The editor-in-chief said nice things about my passion for the job, but that didn’t give me any comfort right now. Because you…the boy I adore… The boy who said he wanted to be a light illuminating a path ahead… You knew what to do without being taught. He’d known to avoid the trap that had caught me up. …It was so frustrating. I was so damn frustrated!!! If I hadn’t invited you along… Would I be feeling this bad right now? No. I know with utter certainty that’s not true. This pain didn’t come from embarrassing myself in front of you or from worrying about disappointing you. This pain…made me realize how serious about all this I really am. I was being confronted with the wide rift between my dreams and my current level of ability. This might be the first time I’ve ever been so frustrated over something that matters this much to me. I’ve been good at studying since I was little. I was never the best at sports, but I was always able to accept a fair defeat. I wasn’t in any sports clubs at school. So I’ve never felt this before. I’ve never been this overwhelmed, being confronted by my own immaturity, totally lost on the path toward the future I wanted. Risking it all for something I just couldn’t let go of. I was scared. I wrapped my arms around me and squeezed my upper arms tightly. Now I understand why Dad was so worried. No doubt Dad’s seen so many people chase their dreams and fail—their hearts broken along the journey, disillusioned by repeated setbacks and regrets. Even if I did manage to become an editor… Maybe the books I sent out into the world with so much confidence wouldn’t sell at all. Maybe I’d be dropped by my favorite author because I lacked ability. Maybe I’d end up ruining a brilliant author’s career because I wasn’t able to guide them properly… As long as I continued on this path…there wouldn’t be anywhere to run and hide. I heard the door swing open. Finally, there came a knock on the stall. “I’m impressed you managed not to cry until you left the room. I was never able to pull it off.” The gentle voice coming through the stall door belonged to Hirayama. “You can stay quiet if you want, but would you let me talk for a second?” If I opened my mouth even a little, it would turn into a sob. Knock, knock. I rapped my response on the door. “Thank you. You know, Nishino, I really respect you.” My arms slackened. That wasn’t what I was expecting to hear. “You’re frustrated with yourself. Embarrassed. You feel pathetic. And you feel like you’re about to shake apart because you messed up. Right?” Knock, I responded. “I think it was about a year after I joined the company that I felt swallowed up by those feelings for the first time. Even before that point, things were tough sometimes. My boss back then was incredibly strict. My manuscripts got rejected over and over. I had to stay overnight in the editorial department, writing and rewriting them, on the verge of tears, but…” Knock. “To be honest, I used to make excuses for myself, thinking I couldn’t help it because I didn’t have any experience. I was trying my best in my own way, so people should at least appreciate that, I thought. I drank, complained to my friends, and managed to get through each day.” Knock. “But then one day, I got the chance to cover this bakery I’d always personally wanted to write about. It was in my neighborhood, run by this cute old couple. I loved their pork cutlet buns, their ham-and-egg rolls, their croquette buns, and their bread rolls. When I used to stop by as an elementary student, they’d sneak me some bread that hadn’t sold that day. During summer vacation, my mom would send me there to buy breakfast. I’d go right after doing morning calisthenics, and I really started to look forward to the exercise because of it.” Knock. “At the time of the interview, they had already retired, and their son had taken over the shop, but I was desperate to write a great article as a way of repaying all their kindness. This is a little pathetic to admit, but I think it was the first time since I’d become an editor that I was really passionate about writing an article. During the interview, I got so into it that I talked until I embarrassed myself. I spent hours selecting photos, asked the designer to make multiple revisions, and I fussed extensively over every word. I believed I’d created the best possible article.” Knock. “After I sent them the roughs for their approval, the store owner’s son called the EIC. He ordered me to go back to the bakery with him. I remember he looked pretty stern. I went wearing the kind of smart suit I don’t normally wear. When we got there, the son was furious, and he laid into