Upon returning home, Hatano glanced at the dimly glowing display in the pitch-dark room.
After staring for a while at the laptop left open, Hatano sat down at the desk, still wearing his coat. On the screen was a forward who had constantly been compared to others yet continued to struggle. She persisted in her efforts without anyone’s recognition, facing a crucial match against a powerhouse school that would determine the fate of her team.
Click. He sent the swirling multitude of ideas flooding his mind into the digital world. It was his first writing session in a long time, and his fingers were stiff, perhaps due to the lingering numbness from the cold outside air he had just felt. Still, wanting to preserve the answer he had found, Hatano began typing.
He hoped the ending would be what everyone desired—not the correct answer as a work of fiction, but a matter of pride for Hatano, the self-proclaimed writer. The reasons for taking up the pen might vary widely, but at Hatano’s core was the belief that he should serve as a guidepost for those who were timid and fearful.
Thus, this story too would conclude in a way that satisfied the many readers, as everyone wished. And that “everyone” included the characters, even the protagonist. What had this striker, lacking in talent, desired as she trudged along this arduous path?
Before the goal, her childhood friend performed brilliantly. Watching her from behind, why had the protagonist continued to struggle without recognition? She had kept striving because she desired something, and therefore, the story’s conclusion should be an act that fulfills that thirst, an extension of her efforts.
—The match was nearing its end, and they were in dire straits. The ace, as the team’s scoring source, had been thoroughly countered and couldn’t move as she wished. The game was about to end with a one-point difference. Just as everyone was about to give up, a pass was made to the protagonist, who had been underestimated and loosely marked.
The repeated feints she had practiced to receive passes at opportune moments allowed this seemingly reckless pass to succeed by a hair’s breadth. A dribble that would have been caught before now didn’t allow the distance to close, thanks to the accumulation of diligent repetitive practice. Using techniques she had watched more closely than anyone else—the ace’s skills—she broke past the defense. At the goal, facing the keeper, the tension and anxiety were erased by the time she had accumulated.
The nameless forward, who had been in the ace’s shadow without expectations or trust, scored a fierce goal. After a momentary silence, cheers erupted across the court. The teammates’ shouts assaulted her eardrums. For a while, the protagonist couldn’t face reality, but eventually, she realized her heart remained unsatisfied. She had believed something she thirsted for lay beyond, so she had kept striving and struggling. But what she thought existed wasn’t there.
In slight disappointment and disillusionment, she began returning to her own side.
Then, a young voice brushed her eardrums.
“Nice shot!”
It was a child in the front row of the spectators, both parent and child shining with excitement over the shot. Seeing them, the protagonist superimposed her own childhood self and her childhood friend. Simultaneously, she realized the true nature of what she had thirsted for.
It wasn’t joy or excitement, nor congratulations for the team. She simply wanted a voice that recognized and praised her, as a single striker. That might surely be the thought of an egoist. But perhaps that’s just right for a striker, thought the protagonist, gazing at the goal alongside her former partner, her childhood friend.
Click. Having finished a section, Hatano saved the typed text and stood up. While recalling the face of a girl etched in his mind that wouldn’t leave, he closed the laptop. Picking up the silver one placed on the shelf, he headed toward the entrance.
The striker thirsted for voices of praise. Then, what about the painter? With rare talent and constantly compared since childhood, she had broken her brush. What did she desire? Hatano organized the thoughts coalescing and the words he needed to convey in his mind, then hurried out of the house before the last train disappeared.
In a corner of a bustling izakaya filled with office workers and young people. Perhaps due to the hastily arranged setting, the literary club’s drinking party had slightly fewer people than usual. Shinomiya sipped a non-alcoholic cocktail.
The mojito seeped deeply into the wounds of her quarrel with her mother and separation from Hatano. Wanting to hide her still slightly reddened eyes, she kept her head down, listening to the surrounding conversations without speaking to anyone. Having pushed away the person she most wished would see her in this world, she couldn’t even think of trying to attract someone’s attention as usual. Yet loneliness was desolate, so she sat as if blending into the crowd.
The impressive business theories from Iizuka, who had no entrepreneurial experience, and Sasaki’s dry responses as she casually listened, even felt comforting now.
But sitting here drinking at the izakaya, she couldn’t help remembering Hatano. Like that day, she kept looking at the entrance with hopeful eyes, wondering if she would come today too. Even though she herself had pushed her away, there was no reason for it, and she had no right, yet selfishly, she desired her. To forget the tightening chest pain, Shinomiya sipped her mojito. When the coolness reached her stomach, the haze in her chest became even more pronounced. Calling her name in her heart was like complaining about heat when it’s hot—it wouldn’t make things cooler. Nothing was fulfilled.
