Ch.31Chapter 5. What It Means to Like Someone (3)

Every time I’m with Miura’s group, I acutely feel one particular problem.

That one problem is that none of them know my real issues.

Though to be fair, my issues aren’t exactly few in number.

First, my body is strangely sturdy in some areas while simultaneously being malnourished.

I can tell without even getting a medical examination. The fact is my diet is extremely unbalanced. If I’m not malnourished despite this, it must be some kind of built-in function in this body or something like that.

And the biggest reason for my poor diet is simply “to save money.”

If I were still a normal man in his 30s, I wouldn’t be so frugal. What expenses would I have besides rent, alcohol, and food? Even after occasional hobby expenses, I’d still have money left over. I didn’t have a family to support. That means I wouldn’t have had problems even if I needed to go to the hospital.

Now that I’m trying to support myself as a student, I’ve come to realize how truly great my parents were.

…But I can’t exactly go around telling people about this situation.

Miura is already worried enough about me as it is.

“How about here?”

The place where Yamashita stopped was—

McDonald’s.

“…”

Oh, this place might actually be okay?

I blinked, looking up at the fast food restaurant sign.

When I follow this group around, we usually go to trendy cafés or bakeries, which always costs quite a bit of money.

You’d think high school students would go to cheaper places, but I guess that’s not the case because Miura and Fukuda, the core members of the group, spend money without much thought.

Yamashita also gave off that impression, but—

“Don’t like it?”

Yamashita tilted his head and asked, so I quickly shook my head.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Let’s go, then.”

I found conversations with Yamashita a bit strange. Both of us spoke using the minimum number of words necessary, and our responses were equally minimal. It was like some kind of high school girl Morse code.

Considering just our physical ages, we were both at an age where people typically talk a lot, but in reality, we were probably in the bottom 10 percent of talkative high school girls.

I chose a Big Mac. Yamashita chose a Big Mac large set. We each paid for our own food, but since we ordered together, our food came on the same tray.

Yamashita waited beside me, and when our food came out, he quickly grabbed the tray before I could even try to pick it up.

Then he confidently led the way, finding an empty table and sitting down.

Our school is in Minato Ward, which sometimes makes me forget, but Minato itself is right in the heart of Tokyo. It’s where Tokyo Tower is located, and where several multinational companies have their headquarters. Naturally, it’s a busy area with lots of people, but since it wasn’t even 5 PM yet, there were still some empty seats.

That’s not to say it was quiet, though.

After I sat down at the two-person table where Yamashita was seated, he immediately grabbed the distinctive red french fry container and dumped it upside down on the tray.

The regular fries and large fries mixed together, making it impossible to tell which was which.

Judging by how casually he stacked the empty containers and set them aside, he didn’t seem to mind.

“…Aren’t you going to eat?”

I was staring blankly at the fries, feeling a bit guilty about just eating them, when Yamashita spoke while picking up his Big Mac.

“…I’ll eat.”

Watching Yamashita rustling with his burger wrapper, I unwrapped mine as well.

The aroma of beef rose from the patty. It might sound like an obvious description, but to someone like me who rarely eats meat, it was like a sweet perfume.

Opening my mouth wide to take a bite, the greasy patty, lettuce, and the pickles sandwiched between them, all wrapped in bread, entered my mouth.

Delicious.

An incredibly greasy taste that probably isn’t good for my health. But isn’t this grease exactly what my body needs right now?

“…I’ve never seen someone enjoy a McDonald’s burger that much before.”

“…”

I had taken a large bite and was chewing when Yamashita said that, so I tried to chew a little less obviously. But I’d already taken too big a bite, so I couldn’t help but continue chewing.

Yamashita ate his burger with an expressionless face.

But his eating speed was much faster than mine. Maybe because he’s a growing teenager.

After finishing my burger, taking a refreshing sip of cola, I turned my attention to the salty french fries. There were probably some fries that weren’t mine in the mix, but if I worried about that, I wouldn’t be able to eat at all, right?

