Jinseigyakuten Uwakisare Enzai wo Kiserareta Orega Gakuenichi no Bisyoujo ni Natsukareru [LN] Bahasa Indonesia

 

Chapter 5: The Secret of the Eldest Daughter, Kikuri, the Artists

The greatest advantage of being enrolled in high school is the chance to observe real high school girls up close.

However, to spend hours every day in classes just for that? I’m far too busy a person for such nonsense. Besides, I’d already absorbed most of the high school curriculum by the time I was in eighth grade. So, the smart thing to do, it seemed, was to only step foot in school during lunch breaks or after classes, when my subjects of observation were free from the classroom.

That’s just an excuse.

Truth is, I’m a social misfit, utterly incapable of dealing with people face-to-face. And yet, despite that, I’m just pathetic enough to cling to the fleeting privilege of youth that teenagers get to call their own—a total introvert with lingering regrets.

I debuted as an illustrator at fourteen.

I stopped going to school at fifteen.

I’d always thought attending school was inefficient and a hassle. Why should I be packed like sardines into a tiny classroom for months on end just to be taught things I could grasp from reading a textbook once? I genuinely wondered.

At the same time, the boys and girls my age around me seemed so dazzling, so radiant. They didn’t yet know what they lacked. I envied the brilliance of possibility that their ignorance granted them.

I, on the other hand, knew exactly what I was missing.

That’s why I understood there was no point in going to school, making friends, enjoying festivals, competing at sports day, or making memories on school trips.

It’s like playing a game while following a walkthrough—too efficient to fully enjoy everything.

I knew it. What I lacked wasn’t in that place.

And yet, I couldn’t stop myself from going. It was nothing but lingering attachment. Like praying at a shrine despite knowing it’s meaningless, some vague, baseless hope lingered in me that just being at school might change something.

I think I fully realized it when he spoke to me.

‘Is the seat next to you free?’

The cafeteria, by the window, at a counter seat.

A boy with glasses, holding a tray with a simple meal.

He made me realize what a pathetic, wishy-washy girl I was.

That’s when Kichijoji Kikuri began.

◆

I was, as expected, frozen in place.

Rationally, I knew I shouldn’t be staring at a naked girl for so long. But the situation was so utterly unexpected that my senses craved more information, and I couldn’t help but take in every detail of her.

Slender, graceful legs. A perky, curved backside. A waist so slim it seemed I could wrap both hands around it. Breasts that stood out more prominently than my little sister’s. Long, glossy black hair shimmering in the light streaming through the window, and a sly, almost suspicious smirk, as if she were testing me—

“Don’t stare at me so intensely, okay?”

And then, her voice.

It was unmistakably the same voice I’d heard in the cafeteria during lunch or after school—Matsuba Mitsuba’s.

“Ranka and Chinana aren’t here right now, and Meru’s asleep, you know? What if I get all worked up and cross a line by mistake?”

“M-Mitsuba!? W-What the—!?”

“Let me introduce myself properly.”

Mitsuba didn’t bother covering herself. Instead, she struck a bold pose, hands on her hips, as if flaunting her body.

“Matsuba Mitsuba was just a disguise—my true identity is the eldest daughter of the Kichijoji family and the ultimate illustrator VTuber, Kichijoji Kikuri!”

“Cover yourself first! I can see everything! Everything!”

Finally, my libido and shame caught up. My heart pounded like it was about to explode as I whipped my head ninety degrees to the side, glaring at the system kitchen with desperate focus.

The guilt outweighed the excitement. I’d just seen my female friend naked… not just her chest, but even her most private parts. If I weren’t used to bathing with my little sister every day, I’d probably be renouncing the world and becoming a monk out of sheer guilt right now.

I could sense Kikuri—er, Mitsuba—chuckling softly.

“You’re giving me some great reactions. It’s almost like I’m standing here naked just to see that.”

“You’re doing this on purpose!?”

“Of course I’m kidding. Just a little slip-up. I thought you’d show up a bit later. I don’t usually wear clothes at home, you know. It’s more efficient this way.”

“Then cover up! Act surprised! Be embarrassed! Why are you so calm!? Are you Adam and Eve before they ate the apple or something!?”

“Of course, I’m a human bearing original sin too. Proof? I’m feeling quite thrilled right now after you caught me off guard like this.”

“I don’t want to hear that from a female friend!”

“It’s like winter down there, all perky.”

“Stop it!”

Yup, this was definitely Mitsuba. Hearing her playful banter, the realization slowly sank into every fiber of my being.

Matsuba Mitsuba was Kichijoji Kikuri—

So, what? All the times I vented or confided in her, she knew everything but pretended otherwise? What a girl. Should I praise her acting skills or be mad for being fooled?

“Good grief. Can’t even talk face-to-face unless I put some clothes on, huh?”

Kikuri sighed. I’m definitely the one in the right here.

“Fine, whatever. We can’t talk properly here anyway, so let’s head to my room while I grab some clothes. Follow me, Kunshi-kun.”

The nickname only Matsuba Mitsuba used rang in my ears, followed by the sound of her bare feet padding up the stairs.

I finally relaxed my neck from its ninety-degree twist. Just as I did, I caught a glimpse of a pale backside disappearing onto the second floor’s open landing.

Cautiously, I followed. At the top of the stairs, I pressed myself against the left wall, peeking around the corner into the hallway. Kikuri was just opening the door at the far end. From behind, her long black hair covered her back and backside, making her just barely tolerable to look at.

Once she entered the room and the door slammed shut, I hurried down the hallway and stopped in front of it.

This room, at the far end of the second floor—I’d been coming to this house for over two months, but I’d never set foot inside.

I’d heard it was the master bedroom. The biggest bedroom in the house, apparently, complete with its own private bathroom, practically a self-contained living space.

Shouldn’t a room like this belong to the chairman, the head of the household? Did they hand it over to the eldest daughter because they’re never home anyway?

After about twenty seconds, the door opened from the inside.

“Sorry for the wait. Come in.”

I carefully studied Kikuri’s appearance as she poked her head out.

She was wearing nothing but a large, plain shirt. The hem barely covered her crotch, leaving her pale legs completely exposed.

“You… you don’t actually consider that ‘wearing clothes,’ do you?”

“Unfortunately, my uniform’s in the wash.”

“Is that the only thing you own besides your uniform?”

“Don’t worry. I’m properly braless and panty-less.”

“That doesn’t even follow!”

I decided to convince myself that the noticeable protrusions under her shirt were just wrinkles in the fabric.

I stepped inside.

The sheer size of the room overwhelmed me as Kikuri walked ahead with light steps. A king-size bed? Queen-size? Whatever it was, it was massive—big enough for three adults to sleep side by side—and yet the room still felt spacious. A wooden deck balcony, like something you’d see at a barbecue, extended from the left window, adding even more openness to the vast space.

I noticed there was no closet in sight, but then I realized the sliding door on the right led to a walk-in closet. Peeking inside, a bit rudely, I saw another door within. From what I’d heard, that must lead to the bathroom.

It was like a house within a house.

Renting just this room alone would probably cost as much as a year’s rent for the apartment the Kiminaga family lives in. It was like a matryoshka doll.

Kikuri walked over to an L-shaped desk against the wall by the bed. On it were three monitors and a large tablet—probably a drawing tablet, a… liquid tablet, was it?—clearly the workspace of an illustrator.

Kikuri sat in a gaming chair facing me. And then, probably—no, definitely—on purpose, she crossed her bare legs seductively, letting the hem of her shirt ride up.

“Have a seat. Sorry, I don’t have anything fancy like a guest chair.”

Her finger pointed to the massive bed.

I moved cautiously across the hardwood floor and gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. My backside sank deeply into it, my knees forming a right angle with Kikuri’s legs.

“So?” Kikuri propped her cheek on her hand, leaning against the armrest.

“Got any questions? Let’s bare our souls, just this once.”

I mulled it over, watching Kikuri’s sly smirk.

In the end, there was only one thing I had to ask.

“Why’d you keep it a secret?”

“Keep what?”

“That you’re Matsuba Mitsuba and Kichijoji Kikuri!”

We’d known each other for about a year now.

It all started in the crowded cafeteria during lunch, when I just happened to sit next to her. From there, we got to talking, and within a week, meeting her at that window-side counter seat became routine.

So why, for the past two months, had she kept her true identity hidden?

Was there some special reason she couldn’t let it slip that she was Kichijoji Kikuri?

Her gaze met mine, calm and unfazed, with a dark whirl of secrets I couldn’t fathom lurking in the depths of her eyes.

“Because you didn’t notice,” she said.

“…Huh?”

“You were so clueless, I found it amusing and kinda forgot to mention it.”

“That’s… that’s it!?”

“What else would there be?”

“How was I supposed to notice!? Your appearance, your speech, even your voice—they’re all completely different!”

“I put a lot of effort into my voice, you know. Was it cute?”

“Sure, I get that streamers might tweak their voice a bit, but—”

“—the me you talk to in the cafeteria?”

“You were faking it there!?”

When I reacted with genuine shock, Kikuri burst into laughter.

“Kidding, kidding! This is more or less the real me.”

“That’s vague…”

“People don’t really know who their ‘real’ self is, do they? The face you show your family is different from the one you show your friends.”

“Sounds like you’re dropping some cryptic hint again…”

I mumbled, then froze as it hit me.

That detached, almost sage-like way of speaking, like she’s observing the world from a step or two back—Matsuba Mitsuba had that vibe, and now that I thought about it, Kikuri did too sometimes.

Like when I first started working here—

—I mean, the world’s overflowing with all sorts of things, but it’s just too boring.

That response was exactly the kind of thing Matsuba Mitsuba would say.

I hung my head and let out a deep sigh. I really should’ve noticed.

And that realization brought up another nagging question.

“You knew from the start, didn’t you? That I was the one hired as the housekeeper.”

“Yup.”

“From the moment I first came to this house, when you let me in through the auto-lock?”

“You think so?”

“…No.”

I lifted my head, still slouched, and looked up at Kikuri’s all-knowing smirk.

“I’ve always wondered… Even if I’m top of my class, why would the chairman hire a guy my age to work in a house full of just her daughters? —Did you suggest it?”

The eldest daughter. To her mother, the chairman.

