Chapter 2

At that time, Yagyu came out of the teachers' office with a swimming class registration form, pushed open the door of the student council office, and said to me, "Okada, you should always give it a try."

I glanced at the form, which was already filled out and only needed my signature. In a fit of desperation, I signed my name, then buried my head in the pile of documents on the table and mumbled, "If I die, remember to come and get me."

"I hope not," Yagyu said, taking the registration form. "You know, the most difficult things to repair are drowned bodies."

"Thank you." I casually grabbed a ballpoint pen from the pen holder and tossed it to him.

Reacting swiftly and precisely, he dodged my attack, bent down to pick up the pen from the ground, and as usual, pulled a book from his pants pocket, sat down on the sofa chair, crossed his legs, and focused his eyes on the book "The Short Stories of Edgar Allan Poe," while casually saying to me, "Good luck with your work, Vice President Okada."

For the last bit of composure, I managed not to roll my eyes at him. I steadied the documents that were about to tip over and said, "The student council office isn't a place for you to relax and unwind."

Yagyu, without looking up, replied, "Katakura told me to wait for him here, and then we're going to a joint meeting at the school next door."

I opened the file, beckoned to Liu Sheng with my finger, and he tossed the pen back to me with perfect understanding. After catching it, I muttered to myself, "He's certainly living a carefree and comfortable life as the chairman."

Although I often say that I grew up by the sea, I didn't learn to swim until my third year of middle school, just to earn credits. Usually, in the summer, Rikkai University's swimming classes are filled with junior students from the middle school. Last year, I stood in the corner wearing a dark blue one-piece swimsuit, which was the first time I had worn it in three years, and I was unusually a little lost.

It's hard for anyone—no, almost no one—to believe that Sanae Okada would choose to run away from something rather than face it. Even I don't believe it myself, but I'm inexplicably terrified of the unsupported underwater world. This is a strange thing, because I've never had any experience related to drowning, nor have any close relatives experienced it. Therefore, my fear probably can't be found in psychology, so I can't find a way to resolve it.

Of course, it's really not a big deal. There are plenty of people in the world who can't swim in their entire lives. So what if I'm one of them? Besides, even if my record isn't all A's when I enter the senior high school, so what? If I were an adult now, I would probably say that it's really irrelevant. First of all, to directly enter the senior high school, you only need to pass 80% of the subjects. Getting zero in swimming will at most lower my physical education grade from excellent to passing. My overall grade will still rank in the single digits among the 434 students in my year.

However, I was only fifteen years old at the time. I not only cared about the record of straight A's, but I also cared about who was ranked ahead of me. Anyway, it was fine if anyone was ranked ahead of me, but there was one person who was not.

After I finally finished my dawdling warm-up and was the last one to jump into the pool, I looked up and saw the person who had stopped outside the wire fence. He hurriedly pulled his hat down, pretending not to make eye contact with me, and turned to walk away with his golf bag. At the same time, I felt a little more ashamed than before, even though I'm always open and honest, I still couldn't bring myself to show weakness in front of Genichiro Sanada, especially over something so trivial.

Yes, because that so-called "person" is him.

From a young age, I've felt that life is about competing with others, whether it's with them or with ourselves. This has given me an unprecedented sense of satisfaction, and I've always had plenty of people around me who provide me with material for such competition.

—Tezuka Kunimitsu, who was elected student council president of Seishun Academy in his second year of middle school, has never fallen off the top of the grade rankings. Niou Masaharu, who won the gold medal in the high school math competition, has almost never listened attentively in a math class. Yagyu Hiroshi, who has A+ in all subjects and is well-liked by teachers and classmates, reads foreign language novels as if they were his native language. Of course, we cannot forget Sanada Genichiro, who is impeccable in his studies. He won the tennis team championship and was proficient in kendo in his teens.

I can't say that my rivalry with Sanada is completely unrelated to the subtle influence my master has had on me over the years, but ultimately, what I do is my own choice. I chose to stand in front of that group of people and want them to look at my back, so I won't stop for even a second.

In the future, I may find my stubbornness ridiculous, but I know that this is all I am right now.

"Okada, it's time," a senior member of the judo club reminded me.

I stood up and straightened my judo uniform belt. The most familiar sound in the dojo was the sound of my bare feet stepping on the mat. This sound quickly drowned out the sound of the pool water that had just come to mind. After taking a couple of breaths, I bowed to my first-round opponent at the referee's signal.

"I remember you," she said.

"Thank you for your concern," I replied.

I met this senior high school student from Kyoto once during a middle school league. She had a problem with her ankle at the time, and out of judo etiquette, I naturally avoided a direct attack, hoping to score a point. She was surprised and angry when she noticed that I had noticed her injury. As she gradually fell behind, she became more impatient. In the end, after losing, she glared at me and warned me, "You better not keep looking down on people like this."

However, things are unpredictable. In my first official match in high school, I encountered an opponent with whom I had a history, and in her last major competition in high school, she met me again.