Pushing that guilt aside slightly, I put a thinly cut, fried potato in my mouth.

The salt and fried potato went perfectly together. Whether it was an employee’s mistake or just how they do things in Japan, there was no ketchup provided. But that was fine by itself.

Yamashita put a few french fries in his mouth while looking at me curiously, and finally spoke.

“So, why were you there?”

Ah, right.

That’s right.

We came here to talk about that.

“I was…”

I started to speak, then stopped.

Seeing me freeze with a french fry in hand, Yamashita just shrugged and picked up another fry before saying:

“You can tell me whenever you’re comfortable. We have time.”

He clearly thought I was hesitating because of trauma, or because I was afraid of those seniors, but the reality was different.

I got caught by them because I was lured by a hot dog on the ground.

A hot dog tied to a fishing line, no less.

Of course, I do have an excuse. Kaneko from the same club started it, and I was just playing along by getting caught.

Though the initial reason I got caught was literally because I tried to grab a croquette, without any prior agreement.

“…”

If it had been Teacher Suzuki, she might have stiffened her expression, nodded, and not asked any further questions at this point.

Miura would probably have reacted similarly.

The Literary Club members would probably just accept it if I told them I was chasing a hot dog.

Fukuda… I’m not sure. Maybe similar to Yamashita. Though not as quiet as Yamashita.

“…Can I ask why you’re asking?”

I had just witnessed him throw a bag at the track team captain’s face, causing a nosebleed, and when the guy next to him rushed over, Yamashita delivered a straight punch to his solar plexus.

I don’t think I’ll get hit like that, but it doesn’t hurt to be polite, right?

“Miura will worry.”

The answer came immediately.

I see.

Yamashita said he’d been friends with Miura since middle school. Maybe they’ve known each other even longer.

“…”

And Miura’s worry was a reason I could empathize with.

After thinking for a moment, I spoke.

“…It’s the track team people.”

“I heard that.”

Since he was in the bathroom stall next to us.

“…There’s someone in my club who used to be on the track team. There was bullying in the track team, and this person quit after standing up for the person being bullied. That person became friends with me.”

“So, retaliation?”

I nodded.

Well, the story mostly checks out if you leave out the hot dog part.

Yamashita exhaled briefly and went back to eating his fries. I did the same.

As we ate a few more, there was only silence between us. I could hear people laughing and talking around us, but it felt extremely quiet just in our area.

“What are you going to do?”

Yamashita suddenly asked.

“…Huh?”

“About them.”

Ah.

The track team?

“The teacher knows now, so.”

“Right.”

Yamashita ate more french fries.

I… wish the conversation would continue a bit more. Of course, too much talking would be uncomfortable too, but awkward silence was far more uncomfortable.

After a moment of hesitation, I spoke up.

“Why… were you there?”

“It’s a bathroom.”

Yes, I know that, but…

“…It’s in a corner. And Fukuda and Miura weren’t there—”

I quickly cut myself off mid-sentence. Yamashita just moved his eyes to look at me, and his expression reminded me of his face in the bathroom earlier.

But Yamashita didn’t maintain that expression.

He lowered his eyes again and sighed lightly.

With a french fry in hand, rubbing it against the advertisement paper under the tray as if it were a finished cigarette, Yamashita said,

“…Family issues.”

Well.

That’s a simple, clear, and logical explanation.

It effectively blocked any further questions.

Yes, if there are family matters you can’t talk about, you might want to go somewhere alone where your friends can’t see you to think—

“My dad is having an affair.”

“Oh.”

Wait, hold on. Stop.

You don’t need to explain further. It’s a secret, right? Did you see the ears of the person sitting behind you perking up?

I mean, even I would unconsciously listen in if someone nearby started sharing such personal stories, so I can’t really blame them.

“…How did you find out?”

“The other woman revealed it herself. I confronted her.”

Oh.

