When Supernatural Battles Became Commonplace: Volume 6 E-Book

Kota Nozomi

• Herausgeber: J-Novel Club
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: When Supernatural Battles Became Commonplace
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 328

Beschreibung

Andou Jurai and Sagami Shizumu have a complicated relationship, to say the least. Although Andou claims the two of them are “more than acquaintances but less than friends,” it’s plain to see that there’s more to it than that—and just as obvious that Andou would really rather not talk about it. Some things feel better left forgotten, and for Andou, many such things happened when he was in the eighth grade. After all, that was when he met Sagami and they really were friends, and worse yet, it was when he’d stopped being a chronically edgy chuuni cringelord.

What painful feelings lurk within Andou’s memories of the darkest period of his life? How did his friendship with Sagami deteriorate into the lukewarm tolerance they have now? And why did Andou emerge from the crucible as Guiltia Sin Jurai? For Sayumi’s sake, he’s finally willing to bare it all...

Leseprobe

Prologue

“When all is said and done, what people desire above all else is to have others identify with their feelings. Don’t you think, Jurai?”

I can’t remember when exactly it was that Sagami had asked me that. I can’t remember, but judging by the fact that he’d called me “Jurai,” I can narrow it down to having happened at some point while I was in the eighth grade. That was the only period in which he’d ever called me by my first name.

The eighth grade: the era when he had called me Jurai in an overfamiliar gesture of friendliness, and I had called him Sagamin, a similarly affectionate nickname. Almost like we were friends. Almost like we were best friends.

“When you express an opinion, deep down, what you really want is for someone to say ‘That’s right!’ in response. People want affirmation. When they get that—when they find somebody who sympathizes with them—it helps them convince themselves that their existence is righteous. It grants a feeling that they’re not all alone in a way that nothing else can. Deep down, everyone feels a need for approval, and having someone offer you that validation, confirming they feel the same way, is the most vital means by which we can fulfill that need.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I agreed. “I like to recommend books to Hatoko all the time, right? Sorta proselytizing the joys of media, y’know? I’ve basically always known that she’s just not into the same sort of stuff that I am, but I still can’t stop myself from wanting to help her appreciate the things I like. I suppose you could say I want her to identify with my feelings about them.”

Sagami certainly did have a point. Seeking out concord from others is an incredibly natural thing for people to do. Everyone wants someone to understand them, to accept them, and to empathize with them. Sometimes it feels a lot nicer to hear someone say “You’re really doing your best” than it does to be told “Do your best!” Sometimes, when you complain to someone or ask them for advice, what you really want is for them to say “I get you” or “That’s rough, man,” rather than have them try to foist some sort of condescending solution for your problems on you. The sympathy just feels nicer.

“Let me think of a good example...” Sagami continued. “All right—take talking about a manga or anime, for instance. Whenever people disagree about a piece of media, they tend to start sorting themselves out into fans and haters and make it into a pointlessly huge thing. Don’t you think that could have something to do with the identification I’m talking about?”

Sagami was what most people would call a geek. He loved the world of 2D to death, and he called the heroines from anime and games his waifus. That, I’d assumed, was probably why whenever we talked, it was pretty much inevitable the conversation would drift toward geek culture eventually, no matter what topic we’d started on.

“Why do you think people fight, Jurai?” Sagami asked, his tone sounding just a little bit more profound than it should’ve, considering we were theoretically still talking about geek media fan wars.

“Well, nobody likes hearing somebody bad-mouth something they’re into, right? It makes you want to fight back,” I replied. “And when everyone’s getting all hyped up about something you think is awful, it’s just sort of obnoxious...”

“Yes, exactly! You’ve hit the nail on the head, Jurai! But when you really think about it, isn’t that strange?” said Sagami. “Consider, if you will, the fact that by and large, people aren’t that stupid. Surely anyone can understand the basic premise that everyone has things they like and things they dislike? Just like how everyone has unique preferences when it comes to food, everyone has unique preferences when it comes to media. It’s so simple—everyone knows it. Even grade schoolers can understand it...but then, why do fights break out anyway? Why do the haters go so far to nitpick the shows they despise to oblivion? Why do the diehard fans refuse to accept so much as a single piece of criticism?”

