Kai couldn’t think of anything to say.
“...I’ll move on from Nanaka myself,” Eru said, but not to Kai. She was building up a pile of pebbles, one by one. Every stone was a word pulled out of her soul. As she placed it upon the mound, she was preparing to let go.
“...Dear me, perhaps I had the wrong idea of us being close. Nanaka was far away to begin with,” she mused. “Ever since we were children, she was bright and had lots of friends... I was a moth drawn to that light.
“It just so happened,” she said, staring into the palm of her hand. “Yes, it just so happened that I had the key to a room where I could have Nanaka all to myself: it’s called, ‘I can draw.’ We were going to have our art in the same game. I foolishly thought the two of us could follow that childish dream forever. When she’d say, ‘With everyone’... I couldn’t have cared less. My dream isn’t something I could realize ‘with everyone.’ But I suppose it’s the same for everyone.”
Eru raised her head toward Kai. “I’m sure you must understand,” she told him. “In the end, you’re alone when you create. You can say all you want about ‘teams’ and ‘everyone,’ but the essence of it never changes. If you want to be special, you have to bet everything on yourself, or you’ll never have a chance of reaching that goal.” In the clubroom, on the train to Tokyo, and wherever else, Eru was always drawing. Surely, that was her in her purest form, trying to climb above and beyond her current limitations.
“In the end, you’re alone.” Eru was right, as Kai was painfully aware. He was reminded of the development room he’d spent so much time alone in at Tsukigase. Reminded of his computer’s dim glow, and the lone shadow he cast upon the wall.
Game creation was team creation; that wasn’t a lie by any measure. But even if the team created one final game, each team member was alone when they faced their portion of the work. There was no getting around that fact, and it always gave way for a single doubt to form: was there any need to try so hard? Would anyone even notice if you improved this one parameter by a small margin? Would they? Was there any meaning to effort that went unnoticed?
The only one who could answer that dim voice was yourself. Yourself, and you alone—and in that way, too, you were undeniably by yourself.
“If I were a genius...” Eru muttered, “I wouldn’t have turned out like this.”
Kai hadn’t known what to talk about in the event that he found her, but now, for the first time, he felt as though he’d heard her true feelings. And that was why...
“Kuroba-san...” he asked slowly, “were you scared?” When he saw her surprised face, he knew that his suspicions were correct, because she and him were the slightest bit similar in that
Nanaka had blinded them. Now, they feared the day when that light would leave them. Kai understood Eru well, indeed.
“How can you tell...?” Displeased from the bottom of her heart, Eru spat, “Dear me, this is horrid.”
✦ ✦ ✦
Fortunately, Kai got off with a stern lecture after explaining the reasons behind his bicycle ‘rental.’ After a lot of bowing and apologizing, he and Eru headed to Nanaka’s house, which was just across the street from Eru’s. He had texted Nanaka the news beforehand, so as he brought Eru home—though honestly, they only happened to be going the same way—Nanaka was waiting for them outside.
“Eru!” she called out, running toward them.
But Eru averted her eyes with hesitation. She tried to look up, failed to do so, and ultimately walked past Nanaka to slip into her own house without a single word.
Kai couldn’t see Nanaka’s expression as she tried to chase after her.
“...Thanks, Kai-kun,” Nanaka said gloomily.
“Don’t worry about it.” Checking his phone, he saw that it was nearly midnight. The story wasn’t so simple, he thought, and it wouldn’t be easy to explain things now. So instead, he asked, “Can I borrow a bit of your time tomorrow?”
Nanaka picked up on his tone of voice and nodded gravely.