Despite all the noise surrounding him, Hiroki's first semester passed quietly. His grades held steady—perhaps even improved slightly.
During those first few months as class president, Yuna stood her ground. She was persistent, admirably so, and always eager to learn. Rarely did she allow herself to falter, always preserving the image of the perfect class leader. At least, that's how the class saw her. Hiroki, who was always nearby, saw more than that.
To him, all the polish and poise were just a surface. There was something about her smile—how it never quite reached her eyes—something in how she reassured others while shouldering everything alone. He couldn't unsee it. Often, when working on projects for the class, she would assign him only the smallest roles, quietly taking on the bulk of the responsibility herself.
Of course, Hiroki didn't like that. He always offered to help. And if she refused, he'd just go ahead and do it anyway, without asking again.
Every time she forced a smile and said, "I'm fine," every time she wiped sweat from her brow and pretended not to be tired—it made him want to grab her hand, pull her aside, and take the burden off her.
At the start of the new semester, the school announced a big event: the annual Sports Festival in September—the busiest time of the year. All classes were required to take part.
With just over a week to go, Hiroki and Yuna, along with the other class officers, were assigned countless duties. Students and teachers alike were rushing to prepare. The to-do list included: painting posters, organizing sports equipment, setting up decorations, cleaning the school grounds, and more.
Bright flags and banners were strung across the campus. Running lanes were clearly marked in white, and the schoolyard was freshly cleaned. Tents went up, seating was arranged. Hiroki was present for almost every part of it, arriving early each morning to help. Yuna, as always, never stopped—on top of everything else, she worked on the scoreboards, designed posters, and decorated the competition areas.
The school buzzed with excitement. But Hiroki didn't feel it. In the past, he would've stayed far away from something like this. But now, as class vice-rep of 3-2, he had no choice.
PE class.
Hiroki sat alone on a row of metal benches. The other boys had gathered on the soccer field. The girls stood around in clusters—some chatting, others watching the game. The boys played with a kind of fierce energy, because soon, class 3-2 would face class 3-1 in the festival's soccer match.
How dull, Hiroki thought, his workbook resting on his knees. The event was meant to promote friendship between classes, but to him, it all came down to winning or losing. The winners would be celebrated. The losers would lose face. Nothing but a breeding ground for pointless drama.
While he sat in stillness, the soccer field throbbed with life under the midday sun.
The boys, uniforms disheveled and soaked in sweat, chased the ball with relentless energy. From the sidelines, girls screamed and cheered. Every goal sent a wave of applause and excitement. Class 3-2 was playing well, spirited and full of fire.
Shame class 3-1 wasn't the same as last year. Their star striker—Takahashi Ryusei—was no longer around.
Hiroki's focus drifted. He gave up trying to study and slumped over his workbook, shielding his eyes from the glare. That's when a familiar voice floated by.
"So boring," Yuna muttered, as though she'd read his mind. She was sitting a few feet away on the same bench, legs swinging lightly, eyes fixed on the soccer field. Her short hair fluttered like silk, glowing faint green under the sun.
Hiroki blinked. "Why are you here?"
"All the other girls went to watch the game," she replied, not looking at him. "I got bored."
He followed her gaze. Sure enough, the girls had all migrated to the edge of the field.
A roar went up as Shimaki scored a goal. He ran toward the net, waving enthusiastically at Yuna. She glanced over, forced a small smile, and gave a brief nod. His grin widened—until he noticed Hiroki beside her. His face fell stiff, eyes cold.
Not surprising. Word around school was, since Ryusei left, Shimaki had confessed to Yuna three times. Each time, she'd turned him down.
Hiroki turned away, pretending not to notice.
"Just ignore him," Yuna said. "I felt like staying here a while."
"You'd have more fun with the others."
The coolness in Hiroki's voice hung heavy between them.
The truth was, Hiroki still carried too many fears. He had never expected anyone to reach for his hand.
After a long pause, Yuna sighed, trying to break the tension. "Have you thought about joining any events for the sports festival?"
"I… haven't decided."
"Really?" She sighed again, eyes following the game. "You know, the school requires each class officer to participate in at least one."
He looked over, startled. "I-Is that true?"
"Mm-hmm. We're supposed to represent the class. Our participation is meant to encourage the others, set a good example."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah… totally."
She spoke gently, never forceful, but Hiroki still felt uneasy. Did he really have to join? Be a role model? For what? Kids their age didn't care about that stuff.