I paused to think about it, and Sagami continued. “The answer, I believe, is that they do it because, deep down, what people really want is to identify with each other.”

Identify with: a phrase that quite literally refers to defining your identity through someone else’s example.

“Having someone deny your personal sensibilities to your face is upsetting, plain and simple,” said Sagami. “It’s annoying. It’s irritating. It’s painful. It’s revolting. It’s frustrating. Hearing a work of media you like get bashed or hearing one you hate get praised... It’s so utterly and completely upsetting, it’s too much for us to take.”

People seek out those whose feelings they can identify with—seek out validation. And yet, at the same time, it’s impossible to completely and unconditionally identify with anyone. At the end of the day, you are you, and they are them. We all know this. In our minds, at least, we’re aware of it. So then why? Why do we try to understand so persistently, wish to be understood so fervently, and seek mutual understanding so desperately?

“It’s strange, isn’t it? We go to all that trouble when really, truly understanding each other is impossible for us humans,” said Sagami with a smile—a bright, cheerful, dashing smile, without the slightest hint of gloom. “I love anime and manga, myself, but relatively speaking, my desire to be identified with is actually relatively minor. I’m never particularly put off when people insult a series I’m into, and when people go on about one I hate, I just think, ‘Well, it takes all types,’ and that’s the end of it. After all, when everything’s said and done, I’m just me.”

I was struck by how unhesitant Sagami had been about all this—how clear it was that he held those beliefs so deeply. At the very least, that was how he seemed to me, anyway, which was why the words “You’re pretty tough, huh?” sprung out from my mouth so naturally.

“Tough? Not even close. I’m weak,” Sagami said without missing a beat. “Yes, weak. As weak as they come. A feeble little coward. That’s why I’m scared to confront people. I’m scared of understanding people, and I’m scared of being understood. The thought of seeing from someone else’s perspective creeps me out, and I definitely don’t want anyone else seeing into the ugly, twisted depths of my heart. No, I prefer to be myself—a reader. I don’t want to be hurt, and I don’t want to be traumatized, so I just keep running away at top speed. I see what I want to see, and I avert my gaze from what I don’t. A miserable little loser who fancies himself an onlooker—that’s who I am.”

That was what this all came down to, in the end. That was probably the key to understanding everything that happened. A single character in this story, Sagami Shizumu, was both the origin and the cause of it all. I can’t tell the story of the darkest time in my past without mentioning the part he played in it. Because I didn’t understand Sagami Shizumu—because I tried to understand him—my past received a stain that would never fade.

But, no—I shouldn’t go acting like I was some sort of victim, and I shouldn’t act like he did something wrong to me. After all, when all was said and done, I wasn’t even involved. It had all begun while I was blissfully unaware, and by the time I’d realized what was happening, it was already over.

I want to put this out on the table in advance: I’m not the protagonist of this story. This is a romcom that I doubt anybody asked for and that nobody deserves, starring a girl who couldn’t become a heroine and a boy who didn’t even try to become a hero.

And, with that out of the way, I think it’s time for us to get started.

Now—let us begin the end of the beginning.

Chapter 1: Preamble

By the way—I think it goes without saying that “the beginning” and “the end” are two sides of the same coin on a conceptual level. Endings exist because there was first a beginning, and beginnings exist because there was first an ending. Nothing can end if nothing begins, and nothing begins if nothing ends. You can’t bring something to an end that never began to begin with, and there’s no way to begin something that will never end.

Eventually, in the end, everyone dies. Every life that begins will inevitably end. This is sort of a matter of perspective, but I think it’s valid to say that one’s life is, in and of itself, a journey toward their death. None can escape that ultimate destiny. We simply glide along the rails of time, moving ever forward toward our ultimate, singular ending. And with that fact in mind, could it not be said that life itself is, by its very nature, death?

From the very beginning, our ending has already begun. As we end, we experience beginning after beginning. Like a Möbius strip, life has no front or back side. Its beginnings and endings, though they seem to oppose each other, actually complete each other—two sides of the same coin.

