“…Sweet and bitter, like dark chocolate.”
“That again. You’re such a creep. No, that’s not what I’m asking.” She held my gaze, even as she shook her head. Now her smile looked genuine. “Natsume, is there something you want to tell me?”
I felt like she’d just reached out and grabbed me by the heart.
Damn. She really did read my mind.
She was right. I did have something to tell her, though I hadn’t meant to say it today. That was mostly because I wasn’t sure if I was right or wrong. I wanted to sort out my feelings before I brought it up.
But if she was on to me, perhaps it was time to share. It wasn’t a big deal or anything. It was just a doubt I had, one deep down that I’d put a lid on. I took it back out.
“…Kurumi. Maybe we shouldn’t.”
I glanced at the laptop—at the CD drive still whirring away and at the disc-shaped weapon within.
Looking through her lashes, Kurumi followed my gaze and put her hand on the laptop.
“You mean…you want to cancel our plan to broadcast the teachers’ insults?”
“Yeah. Want isn’t quite the word. I just feel like we’re making a mistake.”
“……”
Nothing to say to that, huh? I looked at her face, searching for a response.
When I’d been shopping with Tanaka, and Kurumi had looked sad, I thought maybe she had qualms about our plan. When the same look crossed her face here in the clubroom, I wondered if she, too, had doubts about ruining the festival.
…But that clearly wasn’t the case. Her gaze had fallen to the table.
“Why…why would you even say that?” she asked, choking out the words. “Natsume, you… You don’t want revenge anymore?”
“That’s not it. I still despise this school.”
“Then why?! Where’s this coming from?!” Her head snapped up. She was frowning, tears forming in her eyes.
I couldn’t figure out what she was thinking. Crap. I felt like we were talking at odds, about to have a crucial misunderstanding. I had to make her see why I’d suggested we stop.
I spoke slowly, trying to stay calm.
“Kurumi, I always thought our classmates were just desperate for a normal teenage life. When it came to the festival, I was convinced they were just tricking themselves into a false sense of cheer.”
“……”
“But I was wrong about that. This festival may only be a temporary illusion, but some people are genuinely enjoying it.”
I remembered my conversation with Tanaka and the way the soccer team captain smiled. I’d been isolated for a long time, and those were the first glimpses of humanity I’d seen among the other students.
“Today made me think. This CD has the power to wreak havoc. The attack we’re planning will have real consequences. It’ll destroy everyone’s fun. And I’m just not sure it’s right to mess that up for people.”
Kurumi had her head down. She wasn’t talking. I pressed on.
“And, like—getting the festival ban rescinded made so many lower-ranking students happy. Should we really ruin that? Do we have a right to hurt all of them?”
Yeah. That’s it. I remember now. The vow we made on the rooftop.
“You said you’d drop out once you made sure no one else was going to end up like we did. By restoring the festival, we saved a bunch of lower-ranking students just like us. Isn’t that what we wanted?” I took a breath and added, “That’s what I think anyway.”
It had been really hard putting all that into words, but I thought I’d managed to say everything. Now I just had to hear her take on it.
“…Kurumi?”
I’d finished saying my piece, but she still wasn’t talking. Concerned, I peered into her face.
She wasn’t speaking, but she had reacted. Those tears were her answer.
“Sniff… Unh… Ah…”
I could tell right away—she was trying to stifle her emotions. She gritted her teeth, screwed her lips together, did everything she could to get her heart in line.
But her efforts were in vain. Her reason lost the fight, and the emotions spilled out and rolled down her face. She couldn’t hold them back.
They pooled on her chin, then a drop detached, gleaming in the evening light like a sunstone. It burst on the desk and vanished. It shattered into a thousand fragments that flew in all directions and scattered to the four winds.
“Unh…hahh… Urgh…”
I didn’t know why she was crying. I’d explained myself clearly, no room for any misunderstandings. I hadn’t said anything mean, nothing that should have made her cry.
Was she just that hung up on destroying the festival? No, if that was the case, she’d be mad at me. She’d argue. She wouldn’t cry.
So where were these tears coming from? What had I done? Where had I gone wrong?
“…Why are you crying?” All I could do was ask.
She glared up at me. “…I see you’re clueless, as usual.”
She seemed deeply disappointed with me as she wiped her tears away. She didn’t elaborate.
A long silence followed. I could hear her shallow breathing. The laptop’s motor stopped whirring, and the CD drive popped open. The disc was finished writing.
I took it from the tray and put it on the table. “…Should we wrap this up?”
“……”
“I think we’re both tired. Let’s talk again another day.”
I stood up, put my backpack on, and moved out into the hall.
As I closed the door, I turned back.
Kurumi was still on her folding chair, hair hanging over her face. Still crying.
The laptop, notebook, pencils, the CD, her hat—they were all scattered about the desk, like a child’s toys left strewn across the floor.
✦ ✦ ✦
As the festival day approached, Kurumi stopped coming to school.
I sent her several messages, but she didn’t even read them. I asked Tanaka about her, but she just deflected, an uncomfortable look on her face.
Did she know something she didn’t want to tell me? I thought about it, then remembered my first conversation with Kurumi.
She was dropping out. She’d said it would happen “before summer vacation.”
Oh. This is the end, then. How anticlimactic.
It made sense, though. Her exit date was coming up fast. That was why she’d been so excited about our big finale. And then I’d put the kibosh on it and offered no alternatives. I’d made her cry.
After coming to this realization, I sent her an apology.
“Sorry I didn’t realize how you felt. But I don’t think I said anything wrong.”
Once again, she didn’t even read it. Her status message hadn’t changed, either.
Phones were so shallow, so unreliable. I couldn’t reach her, and we still hadn’t worked things out.