Still, he stayed quiet, waiting to see where she was going with this.
"Hiroki, aside from baseball, soccer, and tug-of-war… I think there's one event you could do."
"What?" he muttered.
"Relay race."
"…Relay?"
….
The days that followed were sleepless ones for Hiroki.
Night after night, he dreamt of running. So much so that the word "run" itself began to haunt him.
In one dream, he saw himself sprinting with the others, only to gradually fall behind, no matter how hard he tried to catch up. In another, he fumbled the baton during a handoff and collapsed onto the ground. Darkness followed—thick, silent, complete.
Seeing himself that pitiful, even in a dream, made it harder for Hiroki to sleep. He tossed and turned more often, and with poor sleep came fatigue. His body felt drained, even more reluctant to move.
He remembered the time after his beloved mother had passed. He'd withdrawn, barely stepping outside. The safest place in the world back then was their small home—just him and his father.
Though his father had unhealthy habits—drinking and smoking—he always tried to be there for his son. Knowing how hard it was for Hiroki to socialize, the man went out of his way to create a sense of closeness. Since Hiroki didn't like physical activity, the two stuck to gentler games: Hanetsuki, Japanese chess (Shogi), and kite flying.
Sometimes, those distant memories resurfaced in his dreams. Sweltering summer afternoons spent playing Hanetsuki in the yard. Windy days in the fields, launching homemade kites. One particular kite, crafted lovingly by his father when Hiroki was five, had never once taken flight—not even with his dad's help. Every time, it would rise a little before dropping into the tall grass again. No matter how long they tried, it never soared into that faraway sky.
Of all their activities, Shogi was Hiroki's favorite.
Every evening, the two would face off in quiet concentration. Hiroki enjoyed watching his father lean thoughtfully over the wooden board, fingers carefully turning each piece. He rarely won, and even when he did, it was probably because his dad let him. But that didn't matter. What mattered was the joy of shouting out his small victories.
Unfortunately, Shogi wasn't an event in the upcoming sports festival.
Which meant: aside from the relay, there wasn't anything Hiroki could realistically join. Soccer? Baseball? Tug-of-war? Those sports were far beyond him.
But what was scarier than the relay itself… was Yuna—and her sheer persistence.
For the past several days, she had been relentless. Repeatedly encouraging him to sign up for the upcoming relay race, insisting he'd be the perfect fit.
Three people from their class had already signed up: Yuna and two others. She made it clear the last spot was meant for him. Most of class 3-3 had no interest in the race—everyone was more into soccer or baseball. The entire relay team from their grade was small, just a few dozen students. The competition wasn't intense. There was a real chance of winning something.
Hiroki never once showed enthusiasm. Not that it helped. Yuna would block his way outside the classroom, follow him to the bike racks, even interrupt his lunch just to keep pestering him.
What kind of girl was this?
How could anyone be this stubborn?
He didn't understand.
He'd asked himself that so many times before.
….
His Sixteenth Birthday.
Hiroki was completely alone. All he wanted was to find someone—just one companion to walk beside him.
At home, his father was too drunk to even remember it was his son's birthday. No one at school knew, either—not even Takumi, or Jun. But then again, she wasn't even around anymore.
Maybe it was fine, Hiroki thought. Just him, and his own quiet little celebration.
He tiptoed down the dark hallway, careful not to wake his father who had passed out on the couch. Slipping out the front door, he closed it gently behind him and took off into the narrow alleyway outside.
The road was pitch dark, lit only by the flickering glow of a streetlamp. Somewhere in the distance, frogs croaked and the world felt still.
He ran—fast, heart pounding with a strange sense of urgency—until he reached a deserted lot. There, in the middle of nowhere, was a single store blazing with light in the otherwise silent night.
Inside, it was an entirely different world, one drenched in music. The sound of guitars echoed from giant speakers, wrapping the air like an invitation—powerful, irresistible.
That night, Hiroki found his "companion"—a guitar. One he'd later name "that-sudden-spark-of-inspiration."
The store had a rugged, unapologetic rock atmosphere. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen. Guitars lined the black-painted wooden walls like art pieces, each one with a presence of its own, humming with musical energy. Posters of legendary bands—The Beatles, Radiohead, The Blue Hearts—bled color and chaos across the walls.
Neon lights in red and blue flickered overhead. Toward the back stood huge guitar amps like silent giants, waiting to unleash thunderous sound. Further in, bold and bulky electric guitar heads claimed their space, demanding attention.