Thus is the beginning, as is the end.

Thus is life, as is death.

But in that case—what is it that people live for? Understanding the inevitability of our death—bound by the curse that is our inescapable end—why does mankind still strive to move forward? Is the end of one’s life even their ultimate end as an entity? Perhaps there’s still room for doubt in that area. If one places their faith in the cycle of reincarnation, then death is nothing more than a step toward their next life. The ending, as such, equals and leads to a beginning—a beginning that, in turn, leads to another ending.

And so, when you put all the pieces together, to live is...

“...and before I knew it, I’d gotten so caught up in thinking about all that stuff that the day was already over,” I concluded with a deep sigh of regret, clutching my head in despair.

The place: my room. The time: a little past five in the afternoon. The date: a few days after the beginning of summer vacation. For most students, this time and place would be a blessed one—a veritable Elysium, a holy sanctuary, a new garden of Eden, paradise found, an ideal utopia, Shangri-La, El Dorado, and Xanadu all at once! The fact that summer was just beginning and the threat of homework had yet to loom just made it all the better!

Personally, I’d taken to calling this period of summer vacation its “golden era.” There was also a potential platinum era of summer vacation, by the way, which would come about when you’d finished up all of your homework in advance. I’d only experienced a platinum era once, myself, but what a joy it was! Getting to mess around to your heart’s content without a worry in the world really is something special. But I’m drifting off topic—it might not’ve been platinum, but the golden era of summer I was experiencing was still a spectacular period in its own right.

“Oh, to have spent this most precious, inviolable, and irreplaceable of days on mere thought alone! ’Tis a sin, surely, to partake of such waste!”

“Andou, I’m going to have to ask you to stop speaking like that. It’s incredibly obnoxious,” Sayumi grumbled. She was seated on the other side of the low table I kept in my room, looking more than a little fed up. It was summer vacation, so she wasn’t wearing her uniform; her casual clothes were a mostly black ensemble that looked nice and cool while also not showing much skin at all.

“I mean, you’re the one who started all this by asking what I did today,” I countered.

“That was me making generic small talk to lead into the actual conversation. I didn’t expect you to actually answer it in full.”

“Since the question was posed...I was forced to take a long, hard, objective look at myself,” I continued. I’d never even considered it before Sayumi had brought the subject up, but when I looked back on how I’d spent the day with a clear head, I realized the sheer, stunning quantity of time that I’d managed to waste. I’d started pondering in the morning, and before I’d known it, evening had arrived. Seriously, what am I doing? How could I idle away a precious day of this golden era like that?

“I think we can consider it a good thing. You’d do well to spend a little more time on self-reflection, Andou,” said Sayumi with a slightly amused smile that contrasted sharply with the way her words cut me to the quick.

I let out a sigh. “Y’know where I went wrong? Trying to get started on my ethics homework on a whim, that’s where. Working on that sorta stuff sent my mind into philosophy mode...”

“Oh, that’s right—you chose ethics as your elective, didn’t you? I’d forgotten.”

I nodded. The second years at our high school were allowed to choose one of three social studies electives to take: modern society, politics and economics, or ethics. The majority of the student body went for modern society, but I’d chosen to go with ethics instead. It wasn’t a popular course at all for some reason, and in the end, I was one of only ten or so students in my grade level who’d actually picked it.

“I’ve always thought it’s weird—why is ethics so unpopular, anyway?” I wondered out loud.

“Because it’s a subject that most students aren’t familiar with, I presume.”

“I guess, but right now ethics is my most fun class by a mile.”

To be fair, I’d initially chosen the class by process of elimination. Modern society and politics and economics weren’t really my thing, which had left ethics as my one remaining option. Once the class started and I began to get a feel for what it was all about, though, I found myself totally immersed in the subject.

It wasn’t just that the class was fun, though—it went well beyond that. Mencius’s belief in the fundamental good of humanity! Xunzi’s belief that human nature is evil! Socrates’s concept of knowing that you know nothing! Plato’s theory of Forms! Hobbes’s Leviathan! Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra! Descartes’s principle of “cogito, ergo sum”: “I think, therefore I am”! The famed eighteenth-century German literary movement: Sturm und Drang!