To save me from possibly getting expelled.

“No way. Even if it’s her daughter asking, she wouldn’t just throw her power around like that.”

But then, Kikuri recrossed her legs.

“I could at least suggest it, though—my one and only school friend, after all.”

…So that’s how it was.

I’d thought it was too good to be true when I was offered the housekeeping job.

But if it was nepotism, it made sense.

She was the one who kept me from getting kicked out.

“—Thank you.”

I bowed deeply, still seated.

“If it weren’t for the chairman’s offer, I don’t know where I’d be right now. This is a good job. The employers are a bit of a handful, but—I’m truly grateful.”

“Raise your head, Kunshi-kun.”

I did as she said. Kikuri uncrossed her legs, leaned forward with her hands on the seat of her gaming chair, and peered into my face.

“All I did was flash my family connections. It’s not a big deal. You don’t need to feel indebted to me.”

“But—”

“If you keep acting like that, you might not be able to say no when I ask you to be my nude model.”

“Guh…”

That’s exactly the kind of thing she’d say.

“If you don’t want me staring at your private parts like I’m licking them with my eyes, you’d better forget about any misplaced gratitude.”

“No, but I can’t just—”

“I’ll call the sisters to come watch too.”

“Fine, I’ll just take the sentiment!”

I could already picture those girls gleefully showing up to gawk while making a racket.

Kikuri chuckled softly.

“That’s the spirit. As Mitsuba Matsuba, your friend for a whole year, I don’t want you feeling like you owe me anything.”

“Is Mitsuba Matsuba a fake name?”

“Yup. I made it up on the spot when we met.”

“Why use a fake name? Back then, you couldn’t have known I’d end up working here.”

“Well—”

For just a moment, Kikuri paused, clearly choosing her words.

“—the Kichijoji name is pretty famous at our school. I didn’t want people knowing that the girl who’s supposed to be a truant was actually showing up.”

A plausible reason.

But another possibility crossed my mind.

“Had we… met before?”

The question slipped out before I realized it.

The doubt swelling inside me, like a button popping off tight clothing, burst out of my mouth.

Kikuri tilted her head slightly, like the ten o’clock position.

“Before…?”

“I mean… before we met a year ago. Like, maybe—”

—'Will you choose me this time too?’

“When we were in elementary school… or something.”

That photo only showed three of the four sisters—Ranka, Meru, and Chinana.

Why wasn’t Kikuri in it?

Now that Ranka had told me the four sisters weren’t actually blood-related, I could come up with one explanation. At the time the photo was taken, Kikuri wasn’t their sister yet.

But there was another possibility.

If Kikuri was the one who took the photo.

It would make sense that she wasn’t in it.

“…No way.”

Kikuri’s lips curled into an enigmatic smile.

“What, like we’re childhood friends or something? If that were true, wouldn’t you remember me too?”

“Memories from elementary school are pretty hazy, aren’t they? Plus, there’s this period I just can’t recall. Right before I was taken in by the Kiminaga family… probably about seven years ago…”

“Kunshi-kun.”

Her voice cut through like a blade.

It severed the thread I was reaching toward in the past.

“If you can’t remember no matter how hard you try… maybe it’s better not to.”

Her smile was soft but resolute.

“Bad memories tend to stick in your head. But if they’re too much, they sink deep into the bottom of your heart. If it’s one of those awful memories you should never recall, there’s no need to dig it up. No point in poking a bush and waking a snake.”

—Does she know something?

None of the sisters had ever hinted at knowing anything about my childhood.

But the way Kikuri was acting now…

It was something she’d never shown in the year I’d known her as Mitsuba Matsuba.

“Mitsuba—no, Kikuri. If you know something—”

Kikuri suddenly yanked up her shirt.

“Whoa!? W-What the hell!?”

“I’ve gotta get to work soon. And I can’t focus unless I’m naked.”

She pulled the shirt over her head, her long black hair dancing in the air. I averted my eyes from her pale, soft skin, now right in front of me, and scrambled up from the bed.

“I’m leaving! I’m out!”

“Really? Sorry I couldn’t be a better host.”

Kikuri tossed the shirt onto the bed with a flourish.

I turned my back on her and hurried toward the door to the hallway.

Hand on the knob, I glanced back just once.

Kikuri was already facing her desk, her expression unreadable.

There’s definitely… something.

That photo, that email—they’re not just a prank.

I twisted the doorknob, stepped into the hallway, and shut Kikuri’s presence behind the door.

If you can’t remember, maybe it’s better not to.

She might be right.

But if she—and only she—holds onto those memories I shouldn’t recall…

“That’s… a bit cold, don’t you think, Mitsuba?”

Being my one and only friend… that’s not just true for you.

◆

Summer. After school.

The cafeteria was nearly empty, as was the courtyard outside, with only a handful of people left.

In the middle of Tokyo’s concrete jungle, the shrill cries of cicadas—somehow managing to hide and survive—seeped into the air-conditioned cafeteria. I gazed absently at the courtyard through the window, watching it sizzle under the horrific heat island effect, and rattled the ice in my self-serve water glass with a clink.

‘Summer break’s coming up. Got any plans, Kunshi-kun?’

My dear friend, Kiminaga Shikimi—Kunshi-kun—was hunched over a textbook at the counter table, even though finals were over. Without looking up, he scribbled equations in his notebook with robotic precision.

‘Work. And studying.’

His half-hearted reply made me smirk wryly.

‘No flair, huh? Don’t you want to make the most of your one-and-only first-year summer break?’

‘That’s the most meaningful thing for me. Besides, Mitsuba, when you say “meaningful summer break,” I’m guessing you mean stuff like going to the pool or the mountains, right? Are you in any position to talk?’

‘Oh, stop it. That tone—like you’re saying I don’t have any friends to go with—hurts more than you’d think.’

‘Don’t do to others what you don’t want done to you. Not that it bothers me.’

‘Is that so? Too bad. I was thinking if you were lonely, I might keep you company.’

‘Don’t say things you don’t mean. You, splashing out on a new swimsuit to hang out with me? Can’t picture it for a second.’

I gave an ambiguous smile to dodge the jab.

It wasn’t entirely out of the question—in fact, I’d already been mulling over whether to go with a bikini or a one-piece. I wondered what he’d think if he knew.

‘What about you? How’re you planning to spend summer break? You won’t find many of your precious high school girls at school.’

‘You’re naive, Kunshi-kun. There’s always the gym-uniformed girls in club activities.’

‘Planning to haunt the gym or the field? Don’t cry when you get reported.’

‘That’s weird. I’m a legit student here…’

‘Only someone who can clearly prove their identity gets to say that.’

‘Fine, I’ll change my hunting grounds.’

‘To where?’

‘Somewhere students gather. How about the library? Bet it’ll be teeming with third-year middle schoolers and high schoolers cramming for exams this summer.’

‘…You don’t mean the central library at Memorial Park, do you?’

‘That’s the closest one. Got a problem with it?’

I grinned—what I thought was a charming smile, though others apparently find it suspicious—and Kunshi-kun gave me the look of someone who’d just seen a person swallow their mouthwash.

‘Did you know I go there a lot during break?’

‘Oh, really? What a coincidence. Guess we’ll be seeing each other over the summer. Thrilling, huh?’

‘If you wanna hang out, just say so… Honestly, that’s kinda creepy.’

‘I’m shy, okay?’

It probably didn’t look that way to him, but those were my genuine feelings.

My emotions toward Kunshi-kun defy simple explanation.

They’re like love, but also like friendship.

Like desire, but also like affection.

What’s certain is that summer is a special season for me. It’s when streamers plan a ton of projects, when illustration deadlines get rushed for the Obon schedule—and above all, yes, most of the memories I can’t forget, no matter how much I try, come from summers like today, with cicadas buzzing incessantly.

Spending a season that special without seeing Kunshi-kun even once? That’s unthinkable now.

So, swallowing my pride, mustering my courage, and masking it with a joke, I can’t help but book his time.

Even if, right now, I’m the only one by his side.

◆

Even on a day when shocking truths come to light, work goes on as usual, and afterward, I head home like always. The relentless yet oddly comforting routine pushed the issue to the back of my mind, but as I pedaled through the chilly night air, my idle brain started dredging it back up.

Kikuri’s hiding something from me.

I’m not some detective with a burning intellectual curiosity, but when a secret’s dangled right in front of me, I can’t help but care. Especially when it’s highly likely it involves me.

I was ready to let that email and that photo slide, to pretend they never happened.

But if Kikuri’s the only one holding onto the truth, and she’s telling me ‘it’s better not to remember,’ then…

As stubborn as I am, I can’t just let that slide—

“I’m home!”

I kicked off my shoes at the apartment’s entrance. From the living room, mixed with the sound of the TV—

“Welcome baaack!”

Shinomi’s muffled voice came through, probably with her mouth full.

In the living room, Shinomi was munching on a family-sized bag of senbei from the supermarket while watching TV. Guess she answered with a cracker still in her mouth.

Dad and Mom must be late again today.

Loosening my uniform tie, I asked,

“Hey, Shinomi. What was I like when we first met?”

She turned around, another senbei in her mouth.

“Huh? Outta nowhere? Didn’t we talk about this before?”

Based on my hazy memories and the boy in that photo, it was probably taken just before my adoption was finalized—within a year, at most. The people who’d know the most about me back then would be the Kiminaga family, including Shinomi.

If I could learn about the me from that time, maybe I could piece together what happened just before.

“I’m in a bit of a self-reflection phase. Anything you remember? From when I first came to the house, or even from when we met at the orphanage. Any specific stories…”

“Ugh, all I remember is you being super gloomy.”

That tracks with my own memories.

But the boy in the photo with the three sisters—minus Kikuri—was flashing a cheerful grin. He stood in the middle, like the leader of the four.

Thinking back carefully, in the early years of elementary school, around when that photo was likely taken, I don’t think I was bad at socializing or shy. At least, that’s the vague impression I have.

I’d never questioned how my personality changed as a kid—but if Kikuri’s hiding some secret tied to that…

“Oh, speaking of your gloomy-kid stories,” Shinomi started, with all the tactless cheer of a total extrovert.

“When we met at the orphanage, right? I actually played at drawing with you once, which is rare for me.”