me.” Knock. “He asked me, ‘Was my father’s shop the one you meant to write about?’” … “My vision was clouded by my own memories and my own sentimental attachment. I focused on the pork cutlet buns, the ham-and-egg rolls… But they were relics of the past. The son had put a lot of effort into the modern menu and the shop’s design so that it would appeal to today’s young people. The passion behind the bakery had been passed down to the son, but it had evolved into a new form. Even during my visit, I didn’t notice any of that.” … “I broke down in tears on the spot, and I couldn’t speak. The EIC had to bow and apologize on my behalf. In the end, they did allow us to run an article on them, but only as long as someone else was assigned to cover it, and it was rewritten completely.” Knock. “I still have nightmares about it sometimes. This is a job where you could easily end up trampling all over the things you love.” Knock. “…Still. It’s precisely because of the regret I felt that day that I’ve managed to make it this far. Because I couldn’t just let it end like that. Someday, I’ll introduce my favorite bakery again in the best possible way. I’ll spread the word across Fukui, maybe across the world.” Knock, knock. “Frustration feeds us in this job. Of course we should be proud of our pages and our articles. We should always give it our all. But we should always strive for improvement. Always think about what we could have done better. The minute you stop caring about that stuff…your career as an editor is dead in the water. “So,” Hirayama said. “I respect you, Nishino. You haven’t even graduated from high school yet, let alone gotten a job, and you’re crying like that and trying not to show it to anyone. You’ve got regrets, and you’re feeling them deeply. It might not be my place to say this, but I think you got there ten years sooner than I did. As long as you remember today’s tears, you’ll become a fine editor for sure.” Her words, her kindness, unlocked a fresh flood of warm tears. I was blessed. She had no real connection with this high schooler, but she had confessed to me a part of her past, something so meaningful to her, she’d never been able to forget it. Even the editor-in-chief could have smoothed things over and avoided the issue. I’ll never forget this, I thought, putting my hand over my heart. I wiped away my tears, tried to keep my voice from shaking, and said: “All right!” That determination was for my future self. “We’ll be waiting,” Hirayama said, and I heard her footsteps moving away. After making sure I was alone, I took another deep breath. “Aghhh!!!” I cried until my voice cracked, and the rain finally ceased. After composing myself, I left the stall, washed my face, and exited the bathroom. As a commemorative gift, they offered us back issues of URALA, so I chose the special issue on novels, and Saku chose the special issue on ramen. The editor-in-chief and Ms. Hirayama came to see us off in front of the entrance. I bowed my head again. “Thank you very much for today. It was an enlightening experience.” My voice was hoarse from crying, but no one mentioned it, which was even more embarrassing. Next to me, Saku said, “I learned a lot.” The editor-in-chief smiled warmly. The sharp attitude he’d had when he pointed out my mistakes was gone. “Asuka, you’re thinking about going to Tokyo for college and job-hunting, right?” “I am!” “I may have sounded harsh, but I have confidence in my ability to judge people. If you can carry on with the passion you have now, you’ll be fine. However, I’d like to ask you to do one thing…” He continued, looking a little hesitant. “I don’t know what will happen in your life from now on. You may be able to achieve your dreams easily, or you may experience many setbacks. You may even find it difficult to live in Tokyo.” With a pat, the editor-in-chief put one hand on my shoulder and one on Saku’s. “In times like these, don’t forget that you always have a place to return to here in Fukui. You may think it’s too rural, but recently, there are more and more young people here willing to do something different, and this is a place where you can do that. Here at URALA, we know this isn’t just a boring town.” He smiled a nostalgic, hometown-pride sort of smile. “So don’t think that if you fail in Tokyo, it’s over. If you feel like you’ve hit a dead end, don’t suffer all by yourself. Just come home. Urara… I mean, we will be waiting for you here.” The editor-in-chief scratched his cheek with a bashful, “Was that me trying to sound cool and failing?” sort of grin. Hirayama nodded. “Don’t go poaching the youth.” “Both of them look like they could