Um.

Well.

“She’s about three years older than me, apparently.”

“…”

Hmm…

Should I… comfort him?

I don’t know how to comfort him in this situation.

If I say something like “Well, at least she’s not a minor, that’s good~”, my solar plexus might end up sinking like someone who received CPR incorrectly, right?

I’ve attended funerals for people whose parents passed away, but I’ve never heard of someone’s father or mother having an affair.

We ate french fries in silence again for a while. It didn’t seem like we ate that quickly, but the overturned fries disappeared in no time.

“What about you?”

“…”

Yamashita asked.

“Do you get along with your parents?”

“…They don’t come home.”

That’s how I answered.

This was… extremely awkward.

I feel a bit sorry saying this after receiving such great help today, but the truth is, until just yesterday, I wasn’t that close with Yamashita.

It’s not that I disliked Yamashita or felt uncomfortable around him, but you know how it is. Among close friends, there’s that other kid who’s friends with your close friends. A friend of a friend.

You often hang out together in groups, but when it’s just the two of you, the conversation doesn’t flow, it feels strangely uncomfortable, like you don’t really know each other.

It’s a relationship that could be called friendship, but you’re afraid to call them a friend first in case they respond with “Were we?”… Well, that kind of relationship.

So it was a bit strange to suddenly be sharing family matters like this.

“Bad relationship?”

“…Yeah.”

It’s definitely not a relationship I could call good. I don’t dislike them that much, but Kagami seems to view me as nothing more than a tool.

“Yeah, I thought so. Usually when something like today happens, they call the parents.”

Yamashita picked up another french fry and rubbed it against the tray paper like before. The fried outer layer cracked, and white potato peeked out from inside.

After doing that for a while, Yamashita abruptly spoke again.

“Today’s conversation is a secret from Miura.”

“…Yeah.”

As if I would tell her.

She’d find out immediately.

“I’ll keep your secret too.”

That’s… appreciated.

Miura’s pure goodwill and concern honestly made me feel better when I received it, but at the same time, I felt a great deal of guilt.

Well… I may look like a malnourished high school girl on the outside, but inside I’m a man in his 30s.

A character in a smartphone game patting your head and comforting you is enough. Receiving such comfort in reality feels somewhat illegal.

Of course, in this world, I’d have to wait at least 5 years for smartphones to come out.

Yamashita drank the rest of his cola in one go, so I followed suit. The sudden influx of cold drink into my stomach made the area between my forehead and nose tingle.

After clearing away our empty food, we walked out of the restaurant side by side.

We walked silently to the station for a moment.

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“…Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

When Yamashita raised one hand, I raised mine too. Yamashita waved his hand gently, then turned around and… went home. Probably.

He went home, right?

Given what he said about the affair, his parents probably aren’t divorced. I can’t really guess what his home situation is like.

…

Ah.

Somehow, I think I understand why Yamashita specifically told me that story.

Miura and Fukuda are too close to him.

If he told them such a story, they would worry about him for a long time.

Yamashita doesn’t want that.

I’ve been in that position before. When someone is genuinely worried about you, comforting you, asking if you’re okay, but you’re so heartbroken that you don’t even want to hear those words.

Talking about it makes you think about it more, remembering makes it hurt more, and your mood drops.

When you’re at that sensitive age and find yourself in such a situation, you want to confide in someone, but suddenly there’s no one you can confide in. You end up suffering alone until you explode.

And perhaps I just happened to be present when that explosion occurred.

“…”

I quietly watched Yamashita’s retreating back before turning around.

…

Let’s go home.

And when we meet tomorrow, let’s act like I never heard the story.

It’s not a situation where I can help anyway.

*

School on a Saturday.

I think that’s how it was when I was young. At first, we’d go on Saturdays for about 4 periods of classes, and once every two weeks we’d do something called CA. I think it stood for Club Activity. It’s like the “club activities” I do every day now.