“You? Doing something as quiet as drawing? No way.”

“At least put it in the past tense! It happened, okay? I think it was raining or something, so we couldn’t go outside.”

“Rain? That’d make you even more likely to run out there…”

If it was that pattern, I remember. She made me play “waterfall ascetic” with water pouring from someone’s rain gutter.

“Even I don’t wanna get wet sometimes, okay? Anyway, we were drawing! I was pretty good at it in class, you know. I forget what I drew, but I showed it off to you, all proud. And you said, in one word—”

Shinomi’s face went blank as she continued.

‘Not impressed.’

“Oof.”

What a friendless kid.

“And I thought, ‘This guy’s interesting!’”

“Why!? Are you some shoujo manga hero?”

“Then I told you to draw something yourself, and you were awful. I laughed so hard, I still remember it.”

I was always bad at arts and crafts. Even in middle school, art was the only subject I consistently got a 2 in.

“You were terrible at it, so why were you so cocky, Shikimi?”

“No idea. I don’t even remember that story—”

—Not impressed, huh.

…Wait.

What was that… just now…?

It was a memory. A memory that surfaced from the depths of my mind, as if reeled up like a fish.

A voice… probably a girl’s. A piece of drawing paper in hand… bright sunlight.

The sound of cicadas.

“…!”

I tossed my loosened tie aside and bolted out of the living room.

“Shikimi-kun?” Shinomi’s puzzled voice trailed behind me.

I rushed into the room I shared with my sister. It had to be here. The bottom-right drawer of the dresser…

I yanked it open, revealing a pile of junk. A weird clay figurine, a wooden spoon I’d carved, a box of sixteen colored pencils, a square tin from some cookies or something…

My belongings from the orphanage.

When I moved to this house, I’d thrown out most of my stuff. But the smaller, less bulky items I’d kept on a whim, shoved into this drawer.

I hadn’t properly looked through this junk since leaving the orphanage.

It might be in here.

The drawing from back then.

I dug through the drawer from the top. I hit the bottom quickly, but what I was looking for wasn’t there.

Then, the tin.

Kids love turning random tins into treasure boxes, stuffing them with things they think are important. If anything’s left, it’d be in here—

I placed the tin in the middle of the scattered junk and slowly lifted the lid.

The first things I saw were, as expected, bits of meaningless but kid-precious junk. A mystery gold medal, an old 30-centimeter ruler, an ancient cassette tape, and at the very bottom—

A folded piece of drawing paper.

I carefully pulled it out. Unfolded it once, twice, on the floor.

The paper, creased deeply in a cross, wasn’t Shinomi’s drawing from the story earlier.

It wasn’t just “the best in class.”

It was likely done in crayon. The top was filled with a vibrant sky blue, the bottom crowded with gray buildings. Not only were the buildings shaded properly, but they had a vanishing point, fading into the distance. Slightly to the right of the cluster of buildings stood a bright red Tokyo Tower, reflecting sunlight, its complex structure rendered without any simplification.

The medium was pure kid.

But could an ordinary kid draw Tokyo this realistically?

What gripped my attention most was the intense familiarity of the scene on this old drawing paper.

It was slightly different—probably the perspective height.

But this was, without a doubt—

The view from the Kichijoji family’s apartment.

—Whoa! That’s amazing! You’re like a pro!

—It’s not a big deal. I just drew what I saw…

—No way! Only Kikuri could draw something like this!

“…”

It was clear now.

Drawing paper in hand. Bright sunlight. Cicadas buzzing.

And next to me, a girl one year older.

—I met Kikuri when we were in elementary school.

◆

It was a fulfilling summer.

My streaming hours hit an all-time high, and I even made a guest appearance at my “daughter’s” 3D live show—the VTuber whose character design I created. The old me, who scoffed at the idea of an illustrator singing, was long gone. I had no hesitation about sharing my voice online anymore.

On free days, I’d head to the library as usual, chatting quietly with Kunshi-kun. Sometimes we’d walk around town together, though I wouldn’t call it a date. He didn’t seem to have that kind of intention at all.

For someone like me, whose world as an illustrator barely extended beyond a ten-meter radius, this summer was an anomaly, like a bear playing in a snowball fight.

But there’s always a backlash. After it ended, I took a break from my near-daily streams, craving some chill time and joining work calls with my illustrator friends.

‘All done~’

‘Good work~’

Mizuyoshi-san’s soft, airy voice came through the call app, and I responded in an equally relaxed tone.

‘You’ve been super busy lately, huh? I’m impressed~’

‘Look who’s talking. Your streaming hours blow mine out of the water.’

‘I’m just playing games and doodling for fun. It’s totally different from what you do, Kuriki-san~’

Mizuyoshi Shimei-san is both an illustrator and streamer friend. She specializes in capturing fleeting moments of youthful vibrancy in her art and, like me, operates as a VTuber. Unlike me, whose streams focus on planned content, drawing, or casual chats, she’s known for long gaming sessions.

She’s my senior as an illustrator, I’m hers as a streamer. Being close in age, she’s the colleague I feel closest to.

‘Kuriki-san, your 3D model’s got so much love put into the chest, right? I wanna stick my fingers in that sweaty cleavage~’

‘You get it! 3D’s gotta make use of that depth!’

What I love most is that, despite her refreshing art style, she’s an absolute horn-dog. Kunshi-kun calls me a pervert, but I can’t hold a candle to her.

We didn’t just talk—our hands kept moving. I was working on an illustration for a new Kuriki Hisoka figure, while Mizuyoshi-san was drawing a frontispiece for a light novel.

Our conversation spanned recent anime, trending games in the streamer world, complaints about annoying fans, and tips for relieving shoulder stiffness. It was my first time talking to someone other than Kunshi-kun about non-work stuff in a while, and the pent-up topics poured out like a dam bursting.

When we’d finally exhausted most of those, Mizuyoshi-san asked hesitantly,

‘Um… I’ve been wondering… what kind of art have you been working on lately?’

‘Hm? Let’s see… thumbnails for my streams, some drawings done during streams, and the key visual for my daughter’s live show—’

‘Nothing outside of streaming-related stuff?’

I froze, time seeming to stop.

‘Oh, no, I’m not accusing you or anything! It’s just, Kuriki-san, you’ve always had this reputation as a productivity monster, churning out a drawing a day like it’s nothing, so it feels like you’ve slowed down a bit…’

‘…Can’t be helped. I’m streaming a lot too.’

‘Your streaming’s gone way up this year, huh. Did something change…?’

Not this year.

More precisely, this school year—since he spoke to me by the cafeteria window.

‘…I know this might sound like I’m prying, but—’

Her voice was cautious but sharp, cutting through my current vulnerability.

‘—Kuriki-san, you’re not… quitting as an illustrator, are you?’

◆

“Already turning off the stove?”

“Yup. The residual heat’s enough now.”

Ranka, wearing an apron, turned off the burner with a slightly anxious look.

Since she made me that bento, Ranka’s been helping with dinner prep more often. It feels a bit like I’m slacking on my job, but she’s eager, so I’ve been teaching her what I know.

At first, she was nervous even holding a knife, but after a week, she got the hang of it. Now she’s becoming a reliable asset.

I figured it was safe to leave the rest to her and stepped out of the kitchen. Before setting the table, I needed to wipe it down.

I polished the dining table with a cloth. As the smudges cleared, my reflection appeared faintly. My expression held a cloudiness that probably only I could notice, but it was impossible to wipe away.

Kikuri and I met when we were kids.

All I clearly recalled was that one scene—me praising her drawing, her brushing it off with shy modesty.

Does Kikuri not remember?

Or is she pretending to forget?

For the entire year since we met as Mitsuba Matsuba?

If so, why…?

After wiping the table, I stepped into the living room, away from Ranka in the kitchen, and pulled up that photo on my phone.

Me as a kid, Ranka, Meru, Chinana…

If Kikuri sent this photo, why pick one she’s not in? Was it the only one left? Or, as I’ve suspected, did she take it herself…?

I still can’t remember, but… what if seeing this photo made me recall that moment?

The three girls standing side by side wouldn’t catch my eye, but the person standing in front of us, pointing the camera at us, would.

In other words, recalling the scene in this photo brings to my mind… Kikuri’s form.

Maybe I’m overthinking it, but if the purpose of sending me this photo was to make me remember Kikuri herself, it contradicts the fact that she’s never shown any such inclination before, and that she told me, ‘If you can’t remember, it’s better not to.’

What is Kikuri thinking…?

And why can’t I recall something that feels so important?

What on earth happened between us…?

“Senpai!”

I hurriedly shoved my smartphone into my pocket.

Chinana, coming down the stairs, caught sight of it and lit up like a bird spotting prey.

“What’s up? Were you lookin’ at somethin’ naughty?”

“As if I’d do that in a place like this.”

“Oh, ho? So you’re sayin’ you’d look at it somewhere else?”

“It’s just a figure of speech.”

“Hmm~? Now I’m curious~ What kinda stuff does the average high school guy look at? Wanna find out? I could make it happen, y’know.”

“Beats me. Probably cat videos or somethin’.”

“Nya~♥”

Chinana, who’s totally mastered sultry acting, made even a simple cat impression sound oddly seductive.

“If you’ve got time to mess around like that, go get Meru. It’s almost dinnertime.”

“Meru-nee’s already started her stream for today. I’ll drag her over later, maybe do some shameless self-promo while I’m at it.”

“What a mercenary little sister…”

“Ehehe!”

What a bizarre family. They’re not blood-related, and they often eat separately. Yet they’re closer than most sisters I’ve seen. Did the director know it’d turn out this way when she adopted them?

—Oh, right. That’s it.

“Hey, Chinana. Have you heard when the director’s coming back next?”

“Huh? She should be in Japan right now, I think… but whether she’ll come back to this house? Dunno. If you wanna see her, you’ve got a better shot at school.”

I see. The director’s office, then. Come to think of it, the housekeeping job offer came up in the director’s office too.

“Got some business with Mom? —Wait! Don’t tell me you’re askin’ for her blessing to marry me…!”

“If I get her approval, you’re on housework duty.”

“No way to a domineering husband!”

If there’s a connection to our past, the director—the one who brought us together—has to know something.

I need to find out for sure.

