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The atmosphere of preparation for the cultural festival was growing more intense with each passing day.
In the classroom after school, the smell of cardboard mingled with the scent of paint. Signboards from each class lined the hallway, and some boys were carrying stepladders while getting scolded by teachers. Until last year, I feel like I used to watch that hustle and bustle from a slight distance. If someone called out to me, I’d help out, and once that was done, I’d move on to another task. I rarely felt like I was truly participating in my own class’s preparations.
This year is different.
I was on the decoration committee with Shiori, and we were building the base for the sign to be displayed at the classroom entrance. Shiori was strangely precise when cutting the colored paper; whenever I cut a bit crooked, she’d silently hand me a ruler.
“Minato-kun, you’re relying too much on eye estimates.”
“This much is just within the margin of error, isn’t it?”
“If that margin of error happens three times in a row, it’ll become a visible distortion.”
She said it seriously, but she wasn’t scolding me. When I took the ruler with a wry smile, Shiori’s lips softened just a little too.
Just then, the hallway across from us grew noisy.
“The meeting time for the stage crew—this can’t be right, can it?”
“Huh? The handout says 1:30, but the teacher’s list says 1:00.”
“The sound check overlaps with it, too. Which one is correct?”
At the center of the commotion stood our senior, Chitose Kuga.
She was surrounded by third-year executive committee members and held the distributed timetable in her hand. Her black hair and uniform were as neat as ever. However, the movement of her fingers as she flipped through the pages was slightly faster than usual. Though she was trying to maintain a calm smile, a hint of panic was evident around her eyes.
I held down the cardboard box in front of me and listened only to the voices.
It seemed there was a mistake in the stage performance schedule. The assembly times distributed to each group didn’t match the times on the schedule submitted to the teachers. What’s more, some classes had already started preparing based on the incorrect times.
“Chitose-senpai, if we don’t fix this by the end of the day, we’ll run into trouble during tomorrow’s rehearsal.”
“I know. I’m checking the original data right now.”
Chitose-senpai replied, but the reactions around her weren’t as reassuring as they used to be.
In the past, I think everyone would have felt relieved if she’d said that. “If Chitose-senpai says so, it’ll be fine,” they’d have thought. But lately, it’s been different. Ever since the incident with the application forms, a hint of doubt had begun to creep into their trust in her.
One of the executive committee members opened his mouth, looking as if he found it hard to speak.
“Last year, Segawa-kun was the one who checked things like this, right?”
The air in the hallway froze for a moment.
My hand stopped moving, too. Shiori looked over at me. I didn’t move right away.
Chitose-senpai tried to smile. But that smile shattered instantly, like a thin membrane.
“I did have him help me out last year. But this is my fault for not checking thoroughly enough. I’ll fix it right away.”
“But there’s a lot to fix. Wouldn’t it be faster to ask Segawa-kun?”
Another student said that.
I don’t think they meant any harm. They were just trying to help by suggesting a quick solution because she was in a bind. But those words struck Chitose-senpai right where it hurt the most.
Her gaze turned toward me.
I didn’t look away.
In those eyes, I could see a plea for help. In the past, that look alone might have been enough to make me jump to my feet. Senpai was in trouble. Everyone around her was in trouble too. If I helped out, everything would work out smoothly. Thinking that, I’d probably have put off my work with Shiori.
But Chitose-senpai didn’t call on me.
Her lips moved slightly, and in the end, she chose different words.
“No. Segawa-kun has preparations to make for his own class. We on the executive committee will take care of this.”
The people around her looked slightly surprised.
I was surprised, too.
Chitose-senpai readjusted the stack of files in her arms and began giving instructions to the executive committee members. One group would collect the papers that had already been distributed; another would inform the teachers of the corrections; and yet another would verify the original data. Her voice was still a little stiff, but she wasn’t just passing the burden onto someone else.
However, her composure wasn’t what it used to be.
It wasn’t the perfect Senpai elegantly bringing order to the situation. It was the voice of someone desperately trying to fix what had fallen apart, all while her mistake was on full display.
I watched her for a while.
“Are you sure you don’t need to go?”
Shiori asked quietly.
“I’m not going. If I go, I feel like I’ll just end up coming back again.”
“I suppose so.”
Shiori nodded briefly and brought the partially cut-out color paper back to her lap.
“It looks like Senpai is trying to put things back together on her own right now, too.”
Hearing those words, I felt a little relieved.
Not helping isn’t always cold-hearted. Sometimes, by not intervening, I allow the other person to take responsibility for themselves. The reason I’ve come to think that way is probably because Shiori is by my side.
A little while later, Senpai was called by the teacher and headed toward the faculty room. As we passed each other, Senpai stopped right in front of me.
“Segawa-kun.”
“Yes.”
“I won’t call on you today.”
The way she said it was a little strange.
Not “I won’t ask you,” but “I won’t call on you.” Senpai herself probably hasn’t fully made the mental shift yet. But at least for now, she’s holding back even though she knows it would be faster to use me.
I gave a slight bow.
“I have to prepare for my own class, too.”
“Yeah. I know.”
After saying that, Senpai lowered her eyes just a little.
“It’s only now that I realize just how much you were watching out for me last year. I really had it pretty easy, didn’t I?”
I didn’t say anything in reply.
If I tried to comfort her, she might run away again. If I said, “That’s not true,” it would make the weight of what I carried last year feel lighter. So I stayed silent.
Senpai accepted that silence and gave a bitter smile.
“I’m sorry. I guess an apology isn’t enough right now. “I’m going.”
Senpai headed toward the faculty room. Her back was straight. But the composure she’d once had had vanished from her posture.
I returned to Shiori’s side and readjusted the cardboard box.
“Shall we continue?”
“Yes. First, let’s fix that cut.”
“Isn’t it just a margin of error after all?”
“It’s not a margin of error.”
I chuckled a little at Shiori’s serious tone.
Across the hallway, Senpai and the others were busy making corrections. I didn’t go over there. Even without me, Senpai would have to fix it on her own.
And I, too, would carry on with my own assigned tasks right here and now—not to fill in for someone else.
When I repositioned the ruler, I was able to draw a straighter line than before.
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