“What, are you crying?”
The sudden voice came from Sasaki sitting beside her. With a somewhat displeased frown, Sasaki asked as if spitting it out. Shinomiya touched the corner of her eye and denied it.
“No, it’s past tense.”
“…”
After saying that, Sasaki glanced at Shinomiya with an expression hard to describe, almost like a click of the tongue, then snorted and pushed the plate of shrimp chili nearby toward Shinomiya. Surprised by the unexpected action, Shinomiya widened her eyes slightly, then Sasaki annoyingly looked away.
“…Ah, thank you.”
Shinomiya, aware that Sasaki disliked her somewhat, was bewildered by the unforeseen action but properly conveyed her thanks. Sasaki returned to chatting with other friends without reacting, so Shinomiya also took chopsticks in the shadows, eating the shrimp chili with one hand holding the mojito.
As her stomach filled, she felt a bit more energy returning.
“Shinomiya-san, I’m thinking of a second party today too, will you come?”
Suddenly, Iizuka, behind Sasaki, peeked his face over Sasaki’s shoulder with a frivolous expression. Sasaki looked at him annoyingly and whispered to Shinomiya, “You can ignore him,” but Shinomiya thought she couldn’t just do that. She pondered slightly whether there was an ulterior motive in the invitation or not. But no matter what, there was someone who held her heart and wouldn’t let go. She couldn’t think of enjoying something while forgetting that person, nor wanting recognition from someone else over that person. Shinomiya slightly lowered her eyes.
“…Sorry.”
Apologizing, Iizuka immediately flashed a full smile and readily agreed.
“Okay! It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Just come if you feel like it!”
Though Iizuka was clearly trying to show favor to anyone’s eyes, his attitude of respecting Shinomiya’s will was impeccable. Beside Sasaki, who looked annoyed at the thumbs-up, Shinomiya keenly felt her own narrow-mindedness until now.
If she widened her perspective just a bit—for example, Sasaki joined the literary club for men, without much purpose, and tried to exclude annoying people, yet she didn’t add to the troubles of someone in distress and showed a tiny bit of kindness. Iizuka lived honestly according to his carnal desires, casually belittling someone like Hatano, yet he didn’t cross fatal ethical lines as a person and had aspects of respecting others’ wills.
Then, what charm did Shinomiya as a person have?
She allowed her body to others to satisfy short-term desires, lived consuming base passions and ill feelings, had no particular merits, and her praised appearance was genetic, yet she didn’t listen to her genetic source—her parents. She wasn’t particularly good at studies nor kind to anyone. Her paintings were terrible, and she was a small vessel tormented by jealousy and inferiority.
Comparing, she gradually keenly felt her own insignificance.
She wished she could disappear somewhere.
“—Did you quarrel with your sister?”
Shindo, sitting opposite watching the proceedings, asked while holding whiskey. She thought he had just arrived, but apparently, he was quite drunk, unusually with a red face. At his unexpected question, she recalled Rokai’s face and simultaneously remembered in a corner of her heart that she was the origin of the incident with Hatano. But they hadn’t quarreled.
“…No.”
“Then it’s Hatano.”
While looking at the liver and leek stir-fry on the table, Shindo murmured casually.
Shinomiya hadn’t expected that name from him and inadvertently widened her eyes to look at him. As she murmured “Why…”, she recalled that day Hatano came to pick her up—Shindo had called her. Simultaneously, she remembered he also had connections with Rokai. Perhaps her sister had laid groundwork here too? She almost braced herself.
“Hey Shindo, are you already drunk?”
“Shut up, I was drinking at home. If you’re inviting, do it earlier.”
Iizuka interjected midway, but Shindo annoyingly waved his hand and cut off the conversation.
Then, he looked at Shinomiya.
“When I was about to drink at home with Shishido, I met Hatano. She had a desperate expression.”
Shindo looked at Shinomiya with a testing gaze. At his words, Shinomiya felt her chest tighten sharply, and simultaneously, anxiety sprouted. Had she done something terrible to her? Though she had acted like a victim, it was true she had pushed her away.
“That face seems to hit the mark. I’ve thought for a while you might be connected behind the scenes, but you seem close enough to quarrel.”
“…Quarrel.”
“Not something you do with someone indifferent. I don’t know the positives or negatives, but you two must have connected deeply in your hearts, at least.”
Crossing his legs, he gulped whiskey in one go and narrowed his eyes comfortably.
