Volume 1 - CH 3.1

We become middle schoolers. Most of the classmates from elementary school moved along with us. 　When Yuzuki was in the fourth grade of elementary school, she won the first prize in the Concerto B section of the Chopin International Piano Competition in Asia–a section with no age limit–and became the youngest person ever to win the gold medal. The following year, she won the first prize in the Concerto C category, also the youngest ever. At the age of 11, she made her professional debut as a classical pianist.

Her advertisement line was “The Miraculous Pianist Genius.” To which she loathed “I want to throw up every time I hear that.” In complete disregard of her opinions, television programs caught one and she began to make more appearances. Her sharp mind and gutsy comments boosted her popularity and she began to appear on shows that had nothing to do with piano. It wasn’t long before she had a manager of her own.

Takashi Hojo, a handsome man with a tall nose and thin, gleaming silver-rimmed glasses. He treated Yuzuki like a princess. He tried to open every door for her, and he rigorously applied mouthwash spray to talk to her with fresh breath. He always had a confident smile on his face, as if he were a prince next to his rightful princess.

[TN: Japanese usually don’t care whether their breath smells or not, so this guy who cared is a little of a weirdo.]

He always had a heavy camera around his neck and took pictures whenever he had the chance. It was his dream to make photography his career or so he babbled.

I had once seen a photo he took. Yuzuki and I were side by side. My expression was drawn in a forced smile. 

In short, I hated him. It was disgusting to see the enraptured, sickening look when he aimed Yuzuki with his camera. It was a look I knew well; worship and fawning, no different from a number of boys who looked at Yuzuki in a similar way.

As she grew older, she became surprisingly beautiful. Even a boring classroom was brought to life only by her being there. During breaks, a crown would form just to stare at her. Sometimes, there were students from other schools in the crowd too. She would glare with her glazed eyes and they would disperse. As always, she hated attention.

２

Students of Sakuranoshita Middle school had to belong in a club. I had grudgingly joined the baseball club. The reason was Shimizu.

He may not look like it, but he was the powerhouse of the team. In elementary school, he was the fourth pitcher and had left an amazing performance. As a first year middle schooler, he was already six feet tall. It wasn’t long before he surpassed the third years and became a regular– with such prominence, one might expect envy, but for the amiable Shimizu and his mysterious charm, everyone loved him.

He was always smiling, cheerful, innocent, kind, and could be a bit silly. But when it mattered the most, he was dependable above all else. He loved baseball, whether it would be watching or playing by himself. He was fun to watch and a good team player. Perhaps it was his magnetic charm that doubled the baseball club’s membership during the year he was in. As long as Shimizu was around, there was a sense of assurance that no one would be left out. When I saw him enjoying the practice, I felt great too. Practicing with Shimizu has become what I look forward to the most.

For some reason, he preferred me to everyone else. Because of him, even a “shadow” like me had no trouble making friends.

After club activities, the group would walk home white chatting and laughing at occasional banter. When Shimizu gor a red mark, everyone opened a study session for him. Those days were beyond what I could have asked for.

Meanwhile, Yuzuki and I had grown apart. We were in different classes, and she was incredibly busy to boot. She had a dizzyingly cramped schedule of concerts and TV appearances, and on time off, she had to practice.

Even if she had the time, I doubt we could have returned to the relationship we had before. Ever since “running away from home” she had become so close, yet so far apart.

Even though we were joking and laughing with each other, I felt like she wasn’t there at all. She was at an arm’s reach, but that arm’s reach felt infinitely far away. Even if I managed to reach her, would my hand just pass right through her? Like the meaning of her name, she was just as unobtainable as the wavering moon on the lake surface.

Although I would be proved wrong. I had believed my affection to her to be one-sided, however, I was just as important to her, it seemed.

One July evening, as usual, the members of the baseball club noisily plod home. Suddenly, Aida went silent. I followed his gaze and fell silent too.

Yuzuki and the third year captain—our team’s captain–were walking side by side. 

They seemed a little subdued, as though they were in their own world. 

“T-they’re dating…?” Aida, whose little crush triggered Yuzuki’s bullying, cried out. I had never known that his little crush would last this long. “Have they kissed yet…?”

Aida’s perception of dating at that time was naive at best, and funny when I recall about it now. However, at the time, it was as though someone had knocked me in the head with a baseball bat.

I liked Yuzuki more than I realized.

３

Satoshi Roppongi was the name of the captain of the baseball team. 

I began to observe him in any way I could. It was a mentality of observing the enemy, I had lost my patience. The more I observed, the better he looked. He was tall, good-looking, a great baseball player, and had excellent grades.

“My goal for the next month is to power up to ‘Senbongi’!” He joked at his own expense, to which everyone roared with laughter. “167-fold power up!!!” He casually rounded down the first decimal place.

[TN: “Roppongi” means six trees, and “Sen” means thousand.]

Aida, brustling with envy, muttered, “What’s ‘Senbongi’, I’ll make it three, you ‘Sanbongi’”

[TN: Yes, this “San”’s three]

That was, as far as things went, lame. Although I silently made my own slander. In my mind, I imagined Hara-senpai, all the six trees were cut, only a flat land remained.

[TN: “Hara” means plain, or plateau]

I wanted to beat Roppongi-senpai, so I began to play baseball in vain. I went to Round One which opened three years earlier at the Koriyama Station East Shopping Center, and honed my skills with the batting machine. During that period, blisters were my companion.

I saw Roppongi-senpai and Yuzuki going home side by side several times. Each time, Aida would make strange sad noises like “Aaaaauhh,” or “Ughhhh”

After two weeks of intense training, I finally had the chance to face Roppongi-senpai. Even though it was a friendly practice, I was incredibly enthusiastic. I swung the bat as hard as I could, gave up two foul balls, two strikes, and two balls. I hit a sweet ball on the outside corner sharply, earning a one-base hit. I would love to do a victory pose, but I decided to play it cool. Such was the adolescent mind.

The next batter was Aida. He looked like a prawn from the moment he stepped into the batter’s box. He bit on the challenge and got another one-base hit. Aida let out a whoop of joy. Like an excited African elephant.

“You guys sure are something, first years…” Roppongi-senpai chuckled wryly while wiping sweat from his forehead.

Next was Shimizu. His build was so huge that his bat looked like an ice cream stick. His body swayed happily.

Oh, there’s no way he’s gonna miss, I thought.

Ching–

The pleasant metallic ring. The rising ball.

“Wahahahahaha──!” Shimizu roared.

He had a habit of guffawing when a homerun was imminent. It was this infections laughter that earned him the sobriquet “Laughing Giant”

Chuckling, the three of us swept the bases and reached the home plate. Roppongi-senpai looked at us ghastly.

I watched the other first-years batting for a while, basking in the afterglow of my victory.

Then, gradually, I came to my senses.

Did it matter if I beat him in a little baseball match?

Despite all my worries, Aida was grinning innocently beside me.