Here it is. The horizon Hiroki had been searching for.
After days of wandering across the countryside, he had finally found his paradise.
He moved slowly past the displays, eyes grazing over the acoustic section—simple, elegant wooden guitars like the one Takumi kept in his bookshop.
But then something caught his eye. In a dimly lit corner stood a section of electric guitars, and at its center: an ESP E-II, deep ocean blue, glossy and gleaming like the surface of dark water under moonlight.
Its neck fit perfectly in Hiroki's hand, like it was built just for him. The fretboard, made of pale polished oak, seemed to guide his fingers with ease. The strings shimmered with steel tension—ready for fierce strumming and bold sound.
This was the gift he'd been searching for—his birthday present to himself.
He paid for it with every yen he had: four months of wages from the bookshop, plus what little savings he'd managed to keep.
The moment he stepped out of the store, guitar slung over his back, he knew—something in his life had just shifted. He wasn't sure what it was, but it felt like a beginning. A new chapter. With the heavy instrument pressing into his spine, he told himself he'd find something—something new, something just beyond his reach.
And maybe, just maybe, it would bring him closer to Jun.
He'd told himself: if I can learn to play this thing—really play—maybe she'll come back. Maybe we'll sing together again, like before.
But that hope felt so far away.
He didn't even know how to play yet.
He had no money left to buy guides or lesson books. For the first few days, he left the guitar sitting in a dark corner of the house. Then, he'd crouch beside it, racking his brain for how to even begin.
His father, curious, would sometimes ask about it—complimenting the way it looked, giving Hiroki a hearty pat on the back. But these days, all the man knew was alcohol. Teaching Hiroki how to play? That was beyond him.
The guitar began haunting Hiroki's thoughts.
So much so that he couldn't focus at school.
While he daydreamed, Shimaki and the others made a sport of messing with him—rolling tiny paper balls to throw at his head, stomping on his chair leg, or smacking him with textbooks when the teacher wasn't looking.
But Hiroki, the class vice-rep, ignored them all.
They didn't matter to him anymore.
At night, he'd return to his little corner, where the blue guitar waited. He'd sit beside it, run his fingers aimlessly over the strings, or plug it into an amp just to hear the thick, heavy sounds it could make. That's how most nights ended—Hiroki drifting to sleep beside his birthday gift.
But deep down, it wasn't enough.
In fact, it felt pointless.
What good was having a guitar if you didn't even know how to play?
In dreams, Jun would look at him—eyebrows furrowed, voice skeptical.
What would she say if she found out his guitar was the cheapest model on the shelf?
He'd never get to hear her voice again—not that beautiful, ringing voice of hers. She'd find someone else. Someone who could actually play.
Sometimes, he'd dream of their final conversation—how she had confessed to liking him, how she'd smiled and disappeared soon after. How she said coming back wasn't possible. Hiroki had barely started to open his heart, and she was already gone, swallowed by some distant world.
Of course he was angry.
He'd shut himself away for days. Pushed everything else aside.
Now, all he had left was the electric guitar beside him.
Hiroki suddenly found himself standing before the entrance of The Antique Library Bookstore—Mr. Takumi's place.
He hadn't shown up for three days, and the shop looked deserted, like no one had been there at all. There was no sign of the old man outside. The door hung ajar.
He stood at the threshold, hesitant. The place looked empty.
Taking a deep breath, Hiroki adjusted the large soft case on his back—the one holding his precious electric guitar—and stepped inside.
Golden afternoon sunlight spilled gently through the windows, painting warm patches on the wooden floor. The air felt still, almost comforting.
He made his way toward the door tucked in the far corner of the room.
From behind it came soft shuffling noises. His hand hovered over the old iron handle, unsure if he should enter. But before anything else, he figured he ought to knock.
Knock knock... knock knock...
"Come in," came a deep, familiar voice.
Pushing the heavy wooden door open, Hiroki slipped inside.
The room beyond was nothing like the antique bookstore he knew.
It was old—very old—but spacious, filled wall to wall with musical instruments, all carefully arranged. Wooden flutes with carved patterns hung from hooks. A classical guitar sat on the floor, its lacquered surface glowing. A grand drum set with taut skins stood in the center, next to a polished brass horn catching the soft afternoon light.
Mr. Takumi was there, meticulously cleaning each instrument.
