二話 // 存在価値を示すのよ
[show the value of your existence]

It was in Kasamatsu Kanon's belief that she would have protected Mahiro from the world if it were possible. And perhaps, in another plane of existence, where reputations do not precede character; with Kanon's small white knuckles, silver tongue, and relentless determination—whether she was flawed by history or not, if she had protected her, maybe Fujita Mahiro would have stayed in the small and quaint country of Japan. But this was the self-centered thinking of a child whose childhood friend had just been stripped out of her adolescent years, because the world is only what it is until you grow older. And so, eventually, the years consume itself until the seasons slowly melded into one another, a continuous reminder that a part of Kanon's world had been burned to the ground along with her childhood memories. The color of her eyes is still the color of amber and the color of her hair is still as dark as a stage deserted by its actors, and so, she is still inevitably and irrevocably herself.

Her hair was in a low ponytail, and her uniform was that of a boring, dark blue jump skirt topped with a heinous bolero in the same color. Her uniform was that of a nightmare, a common loathsome error that everyone agreed on while enviously thinking of sailor uniforms, plaid and pleated skirts, ribbons, and neckties. But much to her dismay, Ishinomaki Junior High School was specifically tailored to be depressing in all theoretical aspects, with teenagers vying for attention from their peers. Their words sharpened to cut, amassed to drown, and made vile to poison. Children she had known before were now desperate to thrive whether it was of fair merits or not; her mother had told her it was because of 'p-u-b-e-r-t-y'. She had, later on, learned what it meant with absolute disdain.

Her years in Junior High School were tedious days of strained smiles, tense shoulders, and cold scoffs that started at the early hours of eight in the morning, an ungodly hour with adolescents just desperately hanging onto their last salvation: lunch break. Lunch was like a breath of relief that oftentimes smelled like miso soup, mugi gohan, milk, and mixed vegetables—but it was the kind of relief that came with the price of having to partake in small talk. Despite being grudgingly pertinacious for the past three years of Junior High School, small talk had always been the uncontested bane of her reclusive existence. It felt like a conversation for NPCs, the kind of which you have no choice but to button-smash through.

She was deep in thought whether it was in her favor that she was graduating that year and moving 265.1 km away for the sake of her sanity, or if she was just moving away from societal cesspools of depravity only to move to another cesspool, when a voice threw her out of her thoughts. "Kasamatsu, you're in the brass band, right?" Asami Kei, a 178cm baseball player who was a straight shoo-in for high school recommendations not only just for his athletic gifts but also for a report card of nothing but 4's and 5's, asked while prudently picking out the bones of the mackerel.

Looking up from her plate and quickly glancing to her milk carton—Where's the straw?—she absently nodded, "Yeah, and you're in the baseball team, right?" Setting down her chopsticks while she reached out for the milk, still not entirely sure where the small talk would take her besides down the road of eminent awkwardness. She isn't keen on making sense of the conversation now that she can suddenly remember 28 instances where she had stunningly embarrassed herself, but she's sure that these 28 instances are just the tip of the iceberg.

Asami made a sound from the back of his throat that seemed to be an indication of confirmation, "The third year's final game is this Saturday, I was hoping—"

"You don't have to ask for the band to come, Tabata-sensei already said we're going to play at the game for 'moral support'." She said indifferently as her eyes darted elsewhere instead, anywhere but towards Asami's eyes. Her memory from fifth grade when Asami had ran dazzlingly through the race tracks during Sports day was suddenly at the forefront of her mind. A part of her tells her (reminds her) that his eyes are like coffee and a waning sunset until the sun hits his irises, the coffee is cold and the sun has disappeared behind the skyline of skyscrapers and electrical wires. All that's left when sunlight meets his eyes are the color of a vintage photograph, dusty and an unearthed memory from long ago.

"I wasn't...?" Asami confusedly replied, "And that wasn't what I—"

Her eyebrows arched in returned confusion, opening the corner of the milk carton with no hopes of finding a straw with an inattentive expression on her face, "Then, what?" She asked, the corner of her lips taut with incomprehension. But the chime rings, and so the words that were lodged on back of Asami Kei's throat dies before it even came alive.

It's Sunday and the sun was a glaring dot in the sky between the wisp of white clouds, but the scenery was still not much different from Ishinomaki despite it being a trip of nineteen train stations between her and her destination. Even in the comfort of the train, her skin was irritated with the blistering heat that filtered through the window. These are the moments where she is shoulders deep in her thoughts, a whirlwind of cynical nonsense. Summer had brought Kanon's childhood to life through the introduction of a girl who was named after space but had filled it with simply just her existence, but it had been Spring that took her away. It was just a four-year-old story of dead wonder and childhood sorrow, but Kanon had grown up linking her fingers with Mahiro. It's a feeling wrought deep with endless nostalgia and viperous hope, there are no similitudes to this feeling that has rusted her chest with cynism but her thoughts wander to a simpler world of an endless summertide.

Her phone vibrates relentlessly from the notifications, stirring her from her thoughts. Unlocking it only took a simple four-digit, her eyes glazed over the time at the top of her screen—12:19 PM. She doesn't blink at her default screensaver of Totoro and slides through the apps on her home screen, tapping her thumb softly at the LINE app as she lightly scratched the skin on her neck in a distracted manner.

