The head teacher had opened the art room door and caught Chiaki and me in the act.
He was a P.E. teacher who mostly focused on his role as volleyball advisor. Apparently, he’d wanted to see the art room after hearing about it from some members of the girls’ volleyball team. Usually, no one dropped by the art room, but Chiaki and I had made a major blunder assuming that would always be the case.
We’d hoped to go to class, but instead, the head teacher took us straight to the student guidance room. Chiaki and I sat side-by-side on the ancient sofa, and the head teacher glared at us with an intensity that made our hair and uniform inspection seem like a walk in the park.
“We may need to contact your parents,” he told us, “But I’d like to hear what you two have to say first.” He leaned forward, sitting with his arms crossed and legs wide apart. Although he seemed to be maintaining his cool somehow, he’d clearly been incredibly agitated since discovering us in the art room.
“First of all, are either of you hurt anywhere?” asked Rintaro, who’d also joined the meeting as our homeroom teacher and the art club advisor. Despite making a show of asking about his pupils’ physical safety, he sat in an easy chair, obviously trying to distance himself. His lip wound had stopped bleeding and scabbed over.
“Was this consensual?” the head teacher asked.
Neither of us attempted to answer, and awkward silence filled the room. No force had been involved in what Chiaki and I had done In that regard, they’d probably consider the act consensual. If we confirmed that, though, we’d basically be saying we were dating.
“We’re aware that Sakura’s big competition is coming up. We don’t want to have to make a stir over this. Depending on what you say, though, we may have to handle this as a case of sexual misconduct.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Chiaki broke the silence first. “It was consensual.”
“No! I forced him!” I didn’t miss a beat contradicting his claim. Chiaki’s eyes widened in surprise. He looked like he was going to say something else, but I continued before he could get another word in. “We were just fooling around. We didn’t go all the way. I don’t remember seeing ‘cuddling on school grounds’ forbidden anywhere in the school code.”
“That sort of conduct is completely inappropriate at school.”
“So you’re saying it’d be okay at a hotel? Or one of our houses?”
Many students became sexually active after starting high school. I was sure plenty of couples went all the way on school grounds and just hadn’t been caught by teachers yet.
I kept arguing with the head teacher, not giving Chiaki a single chance to cut in. All Rintaro could do was watch the exchange in silence. His gaze made me uncomfortable, and I shook my head like I was trying to cast it off.
“As teachers, we want students to have a solid, wholesome high school experience,” the head teacher insisted. “What I witnessed today can’t just be shrugged off with a smile.”
“How come everything has to be so restricted at school?” I demanded. “The only reason any of us are here is because our parents had sex!”
“What I’m saying is that you’re still children.”
If I’d backed Chiaki—pretended the encounter was consensual, told them Chiaki and I were a couple—this probably wouldn’t have turned into such a big deal. They likely would’ve let us off with a scolding about acting properly at school. But I didn’t want that lie to hurt Chiaki.
“School’s a place where you learn to follow rules,” the head teacher insisted. “The ability to follow the school code will be an advantage when you finally join society as an adult.”
“If that were true, you’d make me change my natural hair color too.” Not budging an inch, I opened a can of worms—our battle during the hair and uniform inspection.
The head teacher went quiet, then said, “Iguchi, you and Sakura aren’t a couple, are you? If not, I don’t think a physical relationship is appropriate. On top of the argument that you should only be intimate with someone you love, I know you’re aware that there are health risks involved as well.”
I was silenced by his sound logic. He wasn’t being at all condescending; as P.E. teacher, he was responsible for teaching our health class.
“I have my own children,” he added. “I know they’ll grow up someday, and I’d rather they have that type of relationship with someone they truly love. That hope extends to my students as well.”
It didn’t seem like he’d let this incident go with a slap on the wrist. I should’ve lied right away—bringing up all that other stuff just poured fuel on the fire. What do I say now, though? How do I convince him to let us off the hook?