He looked nothing like the kindly bookstore owner Hiroki was used to. His back was a little hunched, gray hair falling over his forehead, but his movements were graceful and precise.
Hiroki froze in the doorway, eyes wide.
Something in him stirred—as if he'd stepped into a completely different world.
A world where everything breathed music.
"What're you standing there for? Come in!"
Mr. Takumi's voice was deep and warm, but firm.
Startled, Hiroki moved forward, placing his guitar case carefully on the floor beside him.
"Where've you been the last few days? You weren't working here."
"I... I had schoolwork," Hiroki lied.
"Forget it. You're here now. That's what matters."
Looking at the old man, Hiroki suddenly realized—Jun wasn't coming back and now that she was gone, Hiroki might just be the only one left to keep the man company.
It must have been a lonely few days.
Trying to change the subject, he said, "I didn't know you had this many instruments, Mr. Takumi..."
The old man didn't reply right away. He kept wiping down the guitar in his hands.
Then he looked up, sharp glint in his eyes.
"You thought this place was just about books? Art isn't limited to printed pages. It lives in melody and sound too. Music brings souls together.". He paused, narrowing his gaze. "Hold on... what's that on your back?"
Hiroki blinked and looked behind him.
"Oh—this?"
"Don't tell me... that's a guitar, isn't it?"
Hiroki hesitated. "Yeah. I bought it myself."
"When?"
"For my sixteenth birthday."
Mr. Takumi nodded slowly, then waved him over.
"Let's see it. Bring it out."
Hiroki unzipped the case and revealed his blue electric guitar.
Its deep ocean gloss reflected the light streaming in from the window.
Takumi examined it, eyebrows furrowing.
"An electric guitar, huh?" he muttered, lifting it up and turning it over in his hands. "You call this a guitar? It has no soul. Looks more like a metal box that makes noise."
Hiroki let out an awkward chuckle. "You're not used to these, are you?"
"Not used to it? Of course not!" the man grumbled, placing it down with mild disdain. "But wait—I've got something for you."
He shuffled across the room and rummaged through an old wooden cabinet. After a bit of digging, he pulled out another electric guitar—black, worn, its paint chipped and peeling. The strings sagged like they'd snap at any moment.
Hiroki wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.
"This here is my treasure—from 20 years ago!"
"Can it still be played...?" Hiroki asked doubtfully.
"If it couldn't, why would I keep it?" the old man replied, setting the guitar down. Then he kept digging. "Hang on—I've got something else too."
From the same cabinet, he brought out a tattered book. The spine was half torn off, pages yellowed with age and covered in barely legible pencil scribbles. Hiroki's mouth fell open when the book was handed to him.
"This," Takumi declared, "is a family heirloom. A secret manual for learning electric guitar."
"A heirloom? Really?" Hiroki flipped through it cautiously, trying not to damage it further.
"You don't believe me? It was passed down from my grandfather's grandfather's brother's uncle's cousin—right to me!"
"Uh... that's a bit of a mouthful."
"Don't mock it!" Takumi bopped Hiroki on the head with a pencil—which promptly snapped. "This is a treasure, you hear me? Back then, electric guitars were rare. Not just anyone could own one!"
Hiroki clutched the book, half amused, half touched.
Takumi might not be a master of the electric guitar, but his enthusiasm—the sincerity in his voice—made Hiroki truly appreciate what he was being given.
"I'll... give it a read," he said softly.
"If you get good at it, I'll even let you borrow my old guitar!" the old man added, patting his worn,out treasure.
"Thanks, Mr. Takumi, but I think I'm good with mine..."
With the 'ancient' book in hand, Hiroki stepped back into the bookstore. He adjusted his guitar case and prepared to leave—when a voice called out from behind him.
"Hiroki, wait!"
He turned. Takumi was coming toward him, holding another book—this one not nearly as ragged.
"I want you to have this instead. The other one's too old—some of the pages are unreadable. Plus, it's a family artifact. Take this."
He handed over the newer book and gently took the older one back, placing a warm hand on Hiroki's shoulder, leaving him no room to refuse.
"You got this from this bookshop, didn't you?"
"Yeah. From the Theory Corner."
"But I'm out of money. I can't buy it..."
"Who said anything about buying?", the man waved him off. "I'm lending it to you. Work here a few months, pay when you can. Or don't. Just learn something from it."
"But—"
"No buts!" Takumi's eyes twinkled with humor and steel. "Hiroki, I see the fire in your eyes. Don't let a few coins stand between you and your passion. Take it."