run circles around you, Hirayama.” “If that’s how you’re gonna be, you can forget about me keeping to that deadline.” “You gotta actually meet your deadlines before you can make that threat!” “You know, I was thinking of asking Asuka to be a cover girl for URALA.” “…Hmm, that’s not a bad idea.” “Aha! I knew you had an ulterior motive!” Watching this exchange, Saku and I shook with silent laughter. After joking around for a while, the editor-in-chief got serious again. “Asuka Nishino.” His face softened back into that boyish smile. “I look forward to meeting you as an editor someday.” And he held his hand out toward me. I gripped it tightly and swore to myself that I was going to make it, no matter what. As we left URALA, we found that the sky was streaked with red and gold. The sunset was so magical, I felt like I was about to get sucked into it. Maybe because there were no tall buildings to obscure the view. Maybe it was because of the rice paddies all around. The croaking of frogs, like an echo of summer. Hirayama took us as far as the rotary out front of Fukui Station. We unloaded Saku’s bicycle from the minivan, expressed our gratitude, and said good-bye. They really took care of us right to the end. After we’d waved until the van was out of sight, Saku looked at me. “What now, Asuka?” I smiled a little as I responded. “How about we go for a walk?” “Good idea. I’m feeling pretty stiff.” We started walking around the station area, with no particular destination in mind. I like this time of day, just floating on the threshold of evening. Little by little, lights went on in the shopping district, and the signboards that slumbered during the day popped into neon life. But nothing could compare to the dizzying splendor of Shinjuku, where Saku and I had also walked around together. Many of the shops here remained shuttered, and there were only a few people on the streets. Everyone looked like they were in a hurry to head home, rather than spend time around the station. But I was feeling sentimental, thinking about how the sleepy Fukui evening really was nice. There’s a clear delineation between night and day. You can feel the day fading away. The crossing signal chirped. It used to play a melody called “Toryanse.” It’s a familiar melody, like a nursery rhyme. Something you sing innocently when you’re young, but as an adult, there’s something melancholic about it. When I’d hear it in the evening, I used to feel like I might slip into a different world. I used to always hurry to the other side of the road. Looking to my side, I found Saku apparently deep in thought about something. Regardless of what the editor-in-chief said… In that moment, I realized that I’m never afraid of silence when I’m with you. After passing through the Galleria Motomachi arcade and heading down a quiet alley… “Asuka, look at that.” Saku pointed ahead. As we drew closer, I saw a small hand-painted signboard hanging on the ground floor of a building that had a lot of neon signs for dive bars on its upper floors. The word “bookstore” was written next to the word “HOSHIDO” in alphabet letters, which was probably the name of the store. I looked at Saku. “What’s a bookstore doing here?” This was the district with all the bars and the adult establishments and so on. “I had no idea, either. But I’ve heard of the café next door, Kumagoro Café. Nanase mentioned it once.” “…What should we do? I kinda want to browse.” “It’s not like this is Kabukicho. No one’s gonna grab us here.” I nodded and headed into the building. On the inside, it looked like an old multi-tenant building. It could have been the setting for a horror movie, but I was a little relieved when I saw the bookstore’s sign hanging from the ceiling. We passed by an ancient elevator and entered the door to the shop proper. “Wow…!” It was like a mysterious antique shop from a fairy tale. There wasn’t too much horizontal shelf space, but it was crammed with books, records, CDs, cassette tapes, and so on. The interior was quite dim, with only sparse lighting illuminating certain areas, like waypoints in a cave. In the middle of the store was a large counter stretching across the shop like a sort of twilight flowing between day and night. With the rows of deep-red chairs at the counter, it looked more like a bar than a bookstore. Was this the beginning of a novel? At the tail end of my summer vacation, I’d stumbled into a dead-end street with my childhood friend. Glancing behind me, I saw that the entrance was obscured, and there was only a wide-open exit to who knows where. The two of us, hand in hand, going on an adventure… I let myself fantasize. I focused my