“Humans dislike change. So, to cause a dispute, considerable energy is needed. Energy is emotion—not limited to simple four types like joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure—affection, malice, goodwill, hostility, desire, laziness… I’m not a writer, so I can’t exhaust the words, but ultimately, you two chose to part with each other even abandoning the current state. There was such emotion.”
Shindo reached for yakitori, stuffed it into his mouth in one go, and chewed. His point was valid; Shinomiya had felt such desperation that she thought of discarding her feelings for Hatano.
“Was she… angry?”
“In my eyes, she seemed worried about someone. She was agonizing for someone too important to simply discard.”
A pressing sensation like being squeezed by a vise gripped her chest, making breathing difficult.
She wanted to meet her. Meet and apologize, return to how things were before. But simultaneously, thinking she might have acted under Rokai’s instigation, and there might have been no feelings for her within that, her heart hurt as if about to tear apart.
Shindo looked at Shinomiya while stuffing another chicken meatball into his mouth in one go, chewing quietly, swallowing, then sipping whiskey as a palate cleanser and continued speaking.
“…I think hearts have inertia too. Just as energy is needed to stop a moving heart, corresponding energy is needed to move a stationary heart. Your quarrel might have had corresponding emotion, but your connection also had corresponding emotion. Reconciliation should ultimately be about remembering that. Apologies and reflections follow along.”
Drunk, he was very eloquent and kind.
“If this drunk is okay, I can think of an apology for you. Tell me what happened, I’ll consult.”
Though drunk, he was far more rational and sensible than herself.
Shinomiya considered consulting Shindo about the dispute with Hatano, but ultimately, this wasn’t a quarrel but a proper separation. She didn’t want Hatano to act against her will. Though she didn’t know what connection existed, if it was Rokai’s instigation behind the scenes, her actions until now shouldn’t have been her true intention. If consulting Shindo resulted, even by chance, in harming Hatano, she should keep this mouth shut.
Shinomiya raised her face to decline the rare proposal and tried to open her mouth.
Then, someone walking from the entrance interjected.
“—That’s not our job, right?”
It was Shishido. Outside seemed quite cold; his nose was slightly reddened as he looked at Shindo while seeming chilly. At his somewhat implicative words, Shindo looked at Shishido with assessing eyes while holding his glass. Eventually, he smiled thinly, shrugged, and said, “Is that so,” not intervening further in this matter. Shinomiya looked at Shishido, who spoke as if knowing something.
“Shishido-san.”
“I just talked with Hatano. …Perhaps conflicts with family background and lineage are narrowing your perspective, but originally, you should be able to have a broader perspective on things with much greater flexibility than your sister.”
Shishido said this while hanging his jacket on the backrest and sat in an empty seat.
The words “I talked with Hatano” now sounded unbearably boastful.
“…Shishido-san knows my sister well too.”
“I know Rokai far better than you. Simultaneously, I know you far better than her.”
Words like sharp blades stabbed, and Shinomiya swallowed her words.
“—More than superficial things like achievements or talent, at a much deeper level, Hatano and Rokai are similar. They aren’t trapped by others’ evaluations, have a core, and gaze at the place they aim for. Speaking with such values, I’m your kindred spirit. So, I’ve seen eyes clouded by emotions like inferiority and jealousy many times, and I can say there is one before my eyes now.”
Shinomiya looked at her clouded eyes reflected in the mojito’s surface and lowered the ends of her eyebrows. Beside Shinomiya biting her lip, Shindo interjected.
“Roundabout.”
“We’re both side characters.”
Shishido laughed through his nose at Shindo shrugging and looked at Shinomiya.
“—What you need is dialogue.”
Shinomiya bowed her head as if chewing on those words.
Emotion sought Hatano, while morality and reason rejected her. Rokai—the rare family who unquestioningly sided with her, yet simultaneously the genius who took everything from her. How should she accept the situation where the person she loved moved under Rokai’s influence? She didn’t know. But her scarce moral sense insisted she shouldn’t make her act against her true intentions, so she had followed that.
The remaining mojito in the glass shook, responding to the trembling of her holding hand.
No matter what I do, I cannot stop thinking of her—she never leaves my heart. Even though she was the type of person I hated most in the world, the kind who refused to acknowledge me, she would rise to the occasion to correct my mistakes and praise me with a smile when I tried my best. I loved her so much it hurt, loved her more than anyone, and the fact that my heart was filled by her eyes, her voice, her words—I could no longer look away.
Shaking between reason and emotion, Shinomiya squeezed out his voice.
“…I’ll think about it a little.”