Hiroki was quiet for a moment. The book felt heavy in his hands—full of meaning.
Though still aged, it was neat and legible, miles better than the so,called heirloom.
"...Thank you," he said at last, voice low with gratitude.
"Glad to hear it," the old man chuckled, arms crossed as he watched Hiroki head for the door.
The boy could feel Takumi's eyes on his back as he stepped outside.
Thinking of the old man... and of Jun... his heart filled with something fierce and determined.
He ran his fingers across the book's cover, then carefully tucked it into his guitar case.
Outside, the sun was fading behind the rooftops, painting everything in soft, amber light.
In that moment, Hiroki felt like he had found a piece of inspiration, a small shard of purpose he hadn't even realized he'd lost.
….
Hiroki opened his lunchbox, and the savory aroma of karaage fried chicken and fluffy tamagoyaki wafted up into the air.
He liked moments like this—quiet, peaceful. And though Yuna occasionally joined him here, he didn't mind. In fact, over time, he'd gotten used to her presence beside him during lunch. The two of them had settled into a quiet rhythm, letting the minutes pass gently by.
But today, something was different.
Yuna was more withdrawn than usual. She focused on eating, didn't bring up the school sports festival, didn't even make small talk.
Her moods had been unpredictable lately—up and down, impossible to read. Just over a week ago, Hiroki had seen her on the verge of tears outside Mr. Takumi's bookshop. He didn't know why, and honestly, he didn't want to ask. Girls, in his opinion, were a mystery.
He reached for a piece of stir,fried greens, but before he could bring it to his mouth, her voice interrupted:
"That girl the other day... who was she?"
He paused mid-motion, already half,expecting the question but still caught off guard.
"Who?"
"The girl you sang with. In front of Mr. Takumi's shop."
"Oh…" So she meant Jun. Hiroki nodded slightly, setting his chopsticks down. "She's Mr. Takumi's granddaughter. Jun."
Yuna went quiet for a moment, then pushed her lunchbox aside—it was nearly empty, just a few grains of rice and some tiny cherry tomatoes left. She hugged her knees to her chest, staring off into the distance. Her cheeks puffed slightly.
"And what is she to you? I mean—was she your new friend or something?"
"Not really," Hiroki admitted. "We've only talked… maybe once or twice." Honestly, even saying "a few times" felt like an exaggeration.
"…I'm jealous of you two," she muttered under her breath.
Caught off guard again, Hiroki blurted out, "But I'm not going to see her anymore. She's not coming back to Osaka. I think she's studying at some high school far away…"
Silence settled between them again.
Yuna popped a cherry tomato into her mouth and chewed slowly, her expression thoughtful. Golden sunlight lit up their young faces, exposing every flicker of emotion beneath.
Deep down, both of them understood—they shared one painful thing in common: They were the ones who had been left behind.
And whenever that unspoken truth floated to the surface, the air between them always felt heavier.
Yuna leaned back and lay flat on the cold rooftop surface, eyes turned skyward. Above her, the clouds drifted lazily, the same soft blue as her hair.
She spoke, almost dreamily. "I guess... you care about her more than you care about class stuff, huh?"
"What do you mean?" Hiroki asked, glancing over at her sprawled figure.
"I mean the relay race. For the sports festival."
There it was. He had seen this coming from the start.
Of course she'd circle back to the relay race—her latest mission to recruit him.
He already knew what he'd say. The same reply he always gave.
"I told you—I'm not doing it."
Yuna pouted, her tone half annoyed, half pleading.
"I only asked you to do it once. And you keep turning me down."
"I'm not into sports," Hiroki said plainly.
"Our class barely has anyone left willing to join. No one cares about the relay, so you wouldn't even stand out or anything."
"It's not about standing out," Hiroki replied firmly, voice calm but unwavering. "I just don't want to do it."
Yuna huffed. "You're impossible."
That afternoon, Hiroki pedaled his bike out of school.
The wind blew gently through the trees, scattering golden leaves across the empty yard.
And then—Yuna appeared at the school gate.
She stood in front of his bike, blocking the path.
He figured she was going to nag him again, but instead, she simply said: "Hiroki, can you give me a ride home?"
He didn't refuse.
He slowed to a stop, and she climbed on behind him.
The sun bathed the countryside in soft amber light.