What kind of relationship did I have with them?

◆

The two-day cultural festival was drawing to a quiet close.

The stalls lined up on the rooftop schoolyard were mostly sporting “sold out” signs, and the gymnasium, which had been buzzing with nonstop performances, was now shrouded in darkness.

The first October night breeze of the year. From the ninth-floor window of the deserted school building, I gazed down at the remnants of the extraordinary lingering on the rooftop schoolyard, feeling the gentle wind cool my flushed body.

‘It was quite the lively festival this year too, wasn’t it? So, how was it? Your first cultural festival in high school?’

Kunshi-kun leaned against the window, answering in a tone that suggested he couldn’t care less.

‘I forget their name, but that second-year senpai’s presentation was solid.’

‘…Two days of stalls, bands, and games all over the school, and the first thing you mention is a dead-serious research presentation? You’re way too suited for a prep school, you know that?’

‘Oh, and that debate competition you were in.’

His unexpected comment caught me off guard, and I fumbled for words. Kunshi-kun shot me a teasing smirk.

‘You were unstoppable out there, totally exhilarating to watch. Taking down every opponent, leaving ‘em half in tears—let’s crown you the Queen of Half-Crying for that performance.’

‘…That makes it sound like I’m the one half-crying, you jerk.’

I usually play the cool observer, but I got a bit carried away that time.

I didn’t want to look pathetic in front of him.

‘Well, it was a nice distraction this year. I used to think these festivals were just annoying peer-pressure events that got in the way of studying—but having someone in a similar boat makes it easier.’

‘Don’t lump me in with a guy like you who goes to class normally but still can’t make friends.’

‘And I’m stuck hanging out with a girl like you who doesn’t even bother going to class but acts like she’s still part of the student life. You’re welcome, by the way.’

Our eyes met, and we shared a quiet, stifled chuckle.

Right about now, in the classrooms, the students who fought through the two days are probably laughing and holding their after-party. The festival winds down like that, shifting from a grand uproar to smaller bursts of noise. For outcasts like us, detached from the school’s ecosystem, we savor the end of the festival in our own tiny uproar, just the two of us.

I felt fulfilled.

As long as I had moments like this, I didn’t need anything else. What I sought, I’d obtained. What I’d lost, I’d reclaimed. I no longer needed to keep knocking on a door that wouldn’t open.

The reason I was drawing pictures…

Kunshi-kun—it was to meet you.

◆

The school building of Somei Academy is a nine-story structure, packed tightly with classrooms from middle school to high school. In the cramped heart of the city, where spare land is nowhere to be found, this is probably the only way to build a combined middle-and-high school.

The director’s office was on the ninth floor.

Stepping out of the elevator onto the corridor, I walked along the long, linoleum floor. No one blocked my path or walked beside me—it felt like a warrior’s march to the battlefield.

From the side windows, distant voices echoed. Fight-o! Oh! Fight-o! Oh! Fight-o! Oh! They were running on the rooftop schoolyard gymnasium, unaware of the battle about to begin.

I recalled the end of last year’s cultural festival, when I was here with Mitaka. Yes, back then, she was Mitaka Matsuba to me, not Kichijoji Kikuri. But I can’t hide behind ignorance anymore. That moment I stumbled upon her, completely bare, marked the end of the past year. To start a new one, I can’t remain clueless.

I stopped in front of the sturdy, no-nonsense door.

I’d made an appointment. When I called on a whim to ask, I was surprised at how easily she agreed to meet. Maybe the director knew this day would come—that I’d start piecing things together and show up to demand answers.

With a touch of nerves balled up in my fist, I knocked on the director’s office door.

“Come in.”

“Excuse me,” I said, opening the door.

This was my second time opening this door. The first, of course, was when I got caught doing a forbidden part-time job and braced for expulsion. Everything started from that moment.

Just like back then—the director was waiting for me beyond the heavy desk.

“Welcome, Kiminaga-kun. I’ve been expecting you.”

Facing Director Kichijoji Yoshino’s serene smile, the first thing that struck me was her way of speaking.

It was like Kikuri’s—like Mitaka’s.

Neutral, logical, elusive—now that I heard it side by side, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed before. Her speech was eerily similar to Kikuri’s.

Because they’re family? It’s not like it’s a dialect; I’ve never heard of speech patterns being hereditary.

Unless… Kikuri’s way of talking was deliberately modeled after her.

But that would mean… the Kikuri I talk to is nothing but a carefully crafted mask.

“Director… I asked for your time today because I have something to ask.”

“Which matter? Official or personal?”

“…Personal.”

“I see. …Then make yourself comfortable. From this moment, I am no longer the director.”

With that declaration, she stood and moved to the reception set in the middle of the luxurious carpet.

The director sank deeply into the black leather sofa. She gestured to the sofa across from her, and I hesitantly took a seat.

Under her appraising gaze, I stiffened, clenching my fists on my knees. Steeling myself, I cut straight to the point.

“Do you know anything about… the past connection between me and your daughters?”

The director’s eyes narrowed slightly. I couldn’t tell what caused it.

“So, that’s the topic.”

Her voice, though, remained calm.

“I figured it was coming.”

“You… expected this?”

“Naturally. If I were in your shoes, I’d be suspicious and curious about why a teenage boy is allowed to come and go in a house full of girls your age.”

“Then I wish you’d explained it sooner.”

“Sorry, kid. I figured I wouldn’t say anything unless you decided to dig into it yourself.”

“…Why’s that?”

“Because you—and my daughters—have forgotten so much about that time, it’s downright unnatural. Sure, memories from elementary school can be fuzzy, but to blank out that period so completely? That’s a bit abnormal. I can’t help but think something happened.”

Something…

“You’re saying you don’t know what that something is?”

“Let’s take it step by step.”

The director uncrossed her legs and stood from the sofa. She walked to a coffee server on a shelf by the wall, poured two mugs, and returned to the reception set.

This was gonna be a long talk.

“Sugar?” she asked.

“I’m good,” I replied.

She set one mug in front of me and took a sip from her own.

Then, with lips moistened by the coffee, she began.

“There’s something called a Family Home.”

I leaned forward slightly, loosely clasping my hands between my knees.

“It’s a small-scale residential child-rearing program—experienced foster parents or staff from child welfare facilities take multiple kids into their homes and raise them. Think of it as a hybrid of foster care and a group home. The goal’s to let kids learn normal life habits while interacting with each other.”

“…Never heard of it.”

“You wouldn’t use stuffy legal terms like that with kids.”

“You said multiple kids. How many, exactly, live together in one of these Family Homes?”

“Five or six… or so they say.”

Me… plus the four sisters makes five.

“But in your case, it was four.”

“What?”

“Four foster kids, plus one child already living in the house. That’s how many kids were in the home you lived in for that one month—August, seven years ago.”

Seven years ago, that summer—

That’s when I… and the Kichijoji sisters…

“As you’ve probably guessed, for that one month, you and my daughters lived together as a family in that Family Home. In that apartment.”

“The tower mansion where the Kichijoji family lives?”

“You were in a room on a lower floor… By the time I tried to secure it, that place was already taken. So, I had no choice but to take the penthouse.”

“No choice” and you grab the top floor? Is that normal?

But that cleared up one mystery—the mystery of that picture.

I really did live in that apartment. Me and those four sisters—we were once a family.

“The couple who took you in were the Yotsuyas. They’d been deeply invested in social welfare for years, having already sent off several foster kids. They were also wealthy, offering incredible loan terms to facility graduates starting businesses. I’ll let you in on a little something—I was one of those they funded.”

“You came from a facility too, Director?”

“Yep. That’s why I let your rule-breaking slide. You reminded me of my younger self. Couldn’t help but root for you.”

I’d always thought the director was living the kind of life I aspired to.

To think we even shared the same kind of childhood…

“Anyway, that connection kept me in touch with the Yotsuyas after I left the facility. That’s how I met you kids living with them. …Let me be clear: I only met you all that one time, and I don’t know what happened to you afterward. But my impression back then? You were a tight-knit family. It didn’t even seem like you’d been pulled from different facilities—you were that close. I was jealous, thinking, ‘That’s the kind of family I want to build.’”

Past tense…?

Seven years ago, the director was probably in her twenties. Not exactly an age to give up on family.

“I actually got married once, you know.”

“…Really?”

“But it ended quickly. Turns out, I can’t have kids.”

She spoke of such a heavy topic so casually, maybe to spare me the awkwardness. Or maybe it’s a settled matter for her. After all—she already has a family.

“So, around that time, I started thinking about supporting kids who couldn’t live with their parents, like the Yotsuyas did. Not as a substitute for my own dreams, but… I wanted to make life easier for people like me, even just a little.”

“…And that’s why?”

“Exactly. I talked to the Yotsuyas, and they introduced me to Meru.”

The director gave a faint smile.

“She was my first child.”

Meru—the first of the Kichijoji sisters.

“After the Family Home period ended, I adopted Meru. But I was busy back then and probably underestimated what raising a kid meant. I put Meru through a lot because of my own schedule.”

“Come to think of it… Meru mentioned she lived in Korea as a kid.”

“That was for my work. We came back to Japan after about two years, which meant tearing Meru away from the friends she’d made there. I still feel bad about it…”

Maybe that guilt’s why she’s so lenient about Meru’s truancy.

Or why she doesn’t often come by the house where the sisters live…?

“Right after I reflected on that, bad news hit. The Yotsuyas passed away.”

“What…? Both of them?”

“Yeah. An accident caused by overwork. They were already busy, but they kept taking in foster kids one after another, almost like they were punishing themselves. When I heard the news, the first thing I thought of was that girl I met in that Daikanyama apartment.”

She’d mentioned earlier.

In that Family Home, there were four foster kids, including me, and one child already living there—

“I decided to take in their daughter—Kikuri—as a final act of gratitude to the Yotsuyas.”

“…!”

Kikuri—the child of that foster family.

“That’s when I got an idea. That family I’d envied… maybe I could recreate it.”

“By adopting the other three—Ranka, Chinana, and me…?”

“Exactly. Sounds like a game, I know, but I thought it’d be better for the kids. So, I started looking for you all. Unfortunately, Kiminaga-kun, you’d already been adopted by another family. But Ranka and Chinana were with different foster parents. I tracked them down, adopted them, and gave them that apartment. That’s how that household came to be.”