“Maybe there’s something about this situation that you’re uncomfortable discussing with teachers?”
The head teacher was already a step ahead of me. He apparently thought that, if pushing wouldn’t work, pulling might. His change in tactics was so sudden that the wind went out of my sails, and a prolonged silence permeated the student guidance room.
“Sir, I—” Chiaki started hesitantly.
Then Rintaro—who’d barely made his presence known this entire time—cut him off. “When did you paint that forest, Sakura?”
“As a first-year,” Chiaki replied.
Rintaro shook his head, as if that wasn’t the answer he’d been looking for. “What season did you paint it, I mean?” he clarified.
It took the rest of us some time to understand what he meant. “Summer,” Chiaki eventually responded, still seeming perplexed. His big eyes were wider than usual with surprise. “The middle of summer, to be specific. When cicadas were chirping in the forest.”
“Summer, huh?” Rintaro murmured to himself as if pondering something.
The head teacher couldn’t hide his confusion. “Kakei-sensei?”
“All this time, I haven’t known whether that painting captured summer, fall, or even spring,” Rintaro continued. “I did everything I could not to show it, but I couldn’t tell what color the trees were.”
His confession immediately reminded me of his apartment’s décor. It was full of dark colors—coffee-colored sheets, navy curtains. And he always wore ties in similar shades. Maybe that wasn’t because he was lazy, but because he couldn’t confidently choose anything else. That would explain why he’d accidentally picked my tie up that morning—he couldn’t tell what color it was. And apparently, everything in Chiaki’s painting—from the leaves to the tree trunks—had looked the same shade of brown to him.
“Still, I managed to become a teacher,” Rintaro added. “And although I can’t tell what color a stoplight is, I could see the light’s position, so I got my driver’s license. You never had any idea, did you?”
I’d spent plenty of time with Rintaro and never noticed so much as a hint of color blindness. The head teacher’s surprised expression told me this was the first he’d heard of it as well, so even Rintaro’s coworkers must’ve been completely in the dark.
“As a child, I loved drawing,” Rintaro told us. “I’d use crayons to cover my entire paper. But one day, my friend asked why I drew all the trees completely brown.”
Rintaro couldn’t have understood my insecurity over my hair. To him, slightly different hair colors must’ve looked identical. Still, he’d tried to understand my concern in his own way and create a comfortable space for me.
“Everyone has a secret or two,” he continued. “Even if you’re looking at the same thing, you might see something a different way from someone else. I don’t think either of you need to force yourselves to conform, and you don’t need to tell us everything about what happened if you’re not comfortable with that.”
As Chiaki and I stayed silent, Rintaro added, “Keeping a secret all to yourself can be surprisingly painful, though. If it’s too much to handle on your own, you can rely on me—or anyone else you trust. It’s okay to vent your emotions to adults like us before those emotions hurt you. That’s one of your privileges as kids.”
Rintaro had realized my feelings for him were a lie long ago. He was faking something himself, so he was sensitive to others’ dishonesty. He could never mistake superficial whispers or reluctant efforts to seduce him for true love.
He turned to the head teacher. “Under the circumstances, what would you say to putting this incident aside, sir? I don’t want to force these kids to reveal any more of their secrets to us than they have.” Apparently, Rintaro also knew how to forgive lies. “You were modeling for Sakura’s painting, right, Iguchi? I think you might’ve taken it too far. Don’t you agree…?”
He was so insistent, all Chiaki and I could do was nod in agreement.
“But Kakei-sensei…” said the head teacher.
“We just need to wait for the day when they’re comfortable enough to tell us. That’s fine. As their homeroom teacher, I know these two well enough to recognize that they didn’t act thoughtlessly.” He followed up by offering to treat the head teacher to a drink sometime, which seemed to finally coax him into conceding.
Rintaro was completely playing into the reputation he’d built himself at school. Perhaps Chiaki and I—who knew his true nature—held a special place in his heart.