EVERY ACTION YOU TAKE has the chance of making someone else unhappy.
That was the philosophy by which I was raised for eighteen years of my life, up until I graduated high school. So as a freshman at university, I decided to make this the principle by which I lived my life. In other words, never would I carelessly approach others, nor would I ever speak up enough to voice an opinion which might contradict anyone else’s. Thus, I believed, I would decrease the possibility that I might ever inconvenience anyone else, as well as the chance that anyone who was ever inconvenienced by me might wound me in return.
And so, when I first laid eyes upon Akiyoshi Hisano at my university, I thought very little of her. Here, I thought, was proof of how foolish, overconfident, and dull the people of this world could be.
It was the second Monday of my first freshman term. For the most part, I had finished selecting my courses, and starting this week, my studies would begin in earnest. On such a day as this, where I was possessed of such righteous motivation, I, who had yet to join any clubs or take part in any of the usual freshman activities, found myself sitting alone in the corner of a large lecture hall. All I hoped for was some measure of peace in my university life.
Third period was a general civics course of sorts, I believe. As I thumbed idly through my textbook, the lecturer finally took quietly to the lectern, a respectful hush falling over the room full of freshman. Of course, throughout the ninety minutes of undivided attention that such a lecture demanded, that dutiful focus began to wane. The hall was soon abuzz with chatter. Even the teacher, likely accustomed to this annual progression, paid this little mind, simply continuing the lesson.
I was no exception here as one of those people who could never even maintain my attention in my high school classes. Those ninety minutes of class felt like an eternity beneath the spring sunshine, a feeling that I wasn’t sure I would be able to bear for the next four years.
The lesson quickly became tedious. From my seat at the edge of the room, I could see outside of the window. The laughter of out-of-class students and the chirping of the birds melted into the sunlight. It was just as my head began to droop and my chin was about to slide from my hands that I heard a voice come crashing through this beautiful, sunny day.
“Pardon me, can I ask a question?”
A loud, vivacious voice echoed across the quiet lecture hall. Everyone, startled into attention, began glancing around, looking for the source of the disturbance. I was similarly intrigued, but there was no need for me to look around myself. I had heard the voice straight from its source—a girl sitting one seat over, to my right. I furtively glanced over to see her right hand thrust straight up towards the ceiling, achingly self-assured.
I had not been paying attention to the lecture, so I thought that perhaps the teacher had opened the floor for questions. However, the aged lecturer merely met her piercing gaze with a dull stare, urging her to lower her hand with a, “Save your questions for the end.” I kept watching the girl out of the corner of my eye; she eventually lowered her hand, but the sour expression she made must have been visible even from the teacher’s podium. “All right, now is fine,” the lecturer relented. She instantly perked up, her thanks echoing throughout the room.
As I think about it now, I’m sure that if she had presented some kind of jaw-dropping opinion that no ordinary student would ever have thought of and started a debate with the professor, I might have started to develop an actual interest in the creatures known as college students. I might have thought that there were some truly spectacular specimens out there in the world, and that would have been that.
However, that was not the case.
“I don’t think that violence is necessary in this world.”
Hearing this question, or rather, this expression of an opinion that had merely been disguised as a question, and an opinion that, quite frankly, belonged in an elementary school ethics lesson, I was filled with secondhand embarrassment.
I suppose she was something of an idealist. Not even attempting to hide his sneer, the lecturer replied, “I’m pretty sure we’re all aware that a world like that would be ideal.”
I know my ears were not just playing tricks when I heard the murmured, “Yeesh,” “What the hell,” and “Ouch”es from all around the room.
Having thoroughly embarrassed herself, the girl fell silent. The teacher then continued as though the girl did not even exist, as though he were simply ridiculing some formless, theoretical idiot somewhere out in the world.
When I looked back at her again, it was not because I was curious to see what sort of person would be so excited to voice their own opinion that they would bother interrupting a lecture. It was merely because I enjoyed seeing the looks of disappointment upon idiots’ faces when their own foolish words were rebutted. Thus, while I would not call the look that I saw on her face when I glanced over disappointing, it was at least unexpected. She looked hurt. She was staring forward, as if in shock.
It was seeing people who behaved just as she did back in junior high that had led me to decipher a pattern to their way of thinking. They were the sort of people, I was sure, who believed only in their own logic, thinking everyone else around them who could not understand them stupid. And so, I was surprised to not see her express the sort of displeasure that such types of people typically did when they were denied.
I had no interest in getting involved in this, but her face certainly piqued my interest. However, this interest was nothing more than what one might feel at hearing a strange melody when walking down the street, and by the time the bell rang, I had already forgotten all about it.
I handed in my copy of the brief feedback survey we had been provided with in order to confirm attendance and stood up from my seat. I did not have any classes scheduled for fourth period on Mondays, so I decided to head to the cafeteria to take a late lunch.
At a university, there were always people in the cafeteria no matter how odd the hour. With nowhere to really situate myself in this environment I was not yet used to, I loaded one of the day’s meal sets onto my tray and then settled myself at a four-person table by the window, clapping my hands together and bringing my miso soup to my mouth.
“This seat taken?”
A voice from a conversation that had nothing to do with me emerged from the sea of sounds around me. I obviously was certain that the voice could not be speaking to me of all people, so I just chomped down on my fried fish. A sudden poke to my shoulder shocked me into dropping the half-eaten fish to my plate with a satisfying crunch.
I looked up, chopsticks still in hand, and was doubly surprised. The girl who had been sitting beside me in the lecture hall was standing there with a tray full of katsu curry. For some reason, I kept looking back and forth between her and the curry.
“This seat taken?” she asked again, which is when I realized that the voice I had heard before had been most certainly directed towards me.
“Oh, no, it’s not.”
I had no idea why she was speaking to me. However, I had no reason to lie, so I simply shook my head. She flashed me a grin, face beaming, and sat her tray down, taking the seat opposite mine.
“I was next to you in class earlier. Mind if I eat with you? Since you’re alone too.”
Seriously? I thought. Not only was she the type to blab her own opinions in the middle of class, but she was undeservedly self-confident. It made me cringe. The only reason I did not refuse her was that, as per my own personal philosophies, I placed more weight on not contradicting others’ opinions than on distancing myself from them because that was merely the sort of mood I was in that day. There was no other reason.
“C-certainly,” I said politely as it suddenly occurred to me that she might be an upperclassman. The fact that she thought it natural to speak so casually with me led me to assume that she considered me, who had been in a lecture hall full of freshman, her junior. That she had so suddenly decided to share lunch with a stranger like it was nothing was perhaps not a mark of how annoying she was but merely that she was an upperclassman with too much time on her hands.
“Loosen up there, I’m just a freshman.”
“Wha…?”
“Wait, are you actually my senpai?”
I really should have fled from this conversation—just the way she was goggling at me with her huge eyes was enough to inform me that this was a vexing person. Still, there was no reason for me to lie, so I just shook my head.