ふれんちほるん ✨💛 (7)
3-7 Kasumi: this is the best day of my life ˚✧₊⁎❝᷀ົཽ≀ˍ̮ ❝᷀ົཽ⁎⁺˳✧༚
3-7 Kasumi: [Sent a picture]
3-7 Kasumi: [Sent a picture]
2-1 Suzu: [Sent a sticker]
3-7 Nanami: should we report this for invasion of privacy???
3-7 Nanami: at least take pictures discreetly?????????
3-2 Takashi: He isn't even good looking.

She takes a closer look but doesn't care nor bother to zoom in any further, the filter made the boy's hair more pastel than it probably should have been. Kanon absently wondering how long it took to bleach his hair to achieve such a pastel salmon color, and once again unbelievably envious that the rest of the world was so much unlike Ishinomaki Junior High School—boring in all theoretical aspects and specifically tailored to diminish the light of individualism in its students. But she'd just be repeating herself.

2-4 Hiroki: Takashi-senpai, please get a hold of yourself.
3-7 Kasumi: stop looking at the mirror takashi 🤢
2-1 Suzu: did u rlly have to diss him wwww
3-2 Takashi: I thought you liked Kurosawa????
3-7 Kasumi: yeah but look at this guy's ass???????
3-7 Nanami: i pretend not to see 😌
2-4 Hiroki: Kanon-senpai, please stop them.
2-1 Suzu: you're asking the wrong person for help you fool
1-2 Himuro: that's chidoriyama's catcher
1-2 Himuro: i think???
1-2 Himuro: i say him play against my brother's team last week.
3-7 Kasumi: well, he can catch my heart (ง ื▿ ื)ว
3-7 Nanami: i plead that you repent for your sins
(User) Konan: is it starting????????

Looking outside for a quick instance, she nimbly got down the train at the realization that she was supposed to change trains from here. Kanon wipes the corner of her brow, a visible frown on her face as she squinted her eyes at the magnified brightness of the summer sun—12:24 PM. She climbs into the next train, not particularly thinking of anything else until she feels the ping from her smartphone.

3-2 Takashi: It doesn't start for another hour, but come quick.
3-7 Nanami: where r u??
(User) Konan: roger
(User) Konan: two more stations left (( _ _ ))..zzzZZ
(User) Konan: also
(User) Konan: his ass aint shit
3-2 Takashi: 8888
3-7 Kasumi: and yours is? (¬ ¬)
3-7 Kasumi: maybe you arent zooming in enough?
(User) Konan: wanna die? ^^
3-7 Kasumi: im going to need an essay on that. kwsk
2-1 Suzu: ε-('∀｀; )
3-7 Nanami: mjk;;;,,
1-2 Himuro: all of u are hopeless orz
1-2 Himuro: pls graduate soon
(User) Konan: my thoughts exactly
3-7 Nanami: rude
3-2 Takashi: rude
3-7 Kasumi: rude
Read 5 - 12:27

This is how Kanon's summer ends. Like a humid heatwave with the echoing sound of a train on rails, with the feeling of dust on her skin that irritates her as she blows music into the wind from her instrument and into the battlefield of athletes. She sees the boy with salmon hair in the distance, the filter of sunlight kissed his skin and made the sweat on his temples glisten as he caught the 76 diameter baseball wrought of teenage hope and dreams. There's a billow of cheers from the opposing team's stands, and she witnesses Asami clench his jaw. Closing her eyes, she blinks away the saffron glow of the sun.

🌷

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i always wanted to write a chapter that's so lighthearted that there's a text/messaging portion úwù... another chapter after this to introduce the last protagonist and we'll head right into s1 timeline !!

[1] Mugi gohan: it's barley rice, and from my experience, it's supposed to taste different from normal white rice (i don't think it tastes different, though. and a couple of people i know hate barley rice because of the taste.)
[2] Academic grading: the grading system used in Japan until senior high school is a 5-scale system, 1 (being the lowest, usually equivalent to an F [or 0–59%]) to 5 (being the highest, usually equivalent to an A [or 80–100%]). an interesting phenomenon is that even if an individual student fails a course, they may pass with their class regardless of grades on tests. the grades on tests have no effect on schooling until taking entrance exams to get into high school.
[3] ふれんちほるん: French Horn, but written in Hiragana.
[4] -senpai: a term to use for someone who is "older, more experienced, in a higher social position, etc.," or, regardless of age, "have entered the same school or workplace earlier."
[5] 8888: streams of the number eight such as 8888 represent applause. read as パチパチ (pachi-pachi - the sound of hands clapping together one after another in applause).
[6] Ww: abbreviated from 笑い (warai - to laugh), it's the Japanese equivalent of 'Lol'. [other variations include: 笑笑・爆笑・草]
[7] kwsk: abbreviated from 詳しく (kuwashiku - in detail).
[8] mjk: abbreviated from マジか (majika - seriously?/really?).
[9] orz: the "o" is the head, the "r" is the hand on the ground, and the "z" is the bent legs. orz.