Even for someone like me, who didn’t exactly grow up conventionally, it’s a complicated history that takes time to process.

But part of me gets it.

The sisters’ standout talents—maybe they’re survival strategies honed in that complex environment.

Just like how, after the Kiminaga family business went bust, I clawed my way to the top of my class out of sheer desperation to stay in school.

“Kiminaga-kun… I didn’t pick you for the housekeeping job just because Kikuri asked. It was also to complete my sentimental vision of recreating that Family Home from seven years ago. It must’ve been tough, getting thrown into a house full of girls. I owe you an apology.”

“…No, if it weren’t for your help, I wouldn’t even be at this school. The job was rough at first, sure, but it’s actually kinda fun now.”

“Is that so? Then maybe my plan wasn’t such a miss after all. I was half-hoping you’d hit it off with one of the four and, y’know, tie the knot—”

“What?”

Did she just say marriage?

The director chuckled mischievously.

“Kidding. Parents who meddle in their kids’ love lives get hated.”

“Y-yeah, exactly.”

“So, do whatever you want. I won’t butt in.”

…Wait, what? Am I being set up for something huge here?

Cold sweat soaked my back as the director took a sip of her now-cold coffee.

“That’s the gist of what I know about the Kichijoji household. Did that answer what you wanted to know?”

“…No.”

I thought for a moment and shook my head.

“I understand why I was chosen for the housekeeping job. But what I want to know now is what happened seven years ago—why none of us can remember that time.”

“That… I don’t know.”

The director shook her head slowly.

“I adopted Meru shortly after the Family Home ended. But even then, she didn’t seem to remember much about that summer. When she reunited with Kikuri, it was like they were meeting for the first time. There’s no sign of trauma that’d cause amnesia, so the only thing I can think of—”

‘—Something they’d be better off not remembering?’

“Exactly… That’s about the only thing I can think of.”

But, the director continued.

“If there was some kind of traumatic incident, I’d have heard about it. So, even if there was some trouble between you kids, it wasn’t the kind that’d involve adults like the police. It all happened—and ended—among you kids. Or maybe, to an adult like me, it was something trivial.”

“So, in the end… I’ve gotta remember it myself?”

“…No.”

The director hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Kikuri… she probably remembers. That summer seven years ago… clearly.”

“Why do you think she remembers?”

“Because she had it.”

“Had what?”

“A photo.”

I caught my breath.

—A photo.

I fumbled in my pocket, yanked out my smartphone, and pulled up that picture.

“This photo… is this the one you’re talking about?”

I turned the screen toward the director, who was sitting across the glass table.

She looked at the photo of me and three girls.

Her eyebrows lifted slightly.

“So… it’s in your hands now.”

“It was sent to my phone not long after I started the housekeeping job. I don’t know who sent it.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t say anything about the sender. That’s something for you kids to settle among yourselves. But one thing’s for sure—that’s definitely the photo Kikuri had.”

…Just as I thought.

That photo belonged to Kikuri—

“If she’s holding onto a photo like that, it’s hard to believe she doesn’t remember those days, right? So, if you want the details about back then—”

“—I’ve gotta ask Kikuri directly. That’s what you’re saying.”

The director nodded.

‘If you can’t remember, it’s better not to,’ she’d said.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe there’s no need to poke at a hornet’s nest.

But my stance hadn’t changed.

If no one remembers, then fine, let it lie.

But if just one person is holding onto that memory—

“Thanks for your time. I’ll be going now.”

I stood, bowed, and headed for the door.

It didn’t sit right. It didn’t add up. I couldn’t accept it.

This whole year, what were you feeling while you stayed my friend, Mitaka?

How could anything leave me this unsettled?

I left the director’s office.

There was only one thing left to do. My mind was made up.

I strode forward with resolve, the distant cheers of the sports clubs echoing again. “Alright! Keep it up, keep it up! Yes! Nice, nice! Where’s the stopwatch? Louder, let’s hear it! Ei, oh! Ei, oh! Ei, oh! Ei, oh—”

Pi-ri-ri-ri-ri-ri-ri!!

My phone suddenly blared with an incoming call.

Probably Ranka demanding I run some errand. Or maybe Kikuri? Meru’s probably still sleeping, and Chinana’s likely in the middle of a lesson…

I checked the screen.

Unknown number.

“…Huh?”

The only people who have this number are the four sisters and the director.

So, one of those five is calling me from a blocked number.

…What’s going on?

Confused but unable to ignore it, I didn’t have the guts to let it go unanswered.

Who was on the other end of this anonymous call? I couldn’t just brush that question aside.

Hesitantly, I tapped the answer button.

“…Hello…?”

A brief pause.

Then, an unfamiliar voice answered.

‘Hello? Long time no see! It’s your cute ex-girlfriend!’

◆

I bet everyone who wants to be an illustrator has pretty similar reasons.

They kept drawing since they were kids and it just happened naturally, or they admired some famous illustrator, or they couldn’t do any other job—

—Or someone praised them.

Even the greatest artists started as babies, wetting the bed, climbing trees for no reason, giving teachers nicknames, or only stepping on the white parts of a crosswalk.

So, just one word.

One baseless, ignorant, irresponsible compliment can easily drag you into the brutal world of art.

‘No way! Only Kikuri could draw something like this!’

Of course, I knew it wasn’t true.

There were probably tons of kids who could draw better than me. I was just a big fish in a small pond, an ignorant, reckless, self-proclaimed genius who’d gotten it all wrong.

Even so, it made me happy.

I didn’t know what I had. I didn’t know what I could do. In a life like crossing a dark sea without a lighthouse, those words shone brightly, like they were lighting the path I was meant to take.

So.

Maybe it’s enough—I’d started to feel, somewhere deep down.

〈We apologize for the sudden contact. We would like to invite you, Kuriki Hisoka-sama, to join our VTuber group.〉

I stared at the email on my work address, hugging my knees in my chair.

This wasn’t the first time.

I’d gotten a few corporate scout offers before. I turned them down because I liked the freedom of being independent, and I wanted to keep up the pretense of being a freelance illustrator who did this as a hobby.

But this time, the offer was big.

One of the top VTuber agencies you’d think of right away. A debut through an external scout is probably rare. Sure, there’ve been cases before, but those were early days. If I pulled this off, it’d make waves. All eyes would be on me.

The equipment I’d get to use would be on another level. I could probably make an even more detailed 3D model. I know a bunch of the VTubers there already, and they’d probably welcome me with open arms.

Joining a company doesn’t mean I’d have to stop being an illustrator.

I could still draw as much as I wanted. If I felt like it. But if my streaming took off even more, the time I’d have—

—Maybe it’s enough?

I’ve… already achieved my goal.

‘…’

I slowly reached for the keyboard and typed a reply, asking to put the offer on hold.

I knew it was pointless stalling.

Because, yeah, I’d realized it.

There are people more talented than me. I’m just a frog in a well.

That obsessive passion that used to drive me—it’s gone.

The source of my talent isn’t bubbling up anymore.

I don’t… need to draw to live anymore.

◆

“Ex… girlfriend…?”

The voice on the other end giggled, sounding amused.

‘You really don’t remember me at all, huh? That’s kinda sad. After all that love you gave me?’

“W-who are you…? Are you the one who sent that email!?”

‘I just told you, didn’t I? I’m Shikimi-kun—your ex-girlfriend. The winning heroine you picked seven years ago. I’d love to call myself your current girlfriend, but, well, after seven years of no contact, I’ll be a good sport and admit we fizzled out.’

The voice wasn’t familiar. It definitely wasn’t one of the Kichijoji sisters. Not just because it was over the phone—it was clearly someone else entirely.

‘Still, I figured it’s about time we had a chat. Getting forgotten forever’s kinda depressing, y’know?’

“…What’s your goal here?”

‘I just told you. I wanted to talk after all this time. Seems like you’re starting to piece together the past bit by bit, Shikimi-kun.’

“Are you watching me or something?”

I glanced around. Just an empty ninth-floor school corridor. I looked out the window toward the rooftop schoolyard, but the angle made it impossible for anyone down there to see me…

‘C’mon, I’m not some creepy stalker. I just figured your talk with Mom was probably done by now, so I called.’

“How do you know I was talking to the director?”

‘Could be any number of ways, right? Maybe I saw you making the appointment at the house, or caught you heading up the stairs at school.’

“…Why dodge the question?”

I pressed cautiously.

“Why hide who you are? Let’s be clear—having some nameless person claim to be my ex-girlfriend is pretty damn unsettling. It’s straight out of a ghost story. If you want a real relationship with me, come clean. Who are you?”

‘Kichijoji Kikuri.’

The voice declared.

‘—Or maybe Kichijoji Ranka, Kichijoji Meru, or Kichijoji Chinana. One of those.’

“This isn’t the time for games.”

‘I’m dead serious~ …Listen, Shikimi-kun. I want you to choose me again. Forget about seven years ago—right here, right now, I want you to pick me. …Might as well lay it all out while we’re at it.’

A pause, like she was bracing herself.

‘I, Kiminaga Shikimi-kun, am totally in love with you. I can’t imagine marrying anyone else. I can’t live without you. …Yeah, it’s probably creepy, but take it as a love confession, okay?’

My brow furrowed deeply, but there wasn’t a hint of mockery in her tone.

She let out an ‘ahaha’—a nervous laugh to brush it off.

‘So, that’s the deal. I’m not telling you who I am. Wouldn’t be fair to the other three, right? If you really wanna know, figure it out yourself.’

“…Is that a voice changer or something?”

‘Bingo~ Pretty seamless, huh? Kinda spooky, right? …Oh, and by the way, I timed this call perfectly so all four of them have no alibi. Good luck figuring it out.’

Thorough. Could any of those four, who are usually so laid-back, go to this much effort? …I started to wonder, then stopped. People can do anything if they’re motivated enough. Tying their usual behavior to something this calculated is pointless.

“Fine then, you—uh, what should I call you?”

‘Hmm, let’s see… Kiku… Ran… Umeru… Chinana… All their names have plants, don’t they? How about Matsu… no, Sakura—yeah! How about “Sakuraoto”? Since, y’know, for a while, I’ll just be a voice to you.’

