When I arrived at Ushio’s house, the first thing he said was, “You’ve been coming home late a lot.”
“Yeah, well, I’m busy.”
“Oh, really…”
In truth, these days I went straight home after work to watch the latest recording of Newsment before heading over, but I didn’t dare tell him that. After how hard I tried to act like I was above it all, I couldn’t imagine how he’d react if I told him I watched all their episodes on my own time. I didn’t want him to know about my very real feelings of panic and frustration.
When I flopped down face-first onto the bed, he asked, “Aren’t you going to watch The News?”
“Not tonight.”
“How come?”
“…Because I messed up my pronunciation, okay?! And it’s just gonna piss me off!”
They were closer to minor flubs than outright mistakes, and I managed to keep a straight face each time, but a professional might have noticed them—like Kizaki. When I imagined him pointing and laughing at his TV screen, or pictured him reciting the same line flawlessly, well… Suffice it to say, it was bad for my mental health.
Not once in my academic or professional life had I ever obsessed over a specific person. I didn’t want to compete with people who thought of themselves as future Olympic athletes or government officials. I had set a realistic benchmark for myself, one that was just high enough that I would get attention and feel satisfied. I was an all-rounder in all aspects, including my looks, so I didn’t care if other people surpassed me in one random category. For better or for worse, I was only ever focused on myself.
But now if I saw that name, or that face, my whole day was ruined…and yet, despite knowing this full well, I went out of my way to seek him out for some reason. How was I meant to cope with this?
“Helloooo? Kunieda-kuuuun?” The bedsprings creaked as I felt Ushio sit down. “Are we upset about something?”
“No, I’m just tired.”
“Really?” He leaned his upper body over me, suffocating me.
“Get off! I’m going to sleep.”
“If you’re honestly just tired, that’s fine, but you better not be overthinking things. You’re not smart enough for that.”
I didn’t even have the energy to protest against his insult. “Leave me alone,” I muttered in a small voice, knowing he was almost certainly staring at the back of my head with a puzzled look on his face. I knew I was acting like a child, but I couldn’t help it—I didn’t want to talk about it, but I didn’t want to act like everything was fine, either.
“Seriously, you gotta let that stuff go. You’re way more awkward than you realize.”
“Don’t call me that!” Using both arms, I pushed him away and sat up. “I hate that word. It’s insulting. People say ‘Oh, I’m awkward’ as an excuse to be rude and entitled. It’s their get-out-of-jail-free card, while everyone else has to pay the price for their weird-ass behavior. Sorry, but if you can say you’re ‘awkward’ with no shame whatsoever, then you’re not really that awkward at all. Even I have more self-respect than that.”
Ushio sat there and watched me rant away, and when I was done, he patted me on the head with nary an ounce of remorse. “Sorry. I can see that you’re tired, so I’ll let you sleep. I’ll be working downstairs if you need me. Night.” Then he switched off the second-floor lights and shuffled off down the stairs.
Great, now I’ve taken it out on him and he’s worried about me… No, he seems pretty normal, so there’s gotta be something else. Look, I am not awkward—I work like hell to conduct myself with perfect poise, and I don’t want him of all people to invalidate that! Otherwise this whole house of cards is going to come crumbling down!
I never asked to be in this position. That’s why I put in so much effort. So how was I supposed to compete against people who were powered by things like love and dreams?
Love was a tyrannical weapon—the ultimate trump card. As long as you had love, you were guaranteed to triumph over someone without it. Love was the greatest motivator. In this world, love conquered all. And that was the source of my insecurity. But Ushio had spent his whole career doing what he loved…and for that reason, I couldn’t possibly confide in him about it.