What the heck?! These are all so friggin’ cool! And I didn’t just mean the actual terms themselves. When I learned what they all meant, it turned out that their meanings were just as great—great enough to set the very depths of my soul astir! I’d never found a subject I enjoyed studying as much as this one before! Ethics:hella cool!

“On a fundamental level, most of ethics boils down to ‘this person thought this way, but this other person thought this way instead,’” said Sayumi. “It’s a subject that’s well suited to people who find learning and memorizing that sort of subject matter fun. Naturally, the opposite is true as well—if you don’t find that entertaining, it isn’t the subject for you.”

Hmm. I guess that’s fair enough, yeah. The subject was so much fun for me I could hardly even express it, but it was the sort of area of study that other people might just not get at all.

“For me, like...okay, here’s a good example: I got super inspired when they taught me that the theory of humanity’s fundamental goodness and the theory of humanity’s fundamental evil are really just two different ways of saying the same thing,” I explained.

To boil that principle down to its absolute bare-bones essentials for the sake of explanation, the theory of fundamental goodness states that people are born good and have to work their hardest to maintain that good nature throughout their lives. The theory of fundamental evil, on the other hand, postulates that people are born evil and have to strive throughout their lives to correct that inherent nature and become good.

The two theories’ opinions of humanity start out on exact opposite ends of the spectrum, and yet they both settle on the exact same conclusion: that our best option is to strive to be good people. The names just make people misunderstand and think that the parts about humanity’s fundamental nature are the theories’ main points (actually, I had that exact misunderstanding myself), when in reality, the real point that both theories are going for is the importance of education.

The theories of fundamental good and fundamental evil. They said totally different things—but in the end, they were saying the same thing. That was a truth that had really resonated with me...

“...but when I tried to explain all that to, like, my friends and my sister, all of them just said, ‘So what?’ and that was the end of it.”

So what: a powerful phrase that was unfortunately capable of shutting down a conversation in an instant. It was a phenomenon I’d experienced regularly over the years. Take, for instance, the time I first learned about a concept that had become maybe a little too well-known for its own good in recent years: Schrödinger’s cat. I got super hyped up about it and went around boasting to all my friends and family about how amazing it was, and all I got in return was an indifferent “So what?” each and every time.

“I really do believe that this is a question of personal preference,” said Sayumi. “That being said, if your interest in the subject leads to your studies proceeding smoothly, I certainly don’t see anything wrong with that. I can also understand your desire to find someone who can identify with your passion as well.”

Identify with my passion. Identify with...

“Andou?”

“Ah, sorry. It’s nothing,” I said with a shake of my head. “So, Sayumi, this seems like the perfect chance to get some more good ethics-talk in! How about we start by discussing Nietzche’s proclamation that God is dead?”

“I believe I’ll refrain, thank you very much,” said Sayumi. “I’m afraid I didn’t come here today to discuss ethical theory with you.”

“Okay—so, why did you come here?” I asked, the words slipping from my mouth before I knew it. “Sayumi. What exactly did you come all the way out to my house to accomplish?”

Sayumi fell silent. It was a rarity for her to find herself at a loss for words—an extreme rarity—but there she sat, her expression stiff and her lips tightly closed.

This whole incident had begun when my sister pounded on my wall.

Andou Machi was my elder sister by two years. She was born in March—hence, “Machi”—and her true identity was that of a ruthless despot who worked her little brother like a slave. Machi preferred to let her fists do the talking, and when she did use her words, they were always colored by her foul mouth. I guess you could call her one of those hyper-violent heroines that’ve really gone out of fashion in recent years.

From my perspective as her younger brother, she was nothing more nor less than a violent, terrifying street thug, but from the perspective of the outside world, it seemed she was looked upon surprisingly well. Her grades and behavior had been outstanding from elementary to high school, and it seemed she’d been considered something of an honor student. I could only conclude that I was the only victim of her violence. Did that make me feel just a little bit special? No. Not at all. “Curse you and your beguiling veil of innocence!” was closer to how I usually thought about her.

