The Person I Once Looked Up To

During class, my thoughts drifted to Kotori.

Regardless of the form it took, seeing Kotori—who back in middle school was timid, couldn’t talk to anyone, and was isolated in a different way than she is now—currently surrounded by a circle of people made me feel honestly envious.

In the first place, it wasn’t like I was staying by myself out of choice.

Even as a young child, I was excluded simply because of my natural appearance, left with nothing to do but watch from afar with envious eyes while everyone else played together.

Playing alone held no flavor, and my days were spent casting longful glances toward them.

Several times I tried calling out to them, only to have them flee explicitly.

Even on the rare occasions someone lent an ear, my clumsiness with words would work against me, rendering me unable to communicate properly until they eventually walked away.

(…Acchan, huh.)

Yet back then, there was someone who held out a hand to a guy like me.

Unbothered by my looks or my lack of words, they were the neighborhood boss who brought together all sorts of kids and stood at the center of every game. I remember clearly how they always had fresh scrapes and cuts on their face and limbs.

Using the park and the surrounding residential streets, we played Kick the Can, High Tag, and Regular Tag.

Utilizing the temple grounds and the shrine grove, we played Daruma-san ga Koronda, Hide-and-Seek, and Giant Jump Rope.

At the riverbank, we held stone-skipping contests, searched for four-leaf clovers, and so much more.

None of those required gaming consoles or play equipment; they were all old-fashioned, classic games.

Even so, those full-body active games didn’t require many words, created a strong sense of unity, and allowed me to smoothly slip into the circle.

That held true for Kotori as well, who had been intensely shy around people since back then; my interaction with her originally stemmed from those times.

However, one day, Acchan suddenly moved away and disappeared from right before our eyes.

Naturally, when Acchan—the very center of everyone—was gone, that circle of games collapsed.

With the loss of Acchan, both Kotori and I became all alone once again.

Still, the days spent playing inside everyone’s circle alongside Acchan continued to shine brilliantly in my chest to this day. It was precisely because of those memories that the desire to re-enter that circle burned so strongly within me.

“Takumi, man, you’re fast on your feet, so you should do track and field.”

To me, Acchan had become someone I could call a savior. The very reason I started track and field was because of those words from them.

It was an individual sport where there was no need to talk to anyone in particular, allowing me to throw myself silently into practice—which suited my disposition well. On top of that, I held a quiet thought that if I kept doing track, I might run into Acchan again someday. And perhaps, I harbored the expectation that they might carry me into everyone’s circle once more.

However, even that came to an end last year when an injury from an unexpected accident forced me to give up track and field.

I knew full well that believing everything would get better if I just kept doing track was nothing more than a childish wish.

Even so, the old injury in my right knee throbbed with a dull ache.

The reason I kept going along with Kotori’s routine was probably that—even if it wasn’t in the form I envisioned for myself—she was able to stand inside everyone’s circle just like back then.

It felt almost as if she were doing for me what I couldn’t achieve myself.

Glancing sideways at Kotori taking notes, I swallowed down the pathetic feeling welling up in my throat.

The moment the chime signaling lunch break rang out, the school was instantly enveloped in a clamor of voices.

All around the classroom, friends pushed their desks together to open their lunchboxes, while groups of students headed off toward the cafeteria together.

Shifting my eyes toward Kotori, I saw her heading out with her usual A-tier girls, carrying her lunchbox. They were probably planning to eat in the courtyard or somewhere similar.

Looking past them, I directed my steps toward the school store by myself.

Even though the cafeteria was always crowded, whenever I sat down at a table, the seats directly opposite and on both sides of me would somehow end up empty. Ever since I noticed that pattern, it inflicted subtle damage on my heart, so I stopped using it.

In that regard, buying bread from the store allowed me to eat wherever I pleased by myself, which was far more relaxing.

Although the store was packed with just as many people as the cafeteria, the students hunting for popular savory bread rolls were all desperately focused on securing their target, meaning I didn’t have to worry about anyone paying attention to me. For the same reason, I didn’t mind packed trains either.

Hunting for prey just like everyone else, I charged into the crowd at the store.

Just as I luckily managed to grab the very last yakisoba croquette bread roll—one of the top two most popular items in the store—another hand reached out from beside me and grabbed the exact same roll at the same time.

“Ah.”

Unintentionally letting out a low voice, my hand trembled slightly.

This was the first time something like this had happened. Given up such a prized yakisoba croquette bread roll felt like a waste.

What should I do… try to talk it out?

Or settle it fairly with a game of Rock-Paper-Scissors?

As I was agonizing over what to do, a frightened, trembling voice called out from next to me.

“I-I’m sorry!”

Turning my eyes toward the sound, I saw a male student trembling with a pale face.

Not knowing how to respond, I fumbled with a few awkward sounds—“Uh, ah…”—and interpreting that however he did, the male student immediately let go of the yakisoba croquette bread and took off like a startled rabbit.

My face contorted into a grimace. Whispering voices targeted at me spread out like ripples, creating an empty zone around me as everyone sought to avoid getting involved.

Even the store clerk pierced me with a bewildered gaze. At this rate, it might end up obstructing business, and another baseless rumor might get started. It would be best to leave quickly.

Unable to bear staying any longer, I narrowed my eyes, paid for the item swiftly, and left the spot feeling entirely unsettled.