Chapter 9
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Kento went on to senior high school. The curriculums branched off widely at this level, and each of the General, Athletic, and Performing Arts streams had unique class content.
Not all students in Performing Arts aspired to be celebrity personalities; many students aimed to get into music school after graduating.
The Athletics stream benefited from the school’s location in the suburbs, with two fields exclusively for the use of the department. Shonan Private School was full of talented students who had been scouted from all over the country to be on the track-and-field and baseball teams. The object was, of course, garnering N. University’s preferred admission spots.
N. University’s baseball team was part of the Eastern Metropolitan Varsity League, and N. University’s track team had also competed for the past few years in the Hakone Ekiden marathon.
Kento was interested in the track team that Orihara had been a part of, and so went to visit the grounds to watch them practice.
“So this is where he used to run, huh.” Kento sat perched atop a slightly raised dirt slope for spectators, watching the team members in shorts running around the track. He remembered that night, and those long and slender limbs which had wound around him, and gave himself a stern knock on the head for his naughty thoughts.
“Me and my dirty mind,” he muttered to himself in exasperation.
The coach began to notice Kento after he kept showing up several times to watch them practice. The coach was now in his fifties, but in his younger days he had also run the Hakone Ekiden marathon. Over the years, however, he had developed a considerable gut. His bearded face and hairy arms was reminiscent of a rambunctious bear.
At first he mistakenly thought Kento was watching because he wanted to join the track team. He extended an invitation, but when Kento showed him the support on his knee, he looked disappointed.
“It’s a shame. You’ve got the physique for it. And you look good. You’d be the perfect star on the track.”
When Kento told him that he was part of the Performing Arts department and that he was signed with a talent agency, the coach didn’t seem surprised.
“I could see that, with your looks,” he remarked. “You’re pretty much a star already.”
Kento and the coach got along well. One day, on a whim, Kento decided to ask him something.
“Do you still have members’ lists from past years?”
“Yeah, they’re in the club room,” the coach said.
“My friend used to be a member of this team. Can I have a look at it, for memories’ sake?” Kento asked.
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Club rooms were located on the second floor of the equipment storage building behind the gym. The coach invited Kento to come with him.
The forty-square-metre room was occupied by a large desk, a few collapsible chairs, and two filing cabinets. Many trophies sat atop them. The coach hauled out thick binders with black covers that looked like accounting books.
“How many years ago are we looking at?”
“Um...”
When Kento told him, the coach flipped through the pages as he talked.
“I hadn’t joined yet that year. I guess that’d be about three generations ago. That’s a pretty old friend you’ve got,” he commented. When he found the page, Kento studied it intently.
“All newly-joined members should be in Japanese alphabetical order.”
Kento glanced up near the top of the page, and scanned the names in order.
“There he is!” There it was. Yuri Orihara. Kento felt choked up as he continued to stare at the name. “Doctor…”
He felt like he had gone back in time to meet a high-school Orihara. If only he had a time machine, he could go back to Orihara in those days and support him when he was hurt. Perhaps it would be hard to be lovers, but at least he would be able to support him as a friend of the same age.
He remembered the sadness etched in Orihara’s face, and felt a stinging in the back of his nose.
“Kid?” the coach asked uncertainly. Kento had been staring at the same spot on the page for so long that the man had gotten concerned.
“Oh, uh, it’s nothing. Thank you for everything!” Kento said brightly, bowing his head in thanks. “Would you mind if I visited again?”
“Not at all. Come anytime.”
Kento left the room and headed for the woods near the back gates. Here was where he had seen Orihara two days after receiving news of his knee condition. The coloured leaves had been falling then, but now they were replaced by vivid new greenery.
He felt like it had happened years ago, but it had only been two months since they parted ways. But I still feel so lonely. Even seeing his name makes me want to cry. I can’t be like this. I have to be stronger, Kento scolded himself.
Yes. Remember that line: “I want to give myself a word of praise.” They were the famous words of a marathon medalist. Until he could say those same words proudly, he had to keep trying. Or else, there was no way he could protect the person he loved.
Far away, he could see a club member diligently running around the track alone. The sight of the runner all alone reminded Kento of Orihara, who shut out those around him to keep the hurt inside himself. Kento watched him carefully.
The runner’s head was prone to drooping, but he had a powerful pace, and once in a while his spikes kicked up the dust around him. But Kento was too far away to hear his breathing or his footsteps.
Silence lay thick between them, it didn’t feel at all like they were living in the same moment. Kento was overcome with a mysterious sense that he was looking at Orihara as a high-schooler running around the track through a wall of time that divided them.
As he stood stock-still, suddenly a burst of cheering from the baseball field reached his ears on the warm breeze. Kento was brought back to the present. And then, on sure footing he headed for the dormitory. Although he could see Orihara close to him, he could not reach out to touch him ? just like those track runners practicing on the field. But that was only for the present time; some day in the future, he would tear down that wall dividing them with the sheer strength of his resolve.
Kento vowed that until that dream was fulfilled, he would never look back again.