The layout of the Chiba City Municipal Soubu High School building is fairly convoluted. If you were to examine it from above, it would look a lot like the distorted square of the Japanese character for mouth—or the Japanese letter ro. If you add in the AV building poking out underneath, the bird’s-eye view of our glorious school is complete. By the road stands the classroom building, and opposite that, the special-use building. Each facility is connected by a walkway on the second floor, and the whole thing forms the shape of a square.
The space surrounded on all four sides is the normies’ holy ground: the quad.
During lunch hour, boys and girls get together to have lunch and then play badminton to help themselves digest. After school, with the buildings growing slowly darker behind them, they talk of love and gaze at the stars, caressed by the sea breeze.
It’s all such bullshit.
From the sidelines, they were as cold as actors playing roles in some teen drama. And in that drama, I’d play a tree or something.
Ms. Hiratsuka was clicking briskly down the linoleum, apparently heading for the special-use building.
I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I mean, community service is a worthless activity, anyway. The word service isn’t something that should be popping up in everyday conversation. I think it’s a term that should be reserved for very specific situations—for example, a maid servicing her master. I’d welcome that kind of service with open arms, like, Woo, let’s party! But that kind of thing never actually happens in real life. Or rather, not unless you pay. And if you do pony up the cash and get to do whatever it is you’ve got in mind, it’s not exactly an activity bursting with hopes and dreams. Basically, service is bad.
On top of that, we were on our way to the special-use building. I was obviously going to be made to do something like move the piano in the music room or clean up garbage in the compost room or organize the book collection in the library. I had to take defensive measures before that happened.
“I’ve got a bad back, like…um…her…her…herpes? That’s it…”
“I’m sure you wanted to say a ‘hernia,’ but don’t worry about that. I’m not going to ask you to do physical labor.” Ms. Hiratsuka regarded me with infuriating condescension.
Hmm. That meant that she wanted me to look something up or do desk work. In a way, that sort of mindless busywork was even worse than manual labor. It was closer to that method of torture where you have to fill up holes in the ground and then dig them out again.
“I have this disease where I’ll die if I go into a classroom.”
“That’s some long-nosed sniper material. Are you one of the Straw Hat Pirates or what?”
You read shonen manga?!
Well, I don’t hate doing repetitive tasks on my own. I just have to turn off a switch inside me and say to myself, I’m a machine. Once I’m at that stage, I’ll start looking for a mechanical body and then end up as a bolt.
“We’re here.”
The teacher stopped before a completely unremarkable classroom. There was nothing written on the nameplate by the door. I paused at that, thinking it odd, and the teacher slid the door open with a rattle.
Desks and chairs were stacked up casually in one corner of the classroom. Maybe it was being used for storage? The stack was the only thing differentiating this room from all the others. There was nothing special about it. It was extremely normal.
What made it feel so different, though, was that there was a girl there, reading a book in the slanting rays of the setting sun. The scene was so picturesque that I imagined that even after the end of the world she would still be sitting there, just like that.
The moment I saw her, my body and mind both froze. I was entranced.
When the girl noticed she had visitors, she bookmarked her paperback and looked up. “Ms. Hiratsuka. I thought I asked you to knock before entering.”
Flawless visage. Flowing black hair. Even wearing the same uniform as all the faceless girls in my class, she looked completely different.
“Even if I knock, you never reply.”
“You come in without giving me time to.” She cast the teacher a dissatisfied glance. “And who’s this addled-looking boy?” Her chilly gaze flicked toward me.
I knew this girl. Class 2-J, Yukino Yukinoshita.
Of course, all I knew was her name and face. I’d never spoken with her. I can’t help it. It was a rare occasion for me to speak to anyone at this school.
Aside from the nine regular classes at Soubu High, there’s also another class called the International Curriculum. The International Curriculum is two or three points higher than the regular classes on the bell curve and is composed mostly of kids who’ve spent time abroad or are looking to go on exchange.
Among that class full of standouts—or rather, people who just naturally drew the attention of others—Yukino Yukinoshita was particularly distinctive.
She was a straight-A student, always enshrined in the top rank on both regular and aptitude tests. And what’s more, she was always showered with attention due to her uncommonly good looks. Basically, she was so pretty you could even say she was the prettiest girl in school. She was famous here, and everyone knew about her.
And then there’s me. I’m so bland and ordinary, I don’t even know if anyone knows I exist. So there would be nothing to be offended about if she didn’t know me. But the word addled hurt a bit. Enough to make me start escaping reality by remembering that candy from a long time ago with a similar name. I haven’t seen it in a while.
“This is Hikigaya. He wants to join the club.” Prodded forward by Ms. Hiratsuka, I bowed lightly. I assumed she wanted me to introduce myself or something.
“I’m Hachiman Hikigaya from Class 2-F. Um…hey. What do you mean, ‘join the club’?” Join what club? What club was this?
Ms. Hiratsuka opened her mouth in anticipation of my question. “Your punishment will be to participate in this club’s activities. I won’t accept any arguments, disagreements, objections, questions, or back talk. Cool your head for a bit and think about what you did.” She handed down my sentence with the force of crashing waves, leaving me no room for protest. “Well, then, I think you can tell by looking at him, but he’s rotten to the core. That’s why he’s always alone. He’s such a pitiful soul.”
You can tell just by looking?
“If he learns how to be around people, I think he’ll straighten himself out a little. I’ll leave him with you. My request is that you correct his twisted, lonely character,” the teacher said, turning back to Yukinoshita.
Yukinoshita opened her mouth, looking annoyed. “If that’s the issue, I think you should just knock some discipline into him. Kicking would also work.”
What a scary girl.
“If I could, I would, but these days they make a little bit of a fuss about that. Physical violence isn’t allowed.” The way she said that, it was as if she were saying that psychological violence was allowed.