ears and listened. I heard Bump of Chicken’s “Kudaranai Uta (Boring Song)” playing at a volume so low that it was more like a caress on my eardrums. I realized this was a good place. “Good evening.” As I was looking around the store, I was addressed by a woman sitting on a chair near the entrance, reading a book. There were no other customers besides us, so she probably worked here. Her hair was cut as short as mine. Behind her black-rimmed spectacles, her gently drooping eyes exuded a friendly aura. “Good evening,” I said. “What a wonderful shop.” The woman carefully put down the book and said, “Nice to meet you. I’m Suzuki, the owner of this shop.” “I didn’t know there was a bookstore in a place like this.” “I run it with another boy, who’s in charge of music, and it’s usually only open about two days a week. I’m not usually around at this time, either. Today was an exception.” “Wow. You’ve got a lot of atmosphere.” “Originally, this place was a dive bar. Even the counter table is left over from those days.” “Oh, right! Yes, that makes sense.” “Sorry,” the store owner said. “When a customer comes in, I always start talking to them right away. Would you like to chat? If so, feel free to browse while we talk.” “Oh, of course.” Before I knew it, Saku had quickly gone to the back and was curiously looking at the records and cassette tapes. He just takes life at his own speed, doesn’t he? I thought, smiling wryly. When I looked around the store again, I noticed certain novels that I also owned on the bookshelf on the other side, but everything on the counter were booklets that had a somewhat handmade feel to them. My interest was probably showing. The shopkeeper beamed. “We mainly sell used books, a few new books, and music-related items, but what we have here is what’s called ‘small press’ books.” “Small press…?” I repeated, the term unfamiliar to me. Saku seemed to be interested, too. He stopped browsing and came back over. “To put it simply, they’re publications independently produced by individuals or small groups. It includes zines and dojinshi, too, and there are also some novels I’ve personally edited myself.” “You edit novels?!” When I raised my voice, the shop owner tilted her head in surprise. “Are you interested?” Nodding vigorously, I briefly introduced myself and told her that I was planning to go to Tokyo to become an editor. “I see. Well, if you’d like, please take a seat.” Then the owner, Ms. Suzuki, told us all about how this shop came to be. …Apparently, she originally worked at a design studio. After having kids, she decided to become a freelance designer so she could keep working while raising her children. Since that wasn’t enough work for her, she started writing articles and eventually began to handle planning and editing. Around that time, she started calling herself an “editor who loves books” and held events that brought people together through a mutual love of the written word. She started this store on a whim, thinking it would be fun to have something like a used bookstore and editing room. After completing her brief explanation, Suzuki smiled nostalgically. “What surprised me the most when I opened HOSHIDO was that it became a gathering place not only for people who simply love books, but also for novel writers, photographers, and artists.” Beside me, Saku spoke up with curiosity. “Professionally, you mean?” Suzuki slowly shook her head. “Some do it professionally, but many do it as a hobby, or are actively trying to go pro. Even in Fukui, many people have a desire to express themselves. I wanted to facilitate that. That’s why I began editing other people’s work.” I had a question. “So have you actually published any novels?” Suzuki picked up a thick, brightly colored book. “Just with my small press. For example, this was brought to us by a very elderly author who said he wanted to write a novel with his remaining years and leave something behind. The two of us went through round after round of revisions until it was completed. “However,” she continued. “It’s a bit of a sad story, but when the book finally came out, the author was already in the hospital. He passed away a week after I delivered it.” “Oh…” Ms. Suzuki smiled softly at my reaction. “But I still remember what he said in that hospital room, holding his novel in his hands. He had that childlike joy. ‘As long as this exists in the world, I have no regrets.’ When I met with her later, his wife also said, ‘At the end, he talked about nothing but this book. Thanks to you, I think I was able to set out on my own journey to the end without any regrets.’ She was really happy.” When I imagined that exchange, my eyes started to prickle. When I spoke next, it was my honest opinion. “This might sound trite, but…I think what you do is wonderful. To be honest, I was thinking the only way to become an editor was to move to Tokyo. But even in Fukui, there are people working hard to get other people’s stories out into the world.” Suzuki looked a little bashful. “Compared to traditional publishers, what we do is very small-scale. But I believe that publishing a book isn’t just about reaching readers. It’s about sharing a piece of the author’s soul.” “The author’s soul…” “The example I just gave is relatively extreme, but simply the experience of creating a book can really give you a reason to keep going in your later years. You’re able to finally express the part of yourself you feel like no one understands, and make your pain and struggles into a story. Then you can finally let them go. Of course, there’s also the chance you’ll happen upon something completely new and unexpected, too.” Publishing a book had meaning in itself. Ms. Suzuki’s way of thinking gradually began to make sense. Weaving someone’s life and soul into a collection of words—perhaps that, too, was part of the job of an editor. Ms. Suzuki continued, a faraway look in her eyes. “Also, an author’s life gets preserved in the books they create. How they grew up, what kind of people they met, the experiences they had. What they found beautiful. What made them cry. Their favorite color of the sky. The seasons and memories they cherished. The people they loved. Even in fiction, sometimes I’ll be reading, and I’ll turn a page, and a sentence will catch my eye, and I feel like I get glimpses of the author’s inner life from beyond the page. So…” Ms. Suzuki cradled the book by the late author as if it were one of her own children. “Though it’s sad, there’s comfort, too. You see, he’s still right here.” My chest tightened. I couldn’t really say anything meaningful about the author of a book I hadn’t even read, a person I’ve never met. But someday. I wanted to create a book like this. A sharing of souls. What a precious thing that would be! For some reason, I suddenly wanted to confide in this person about today’s events—well, to put it bluntly, the frustration and regret I’d experienced. “Um…” I was about to start, but then I fell silent. I found myself glancing…at you, friend. You already saw that ugly side of me, but I don’t want to expose it any more. I fidgeted with the folds of my skirt… “Asuka.” You said my name in a gentle voice, as if you’d just intuited something. “Sorry. Do you mind if I take a break and get some fresh air?” “Huh…?” “Maybe it’s because I’ve been sitting all day, but my body is so stiff.” I nodded stupidly, and Saku politely excused himself before leaving. As I watched him go, I felt embarrassed, like Saku had just been reading my thoughts. Ms. Suzuki, hands folded on her lap, was smiling slightly. “That’s a very nice friend you have there.” “…Yes. I know.” Ms. Suzuki continued. “So, it looks like you have something you’d like to talk about?” With a small nod, I went ahead and told Ms. Suzuki all about what had happened at URALA. …After spilling everything, I looked down and said quietly: “I feel a little pathetic for thinking I was better than I am.” I had already accepted my failure. As Ms. Hirayama said, I was sure this experience would help me out someday. But the distance between me and the dream I was facing had started to flicker, like an unreliable heat mirage at the end of summer. It was slipping through my fingers. If I kept chasing it until the end, would I really reach it? I guess I was turning a blind eye to reality, just like Dad had warned me. As I was thinking, Ms. Suzuki, who’d been listening to me and making understanding noises, gave me a soft smile. “If there is such a thing as editor talent, then what exactly do you think it is, Miss Nishino?” I hesitated for a moment before answering. “Well, for novel editors, having an eye for finding a good story, I guess.” “And what is a good story?” “Huh…?” While I sat flustered, Ms. Suzuki continued, a twinkle in her eye. “This may be obvious, but what makes a good story to me doesn’t necessarily make a good story for you, right? The book you feel changed your life might have little to no impact on someone else. It might just be words on a page to them.” That was true, I thought. For example, it’s not unusual for Saku to find that a novel I recommended didn’t really resonate with him. Looking at the small press publications on the counter, Ms. Suzuki spoke again. “There probably isn’t one single story that will resonate equally with everyone. At least, I haven’t come across one yet. Do we editors really deal in absolutes like that anyway?” At that, she paused, looking embarrassed, for some reason. “…It’s all about a singular perspective.” And she looked me right in the eyes. “A…singular perspective?” “‘If I don’t make this story into a book, it might be buried.’ Or ‘I alone am aware of the charm of this author and am the only one in the world who can convey it to the people.’ Or ‘I have to do it. There’s no one else.’ “So,” Ms. Suzuki said, lowering her gaze gently. “If there’s any one talent a person needs in order to be an editor, it’s the ability to hold firm to that singular perspective.” It was like she was offering me an umbrella in the midst of a downpour. “The singular perspective you hold so close, Miss Nishino… I feel it, too.” I placed a hand over my chest. It was like she was telling me…I was fine the way I was. Like I was being given a pat on the back. Reassurance that my way of thinking wasn’t wrong. I nodded over and over, biting back a weak whimper. When Saku reappeared at a convenient moment, Ms. Suzuki suddenly seemed to remember something. “Come to think of it, we’re going to close down in the next few years.” “Huh…?” “It’s part of the redevelopment project around the station. I think certain other stores around here are going to be closed down, too.” “I… I see…” I suppose you can’t fight progress. But it made me even more glad that we’d happened to stumble across this shop. Each word that was uttered here was imbued with the peace of the cradle, and I could see the unshakable core behind its policy. Just from our short conversation, I’d come to really respect Ms. Suzuki and what she did. So someday, when I became an editor, I’d wanted to visit this store, guided by my memories. It might be a bit rude of me to come and bend her ear about the books I’ve worked on, like she was some sort of mentor, but… Sensing the disappointment in me, Ms. Suzuki said, “Oh, don’t look like that. “This place is just another sort of book that I’ve edited together.” The night breeze wafted in through the open door, and the pages of the small press publications on the counter fluttered. “So many people visited this small used bookstore in the countryside, in the short time it was open, and left behind all kinds of stories about their lives. There was a young man aiming to become a professional Japanese drum player. A photographer trying to capture his own impressions of Fukui. A former civil servant who came here from outside the prefecture and started training as a lacquer craftsman. A girl aiming to become an editor, and the boy watching her from the sidelines… Don’t you think it’s like a novel? This place has been my blank page to write them all down. “So,” Ms. Suzuki continued, “I don’t feel sad about it at all. I believe that the encounters and stories that were born here will continue to be written in everyone’s hearts even after the book closes.” Her words sank in. It was odd, though; I suddenly felt like bursting into tears. I looked at Saku, who was listening attentively beside me. The story would continue even after the book was closed. Even after I leave and go to Tokyo, you’ll continue to live in this town. Your story will go on. But the name Asuka Nishino will disappear from its pages. “It’s all right.” Ms. Suzuki seemed to read my emotions. “I’m working on a whole new book. I’ll see you in the next story.” Ah. Right. I placed my hand on my chest. You’re not the only one whose story will continue. I have to write my own story myself. As long as a part of you remains with me. Our story will never really be over. After that, the three of us talked for a while. Then we left that mysterious old bookstore behind. Outside, it was completely dark. It had been a fulfilling day, between my experience at URALA and my time at HOSHIDO. I was sure I’d be thinking about both a lot in the future. It was August. The last summer vacation for senior high school students. At the end of the day, I’d met some wonderful people and encountered stories that would remain in my heart forever. But, almost unconsciously, I breathed a sigh of relief. …I’m glad this had happened now. What if it had been in June? In the confusion of deciding on a career? I might have easily compromised on my original dream, thinking that living as an editor in Fukui wasn’t such a bad idea, after all. Well, that word “compromised”—I’m not saying that the people who became editors in Fukui compromised. In fact, it was the exact opposite. I thought that I could only fulfill my dream of becoming an editor by moving to Tokyo, but there are people here where