CG 1: Footbridge (Sou)
I remembered my past life when I was in the second grade. My memories returned when I spotted a blue-haired boy on the footbridge on my way home from school. He rubbed at his wet cheeks with tiny fists while shouldering a fancy, leather backpack that instantly gave away the fact he attended private school.
I’ve seen him somewhere before. Struck by an intense wave of déjà vu, I stood rooted to the ground. I can’t stop looking at him standing in the middle of the footbridge. He looks like someone. But who? It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t place it. I feel sick.
He noticed my rude stare and glared at me. “What’s your problem? I’m not here for your entertainment.”
“What? Ah…I’m sorry.”
He cried in the middle of the road rather than waiting until he got home. Something pretty terrible must’ve happened to him. I quickly shook my head and went back to walking. I tried not to look, but I was irritated that I couldn’t remember, and kept sneaking glances at him.
“…Is it that strange to see a man cry?”
“I’m really sorry. You just look like somebody I know and I keep wondering who… Anyway, it doesn’t matter if you’re a man or woman, you should cry when you want to. I believe emotions rot and eat away at you inside if you force yourself not to express them when you feel sad,” I bluntly voiced my thoughts. His eyes darted around in confusion. The traces of tears on his cheeks tugged at my heart.
“…I don’t know you.”
“I see. Hmm. I was sure I’d seen you somewhere before… Um, sorry for staring.”
As an apology, I dug through my pockets and handed him the origami grand piano I had secretly folded during class. It was the painstakingly complicated masterpiece I carefully folded using a single sheet of black and a single sheet of white paper.
I was born with unusually nimble and dexterous hands. Amused by my ability, Mom taught me origami at a young age and bought me a ton of books on the craft. Only she knows why she chose origami to focus on, but it’s thanks to that decision that I was able to fold origami at the master level by the wee age of seven. It’s one of the few skills I can boast about.
“Wow! What is this?!”
Yup, it’s awesome, isn’t it? I felt completely confident in this masterpiece that had my classmates and teacher staring at my hands in wonder as I folded it, while they exclaimed, “How are you doing that?!”
“Did you fold that yourself?”
“I did! It took tons of time though. But I’ve memorized the steps, so I should be able to fold a prettier one next time,” I explained proudly.
Nimble fingers and origami are about the only things I’ve got going for me since I suck at anything athletic and am below average in my studies.
“Amazing! You’re seriously amazing!” the boy innocently blurted out after carefully resting the grand piano on the palm of his hand.
Despite the don’t-approach-me aura he gave off, his smile completely changed my opinion of him. His adorable, darkly colored eyes were like a puppy’s, reflecting the glittering light of the setting sun in an absolutely stunning way. I took a better look at him and noticed that he was actually pretty handsome, with a cute face and fine physique for a boy close to my age.
My heart fluttered at that realization. I blushed and got ahead of myself, “If you want, I can fold something else for you right now.”
“Okay! Can you fold this for me then?”
He pulled a paper out of his backpack titled: “Bring Your Mother to School Day.”
“Eeeh?! I can’t use this. You need to show it to your mom at home.”
“I don’t need to. That woman won’t come anyway,” he spat out sounding like a grown-up. Sounds like his family situation is complicated. I could tell even as a second grader, so I was reluctant when I took the paper.
“It’ll be difficult to make something complicated with flimsy paper like this.” As I folded the corners into a square, I asked, “What do you want me to make?”
“A dog!” he immediately answered. “I want to have one, but my parents said I can’t. Can you do it?”
“Piece of cake. Okay, I’ll make it so that you can go for a walk with it.” I placed the paper on the footbridge railing and creased tiny lines into it, folding a three-dimensional dog. An ash-colored dog formed within a few short minutes.
The boy’s eyes sparkled in admiration, and he grabbed my shoulders. “You really are amazing! Thanks!”
“Hehe. I’m not that amazing… Oh no, I should get home soon.”
The color of the sky returned me to my senses. What time was it? If I don’t hurry home, I won’t make it back in time for my anime!
“Hang on. What’s your name and school?”
“I’m Mashiro Shimao, a second grader at Tada Elementary School!” I turned and shouted as I ran off.
He shouted back, “I’m Sou Shiroyama, a second grader at Seio Academy’s Elementary School! Let’s see each other again, Mashiro!”
I was surprised that the boy called me by my first name within seconds of hearing it, but I copied him as I waved from below the footbridge, “Yeah, see you later, Shiroyama!”
Shouting our names at the same time makes it Mashiroyama—pure white mountain! I was thinking about stupid things as I returned home.
Later that night, quite suddenly—and I mean out of nowhere—I remembered my past life.
“Now that I think about it, Sou Shiroyama is the same name as that Sou… Huh? AAAAAH!”
It happened the moment I got in bed and started to close my eyes. My words had triggered my memories, which flooded into my brain with the force of a raging storm! My reflexive shout sent my parents frantically stampeding up the stairs to the second-story.
“What’s wrong, Mashiro?!”
Both of my parents are kind and serious people, but they’re also seriously flawed in that they completely lose their heads over their children.
Dear Father: please leave the metal bat downstairs.
My sister, who’s older by eight years and a freshman in high school, popped over from her room next to mine. “What’s up? Is there a bug somewhere?”
She must’ve been in the middle of washing her face, because she looked like a ghost when she appeared in the dark doorway with cotton pads stuck all over. To be honest, she was scarier than any bug.
“N-Nothing. Hang on…is it okay for our hair to be this color?!”
I’ve never paid attention to it before, but this hair is really disturbing. Aren’t Japanese people supposed to have black eyes and hair? My sister has pink hair. Not a dyed pink either—her roots are pink. Like she’s some sort of anime or video game character…
“It looks like someone was just half-asleep,” Mom giggled, her short, orange hair bouncing along.
After the three of them left the room, I lay in bed, face up, and had a sudden realization—Sou Shiroyama’s hair was blue too. And I was way too familiar with the name “Seio Academy.”
That’s right, that was the name of the music school in Hear My Heart. The instant that dawned on me, the final moments of my last life came rushing back.
I most likely fell to my death. Maybe I was reincarnated into Hear My Heart’s world through some sorta freak accident. I did fall into a manhole while being captivated by a poster of Kou.
The simple answer my mind came to was practically a supernatural fantasy. Reincarnation, huh? This is amazing. I must’ve been in a significant amount of shock since I instantly accepted this crazy idea.
I wormed out of bed and checked my face in a hand-mirror. Aside from the hair color, my plain old face was staring back at me. Nothing had changed. But Hear My Heart’s heroine was a beautiful girl with long, brown hair.
Looks like I was reincarnated as a NPC. I guess I don’t get to be reincarnated as the heroine and spend a magical childhood with the romanceable characters. I’m disgusted in myself for hoping for that for even a second. I should’ve known such an amazing coincidence wouldn’t fall in my lap.
I returned to bed feeling disappointed and relieved.
I never fathomed that this world was actually based on the remake version of Hear My Heart.