“If you guys don’t mind, then, first I’d like to come up with a proposal on my own.” Why did I say that? he wondered. That thought had been gnawing at the corner of Kai’s heart since he’d told Nanaka his plan in the train. All he was going to do was create a rough draft. However, since even that took time, he got two days. Thus, the club would be on break for that period of time.
He had explained that to the members in the front seats. He felt like he could see and hear Aya’s dull, “Looking forward to it,” Aina’s faux-sweet, “Kai-kun, you’re on fire! Go for it! ♪” and even his own embarrassing, “I’ll give it my best shot,” all in third person.
Had it been because of Hifumi Tetsuma’s performance and the intensity of the lecture hall?
No.
Was it because he had been provoked by Kongouin Mirei’s taunting? Did he want to prove his own worth?
No, again.
It would have been nice if he’d had a reason like that; he’d feel like the main character of a shounen manga.
...It’s Nanaka.
In the end, that was the only reason. The brilliant smile that accompanied Nanaka’s clear and simple solution—if you haven’t done it before, all you can do is try—gave Kai a push on the back... and also tangled his feet in a vine of anxiety.
Those who can go ahead and take the first step, no matter how small, are strong. Planners, programmers, designers—regardless of profession, those who became capable (as opposed to those who were capable) were always those who gave things a try.
If they came across a wall, they’d try and climb it. If they came across a pit with no bottom in sight, they’d go ahead and jump in. And if they failed, they’d come home from their venture with something new. That something would become their sustenance, and the next time they’d climb higher and dive deeper.
Over and over, they’d continue this process until one day they couldn’t be seen anymore. By the time Kai thought to chase after them, it was too late. Every step he’d take would equal two or three of theirs, and the gap between them would only widen at an ever-accelerating pace. It wouldn’t be possible for him to catch up.
Kai had a hunch. Ever since that day, he’d had a hunch that Nanaka would eventually reach that place. And at this rate, she’d continue to do so far, far away. They were walking together for now, but that was only for now. Their school and club happened to be the same. That was it.
Talent was radiance; radiance was light; light was overwhelmingly blinding... and fast. Kai had seen talent zip past him countless times. He’d catch the instant they flashed their brilliance, and by the time he noticed their brightness, it was too late—the distance between them would be insurmountable.
At some point, he thought, I should rise up to the challenge like they do, but it was impossible. He couldn’t help but think about trouble, risk, calculations, recklessness, ability, experience, effort, disappointment, talent... The reasons to not start were infinite.
That ‘go ahead’ simply wasn’t possible for Kai. He couldn’t help but to look before he went ahead and leapt. At one point, he seriously considered the idea that his only talent was hesitation.
But he hated that. He wanted to be someone who could stand beside her.
Kai knew what he had to do; all he could do was jump in. The truth was that Nanaka wasn’t alone—Kai had no experience with development competitions, either. He was inexperienced, so he couldn’t hide his uncertainty. There was a real fear that he wouldn’t be able to create a proper plan even with two days, and that everyone would be disappointed in him.
Still, he wanted to show himself that he, too, could take that step forward. Was there any reason lamer than his?
“Um, well... see you?” Nanaka said her goodbyes with a worried look as the group dispersed at the station. Instead of heading for the exit and home, Kai headed for the south gate. He crossed the wide walkway that crossed over the train tracks and made his way down the stairs to the entrance of a large bookstore.
This was the biggest bookstore he knew of within walking distance of his house. The shop was split into two floors, and there was an escalator right by the entrance that connected to the basement. Kai had been fond of the place ever since Misako had introduced the location to him. It had a pleasantly quiet atmosphere, perhaps partially owing to the fact that it was located underground.
The technical writings were stored on the basement floor, so Kai went straight to the escalator and headed to his destination. There were a few titles that seemed useful, but his wallet wasn’t fat enough to purchase more than a couple. Besides, he only had two days. There wasn’t enough time to read them all. Instead, he reached out for the one that he had set his mind on beforehand.
“Are you seriously starting over from the most basic of the basics now?” a clear voice called out to him. It was especially distinct as it cut through the silence of the store.
“...Aina-san,” he acknowledged.
“Of course. From what I could find, you didn’t have any history of participating in development competitions at Tsukigase, after all. Or rather, I’m sure you didn’t have the leeway to.” Aina’s footsteps echoed across the quiet floor as she made her way over to Kai and peeked into the book he had chosen. “And? Are you learning from scratch?”
“Th-This is, well—”
“What are you panicking for?” she demanded to know. “Is this that scandalous?”
“...I didn’t mean to lie about anything,” he mumbled.
“Look,” she said, and ran her hand through her hair in annoyance. “Geez, I hate all this dawdling over nothing. I’m telling you, it’s fine. If you want to try and do it yourself, then go for it. Or is someone gonna die because of you?”
“No, that won’t—”
“Then it’s fine. Do your own thing until you’re satisfied. That old baldie said that our output is everything, so if your work leads to a good product, then it’s fine... If he really only judges us on our output, that’d be perfect.”
“Th-That’s true,” he agreed, “but...” If that’s the case, why did you follow me?
“Well, it’s not like you’ll make anything good after reading one book, and it’s not like you’d make something good even if you had experience, and your whole ‘I’m gonna study hard and do my best, ♪’ stick-in-the-mud mentality doesn’t give me any hope for a fun proposal.”
“............Right.” Kai’s reply was quieter than a mosquito’s buzzing. He couldn’t tell if Aina was rooting for him or kicking him while he was down.
“Anyway, I couldn’t care less about you,” she told him dismissively.
“Couldn’t care less...”
“Why haven’t you asked me anything?” Aina asked, and shot him a solemn, piercing glare.
Kai retracted his hand from the bookshelf (where it had been frozen this entire time) and turned to face her. “Me, ask you?”
“...You’re not feigning ignorance, are you?”
“Not at all.” Kai had no clue what she was talking about. Did I do something to offend her? He scrambled to sort through the day’s events, but nothing came to mind. In fact, he had spent the entire day worrying about himself, so he didn’t have the spare time to think about anyone else.
A deep sigh pulled him out of his thoughts. With an exasperated look on her face, Aina said, “...I’ve had enough. Everything I say here is just me talking to myself, so shut up and listen. All that stuff the blonde Kongouin brat was prattling on about had to do with my past. I’m not doing it anymore, but I used to be a child actress. That’s what she was talking about. And, since we went to the same middle school, Nanaka and Eru already know... and judging from Aya’s reaction, she already knew, too. I used my real name back then, so everything comes right up with an online search. Nothing I can do about it now.”
Now that she mentioned it, Kai did indeed recall an exchange like that taking place. His epiphany must have shown on his face, because Aina let out another deep sigh.
“I’m not even on your radar, am I...? That pisses me off in its own way. Are you and Nanaka-chan really not dating?”
“...Th-There’s no way—”
“Yeah, yeah, okay. I’m done here. That reaction’s enough for me. Anyway, good luck.” Aina waved her hand to signal that their conversation was finished. However, as she turned heel to leave, she suddenly stopped with an, “Oh...” and glanced over her shoulder. She pointed cutely at her lips and sang, “If your plan uses my voice, I’m behind you, no questions asked. Buh-bye! ♪”
Aina shot him a mischievous smile, like a demon tempting him to darkness. And then, this time, she was truly gone.