I was born and raised who approach stories with just as much passion, straightforwardness, and sincerity. That way of living was so cool to me. Even though my dreams were supposed to still be in Tokyo, I kept thinking of what-ifs. Just for a moment, I considered it. …If I stayed in Fukui, I might be able to stay by your side while still nibbling on the edge of my dreams. But… My motivation there would be completely different from that of the editor-in-chief, from Ms. Hirayama, and Miss Suzuki, who chose Fukui of their own will and decided to live here as editors. I’m sure Dad would approve. And I wouldn’t have to be away from you. At the same time, I’d be able to keep my dream alive in some form. It would be a compromise reached after coming to terms with certain realities. But if I made my decisions based on those reasons, I wouldn’t be able to live my life and be proud of the work I did, like the people I’d met today. So I was glad today happened. I stretched, and that’s when my stomach growled. Saku, walking beside me, burst out laughing. “I guess you’re hungry. Shall we go and get something to eat?” I puffed out my cheeks. “Isn’t it more gentlemanly to pretend you didn’t hear a lady’s stomach growl?” “You worked hard today. I’m not surprised you’re hungry.” “Huh?” I was taken aback by what he was saying now, but Saku continued nonchalantly. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you and I have barely spoken to each other today, haven’t we?” Hmm. I thought back. Yeah. We really haven’t. “You see?” Saku shrugged. “Normally, we chat up a storm. But today, when I looked at you, I kept thinking… ‘Wow, I’m not in Asuka’s heart at all right now.’” “That’s…not true…” I thought back to when I had you on my mind, as you. The first time was after our interview at URALA. The second time was after I heard that HOSHIDO would eventually disappear. Huh, I thought. Only in the context of my work as an editor. Even though lately, I’ve been thinking about you no matter what’s going on. Saku continued impishly. “I don’t mean it in a trivial way. I’m not being like, ‘Oh, boo-hoo, Asuka ignored me all day.’ It’s just that you were laser-focused. Listening, learning, soaking up all that you could. Whereas I have no idea what I want for my future. Today, you were…dazzling. Just beautiful.” His words deeply embarrassed me, and I needed to deflect. “Are you kidding? I was so lame and bumbling today.” “It’s the flip side of passion. I was in a casual, study trip mood. I wasn’t taking it seriously, and I happened to stumble on the right answer. Next time, Asuka, you’ll be leaving me even further in the dust.” “…Can I ask you one thing?” I’d noticed a wistful tone to his voice, and that made me bold. “Why did you come with me?” I’d intended it as a casual question. But uncharacteristically for him, Saku went red, his gaze drifted, and then he grinned, as if to deflect. “…I told you. I was interested, a little.” “Hey, don’t dodge the subject.” “I think it’s good manners for a lady not to pry in a situation like this, right?” “Huh?” “Please, stop looking at me.” I didn’t. Saku sighed and muttered to himself. “Late night, listening to the radio. Writing letters addressed to no one.” “Excuse me…?” Those words—it was like he’d been reading my soul. My heart beat faster. Saku continued, not seeming to notice my response. “This summer, all kinds of emotions have crystallized inside me. I feel…a little empty. Like a bottle of Ramune that’s lost all its fizz. Still sweet, but there’s something lacking…” Is this your distress signal? If so, I at least want to match your frequency. “Hee-hee, is it time to discuss your career path again? It’s been a while.” Before I knew it, I’d said words that had started to feel familiar. Saku scruffed up his hair, looking away. “It bothers me having that empty space in my heart. How do I fill it? With baseball? With studying? Love and friendship, cliché as that is? Or…?” “…Or write yourself a whole new story?” I carefully turned the dial, and after a short burst of static, your voice came through loud and clear. “You’re so dramatic, Asuka.” “Well, you’re a dramatic guy yourself.” We took a half step closer to each other and looked up at the starry sky. Where was my paper airplane now? Soaring smoothly? Fluttering? If I could have my wish, I thought. Then I wish that the person who unfolds it someday is…you, as a grown-up. And I hope I can read it, as a grown-up. …Maybe, in the middle of night at the end of summer, when I long to hear someone’s voice… Thunk. Two high schoolers will knock against the window. I hope…I hope our story will continue.
Chapter 104
30 min read