they first spoke, Shijima had discerned Hatano’s literary inclinations just from his choice of words; his intuition was top-notch.
Hatano hesitated over the proposal. Should he discuss Shinomiya’s situation with a third party? He also had to consider whether doing so might actually improve things. But the saying ‘you know yourself best’ often depends on the circumstances. Sometimes, precisely because it’s about yourself, you can’t see clearly. As a writer and a friend who knew Hatano and possessed broad knowledge, Shijima’s insights might shed light on things.
What should be the top priority right now?
Since her voice had trembled over the phone, wiping away those tears was the duty of someone who had, however clumsily, reached out to her. It was also Hatano’s responsibility as Shinomiya’s friend.
Hatano closed his eyes, lost in thought, took a deep breath to oxygenate his brain. He’d made a mistake in judgment once and hurt her. This time, he needed to think carefully to avoid hurting her again. Then, he gently relaxed the fist he hadn’t realized he’d clenched and smiled faintly.
“…As expected.”
Hearing this, Shijima shoved the plastic bag he was holding into Shindo’s hands.
In a corner of a dark, cold park where only a single small streetlamp hung, untouched by the city’s lights.
Hatano and Shijima sat on two benches placed side by side.
They didn’t face each other, instead gazing vaguely at the stars and the distant city lights.
“This might surprise you, but lately, I’ve been talking with Shinomiya quite a bit.”
Letting out a white breath, Hatano broached the subject. At his words, Shijima widened his eyes in surprise, looked at Hatano, then recalled several incidents that made sense and returned his gaze. “I see,” he said, showing understanding without probing further.
I’ll skip the details, but due to a small opportunity, we started interacting, and as I got to know her better, I realized she’s carrying a lot. I used to think I hated that type of person the most in the world, but as I learned more, I couldn’t ignore her anymore.”
“…An artistic family lineage, wasn’t it?”
Surprised that he knew, Hatano looked at him. Shijima narrowed his eyes with a lonely expression.
“I know. You probably know too, but Shindo is quite taken with her older sister. I’ve known him a long time, so I’ve had some contact with her sister too. Even if I tried to block it out, countless pieces of information reach me, including things about Shinomiya.”
With a deep sigh, Shijima leaned back on the bench and looked up at the stars.
“A stone compared to a jewel, lacking in talent. She is the deep, thick shadow cast by the light named ‘Rokai.’ I may not reach her level, but as someone who has achieved certain results myself, I have some connection to ‘such things.’ I understand well.”
Hatano glanced at Shijima’s profile as he muttered with a pained expression.
He was a highly skilled writer. But generally, for a writer to succeed professionally, they must win a prestigious newcomer’s award—a narrow gate. For every one like him who climbed, there were those who fell. In this modern age where voices can reach from the other side of the globe, the voices within the country would be audible if you just listened carefully.
“A while back, on that rare day you joined the drinking party. You pushed her onto me, right?”
“Yeah, I felt like punching you that time.”
“Spare me.”
Shijima shrugged with a faint smile, then continued, looking slightly pleased.
“…For ordinary people like me and her, who constantly feel the pressure of envy, resentment, expectations, and responsibility, a good-natured oddball like you is the most precious thing.”
Hearing Shijima’s continued words, Hatano recalled something similar said by a certain pair of sisters. Since everyone seemed to say the same thing, he probably ought to become aware of it by now.
When Hatano shrugged as if he couldn’t quite understand, Shijima crossed his legs and went on.
“You have an unwavering way of life, unaffected by anything, an unbreakable, iron-like belief that runs like a spine from the earth’s crust to your brain. Because you understand the pain of effort and the longing for success, you can empathize and stand by both those who succeed and those who fail. —There was also some calculation, hoping that an anomaly like you might straighten out some of her distortions.”
Hearing this, Hatano felt a slight surprise.
As Shindo’s childhood friend, Shijima had known about the Shinomiya family for a long time. And he knew Shinomiya was part of that lineage, living with her struggles. Considering that, Hatano was impressed he could make such a transparent remark. But sensing the true meaning behind that day’s words—’You get it, right? You’re the only one here’—he sighed.
“Well then, I danced right on the palm of your hand. In the end, I couldn’t ignore her way of life, and knowing its roots lay in her family and inferiority complex, I couldn’t ignore it and wanted to do something about it.”
“—And you misstepped somewhere.”
Shijima’s immediate interjection made Hatano gasp. Looking over, he found Shijima’s dark eyes, blending into the night as if seeing through everything, directed at him.
“Shinomiya, despite appearances, responds sincerely to goodwill and kindness, and you don’t abandon those who strive. If you’re troubled about something with her, it’s likely a result of goodwill and kindness missing each other. I don’t know anyone as good-natured as you, but at the same time, I don’t know anyone as clumsy as you either.”
He really had the nerve to talk as if he knew everything.
But his pointed remark was spot on, leaving Hatano with nothing but admiration. Still, it grated to admit it outright, so he tossed out a grumble laced with respect: “Quit being a writer and become an esper.” Shijima chuckled lightly, then muttered nostalgically, “I’ve thought about being a counselor before.”