That brings us to earlier this evening, when my sister, with absolutely no warning or pretext, pounded on my wall. The wall pound was one of her many bad habits. Our rooms were right next to each other, and for some reason, the wall between them had been built unusually thin. Were you to make a noise that was even slightly loud, you could be sure that the inhabitant of the next room over would hear it—and as a result, the moment I would start making any appreciable amount of noise, Machi would start pounding on the wall.

I’d be in my own room, minding my own business as I immersed myself in my own little world, when suddenly the sound of a violent impact would jolt me back to reality. It was a classic case of auditory violence. It was bad for my heart and soul. In fact, considering the incredible amount of psychological stress it generated, I’d go so far as to say she was doing the devil’s work.

Now, she probably didn’t even hesitate. She probably thought it was no big deal when she pounded on the wall—just a little warning, that’s all—but she couldn’t have been more wrong. What she’d failed to consider was that this was one of the many cases where the perpetrator thought their actions were no big deal while the victim sustained grave damage with every incident. It struck me as the same sort of disparity between aggressors and victims that brings about bullying so very often.

With each pound on the wall, she would chip away another fragment of my sense of reason. As my sanity continued to degrade, I felt myself fall increasingly victim to my own inner beast. The more I was being driven into a mental corner, the more my irritation was taking hold of me.

Today, I was very close to the limit of my patience. Perhaps, I thought, it’s finally time for me to let loose and rebel. Perhaps it’s time for the younger brother to cast down his sisterly tyrant from her throne of lies. She thought that I was a sad little wimp who’d do anything she told me to after the slightest show of force, and I was starting to realize how amusing it would be to bear the beastly fangs I’d kept buried within me and see how she liked that.

The time had come—the time for an uprising! As the urge to fight—the urge to destroy—welled up within me, I turned to the wall and shouted with all my might.

“I’m sorry, Machi! I’ll be quiet, I promise, so please, just cut it out!”

Right.

Okay.

So.

Let’s just say that I decided to let her off the hook today and move on.

Yup, that’s the ticket. Patience is one of the most important traits that a person can have. They say it’s a virtue for a reason—and a heavenly virtue, at that! I just sorta had a feeling that letting the bloodthirsty beast that lurked within me stay lurking for a little while longer would be for the better, that’s all. And anyway, it’s not like she was really bothering me much in the first place! A couple wall pounds isn’t even close to enough to damage my impregnable mental barriers!

“Huh? Oh, nah,” rang out my sister’s voice from the other side of the wall. She sounded a little hesitant, which was strange, actually. Normally, her wall pound would’ve been followed immediately by a storm of verbal abuse. I’d reflexively bowed down, but the confusion was enough to make me cautiously glance back up at the wall again.

“Look, Jurai, I’m not actually mad or anything. Save the apologies,” said my sister.

“Huh? Then what’re you pounding on my wall for?”

“I had something to say to you.”

“Then you could’ve just knocked!”

“Eh, y’know. Just felt like it.”

You “just felt like” nearly giving me a heart attack with all that pounding?! This is more than I can take! When I thought back on it, it struck me that I hadn’t even been making so much as a peep at the time the pounding began. I’d been sitting quietly at my desk pondering the world’s myriad endings and beginnings at the time. She hadn’t had any good reason to pound on that wall at all!

“Come on,” I groaned. “What a waste of a good bow!”

“I act just a little intimidating, and you jump straight to bowing down to me? You’ve got one hell of a servile streak going on, huh?”

“And whose fault do you think that is...?” I grumbled, cursing the deep-seated habits that had sent me bowing and apologizing reflexively the second I heard a thud. For the record, it was her fault for playing our wall like a friggin’ drum! I could easily imagine her becoming one of those awful managers who pounds on their desk while they give their subordinates the third degree.

“Sheesh, seriously...” I sighed. “You’re a girl! You’re supposed to want a dude to pound the wall for you, not do the pounding yourself!”