Of course, it was a club in name only; in reality, we just sat in the classroom. Some teachers tried to make us do something productive, but students were usually indifferent. After all, we were just told “you must join something” so we joined whatever.

Popular clubs are always the same ones. And other clubs are treated as if it doesn’t matter what happens to them, so students usually just joined wherever their friends were going.

Saturdays ended early. It was a good day to walk home with friends and do various things.

Yes, that was one good thing.

Just that one thing.

I don’t know what it’s like in real Japan, but here they don’t force club activities on Saturdays.

Instead, they have classes. Up to 4 periods. All of them.

…Is this hell?

Well, considering that in Korea the school schedule seemed flexible but was actually filled with night self-study and academies, maybe it’s not such a living hell after all.

Anyway, even though it was Saturday, I went to school. Through the drizzling rain that had been falling since morning.

Arriving a bit early, I put my wet shoes and socks in the shoe locker and changed into indoor shoes.

After placing my umbrella in the umbrella stand, I went up to the classroom.

I removed the bandage from my hand. When I checked this morning, there was no trace of the wound. My neck didn’t make any strange sounds when I turned it, and my head wasn’t dizzy or swollen like my eyes were about to pop out. My physical condition was… perfect, except for being hungry and tired.

Yawning, I returned to the classroom and sat down. There were a few students already in the classroom, but they were mostly people I wasn’t really involved with.

They weren’t main characters, so I had no need or reason to approach them deliberately. Though I wouldn’t refuse if we naturally became friends.

I opened my bag to check the books I brought today once more, and put the textbooks I’d need from 1st to 4th period inside my desk.

As I was preparing for class in my own way—

“Um, excuse me.”

I looked up when I heard someone cautiously calling me.

It wasn’t someone I’d never seen before, but we’d never formally introduced ourselves. Just someone in the same class that I recognized.

“Ku-Kurosawa, right?”

“…That’s right.”

I stared up at her as I spoke.

“Are you, by any chance, not a ghost or something?”

“…”

So she’s asking me with the possibility that I might be a ghost?

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you asking that?”

“Ah, um, well, uh, um.”

Speak. Just speak.

The girl took a breath, swallowed, and said:

“Um, yesterday… someone said they saw you walking while bleeding. They said your head was completely soaked in blood…”

“…”

Ah, right.

I did pass by a few students on my way to the infirmary.

It seems her friend was among them.

I was wondering what they were talking about in the corner of the classroom, but it was about that.

“…It was nothing.”

“No-nothing, I see… Haha…”

After I answered, the girl laughed awkwardly as if embarrassed. Then she quickly returned to her seat, almost as if escaping.

I stared at her retreating figure for a moment, then went back to reading a detective novel I had brought from the Literary Club, as I usually do.

I was internally scoffing at how a well-progressing story suddenly concluded with “the culprit was a government special forces unit!” in a conspiracy theory-like ending, when the classroom door opened and Miura entered.

I looked up at Miura.

“Good morning, Kurosawa.”

“Good morning.”

Hmm, judging by her bright expression, it seems she hasn’t heard about yesterday’s incident. Well, if she had, she would have called or emailed me.

“What are you reading?”

“A detective novel. The ending is ridiculous.”

I think the government covering everything up is equivalent to a conclusion where a psychic or magician covers everything up with an unrealistic trick.

It makes all the previous tricks meaningless.

“I see…”

She seemed to be asking out of politeness rather than genuine interest, so I just closed the book and put it in my bag.

Fortunately, there weren’t many students who saw me yesterday, so the rumor hasn’t spread quickly.

Now that they’ve seen me alive and talking with other students, that false rumor probably won’t last long.

As long as the track team members come to school safely today and don’t go around talking about what happened to them.

…That hopeful thought, as such hopeful thoughts always do, was shattered before the school day even ended.

Well, I guess a rumor about a girl walking down the hallway with blood streaming from her head couldn’t just end quietly.

Damn track team guys.