“Alright, Sakuraoto—there’s something I wanna ask.”

‘What’s that? I’ll answer anything!’

“What happened seven years ago?”

I cut straight to the core, sharp and direct.

“You said earlier that seven years ago, I chose you. What did you mean by ‘chose’?”

‘Oh, c’mon, you know what I mean.’

“…”

‘Seven years ago, all four of us were crazy about you. It was too childish to call it love, but to us back then, it was dead serious. So, we made you choose. Who did you like the most? And you picked one of us—and didn’t pick the other three.’

…Chose one out of four…

Did I do that? Something that huge…?

“Can I… believe you?”

‘If you don’t buy it, you’ll just have to get a second opinion, right?’

“You… held onto that memory for seven years?”

‘’Cause it was the happiest thing ever.’

Sakuraoto spoke like she was describing a precious treasure.

‘You know what it’s like to be chosen as someone’s one and only? It’s so fulfilling. No praise, no applause can touch it—it’s something the chooser can never feel. That’s why I want to be chosen again.’

Not that you’re guaranteed to be Mr. Popular like back then, she teased.

Wanting to be chosen, huh.

For someone like me—who’s never been chosen, never even tried to be—it was something I couldn’t wrap my head around.

‘Oh, crap, this might be bad.’

“What’s wrong?”

‘The window where none of them have an alibi is closing. Gotta hang up.’

“…Then I should keep you talking as long as I can.”

‘No dice~ I’ll just cut the call. And you can’t redial an unknown number! Later, Shikimi-kun! Love ya!’

Click. The call ended.

Her last words sounded light, but I could sense a hint of embarrassed sincerity. She wasn’t lying. She really does care about me.

But it didn’t hit me.

Not just because she’s a mystery. That event from seven years ago, which seems to be the root of it all, is a gaping hole in my mind.

No matter what feelings are thrown my way, they just pass through like the wind.

I have to know.

What happened seven years ago?

A second opinion—I already know where to get it.

◆

‘Kiminaga, you’re working a side job, aren’t you?’

I overheard that outside the staff room.

Let me be clear—I’m a pretty cool-headed person. It takes a lot to rattle me, and I’ve hardly ever been nervous during streams. My sisters always tease that some part of my brain must be numb.

But that moment? I panicked.

Kunshi-kun might get expelled.

It was like the world went dark. Before I knew it, I was calling Yoshino-san, begging her to let it slide.

‘Alright. But there’s a condition.’

Yoshino-san said.

‘Have him take care of your household chores. I was just considering hiring a housekeeper. Given your work, I held off for confidentiality reasons… but he’s trustworthy, right?’

Hearing that condition, I… was overwhelmed by feelings too complex to put into words or capture in a drawing.

Kunshi-kun coming to our house every day, looking after me in all sorts of ways. That’s great.

But if he comes to the house… he’ll run into the other three.

He’ll reunite with them.

It should’ve been something to celebrate. Yet, for some reason, I felt as panicked as when I thought he might get expelled.

There’s always another me up in my head, looking down objectively. That me was saying, Don’t kid yourself. You know why.

You’re scared the other three might take him from you—

It’s like love, but also like friendship.

Like desire, but also like affection.

But at the very least, I wanted to be special to Kunshi-kun.

I wanted to be his one and only.

For a whole year, I’d basked in that spot, and now it was threatened. I was shamelessly, pathetically, helplessly panicking, terrified, and jealous.

And I didn’t even have the courage to talk about seven years ago.

‘I want hamburgers for dinner tonight.’

‘…I was planning on fish.’

‘You saw a future superstar voice actress naked. That’s a cheap price, right?’

‘Fine, I’ll get it.’

‘Yes! It’s a promise!’

On the screen showing the living room, Chinana came bounding down the stairs with a spring in her step.

Seeing her profile as she hurried toward the entrance, a tangle of emotions surged in my chest.

…You really haven’t changed, have you, Kunshi-kun?

Even after seven years, even if your vibe’s shifted, even if you don’t remember those days, you’re still the same. Always chasing justice, holding fast to kindness, trying to protect someone’s present.

‘Kiminaga… you’re weird.’

‘I don’t wanna hear that from you.’

Guess that’s just the shape of your soul.

You can’t stand it when someone’s wrong. Can’t tolerate someone getting the short end. You just can’t ignore the seeds of misery lying right in front of you, no matter what.

And because you’re like that, you’ll end up repeating it all over again.

‘You’re so shallow. People like you—I hate more than anything.’

That justice of yours, that kindness, that anger, that sadness.

It’s all so dazzling—it blinds us in the end.

You’re not just mine anymore.

Those days by the cafeteria window, in the summer library, on the ninth floor during the school festival—they’ll never come back. Chinana, Meru, Ranka—they’re always there, painting over those memories, turning them into something else.

Am I sad?

Lonely?

I can’t quite tell—but something’s definitely gone.

I didn’t have the courage.

I knew it’d come to this, yet I couldn’t face him head-on like they did—I just hid behind the shell of Mitsuba Matsuba, endlessly delaying something that’d never pay off.

I know how this ends.

The ending we reached seven years ago. Not a happy one, but a sad, lonely conclusion.

I didn’t want to repeat it.

I didn’t want that kind of goodbye again.

But I didn’t know what to do. I thought maybe if I wasn’t there, it wouldn’t end up like that time. Still, it was lonely. I wanted you to be my Kunshi-kun. I didn’t want Chinana to lean on you. I didn’t want Meru to be kind to you. I didn’t want Ranka to tempt you.

So, in the end…

‘You caught me, Kunshi-kun.’

I knew you were coming.

I knew, and I stayed in the living room. Naked—just to leave some kind of mark on you.

It wasn’t a sure thing. Meru could’ve woken up first. Ranka or Chinana could’ve come back. If that happened, I’d have backed off clean. It wasn’t guaranteed to work—that’s the excuse I told myself as I acted.

And yet, I won that bet.

I shed the shell of Mitsuba Matsuba.

Honestly, I hadn’t thought much about what came next. I just wanted you to see me. To scream, like a kid, that I was here first, always by your side from the very start.

I didn’t even want you to remember.

I wanted you to forget those memories from seven years ago.

Because I—

“Kikuri.”

The curtain of my reverie tore apart.

Yanked back to the present.

On the monitor, in the real-time living room, through the camera, Kunshi-kun stared straight at me and called my name.

“I’ve got something to talk about—tomorrow after school, at the usual place.”

—Ah.

Time’s up.

◆

The student cafeteria after school has a different vibe from its lunchtime chaos.

Unlike the unified roar of the lunch break, the after-school hours carry the soft hum of casual chatter. Right now, a group of six—guys and girls—lounges at a table in the middle, tossing around pointless banter. Saw this video yesterday— Did you turn in that world history report? That shop on the promenade— Toudou-kun was saying yesterday—

The complete dismissal time is closing in.

The shouts of the sports clubs, the sounds of the brass band’s practice—both long gone. The May sky’s not quite ready for sunset, but soon enough, the cafeteria lady will nudge me, or a patrolling teacher will shoo me out.

Kikuri still hasn’t shown.

If she has no intention of talking about the past, there’s no reason for her to keep such a one-sided promise. That’s logical. But I wait. Because it’s all I can do? Sure, that’s part of it. But more than that, one fact gives me certainty.

Mitsuba Matsuba has never failed to show up at the place where I’m waiting.

There’ve been times I didn’t go to where she was waiting, but the reverse? Not once.

—Ready to head out? —Cool. —Wanna stop somewhere on the way? —Oh, then I—

The group hogging the middle table starts to get up.

They don’t even glance at me, sitting silently by the window. The noise of six people flows toward the entrance, leaving only stillness behind.

While waiting, memories of the past flicker through my mind.

Not that August seven years ago, when I lived with those four sisters. No, the sharper, stickier memories that came after, like a knife’s edge or clinging mud.

“Yo, Shikimi… you’ve grown.”

On the other side of an acrylic panel riddled with tiny holes like a shotgun blast, my biological father spoke like he was some kind of parent.

“You’re… twelve now?”

“…Eleven.”

“Right, right… guess I’m getting old too.”

He laughed, a dry, choking sound from the back of his throat.

Even that small gesture irritated me to no end.

So, to get this over with, I cut straight to the point.

“This is the last time I’m visiting.”

“…Oh?”

“The adoption’s finalized. You and I won’t be family anymore.”

Back then, they explained it clearly. There are two kinds of adoption: regular and special. The difference is whether the legal parent-child bond with the original parent stays or not.

Through special adoption, my legal tie to this man was about to vanish.

“They say you need the real parent’s consent, but you’re clearly in no state to raise me. You hit me when I was at home. No judge anywhere would call you my parent.”

“…You’ve started talking real smart, huh?”

He wouldn’t get it. It’s not about being smart. I’m just reciting a script I prepared. This guy’s only ever heard cold, distant words from decent people. So to him, any flat tone sounds like “smart talk.”

“Guess so… Well, maybe I’ll do something fatherly for once.”

“…You?”

“Your name, Shikimi… you know why we picked it?”

“…? No…”

“There’s a flower called that. Written with the tree radical and the character for secret—Shikimi.”

Luckily, I’d paid attention in class since elementary school, so I knew what the tree radical meant. He didn’t bother explaining it to a kid, just kept talking.

“It’s a flower used a lot at funerals, pale yellow… Leaves, stems, flowers, seeds—all of it’s deadly poisonous. Eat it, and you’re done for. Scary plant, huh. …Wanna know why we gave you that name?”

“…”

“Your mom picked it, not me. I just filed the papers and said, ‘Sure.’ I only learned this later, looking it up on a whim. She said… she liked the flower’s meaning.”

“…Flower’s meaning…?”

“Poison, sweet temptation, aid—”

He grinned, like he’d remembered a good joke.

“No clue why it’s got those meanings. She didn’t know either, probably. She just saw her own meaning in those three words. …This kid’s my poison, my temptation, my aid—just like all the money she’d been feeding me.”

A sardonic smirk curled on his lips, and the guard quietly watching behind him furrowed their brow.

I don’t know what my face looked like. Only that guard and the man beyond the perforated acrylic know.

“Regret it, Shikimi?”