“Why the hell would I want that? I’m not into guys who go around pounding walls and making a nuisance of themselves.”

“No, not that sort of wall pound! I mean, like, the other thing!”

“What other thing?”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Like, uhh...man, this is gonna be a huge pain to explain, isn’t it? “Okay, so, there’s two types of wall pound. One of them’s the thing that you do all the time, where you pound on the wall because you’re pissed about something your neighbor’s doing and want to intimidate them into cutting it out.”

“Hmm.”

“And the other kind is when some super hunky dude slams his hand into the wall to block a girl’s path. Don’t ask me to explain why, but apparently, a lot of girls are really into it for some reason.”

“Oh, that thing,” said my sister. It was a pretty slipshod explanation, but apparently, I’d still managed to get the point across to her.

It seemed like people had started using the phrase “wall pound” to mean both of those concepts recently. Personally, I’d always thought that the first definition felt more right somehow, though. I mean, that’s how they use it in KochiKame, and that’s gotta be worth something...

“Yeah, I don’t get it. Are girls really into that sorta thing, Jurai?”

“Don’t ask me—you’re supposed to be the girl here!”

“I’m not supposed to be a girl—I’m as girl as it gets! But, like, think about this practically. If someone actually blocked your path by pounding the wall in front of you, it’d just piss you off, right? Like, my first thought would be that they were picking a fight!”

“Pretty sure that’s just you,” I sighed. “Anyway, I think this is one of those things that you can only get away with if you’re hot enough.”

“Nah, I’d still get pissed if a hot guy tried that on me. Like, just talk to me, asshole!”

I didn’t have any perspective on all this stuff, being a guy and all, but it seemed that my sister at least would not find her heart set aflutter by the latter form of wall pound. I was starting to suspect that this was actually one of those things that was popular solely because it only really happened in fiction—like how super violent or clumsy heroines are cute when you see them in a story, but would be a huge pain to deal with if they actually existed in real life.

Maybe wall pounds were only desirable in shojo manga, and would be plain old obnoxious if someone tried it in real life—the sort of action that was only appealing to an onlooker, not an involved party. Basically, I figured it might be something that only a reader could enjoy.

“Wait a second. What did you even want from me, anyway?” I asked.

“Oh, right,” said my sister. “Totally forgot. You’ve got a visitor.”

You could’ve said that in the first place, moron! is what I didn’t say as I hurried downstairs, where I found Sayumi standing in our entryway.

“Sayumi,” I gasped. She responded with a nod, and long story short, I ended up leading her to my room and bringing out some tea and snacks in an attempt to be hospitable.

“Your sister is quite pretty, isn’t she?” Sayumi commented after sitting down and taking a sip of her tea. “I’ve heard as much in passing before, of course, but I have to admit, I didn’t expect her to be quite that beautiful. She treated me quite politely in spite of how abrupt this visit was as well.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty good at putting on a front like that,” I replied.

“I believe her name is Machi, isn’t it? On account of her having been born in March.”

“I can’t believe you actually know that.”

“I heard it from Hatoko. I can’t remember precisely when, but the conversation left quite an impression on me. You were also named ‘Jurai’ because you were born in July, weren’t you?”

“Mwa ha ha... Well, that’s what I tell people, anyway. The truth, however, is that my name and my power share a deep and profound connection... Once, in the era I reigned supreme over the Demon Realm, my power’s ebon flames were feared and abhorred as cursed lightning! Hence why ‘Jurai’ is written with—”

“I’ve been meaning to mention this for some time, Andou: don’t you think that claiming that fire was characterized as lightning is a bit of a stretch, even for one of your self-indulgent fantasies? I appreciate that you were reaching for a way to ascribe retroactive meaning to your name, but still, it’s a little much.”

I winced. “I’m sorry, Sayumi, but please...don’t calmly pick holes in it like that. I’d rather you just come out and insult me, or ignore me entirely...”

That’s more or less how the conversation continued for a while. One of our usual periods of pointless banter had begun, and eventually, we ended up on the topic of what I’d done that day, segueing into the discussion on ethics I’d opened with, and finally leading to my ultimate question: “Sayumi. What exactly did you come all the way out to my house to accomplish?”

