Chapter 31

I don't know if this counts as a confusion of identity, but I did indeed read out the slogans that were used when the judo training was disbanded at the student council meeting, and I subconsciously called out Yagyu's name during the judo club's pre-competition pep talk. To make matters worse, I handed in a notice about the redistribution of school club activity rooms as my Chinese homework to the class monitor.

Most of the time, the teachers were extremely trusting of me, to the point of being permissive. As long as I was in the classroom on time and never missed an exam, they didn't even care if I did homework for subject B during subject A's class. However, during this period, my homeroom teacher received three complaints about me within a week, and the content was exactly the same—"Something's wrong with Okada from your class."

The implication is that you should talk to this student.

"Okada, come to the office before you go to your club activities."

As soon as the bell rang, the homeroom teacher pointed to my seat with chalk and said something. Then, she tucked the attendance sheet and textbook under her arm, turned around, and walked out of the classroom.

Perhaps because our previous discussion about college applications wasn't very pleasant, he didn't look too good when he kept me after class that day. He couldn't tell if it was a sign of helplessness towards me or if he was just too lazy to use his time after get off work to care about the mental state of a senior high school student. After all, even Rikkai University's college entrance exam preparation class has problem students that are impossible to manage, while I'm just a Tokyo University prospective student treated like a protected animal.

"Actually, it's nothing special," the homeroom teacher took the notice I had mistakenly handed in from her drawer and handed it to me. "Ms. Sugimoto asked me to return this to you and also to have you hand in your essay to her tomorrow morning."

For a moment, I didn't know whether I should apologize to the teacher first, or be more humble in front of the class advisor. But having become accustomed to wielding the "voice of a top student," I had become this unlikable and arrogant person. So I nodded, reached out to take it, and replied, "I understand."

The homeroom teacher is only in his early thirties and currently has no romantic relationship, so he lacks the empathy of a parent or elder. Moreover, many students nowadays only care about whether the teacher can help them academically; they don't care about anything else. Over the years, he has always treated himself as a tool for college admissions, which has, to some extent, made his job easier.

Seeing my nonchalant expression, he sighed softly, reached out and pulled over a chair, gesturing for me to sit down.

"I won't take up any more of your time. I'll just ask you one question: do you think your current choice is appropriate?" he asked.

"What choice do you mean?" I asked, placing my hands naturally on my lap.

"It's club activities, student council, and things like Tokyo University." The homeroom teacher shrugged.

"These are all things I want to do, so what's wrong with them?" I wondered. This role of a good teacher really didn't suit him, because all I felt was awkwardness.

"Then you..." He hesitated, then lowered his head and pressed his temples before continuing, "You said before that you could do everything well, but didn't you fail to do it well?"

As he spoke, his eyes glanced at the notification letter in my hand. He sat up straight, and his tone gradually lost its usual warmth: "It's not the most stressful time for exam preparation yet. You're going to participate in the summer tournament this year, right? And there's the Umihara Festival in the second half of the year. You're the student council president, so you must know how much pressure you'll be under. If you can't even do everything perfectly now, what are you going to do next? Will you continue to push yourself, or..." He finally paused, "...learn to let go."

Sure enough, our class advisor usually says the unpleasant things directly.

"I never said I wanted to be perfect in everything," I subconsciously raised my head to bolster my confidence. "Teacher, none of the things you mentioned were indispensable to me, but why was I the one who became president? Why was I the one who won the national championship? Is this something I could have done by forcing myself?"

"There's no need for that. Even if you do one less thing, it won't prevent you from getting into university." The class teacher seemed to want me to take an easier path that would lead to the same result.

"Actually, nothing is necessary before life and death," I laughed. "You can call me greedy, you can call me vain, I don't know where I'll end up. It's very possible that my senior year of high school will be the highest point on my uphill journey, but if I can't climb up now, I will definitely regret it in the future."

What a grand and righteous statement! Even I thought so after I said it, but the class teacher didn't seem to be mocking me. He smiled just like me, turned back to face the computer screen on his desk, waved his hand and said, "In that case, I'm relieved. Go to training."

"Goodbye, teacher." I put the chair back in its place and bowed slightly to him.

From that day until graduation, I never spoke to my class advisor alone again. It wasn't intentional; I just felt that given our inability to understand each other, this was the best possible outcome. His thinking wasn't wrong, but I was only eighteen then. No matter how reasonable the older person's words were, I would only feel that they were belittling my efforts.

I know better than anyone that the first twenty years of my life were spent competing to see who could get the most red flowers.

As I grew up, I realized it was pointless, but if I could turn back time and do it all over again, I would still do it.

Before heading to the judo hall, I passed by the tennis courts. Through the protective netting, I saw Masashi Sanada raise his racket high and shout out his declaration of Rikkai's three-peat. His conviction was so strong that you couldn't find anyone else in the entire Rikkai University who could match it.

