Source
https://kakuyomu.jp/works/2912051603008595869
The storage room in the old school building was the exact opposite of the glitz and glamour one associates with the word “cultural festival.” Because so few people had been in and out of it for so long, the moment I opened the door, the sharp smell of dry dust stung my nose, and fine dust particles drifted slowly in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows.
Decorations from last year and earlier, along with pieces of lumber whose purpose was unclear, were piled up along the walls, and in the back, crumpled cardboard boxes were stacked haphazardly. Perhaps the true nature of a cultural festival is revealed not so much in the sight of students laughing as they paint signs in the classrooms, but rather in a cluttered place like this.
“We need twenty large cardboard boxes, right?”
As soon as she entered the storage room, Mishima opened her notebook and began checking the condition of each box placed on the floor, one by one. Her movements showed no hesitation whatsoever—hard to believe this was the same person who had been shouldering all the work alone until just yesterday. Looking at her back alone, you’d never guess she was burying a twelve-year-long unrequited love deep within her heart.
But the more people get used to hiding things, the better they become at acting as if their wounds have vanished. Precisely because I’d smiled so many times in front of Kotonoha, I could somehow sense that Mishima’s composure wasn’t genuine.
“They seem to be all together on the back shelf. Kasugai-kun, I’ll count them, so please carry them.”
Himuro stood beside me as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and whenever Shirasaki took a step closer, she closed the distance by the same amount. She would probably claim it was to ensure the student council’s work ran smoothly, but lately, the speed at which she came up with excuses had increased abnormally.
“Senpai, it’s really dusty, so please use this.”
What Shirasaki held out was a neatly folded handkerchief.
“If it’s just to cover my mouth, I have my own.”
“I’d like you to use mine.”
“That’s not a valid reason.”
“Because as long as you’re holding it, mine will be near you.”
When she put it that bluntly, it actually made it harder to refuse. While I was hesitating, Himuro took an unused mask out of her bag and silently pressed it into my hand.
“From a hygiene standpoint, this is the more sensible choice.”
“Himuro, are you trying to one-up?”
“What do you mean?”
Her tone was calm, but the gaze she directed at Shirasaki was clearly cold. Meanwhile, only Mishima was counting the boxes without showing any emotion, though the glances she occasionally cast my way were mixed with exasperation and a hint of curiosity.
The cardboard boxes were stacked at the very back of the warehouse, and we couldn’t retrieve them without moving the wooden crates in front.
The moment I reached for the top shelf, a decorative board that had been teetering on the verge of collapsing tilted and fell toward Shirasaki with a dry thud.
My body reacted before my mind could process it, and I pulled her toward me as if to wrap my arms around her shoulders. The panel fell to the floor right beside her, so no serious harm was done, but Shirasaki, cradled in my arms, remained motionless for a moment, her face still frozen in surprise.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Senpai.”
“What?”
“Can I remember that moment for the rest of my life?”
“You’re better off forgetting memories of close calls like that.”
“That’s just like you.”
Shirasaki laughed softly while clutching her chest, refusing to let go of my uniform sleeve. Seeing this, Himuro stepped between us before even checking the fallen board and gently pried Shirasaki’s hand away.
“The safety check is complete. There’s no reason for unnecessary physical contact.”
“You seem disappointed that I didn’t get hurt, Vice President.”
“That’s not the case. However, I cannot overlook your attempt to get closer by using Kasugai-kun.”
“It’s a fact that you saved me.”
“Kasugai-kun would do that for anyone.”
There was a strange edge to Himuro’s words. She was probably dissatisfied with the fact that I’d shown concern for Mishima as well. It’s hard to be told to pick and choose who I help, but I knew that if I confronted Himuro head-on right now, things would only get more complicated.
“Why don’t you two finish up your work first?”
Mishima interjected matter-of-factly, and we finally began carrying the cardboard boxes. Mishima kept track of the numbers, Himuro checked the condition of the boxes, and Shirasaki tied them up with string. Once we divided up the tasks, the work progressed surprisingly quickly, and the stuffy air in the warehouse—which had felt suffocating at first—was soon filled with the sound of our footsteps and the rustling of paper.
As I lifted the last bundle, Mishima came over to my side and murmured in a voice low enough that no one else could hear.
“Kasugai, every time you help someone like that, don’t you ever think about how the other person feels?”
“I do think, ‘I’m glad they weren’t hurt,’ though.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
Mishima-senpai didn’t answer. Instead, she looked first at Himuro, who was glaring at me from a short distance away, and then at Shirasaki, who was clutching her handkerchief with a look of joy on her face. Following her gaze, I found myself, for just a split second, on the verge of arriving at that possibility once again. Perhaps their exaggerated reactions weren’t simply a sense of camaraderie, but stemmed from some other emotion entirely.
But I quickly reconsidered. Himuro had harbored feelings for President Kuze for three years, and Mishima had done so for twelve. While Shirasaki was the only one who had openly expressed her feelings from the start, it would be far too convenient to assume the others felt the same way. People who’ve just gone through a breakup tend to become temporarily dependent on anyone who treats them kindly. I didn’t want to jump to the conclusion that this was love—it felt like I was taking advantage of their pain.
“Did you figure anything out?”
When Mishima asked me that, I readjusted the cardboard box in my arms.
“I realized that everyone is really serious about the cultural festival.”
After a few seconds of silence, Mishima let out a deep sigh.
“You’re harder to handle than the budget,”
Even when I asked what she meant, she didn’t answer. By the time we left the storage room, however, both Himuro and Shirasaki were walking even closer to me than before, and for some reason, even Mishima-senpai was watching my footsteps from behind. It seemed that preparing for the cultural festival brought people together more closely than necessary, even in their personal relationships. Accepting that, I walked down the evening hallway alongside the boisterous trio.
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