And with that, the pieces all fit together. The pieces that I presented out of order for the sake of emphasizing the heart of the matter, that is.

Sayumi didn’t say a word, and an awkward silence fell over my room. I wasn’t trying to criticize her for showing up at my house like that, for what it’s worth. I just thought it was weird. Out of all the people I knew, Sayumi was the most polite and prone to standing on etiquette by a landslide. Someone like her showing up totally unannounced piqued my curiosity. Plus, she’d been acting a little strange this whole time. Instead of explaining what she’d come for, she’d launched into pointless, banal small talk instead. I didn’t have a problem with small talk, of course—I would’ve been perfectly fine with talking about random nonsense all through the night—but it was just...weird.

The Sayumi I knew would always get in touch in advance before coming over to someone’s house. She just wasn’t the sort of person who’d disregard that sort of common courtesy. Even if there had been some sort of pressing circumstance that had forced her to swing by without warning, I would’ve expected an explanation to be the absolute first thing that came out of her mouth. That was why I’d cut the flow of the conversation short and put the question on the table. I felt like I was being a little overbearing, but it also felt like it was a necessary sort of overbearingness. If Sayumi couldn’t bear to bring up her reason for coming, then it fell to me to move things along for her.

And yet, still, she stayed silent.

“I mean, y’know, it’s not like I mind or anything! Heck, you could barge in on a whim while I’m eating dinner like Yonesuke does in that one reality show, and I wouldn’t mind a bit! You’re always welcome!” I said. I just couldn’t bear the tension for a minute longer, and I had to break it up with a little frivolous banter. “What’s the deal, anyway? This isn’t like you! I mean, it’s not like you’re here to ask me out or anything, right?”

Suddenly, Sayumi twitched violently and looked up at me. Her eyes were wide, her expression stiff.

“Uh... Huh? W-Wait,” I said. Wh-What sort of reaction was that? Huh? Wait. Wait...huh? H-Huuuh? Wait, wait, wait!

“S-Sayumi...? D-Don’t tell me you actually—”

“Absolutely not,” said Sayumi, slamming the door shut on that possibility with merciless vigor. “No need to worry. My business with you today has absolutely nothing to do with that sort of romantic affair.”

“O-Oh, okay,” I said, heaving a sigh of relief. I knew that being relieved by that would give the impression that I’d have been upset about her asking me out, which wasn’t exactly the nicest thing to do...but, I mean, I think anyone would have felt a little relieved under the circumstances.

“I’ll admit, you’re right,” she continued. “This isn’t like me. I’m normally never this indecisive, and I have to say that I’m mortified to think I’ve disgraced myself like this.”

“Okay, disgraced seems like a little too—”

“The idea that I made you think I was hesitating because I was trying to ask you out... This is surely the greatest mistake of my life. The shame will follow me till the end of my days.”

Okay, wow, ouch! At the very least, though, that made it quite clear that she wasn’t here for anything of the sort.

“It won’t be long before night falls, and I don’t intend to stay longer than necessary, so allow me to cut straight to the point,” Sayumi finally said. “Will you tell me about Sagami Shizumu?”

That was the topic of the day—and moreover, it’s the topic of this volume.

Sagami Shizumu was a second-year boy attending the same high school as me, Senkou High. He was such a pretty boy you might mistake him for the physical incarnation of beauty itself—as long as he kept his mouth shut. His personality was such a disaster that calling him “the ultimate sleazebag” wouldn’t even do him justice. He suffered from a pathological illness that forced him to judge women based solely on whether or not they triggered his moé senses, and he had a truly sordid romantic history with the opposite sex. There was no end to the women who took an interest in him, presumably on account of his looks, but most of them ended up disgusted by his true scummy nature and fled for the hills in short order.

“Actually, that’s not what I meant to ask about at all,” said Sayumi, shaking her head. “I wanted to hear about your relationship with Sagami.”