Actually, only 80% of my attention was back; the remaining 20% ​​was still on the swimming lessons from last summer. I don't understand why I would think of the registration form that Yagyu helped me fill out and Sanada, who had passed by the pool for three consecutive days, under these circumstances. Maybe it's just that people tend to recall embarrassing situations when they're nervous, or maybe it's...

I interrupted my own doubts, stepped forward, and locked onto her movements, intending to use her momentum to throw her onto the mat. After all, she was a senior two levels above me, an outstanding fighter from a prestigious Kyoto school. She wasn't someone I could easily score points against if I lost focus. I carelessly let her gain the upper hand. I steadied my breathing again, and when I looked up, I saw the corners of her mouth turn up in a smile. But I wouldn't lose. Among fighters in my weight class, I've always been confident that I could bring Rikkai University first place nationwide.

Why should I recall those boring things?

Think of reasons quickly, come up with an answer quickly.

The previous afternoon, I checked into the hotel and shared a room with a second-year senior who was participating in a competition of another weight class. Having gotten used to sleeping on tatami mats, the soft Simmons mattress gave me an uneasy feeling of sinking into it. I tossed and turned for more than an hour, but still couldn't fall asleep before midnight. I curled up in the blanket and opened the Sudoku game on my phone. I had just filled in half of the blanks when I received a new email.

I know you're probably asleep already, but I have to tell you, if you haven't read the newcomer award in this week's mystery magazine, remember, whatever you do, don't open it. Trust me, whatever you do, don't read it.

I think the only things that could make Yagyu Hiroshi take seriously, besides tennis, are mystery novels.

Try me, please.

I quickly typed a reply.

He tapped the protagonist's monologue at the end of the novel and sent it over, the gist of which was that not all questions need a correct answer, reasoning can lead in completely different directions, and that direction may not be the answer, etc. This was probably the point that made Yagyu, a member of the orthodox mystery school, most upset.

Why are you still awake when there's a match tomorrow?

He realized what was happening and asked me.

The mattress is too soft.

I responded without thinking.

Are you a veteran?

Yagyu replied instantly.

I might have been a warrior in my past life.

I paused for a moment, then laughed.

Don't worry, you will be the same for the rest of your life. Go to sleep.

Staring at his message "Go to sleep," I closed my phone, turned over, and forced myself to close my eyes.

No, I interrupted myself again while in the middle of the match. This didn't answer my question either. I was just recalling something more recent. Was I looking for the key to a comeback in my memories, or was I just reminiscing? I've repeated useless things twice already. There must be something useful. So let me at least be a warrior in this life, hold my ground against my opponent's struggles, and throw her onto the mat as I wish.

it's over.

"Thank you for your guidance." We bowed to each other again.

Her eyes reddened almost the instant she straightened up, tears welling up in her eyes. I guess she's not the type to cry in front of others.

I reached for the towel and water provided nearby. My next opponent had just finished their match in the next area. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I looked over. The winner was a complete stranger; I'd barely even heard of the school. The air conditioning in the arena was utterly ineffective against the summer heat. While waiting for the next round to begin, I sat with another senior who had also advanced, next to the air conditioner in the lounge. My judo uniform was made of absorbent material, but it was still quite thick, and beads of sweat slid down my neck, leaving a damp patch on my back.

"Sometimes I really don't know if those people are picking out promising talents or just picking pork." The senior is usually a man of few words, but he would suddenly say something like this.

Her long hair was braided and coiled at the back of her head, with two strands close to her face. Her eyes held a familiar competitive spirit, and something else I might never understand. I knew that my senior from high school, and my opponent in the first round, weren't just focused on judo as a phase of their student life. The person she mentioned who was "picking pork" might be a teacher at Japan University of Physical Education, or the head of another university's judo team—someone who could very well shape their future.

At the same time, I also remembered the day Tezuka first proposed the idea of ​​going abroad. This man is naturally someone who has his own ideas about everything, but Tezuka Kuniichi is not a kind old man in his seventies. Even though Tezuka had specially chosen the time when I came to his house for dinner and when his master was in a very good mood, I was still so shocked by the old man's action of smashing a cup that I clenched my fists under the table.

I helped my master, who was still fuming, back to his room. I glanced back at his back, still sitting at the table. I didn't really know what I could do between the two of them. When I came back, I pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. Without saying a word, I slowly pried open his fingers and massaged his palms and knuckles.

"Sanae," Tezuka said, bowing his head, "I knew from the very first day I picked up a racket that this would be something I would dedicate my life to."

I looked up and saw his eyes. Now that I think about it, this is what I saw in my senior. Tezuka Kunimitsu had chosen a future, not at eighteen, but in the summer when he was fifteen.

His greatest fortune lies in the fact that he can simply grasp what he wants, whereas for most people, including myself, the things we desire usually come with a passive, wait-and-see attitude. This means that the only choice I can make is whether I want it or not, but actually obtaining it still requires luck.

However, as a first-year high school student, I didn't understand. I still believed that as long as I kept running, I could reach everything I wanted.