Hiroki cycled slowly, wheels crunching over gravel, leaving behind a quiet trail of sounds. Yuna sat behind him, lightly gripping the edge of his shirt, her gaze fixed on the world passing by.
They turned onto a narrow dirt road. The fields opened up ahead—vast and endless. Emerald grass stretched all the way to the horizon, where sky and earth met in a seamless blur.
Still, something about Yuna's silence felt... off.
She held onto his shirt tighter than usual. Her head, either by accident or intention, brushed gently against his back now and then. Her finger lightly traced invisible patterns on his shirt—absent-minded, almost playful.
"Hiroki," she said suddenly, breaking the silence."You've seemed distracted lately."
"Huh? Me?" he blinked. "What makes you say that?"
"Is it because you like someone?"
Her voice was calm, but her eyes—sharp, knowing—left him nowhere to hide.
"I-I don't...!" he said quickly, louder than intended, hoping the wind didn't swallow his words. "Don't say weird stuff like that."
"It's Jun, isn't it?"
"N-No!"" Hiroki snapped, eyes locked straight ahead as he picked up speed.
Behind him, he heard Yuna sigh. "You're no fun, Hiroki. Stop the bike."
Before he could react, she hopped off, then darted toward the open fields.
"Yuna! Where are you going?" he called after her.
She didn't answer.
He reluctantly parked his bike beneath a nearby tree and chased after her.
Yuna was already far ahead, running through the fields, her dress fluttering in the breeze. She looked like a small burst of light dancing across the sea of green. The soft blades of grass swayed beneath her feet. Tiny wildflowers—white, purple, yellow—scattered across the ground like stars spilled from the night sky.
Hiroki slowed his pace, eyes following her as she vanished into the tall grass.
The wind would shift now and then, parting the sea of green just enough for him to catch glimpses of her. They were two small dots in an endless landscape, losing and finding each other again and again, like children in a game Mother Nature had crafted just for them.
Every now and then, he thought he heard his name—faint, floating in the air—as if she were calling him from some far-off dream. The world spun in gentle circles. For a moment, the field felt like something out of a surreal painting.
Eventually, Hiroki reached a small rocky outcrop in the middle of the meadow.
He sat down and plucked a long blade of grass, placing it between his lips, chewing softly at the tip. The breeze tousled his golden hair, carrying with it the scent of wildflowers and sun,drenched grass.
Yuna joined him, leaning against the same rock. In her hands, she held a small flower. Her fingers played with its petals, slowly pulling them apart.
The loose petals drifted away on the wind—one by one, quietly falling to the ground.
"Do you think we look really rustic, Hiroki?" Yuna asked, catching him off guard with yet another unexpected question. But something about the way she spoke—it always felt like it came straight from the heart.
Hiroki glanced down at her, a little flustered. "W-Well, I don't think so…"
"I feel like a field mouse, honestly," she murmured, half-laughing, half-resigned. "Tell me… what's city life like? It must be a hundred times more exciting than this, right?"
A wistful smile touched her lips as her fingers absentmindedly plucked the petals from a wildflower until it was bare. "If you moved up there, I bet you'd never want to come back. People probably change once they go, don't they?"
Hiroki's thoughts wandered to Jun—the girl who had always felt like a squirrel misplaced in the city.
And as for Ryusei, the one he knew she was implying… Hiroki didn't know much about him. It had already been a year since anyone had heard from the guy. Maybe he was thriving somewhere far away—or maybe, like them, he still missed the quiet fields of Osaka.
The wind stirred. The rice stalks rustled, swaying like Yuna's turbulent heart. She gazed into the horizon, that same faint smile resting on her lips, heavy with unspoken sorrow.
"…Hiroki," she whispered, voice nearly swallowed by the breeze, "Do you know why I really wanted to join the festival?"
Her fingers gently twirled the bare stem in her hand, the petals long gone."Back in middle school, I was in the same class as Ryusei," she began softly. "He was always part of every school event—great at sports, especially soccer. He used to play with the boys behind school after hours. Watching those matches... it became a little ritual of mine. But soon, I realized it wasn't just me. So many other girls liked him too. They'd try everything just to get his attention. And I guess I started to feel... invisible."
She laughed, a little bitterly. "So I thought—what if I did something different from the rest? Maybe then he'd notice me." Her voice shifted into a playful, self-mocking tone as she mimicked her younger self.