I gave Sayumi a look. For a second, I thought that this was a fujoshi thing, and she was talking about shipping me and Sagami together again. This wouldn’t have been the first time a conversation with her had ended up traveling that road. It didn’t take me long to realize that that wasn’t the case this time around, though. The look in her eyes wasn’t flippant enough for that—no, it was such a serious look, it was almost scary.

“I mean, I dunno what to tell you,” I said. “I’ve told you this before, actually—we’re just acquaintances. I don’t have anyone else to eat lunch with in my class, so I end up eating with him by process of elimination.”

“That’s precisely where my doubts arise from,” said Sayumi. “As far as I’ve observed, it seems to me that you and Sagami end up doing quite a large number of things together in that sort of manner. You’re certainly not joined at the hip, by any means, but I would say that your relationship is perfectly representative of an ordinary friendship between two high schoolers. Despite that, you steadfastly refuse to call him a friend. Why is that?”

Now it was my turn to fall silent. I’d always described Sagami and I as being more than acquaintances, but less than friends. Or at least, that was how I’d always described our current relationship. “It’s not really that big of a deal,” I eventually said. “All that stuff’s just me being pedantic about what words I use, you know? It’s not that deep.”

“True,” said Sayumi. “When all is said and done, it’s just a matter of the words you chose. The difference between acquaintances and friends, between friends and best friends...it’s all entirely subjective. But why, then, is that subjective difference something that you’re so insistent about?”

Sayumi paused for a moment, waiting for an answer, but before I could come up with one, she carried on. “From what I’ve heard, it seems that you’ve known him since middle school. Is that right?” she asked.

She was so talkative all of a sudden, I’d almost forgotten how nervous and reserved she’d seemed just moments earlier. That said, it seemed to me that there was a link there—that she was jumping from one thought to the next without pause in an effort to outpace her apprehensions. She was suppressing her nerves and hesitation by talking her way through them.

“And yet,” she continued, “the two of you went to different middle schools. You attended Jikou Junior High, while Sagami went to Onaga Second. They’re in the same school district, so it’s not totally implausible that you were in clubs that had some sort of association—or it wouldn’t have been, if not for the fact that you’ve told me in the past that you weren’t in a club in middle school. Considering that...”

Sayumi kept going on and on, rattling off theories and conjectures, but I was barely listening. I was too distracted by that look in her eyes, the look on her face, to pay attention to her words. How she looked so strangely frantic to learn about my past—enough so that she’d decided to come right up to me and ask directly, without any sort of pretense.

“Did something happen?” I asked, though it took quite a lot of effort to spit the words out. “This might not be the nicest way to put it, but, well...my past isn’t really any of your business, is it? To be totally honest...I’m kind of confused about why you’d even care about my history with Sagami. Unless...” I said, a thought suddenly striking me. “Did something happen between you and him?”

“No,” said Sayumi, calmly rejecting my theory. “I’m asking purely out of personal curiosity. This is your personal, private business, of course, so if you’d prefer not to talk about it, I have no intention of pressing the point.”

I paused to consider her words. There was no way for me to tell if she was being honest. At the very least, she’d never struck me as the sort of person who would pry into somebody’s past out of curiosity alone. That being said, she’d already given me a clear and direct answer, so asking her again and trying to get her to admit that something had happened seemed pointless—even if I couldn’t help but assume that there was something else to this.

All that being said...if left to my own devices, I would never want to talk about my relationship with Sagami at all. Sayumi seemed to pick up on the fact that I was conflicted, and she spoke up once more, her voice clear and direct. “I want to know about Sagami. I want to know what sort of person he is. And I want to know about you, as well.”

The doubt and distress in her eyes were palpable. At the same time, there was a sense of resolve that showed she had no intention of backing down on this question. A few seconds of silence ensued, and I was the one who finally said something.

“So, Sayumi...are you familiar with the Cthulhu mythos?” I asked.

It was a pretty wild left turn to take the conversation in, and for a moment, Sayumi seemed bewildered, but she eventually answered. “The Cthulhu mythos? That would be the fictional mythology built up by the American horror novelist Howard Phillips Lovecraft and his literary peers, yes?”