His sunken, dying-man’s eyes stared at me through the panel.

“Bet you do… It’s tough, lonely, bitter, ain’t it? Not being loved.”

‘Don’t lump me in with you…!’

His expression, his voice, dripping with pity—I couldn’t stand it. I kicked the chair back and shot to my feet.

‘A guy like you…! Someone who couldn’t survive without leeching off others…!’

‘More or less, kid… You hear it all the time, don’t you? No one survives alone—’

‘Don’t say that, you bastard who never planned on living!’

‘That stings, Shikimi… But it ain’t just someone else’s story, you know? Life’s a tightrope—easy to slip off. You think you’re living right, giving it your all… but the day comes when you’re trash. Know how to hold yourself up when that happens?’

Leaning on his elbow across the acrylic barrier, he spoke like he was sharing some grand secret—

‘Get yourself a woman.’

—his voice laced with venom, a whisper.

‘A woman makes you feel like you’re forgiven, no matter how pathetic you are. Like society, the world, hasn’t given up on you. …My first and last piece of fatherly advice. Burn it into your memory—’

I don’t get it.

No, I don’t want to get it.

To cover up your own failures by clinging to someone else—to dodge who you are by chasing someone’s approval.

It’s too damn foolish.

I don’t need to be loved. If being loved blinds me to what I should see, then I don’t want it. I’ll validate myself. I don’t need anyone’s help. If love, if approval, creates a man like him, then it’s nothing but poison. Just like the flower my name comes from—Shikimi.

So I don’t need any ‘likes’ in my life.

No groveling, no clinging, no pandering, no going with the flow.

That’s right, Kunshi—

—Hey, have you ever heard words like that?

“…Ah…”

It hit me like a bolt of lightning.

Like a circuit, long disconnected, suddenly sparked to life.

…Why…

Why did I forget something like this?

There’s no way a regular high schooler would know those words.

I’m reciting them now because someone taught them to me—

“Kunshi-kun.”

Her voice pulled me, and I turned my head.

There she was—Mitsuba, no, Kikuri—in her uniform.

Smiling softly, like she was looking at a child, she spoke with a nostalgic tone.

“Rare sight, huh? Me being the one greeted for once.”

“…Yeah. You’re always the one waiting at this table.”

“‘Cause I skip class. Obviously.”

Outside the window, the courtyard was empty of students.

In the cafeteria, only the faint clatter of closing time echoed from the kitchen.

Like the quiet moment before falling asleep, waiting for the blankets to warm—a moratorium at the edge of an ending. Then a cold chime punctuated it.

‘It is now time to leave. It is now time to leave. Any students remaining on campus—’

I grabbed my bag and stood slowly.

“Let’s go.”

“Where to?”

“Somewhere you’re not likely to strip.”

Kikuri smiled, a little troubled.

“Sounds like fun.”

We headed down the slope in front of the school, turning left at the bank. Following the sidewalk along the two-lane road, a wall of trees came into view.

Arisugawa-no-miya Memorial Park.

We passed a taco stand, stealing glances, and entered the park. To the right was a plaza packed with kids or the library I often visited, but we both wordlessly avoided that direction. Instead, we walked along the murky green Imperial Pond.

If it’d been a bit earlier in the season, cherry blossoms would’ve been in bloom. Now, only a few stray petals floated on the pond’s dull surface.

The city’s clamor was blocked by the trees, leaving only the rustle of young leaves in the breeze to envelop us. The winding path through the forest was empty of other walkers. The world seemed to be heading home—the sky slowly dyeing itself orange.

Maybe because we’d escaped the noise, Kikuri, trailing a step behind, finally spoke.

“How much do you remember?”

Crunching fallen leaves underfoot, I answered.

“You drew a picture, and I praised it. It stayed with me. That drawing—it was in my stuff.”

“…The view from the window?”

“Yeah. Looked just like the view from that high-rise.”

“…I see…”

Kikuri let out a sigh-like breath.

We climbed a slight hill from the pond’s edge. Soon, the view opened up to a plaza. Plum trees, circled by wooden stakes, dotted the area. In the center stood an old log gazebo, its simple roof bathed in the sideways glow of the setting sun, empty of people.

I gazed at it absently, then sat on a bench at the plaza’s edge.

In front of me was a staked plum tree. Like the cherries, its blooming season was long over. Now it just bore green leaves, barely different from any other tree.

Kikuri sat beside me, looking up at it.

“…There’s just one thing I want to know.”

I spoke, but Kikuri kept her eyes on the plum tree.

“What happened seven years ago?”

The wind stirred, leaves whispered, and Kikuri’s hair fluttered.

She tucked it behind her ear and said,

“…What’s it matter if you know?”

“Nothing. I just want to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Who I am. And why you act the way you do.”

The past makes the present.

If the past is missing, the present stays incomplete.

Too incomplete to even notice a friend I hung out with for a year was hiding something.

“Last summer, we met up in this park a lot, didn’t we?”

“…”

“At the library, taking breaks to walk around…”

“…”

“What were you thinking back then? Fine, you hid that we met seven years ago—I didn’t remember a thing, so fair enough. But for a whole year, if you were carrying something alone, it’s hard to just pretend I don’t notice. It feels… off. You think I can keep meeting you at that cafeteria window like nothing’s changed?”

For what’s ahead.

I need to know—Kichijoji Kikuri.

Kikuri inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly.

Her breath melted into the mild May breeze.

“…Maybe I forgot too.”

She still wouldn’t look at me.

“When I met you a year ago, maybe I didn’t remember anything from seven years back… Maybe it only came back recently. If that’s the case, you wouldn’t have to worry, right?”

“The principal told me about the photo. You had one of us as kids.”

“…So I had it. You had my drawing, but you forgot when it was made.”

“You want proof?”

I stared at her profile.

“Is that what it takes for you to come clean? You won’t talk about seven years ago without it?”

“I just don’t want baseless suspicions. Mitsuba Matsuba is your friend, Kunshi-kun. Nothing more, nothing less. If you’re denying that, show me solid proof—”

“I’ve got it. …You gave me the proof yourself.”

“…What?”

“Your pen name.”

“....!”

Shock rippled across Kikuri’s face.

I replayed the memory that hit me in the cafeteria, tossing my thoughts at her.

“Your sisters’ names all come from flowers, don’t they? Chrysanthemum, orchid, plum—even bamboo blooms. Since you’re not blood-related, that’s probably just a coincidence… but here’s another one: my name comes from a flower too. Written with the tree radical and the character for secret—Shikimi.”

“…”

“When I first heard your pen name, Kuriki Hisoka, I thought you just rearranged ‘Kikuri’ into ‘Kuriki.’ But it’s more than that—Hisoka. If you write it in kanji… it’s ‘secret.’ The ‘secret’ from Shikimi.”

“…”

“The surname ‘Kuriki’—‘tree’ and ‘secret’—it’s Shikimi. …So, Kikuri, if you’re saying you forgot about the past until recently, why’s my name in your pen name? You’re not gonna tell me that’s just a coincidence, are you?”

I don’t know what her intention was.

No matter how I think about it, it’s all just guesswork. But one thing’s clear: she remembered me. Not once in these seven years did she forget. Because she carved my existence into her pen name, as real as another true name.

“C’mon, enough already. I don’t know what messy stuff happened, but it was seven years ago—kid stuff. I’ve finally remembered a bit of it, so the least you could do is share a memory or two—”

“—Kunshi-kun, it’s a bit hot here, don’t you think?”

“…Huh?”

Caught in the cool breeze, Kikuri stood up smoothly.

Then, standing right in front of me—

Pop.

She unbuttoned her blazer.

“…What are you doing?”

“Just thought it’d feel nice to loosen up a bit.”

She opened her blazer fully, slipped off her tie with a swish, and reached for her blouse buttons.

It was the same hand.

The same as when she kicked me out of her room.

“No one’s around, so it’s fine, right? Or does it bother you? You always act so cool, saying you’ve got a sister, but maybe you’re just as horny as the next guy? Look, I wore a cute bra today. Or are you so used to seeing your sister—”

I pulled Kikuri into a hug.

“—Now you can’t see anything, can you?”

“~~~~!?”

She squirmed in my arms, startled.

But I didn’t let go.

As long as I held her like this from the front, her tactic of flashing skin to push me away wouldn’t work.

“Didn’t think you’d start stripping in a public place like this. Gotta hand it to you, that’s a bold move—but I’m not the guy who falls for the same trick twice.”

“Hey, let—!”

“Not letting go.”

I said it right by her ear.

“※％＄＃＆~~~~!?”

Kikuri let out something like a scream.

Seems like it worked pretty well.

“Talk like this. What are you hiding? What happened to us seven years ago?”

“Ugh… ugh, ugh, ugh…”

“?”

Something’s off.

I pulled back slightly to look at her face—she was red as a boiled octopus, eyes spinning.

“Kikuri!? Hey, you okay!?”

“Too much… whispering… killing me…”

Once Kikuri fixed her clothes, we moved from the plum tree plaza to a larger one with a cavalry statue.

Near the plaza was a playground with swings and such, still buzzing with kids’ voices despite the evening creeping in. It reminded me a bit of my time at the facility.

“It’s really not a big deal.”

As we passed a stone monument etched with the park’s history, Kikuri started talking.

“There was this boy, super popular. The girls around him fought over him. In the end, the girls who were supposed to be close got all awkward, and then it was time to part ways—that’s it.”

“Super popular boy…?”

“Don’t tilt your head like that. There’s no one else in this story but you.”

Even hearing that, I can’t connect the word “popular” to myself.

Kikuri turned back with an exasperated look, sighed, and said,

“Even back then, you were the type who looked out for everyone. I don’t know if it was life at the facility or something else that shaped you, but to us—each carrying our own kind of loneliness—your kindness felt so comforting, so reliable.”

A massive tree, tall as a three-story building, swayed with a sound like crashing waves.

“Ranka, the oldest foster kid, took on a mom-like role, always wanting to be by your side—”

The wind at the edge of night felt as bleak as winter.

“Meru, the shyest, was always tugging at your sleeve, waiting for you to pay attention to her—”

Her black hair swayed, cool as if turning its back on summer.

“Chinana, who’d just been separated from her real parents and was shutting everyone out, slowly opened up because of your constant effort.”

