Kurumi’s roast beef was fantastic.
After dinner, we had tea. Then we did the dishes, scrubbed the bath, cleaned up the table, and spread out the futon.
This was our usual post-dinner routine, and we went about it without much thought, in total silence. Talk had left our lives. With everything so quiet, it felt like Kurumi’s house was no different from any of the old, abandoned ones dotting the rice paddies along the road.
It was strange. We hadn’t fought, and yet a hush had descended over us.
“……”
We’d normally sit and watch TV, but instead, I headed out to the porch. I was hoping the evening air would clear my head.
I opened the sliding glass door and felt the wood grain under my feet as I stepped out. Then I sat, dangling my feet over the edge of the porch, and looked up at the sun setting behind the mountains.
It was getting dark earlier in the day.
Country life didn’t change much. There wasn’t anyone around, and time seemed to pass by slowly.
People built their lives around that public safety broadcast. If it said, “Good morning,” they got up. If it said, “Good children should be at home,” they started dinner.
And the regularity of that life made it easier to notice things like the shifting sunset.
The sun hid itself behind the horizon, and the veil of night fell over the world.
A gust of summer wind blew by, and cicadas began to sing in a nearby grove of trees.
Shrill like bells, yet fundamentally different. If the sounds of the large, brown, and robust cicadas reminded me of the gloom hidden behind summer’s brightness, then these evening cicadas suggested the beginning of a long summer night.
It was an unpleasant sound. When I closed my eyes, I felt like I was falling into darkness—that same sticky darkness I’d felt when I was eavesdropping…
“Hey, Natsume, what’s this?” Kurumi’s voice pulled me back to reality.
I half turned to face her. She was holding up a printout, waggling it for me to see.
“Sorry, I left that out. It’s the schedule for the summer curriculum.”
“Yeah, I can see that by looking at it. I mean this bit at the bottom.” She pointed to the very last row—the one for August 31, the last day of summer lessons. “What’s this ‘Wrap-up Assembly’ at the end of summer vacation?”
“Uh. It’s, you know, a party to celebrate the end of the program.”
“A party? Oh, wait. I feel like our homeroom teacher said something like that on the first day, that if we take things seriously, there’ll be a fun reward at the end.”
A fun reward? That was certainly one way to put it. But in reality, only part of it would be any fun.
The Wrap-up Assembly was a Saigou High tradition. And naturally, it was beyond awful.
“They call it a party, but it’s not like what you’re thinking. It mostly involves students from the better classes giving study tips to those from the bad ones.”
“Oh, I get ya. Is it optional?”
“All students in the lower-ranking classes have to go. Those in the higher-ranked classes are free to skip it.”
“Wow. Are you kidding me?” Kurumi scowled. “So we have to sit and listen to people we don’t even know humble brag at us? Could anything be worse?”
“Humble brag, huh? I guess so. Stroking the good students’ egos may well be the goal. At the very least, it reinforces their deification.”
Last year had sucked. People from the same grade were lording their success over their peers and going on and on about mock exams and flash cards. Some dudes refused to talk to anyone but the cute girls. It was super gross.
I mean, all I had to do was let them talk at me while I smiled and nodded, so it was better than classes. And the school even provided drinks.
Kurumi dropped the schedule and sighed. “God. How do they even dream this crap up?”
“Not everyone hates it. Some people might find the advice helpful.”
“I don’t care about them. What matters is whether I have to suffer. From my perspective, I’m the only one observing this world, so anything I don’t like is as good as trash.”
This was why I admired Kurumi Hoshimiya so much. I’d spoken knowing she’d snap back like that.
I took a breath, then said the other thing on my mind: “…If you’re that against it, do you wanna crash the party?”
We’d need something big to take down an event this major.
Normally, we’d both be on board right from the get-go, and we’d start planning right away.
“Crash it…? You mean an attack? Right…um…”
But Kurumi wasn’t saying yes or no. She was frowning, her eyes locked on the schedule.
I knew why. She wasn’t against the idea of an attack; she was just hesitant. The party was part of the summer curriculum. If we attacked it, the damage would all come down on Ookuma. The head teacher would scream his head off, and she’d wind up in tears again.
Imagining that made Kurumi loath to carry out an attack.
Another silence descended. I glanced out the window and found the sun almost gone. It was high time we turned the lights on. I wanted to brighten up the place before the darkness consumed even my mood.
“This party sounds awful. Part of me does want to crash it. But…”
Waiting hadn’t helped her make up her mind.
I was disappointed. Not in Kurumi but in myself. I’d wanted Kurumi to decide for me. If she made the call, no matter what got destroyed and who got hurt, I could go along with it.
But if she couldn’t decide, then I had no idea what to do, either. The way I was relying on her was shameful. Whether the change was positive or negative in the long run, I needed to toughen up.
“Natsume, can you be my moral compass for a few minutes?”
That was a strange proposition.
I looked up and found her clearly at her wit’s end. “Um, hang on, what do you mean?”
“Our goal is to mess up this crappy summer program. We shouldn’t be concerned about who gets hurt in the process.”
I quickly caught on. She wanted me to play the good cop.
“Um, right… Ookuma’s planner proves at least one teacher is suffering. She had concerns about this school’s methods. She’s just like us. We shouldn’t be making her cry.”
“Even if she’s being forced into it, she’s still hurling verbal abuse at students and perpetuating this horrific learning environment. That alone makes her a viable target.”
“Those tears weren’t fake. I don’t want to hurt her. We should think twice about sacrificing her for our cause. This could make or break our resistance.”
“…I hoped this would clear things up, but no such luck.” Kurumi was speaking normally again.
Her shoulders drooped. I wasn’t surprised. I was pretty certain we both felt exactly the same way here. And because of that, neither of us had an answer.
“Do you think a kiss would solve it?” she asked.
“…Probably not.”
We kissed anyway. Still, we couldn’t reconcile our sense of justice with our nagging hesitation.