Source
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It was after school on Thursday that the communication breakdown within the Cultural Festival Executive Committee came to light.
On my way to the entrance with Shiori, I noticed that the hallway in front of the faculty room was unusually noisy. A few third- and second-year students had gathered and were checking something on the bulletin board. Standing at the center of the group was our senior, Chitose Kuga.
The Chitose-senpai I usually knew would remain calm even in a situation like this. She’d give instructions with a reassuring expression, keeping her black hair still and her voice steady. But today was different. The corner of the folder she was holding was slightly dog-eared, and the eyes behind her glasses were clearly frantic.
“The stage application says Second Gymnasium. Our class was supposed to perform in the auditorium, right?”
“The sound system application is still the old one, too. Isn’t this last year’s template?”
The moment one of the executive committee members said that, the atmosphere in the hallway grew heavy.
I immediately understood what was going on. The same mistake had happened last year. Chitose-senpai had used old data to create the application forms, and the outdated venue names and equipment numbers were still there. Back then, I’d helped with the verification process and corrected them before submission. Senpai had laughed and said, “Segawa-kun, you really notice the little details.”
This year, I hadn’t helped out.
So, it was submitted as is.
Senpai was bowing her head to the other executive committee members.
“I’m sorry. It was my oversight. I’ll consult with the teacher right away to see if we can submit a revised version.”
Her words were polite. But the reactions around her weren’t exactly forgiving. Preparations for the cultural festival were already well underway. If the application was delayed, the practice locations and equipment would have to change. Someone would end up having to take on extra work.
At that moment, Senpai and I made eye contact.
Her expression changed ever so slightly. It wasn’t a look that said, “You’ve saved me.” But I could tell that the option of relying on me had crossed her mind.
“Segawa-kun.”
When she called my name, I stopped in my tracks.
Shiori stopped beside me, too. She didn’t say anything. She was just watching to see what I would do.
Chitose-senpai readjusted the stack of files in her arms and motioned for me to step aside to the edge of the hallway. Perhaps because of the stares from those around us, her voice was a little softer than usual.
“Sorry for the sudden request. You looked over last year’s application forms too, right? Could you help me go over the parts that need to be updated this year? I think you’d know right away what needs to be corrected.”
Her request was polite. It didn’t sound accusatory at all. If anything, I got the impression she was genuinely in a bind.
That’s exactly why my heart sank.
If I helped her now, it would probably go quickly. I know the quirks of last year’s documents, and I have a general idea of the parts Chitose-senpai tends to overlook. With thirty minutes—no, an hour—I might be able to make the minimum necessary corrections.
But if I did that, the same thing would happen again.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
Senpai’s expression froze.
“……Just for today?”
“‘Just for today’ has happened a few times before. I wasn’t involved with these documents. If I get involved now, I’ll just end up correcting the mistakes you made during your review.”
As I said this, I worried that my voice might have sounded cold.
It’s never easy to turn down someone who’s in trouble. Even if Chitose-senpai isn’t a perfect person, seeing her so flustered right in front of me makes me want to help. But if I sacrifice my own plans and feelings to do so, nothing will change.
Chitose-senpai lowered her gaze.
“I realize I’ve been relying on you too much. But right now, this is causing trouble for other classes as well. Could you set your personal feelings aside and help us out?”
Those words stuck with me a little.
Personal feelings.
It sounded like she was trying to frame my reason for refusing as me being sulky or stubborn.
“I’m not turning you down just because of my feelings. I’m not on the Executive Committee or the Student Council. I don’t think it’s right for someone in a position without responsibility to make changes to the documents. Please check it with the teacher and the committee member in charge.”
Senpai opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again.
A little ways off, a girl from the Executive Committee was looking this way. She probably didn’t know the whole story. Still, she could see that Senpai had tried to ask me for help and been turned down.
“Kuga-senpai, the teacher is calling for you. She wants everyone in charge of applications to come to the faculty room.”
At that, Chitose-senpai finally looked away from me.
“…Got it. I’ll be right there.”
She turned back to me and tried to force a smile. But that smile never quite took shape.
“Sorry for holding you up. You had plans with her, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t add any unnecessary apologies.
Chitose-senpai headed toward the faculty room. Her back was straight, but she lacked her usual composure. I could hear some of the executive committee members left in the hallway whispering, “Apparently, Segawa fixed it last year, too.”
That was probably the most painful rumor for Chitose-senpai.
Maybe the reason she always seemed so perfect was because someone was fixing things behind the scenes. At least today, there were people who thought that.
As I stepped out of the entrance, the evening breeze felt a little chilly.
Shiori walked in silence for a while, but just as we passed through the school gate, she spoke quietly.
“Was it hard for you?”
“Pretty much. I knew it would’ve gone faster if I’d helped.”
“But you didn’t help.”
“Yeah. If I’d done it, you’d just end up relying on me again. And probably, I’d feel like you were counting on me, and that would make me a little happy. I knew that much, so I figured I had to say no today.”
Shiori heard my answer and nodded slightly.
“I don’t think that’s cold-hearted. You just gave the responsibility back to the person who should have handled it.”
I gave the responsibility back.
Hearing those words, I felt a little more at ease.
I didn’t look back. I didn’t know how Senpai was explaining things in front of the faculty room. But it wasn’t my place to fix it for her anymore.
Today, I turned down Senpai’s request.
Just by doing that, I felt like the work Senpai had placed on my shoulders—and the expectations I’d taken upon myself—had returned, just a little bit, to where they belonged.
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