Sometimes I feel especially grateful for Sanada's existence, and it doesn't matter if I think it's just me. Because he makes me not look like a lonely traveler stubbornly forging ahead in a hopeless desert. We are just two people who want to swim across the strait alone. Everyone on the shore thinks we are crazy, but we are paddling hard in the waves, afraid of falling behind each other by even a little bit.

So while the tennis club successfully broke through the regional preliminaries, won the Kanto Tournament, and set its sights on the national championships, I led the judo club to the final day of the team competition, which was also the last inter-school competition of my career.

However, I can't remember how we entered that summer. I only remember the sweltering sea breeze carrying torrential rain, bringing the heat to Kanagawa. On the morning of the graduation ceremony, I stood in front of the ranking list, looking at the names that were still fixed in a few places, and I didn't know what I was thinking.

Suddenly an umbrella covered my head, and I turned to meet a pair of eyes that were half-hidden by light-colored bangs.

"It's raining." As Niou spoke, raindrops began to fall on the umbrella, making a pitter-patter sound.

"Are you alone?" I asked, looking around.

"There was no morning training today, and I don't know where he is." Renou shook his head, not even needing to ask who I was asking. "Shouldn't he be helping the president prepare his speech?"

"Today's speaker is the grade representative from the second year of high school," I nudged him lightly, "Don't call me that, it's creepy."

"President, President, President..." I should have kept quiet, but as soon as I mentioned it, Niou got all excited and started whispering in my ear.

I covered my ears with both hands and dodged, while he continued to approach me with his umbrella. We bumped into someone on the way, and just as I was about to apologize, the other person pulled me over and handed me the handle of his umbrella. Then we switched places, and he stood under Nioh's umbrella.

"You've arrived." I raised my umbrella slightly and smiled at Liu Sheng.

He nodded, took the umbrella from Niou, and said to me, "Should we announce a meeting today?"

After hesitating for a few seconds, I replied, "I'll just have a quick chat with Sanada backstage later. It's not very humane to hold a meeting when we're on holiday."

"You still have a vacation?" Niou asked, peeking out from behind Yagyu.

"What's it to you whether I have it or not?" I frowned and snorted.

As Niou Masaharu said, my busy schedule did not become less busy with the arrival of summer vacation. As a result, I missed the grandest fireworks festival in recent years with practice problems thicker than my head, missed Tezuka's brilliance at Wimbledon during the ten-day closed training, defeated the Yamanashi Prefecture prodigy who had caused me to suffer in the team competition last year in the individual finals, and missed Yagyu's LINE message.

The bookstore is moving; today is its last day of business.

When can you come back? I've already told the boss I'll wait for you.

Are you on your way?

The boss left you a book; I'll keep it for you for now.

That day, I took the last Shinkansen back to Fujisawa. As soon as I got home, I didn't even eat dinner. I collapsed on the tatami mat and slept until 11 o'clock. When I woke up, I remembered to charge my phone, which had run out of battery and turned off. When the screen lit up, I saw those messages and clicked on them to mark them as read. Then, a new call notification popped up.

I pressed the answer button and heard Liu Sheng's voice: "Are you back? Just turned on your phone?"

"I woke up after a nap and didn't realize my phone was dead." My voice was still a little sleepy.

"I gave the book to my uncle on my way this afternoon. He should have left it at the cashier. Please remember to pick it up," he said.

"You could just tell me to come to you." I frowned.

"I'm flying to London tomorrow morning and won't be back until before the finals." His tone was surprisingly calm.

"Oh, thank you." I suddenly lost track of how to reply. "Well, it's getting late."

"Good night," he said before I did.

"Good night." After saying those few syllables, all I heard was the busy tone on the other end of the phone.

I hurried downstairs and saw the autographed copy of "The City That Never Sleeps" in the corner of the cashier's counter. As I opened the book, a note and a glittering object fell out. I caught it and saw it was a necklace, tucked between the title page and the cover. The platinum chain had a small anchor on it, with a tiny diamond set in the center. The note was in Liu Sheng's familiar handwriting; he always wrote with a fountain pen, and the ink had seeped through to the back.

Congratulations on your victory, my dear captain!

His use of the title "captain" put our relationship in a very comfortable position, so I didn't refuse the gift, which seemed a bit expensive, just as I had implicitly accepted our relationship.

But I don't think the boss would remember that I liked Chi Xingzhou. He would only remember Liu Sheng. At the time, I didn't even think that this might be a rare book that he had asked the boss to find, because I never regarded these things as a kind of affection.

However, my intuition probably answered for me—I would naturally put on the silver bracelet engraved with Rilke's poems when I woke up, but I never once thought of wearing this anchor necklace.