We walked through the shade of overhanging trees, as if hiding from spring’s sunlight.

“And me, fed up with the endless stream of foster kids, ended up softened by you too—did Yoshino-san tell you I was a real child of that foster?”

I nodded silently as Kikuri glanced back.

She smiled, a bit troubled.

“Having parents obsessed with taking in foster kids is tough on the real kid, you know. Strangers kept showing up at the house, and it’s like, ‘This is your new family, get along.’ Every one of them had some sad story, so you had to tiptoe around them. By the time you all showed up, I was so done I barely left my room.”

“So that’s where your shut-in habits started?”

“Pretty much. Probably why I started drawing too. Not much else to do in there. If I played games, they’d tell me to go hang out with the foster kids.”

Having been taken in by the Kiminaga family myself, I get it—adding a kid changes everything. If that happened over and over, it’d be no small stress for an elementary schooler.

“So I kept my distance, just watching you all from afar… until you saw my drawing.”

—It’s no big deal, this. Just drew what I saw…

That faint memory in my head—that was the moment.

“For an artist, getting your work praised? That’s huge. Way more than non-artists realize. You’re the one who taught me that. I used to hide my skills in art class, you know.”

“Gives me chills behind my neck…”

“My favorite thing was smugly thinking, ‘I’m way better than that girl getting all the praise for her anime drawings.’”

“Ugh…! That’s hitting my secondhand embarrassment hard…!”

Kikuri giggled.

As we left the shade, a fountain with a clock tower at its center came into view. Kikuri’s loafers clicked on the cobblestones as she sat gently on its edge.

“Kids are simple, aren’t they? You praise them, and they fall for you just like that. That’s how you stole my first love, easy as that.”

“Hmm… feels like I’m hearing someone else’s story…”

“Back then, you didn’t seem to notice my feelings at all. Honestly, you seemed kind of anti-romance in general…”

“Guess so.”

I must’ve been deeply disappointed in my dad, who could only leech off women, and my mom, who only thought about keeping him around. No way I’d dream about love. I barely even read rom-com manga.

“That’s what happened to all four of us.”

Kikuri shrugged, smiling wryly.

“Even as kids, that’s bound to cause some tension.”

“…That’s how it works?”

“That’s how it works. Girls mature faster than boys, you know.”

“Guess I’ve heard that before… So, then what?”

“We were just kids, but we knew things couldn’t stay like that. So, in our kid way, we came up with a solution. Namely—”

Kikuri, still perched on the fountain’s edge, pointed a finger at me as I stood.

‘—The guy’s gotta make up his mind, so pick one of us, okay?’

—I chose one and left three behind.

What Oto said over the phone—it was true.

“Pretty sweet deal, huh?” Kikuri tilted her head, smirking mischievously. “Getting to pick from four gorgeous girls? If it was me, I’d probably just go for all of ‘em in the heat of the moment.”

“If it was you… so I did pick someone?”

“Yup.”

“Who was it?”

That one choice—she’s got to be Sakuraoto, the one who sent that email.

Kikuri looked up at the sky, where stars were starting to twinkle. Were we still kids when those stars’ light first shot out? That thought flickered through my mind as a long pause stretched out… then, slowly, Kikuri parted her lips and spoke the truth from seven years ago.

“I don’t know.”

It took me a good three seconds to process the words.

“…You don’t know?”

“Yeah. Don’t know.”

“How don’t you know? You remember, don’t you? What happened back then?”

“I remember it clear as day. Got a pretty good memory, you know… But all I was told was that you didn’t pick me. I don’t know who you chose. You kept that locked up tight—probably to keep whoever it was from getting targeted, I guess.”

“But… then—”

“Yeah. It didn’t solve anything.”

With a practiced calm, Kikuri laid out the ending I’d been chasing.

“Maybe pride got in the way. Me included, none of us would admit we weren’t chosen. So it felt like everyone else got picked, like you were the only one left out. It was sad, lonely… jealousy and suspicion just spiraled. Before long, we—who used to be so close—started picking at each other behind the adults’ backs, petty little jabs that weren’t quite fights…”

God—the end of a dream.

Just imagining it makes my heart ache. The end of summer break. That happy home. All of it breaking because of me, smeared with malice…

“See?” Kikuri gave a weak smile. “Would’ve been better to leave it forgotten, right?”

But I—

I shook my head.

“No… I’m glad I know.”

Kikuri looked startled, her eyes meeting mine.

“Why?”

“Obvious, isn’t it?” I gave a soft grin. “Even the gloomiest memories can turn into bar talk if you’ve got someone to share ‘em with.”

“Not that we can drink yet,” I added, sitting beside her.

“You’ve been carrying that memory alone all this time, haven’t you? That’s gotta weigh you down. But if there’s even one other person who knows, you can turn it into a dumb joke. Man, we were young back then, right?”

“…You’re the root of all this, and you’ve got the nerve to act like the victim?” she shot back.

“That’s exactly why. I don’t remember the details yet, but… if you’ve got grudges from back then, throw ‘em at me. I’ll take ‘em with a vague smile and shrug it off.”

“Then take ‘em for real, while you’re at it.”

And then—

Kikuri’s vague, forced smile shifted.

“…Can I really… let it all out?”

“Yeah.”

Slowly… so slowly.

“It’s pathetic, you know? Annoying? A total pain?”

“So what?”

Like she couldn’t bear her own weight anymore—

“…Why…”

—crumple.

She broke.

“Why… didn’t you pick me?”

Her voice trembled faintly.

Hiding her face behind her bangs.

Kikuri grabbed my shoulder.

“I was the one who did things right… I was the one who was your equal! Ranka was just playing mom, Meru was always clinging, Chinana just sulked in the corner…! So why—why didn’t you choose me?!”

“Sorry.”

“If you picked someone, own it! Don’t half-ass it by hiding it! Take responsibility! Don’t give me that weak crap about not wanting to hurt anyone!”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it! I… I could never forget! That summer… you… I kept wanting to see you… hoping you’d notice my pen name someday… I kept drawing, drawing, drawing the pictures you praised…! Always, always…!”

Kikuri pressed her face into my shoulder, sobbing quietly.

The moonlight fell gently, softly illuminating us by the fountain. For now, no one was watching. Only the distant, far-off moon in the far-off night sky looked down on us.

Tears held back for seven years.

Tears like starlight.

I rested a hand on her back, gazing up at the night-soaked sky. A wide expanse, hard to believe it’s the city. A quiet garden rejecting the clamor, filled only with the cool trickle of the fountain. In this cradle-like space, I thought of the me from seven years ago.

Hey, me—did you ever know love?

Even after seeing those hopeless parents, did you fall for one of those four—and then get burned by how it ended? Is that why you swore off girls?

If so, tell me. What’s it like to fall for someone? If you felt it, even for a moment, if that feeling’s still buried in me somewhere, I want to know its shape, its texture, its taste.

Can I still fall in love?

Can I still have something as normal as that, like any other student…?

“…Thank you,” Kikuri said, lifting her face from my shoulder, voice nasal.

“I… feel a bit better.”

“No big deal.” I paused. “By the way, Kikuri, I was thinking…”

“Hm?”

“I think… I was probably jealous of you.”

Her red-rimmed eyes widened, her face flushing deeper.

“W-What’s that, out of nowhere?”

“—I’ve always been looking for talent.”

Pushing past the embarrassment of spilling my guts, I let the words pour out, dredging up my core.

“Crappy parents, a life nothing like a normal family, a future without any safety net… To break free from that, I needed something big. A talent so powerful it could bend the world to my will.

But I’m just… painfully average. Can’t draw, can’t make videos, suck at games, no good at acting. Not a soccer star, not even that great at studying—

Just some guy, held back by a lousy environment, nothing special.

So I think I was jealous. Seeing your talent for drawing… And that’s probably why I respected you too—why I didn’t choose you. I didn’t want to claim you that way.”

Kikuri, the girl I envied most, respected most.

I didn’t choose her—couldn’t choose her.

I thought claiming that talent should come from my own effort.

“It’s just a guess, mind you… But it’s the only way it makes sense.”

“…What do you mean?”

“‘The noble person harmonizes without conforming; the small person conforms without harmonizing.’”

Without realizing, I recited the words at my core.

“The fact that I’ve made that phrase you taught me my motto all this time—it’s proof I respected you, right?”

“…Huh…?”

Kikuri’s eyes widened in shock, blinking rapidly.

“You… remembered?”

“Hit me right before you showed up at the cafeteria.”

A line from Confucius’ Analects.

The Master said: The noble person harmonizes but does not conform; the small person conforms but does not harmonize.

A phrase I’d only encountered in the few classical Chinese classes I took—where did I first hear it? I never questioned it until now, but the answer was locked in my sealed memories.

Kikuri taught it to me.

Probably when I was griping about people who just go along with the crowd. And know-it-all Kikuri, true to form, dropped some brainy lines like that.

Sounds just like her, doesn’t it? Whether as Mitsuba or Kikuri, she’s always tossing out highbrow stuff at the drop of a hat.

“You started calling me ‘Kunshi-kun’ at some point, didn’t you? Said it was just the first parts of my last and first names, but it was also a little flex, wasn’t it? Like, I’m the one who taught you that phrase.”

Kikuri looked down, embarrassed, pursing her lips in a pout.

“I mean… you forgot where it came from but acted all smug about it being your motto…”

“But even after sealing away that whole summer from seven years ago, that part stuck with me. …Guess I didn’t not like you, huh?”

“…Yeah… right.”

Like she was swallowing something heavy, Kikuri nodded once.

Then she leaned against my shoulder, letting her weight settle.

“Hey, Kunshi-kun.”

“What?”

“I… liked you. …Loved you.”

“Yeah.”

“The time I liked you—it was the brightest part of my life so far.”

“Yeah.”

“But from now on, I’m gonna make even brighter memories. So… will you keep watching me?”

“‘Course I will.”

Because—

“You’re my only friend, after all.”

“Same here.”

Kikuri pulled away smoothly.

Standing up in the now fully darkened park, she stretched with a big “Mmm!”

“Time to head back, huh? The little sisters are probably starving—”

Her face was bright as she spoke.

“—I’m suddenly dying to draw something.”

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