"So I signed up for the relay race at the school festival. Ryusei, of course, joined the soccer team like always. And I just… I just wanted to run fast. To win. After that, I trained every day. I ran through the whole village—mornings, afternoons, evenings. I kept chasing his silhouette in my mind, always running after him… but he just kept getting farther away."
Hiroki listened in silence, eyes fixed on her. Every word she spoke seemed to pull something from deep inside her, the pain long buried but finally breaking through.
Right now, this version of Yuna—so raw, so fragile—was showing him who she really was.
"But do you know what the worst part was?" she asked, her voice cracking.
Hiroki shook his head. He saw her shoulders tremble.
She lowered her head—and then he heard it. The faint, uneven sound of her crying.
"I thought I'd prepared so much for that race… But the day before the festival, my grandmother passed away."
Her sobs grew louder, more broken. Her voice trembled with every syllable, as though each one split her open.
Hiroki couldn't even begin to imagine the pain of losing someone so close. He'd experienced loss too, but he had been so young—barely able to grasp the weight of it.
What if… his mother had died when he was just twelve?
"…And then what happened?" he asked quietly.
"I couldn't focus during the race. The other girls on my team—they weren't even that eager to sign up in the first place, but they still tried their best. I didn't. I was stuck inside my own head, thinking about my grandma. My legs went stiff. My sweat felt like tears. And Ryusei… he felt further away than ever.
And then—I fell. Right before passing the baton to the next runner, I tripped and crashed to the ground."
She laughed bitterly, shaking her head.
"Somehow, our class still placed third. One team behind us ran even slower. And Ryusei—he didn't blame me or anything. But I… I felt completely useless."
She said that word—"useless"—again and again, as if trying to hammer it into herself. Then, with a sharp motion, she flung the stem from her hand and let the wind take it. It fluttered through the air like a piece of her she was trying to let go.
Her memories—shattered fragments—somehow stirred something blurry inside Hiroki too.
But when he looked at her, his eyes held no pity. Only a deep, aching empathy.
"Did you hurt your leg badly?" he asked, trying to keep his voice soft.
"…Yeah. My knee got scraped up pretty bad. The skin was torn. Some of the students helped carry me to the nurse's office."
She turned her red, puffy eyes toward him.
"Wanna see the scar? It's still there."
She tried to smile, but the effort only made Hiroki's chest tighten.
He slid down from the rock and sat beside her. The soft grass bent gently beneath them. Wind stirred again, wild and free, rustling the clouds above like slow,moving rivers across the sky.
He glanced at her in profile—from her brow to the corner of her trembling mouth. Her tears hadn't stopped. They shimmered in the sunlight, clinging stubbornly to her lashes.
A sudden urge surged in him—to reach out and wipe them away. But he stopped himself.
"…What I remember most," she whispered, "was that Ryusei came to check on me after the race. The soccer match had just ended, but he ran straight to the nurse's office to see how I was. He even told me our class won the soccer championship."
She gave a shaky laugh, eyes glimmering with emotion.
"Middle school, and he already knew how to make me fall for him all over again…"
"We used to be so close. There were things just the two of us shared—things we never told anyone else.
But here I am, spilling everything to you."
Her voice grew thin. "Hiroki… do you know what it feels like to be apart from someone you like?"
Her lips quivered, eyes shut tightly, and once again the tears flowed freely down her cheeks.
Hiroki felt something familiar yet foreign swell inside him—a sorrow he couldn't name.
He understood. More than anyone could know. But some truths were too heavy to speak aloud. Some pain, too private to share.
"Ryusei once said, if he had to choose… he'd choose me," she cried, as if those words could still carry her. "I believed him. I waited and waited. But then he left Osaka—with his mom and brother. They went to Tokyo, probably to move in with someone else. He's probably at a different school now, living in a different house, surrounded by new joys. Phones are better up there. Internet too… He's not going to message me back anymore."
Yuna inched closer to Hiroki, her trembling fingers grabbing hold of his sleeve. She buried her face into his shoulder, sobbing hard, letting her tears soak through his shirt.
Hiroki said nothing. He didn't pull away. He simply sat there, a quiet and steady presence beside her.
"I've been writing letters to him for weeks now…" she whispered. "He still hasn't read them. Hasn't replied…"
Wildflowers fell around them, scattering like nature's own silent tears, joining Yuna in her sorrow.
The sun dipped lower, shadows lengthening across the field.
And there, in the vastness of the countryside, remained two faint silhouettes beneath a fading sky—carrying a grief that had no name, and no voice but silence.