Then, the two of them looked together at the distant city lights. The vibrant energy of the night that never cooled, the miscellaneous footsteps of passersby and the scent of alcohol, the captivating neon lights. Immersed in a strange nostalgia, Hatano gazed vaguely at the night scenery.
And, as if reading his words to the stars in the night sky, he began to speak.
“—Misunderstandings can be cleared up quickly. But if I’m to continue my relationship with her going forward, I need to clearly define what I should aim for, how I want her to live. Yesterday, she asked me. ‘Then, why are you so kind to me, Senpai?'”
Shijima looked at Hatano with a serious gaze as he broached the main topic.
Hatano quietly closed his eyes, then bit his lip at the image of her expression that seemed burned onto his retinas. Consciously relaxing his shoulders, he opened his eyes and continued.
“I don’t really understand myself. Why, for what purpose am I trying to be on her side? What do I want for her? Without understanding anything, I just vaguely tried to guide her toward a less painful path. That was probably what you guys call a ‘good-natured’ person trying to do the ‘right thing,’ but my own feelings weren’t in it. Yet, even if not surfaced, my will must surely be present in my actions. I want to know what that is.”
He was aware he was saying something troublesome, but humans are surprisingly incapable of viewing their own emotions objectively. Even trying to maintain objectivity, bias creeps in; even trying to gain perspective, you become immersed. ‘Knowing yourself’ is far more difficult than the words suggest, which is why people go on journeys of self-discovery.
Hearing Hatano’s consultation, Shijima fell silent for a while, hands in his pockets. In the quiet night park, only the distant sound of a car could be heard. The silence didn’t last long.
“You know the person named Hatano better than I do. The you I know is just a fragment, and opinions based on that would fall into the category of so-called prejudice. So, I’ll speak with that in mind.”
“Please.”
Nodding, the reply came immediately.
“You love writing novels.”
Being told something he was already aware of made Hatano frown. When he looked into Shijima’s eyes, wondering what he meant, there was no sign he was joking.
“You look like you want to say, ‘What’s with the obvious?’ …Yeah, you probably know this yourself, but you love writing novels, and to delve deeper, you interpret the act of creating something positively. I think you love the act of creation itself, encompassing effort, failure, success, anguish, and relief.”
“I know that myself. I wouldn’t be working this hard otherwise.”
“Then this is simple. Your guiding principle is straightforward.”
Saying this, Shijima casually saw through Hatano’s ‘feelings.’
“—You don’t want people you like to dislike the things you like.”
Hearing this, Hatano was at a loss for words. It wasn’t shock or impact; rather, the words seeped into his heart like water into fabric, as if a natural law, leaving no room for resistance or doubt. The moment he heard them, it felt like remembering something forgotten, and he understood.
Ah, so that’s what it is. He couldn’t help but murmur it in his heart.
He didn’t want Shinomiya to dislike the act of creating something—the act of drawing. That’s why he suggested an alternative path that didn’t require clinging to canvas, like making lanterns. Initially, his motivation might have been interest in ‘Shinomiya’ as a person or simple goodwill, but even after learning everything she carried, what probably continued to drive him was that.
It’s an emotion anyone, even a child, would understand.
Not wanting someone close to you to deny what you love. Just that.
Shijima continued with a slight smile.
“Her way of life until now has been like drinking seawater to quench her thirst. She would continue eternally, never satisfied, decaying away. So probably, your initial move was driven by that good-natured feeling of not being able to leave her like that. A sense of crisis that she must stop her self-destructive way of life propelled you.”
There was no room to deny that reasoning.
“…Correct. I think that’s true, initially.”
“That’s just how you are. But you didn’t answer her question that way. That’s probably because you’ve become so invested in her that you can’t be satisfied with just her abandoning her self-destructive path. You want her to look at paintings again with eyes no longer averted, to resume the steps she halted, so you kept facing the boiler like a stoker.”
Shijima stood up from the bench with a “heave-ho” and stretched his back.
“The ‘liking’ I know is only friendship or affection, so I don’t know what kind of feelings you have for her. But even if I don’t know the type, you ‘like’ her. And with someone like that, you’d want them to like the things you like, right? I too want Shindo and you to like novels and everyone in the club.”
Shijima looked back at Hatano. The rather posed gesture made Hatano want to laugh, but given all the help tonight, he decided not to tease. Hatano closed his eyes for a while, confronting his own heart, then stood up following Shijima.
“…It’s not that I want her to like painting. It’s not that I want her to draw. Just—”
Hatano dislikes pickled plums. But in elementary school, a passionate teacher told him to overcome his dislikes and try to like them, which only made him dislike them more. So, he thinks he knows how cruel it is to tell someone to like what they dislike.
However, if deep down she likes it, but her environment distorts that heart, then surely it’s permissible to protect her from that environment.
As if savoring the feelings he’d finally found within himself, Hatano looked up at the vivid starry sky.
“I want her to be able to hold a brush without any burden.”