1 The Legend

The dismissal bell rang.

Because the teacher had an urgent matter during the last period, it was arranged to be a self-study session. The classroom, already restless, instantly erupted into a cacophony of voices.

Adolescence is always adept at chasing after things recklessly. In an instant, before the teacher and the discipline committee could intervene, the corridor was filled with the joyful sounds of running.

The floor beneath our feet trembled faintly.

A group of students, eager to play arcade games, laughed and joked, pushing and shoving as they hurried along.

I sat at my desk, casually twirling a pencil between my fingers.

“When I encounter problems like this, I usually consider drawing auxiliary lines first,” I said, shifting the quiz paper toward the well-lit area. After receiving permission, I lightly sketched and scribbled on it. “Doesn’t it become much clearer when viewed this way?”

A classmate leaning over the desk whispered in surprise, “Ah, it really does.”

“Once you have the angle, then apply this formula…”

“You can calculate the length of a?”

“Exactly. Once you get this far, the rest is simple.”

After finishing my explanation in a calm voice, I happily put down my pencil. I took out an eraser and looked up, smiling at her.

“Shall I erase these marks now? If you rewrite it yourself, you might remember it better,” I asked.

Her cheeks flushed slightly as she nodded earnestly and shyly.

I erased the temporary notes on every question on the paper, brushed away the eraser crumbs, and handed the test back to her. After she carefully flipped through it, confirming there were no further questions, I gathered the backpack hanging by the desk into my arms.

At that moment, my diligent classmate seemed to summon courage and decisively spoke:

“This quiz was so difficult, yet Seiga, you still achieved a perfect score… To be honest, I had already heard your name last year,” she said seriously, growing more eager as she continued, “Not only were you the top freshman, but you also took first place for the entire school year—having such a sharp mind is impressive beyond belief! May I ask, how exactly did you manage this?”

Regarding academics.

I tidily packed my things while answering:

“It’s not that miraculous. I’ve been careless in quizzes many times too. But if you say my final results come down to ‘luck,’ that would be a bit dismissive and disrespectful to others competing… Here.”

After organizing my bag, I closed the clasp and placed it on the desk. Then I stood up and slid a deep blue notebook across to her.

Her expression, which had been serious and intense, suddenly softened.

She blinked, looking down. “Eh?”

“My math notes,” I said.

It was quite thick, bound in leather, with 320 pages of A5 paper. Inside were sticky notes filled with annotations, cut-out test questions, and additional materials clipped with paperclips.

Because of frequent use, the edges of the pages were rough, soft, and subtly wrinkled. A series of blue-toned index tabs, arranged from light to dark, were interspersed throughout.

The sudden offering made the long-haired girl instinctively clutch the notebook and test paper to her chest.

Only then did I pick up my backpack.

“I’ve been organizing the foreign language section these past few days, so if you don’t mind, you can take this home to look over,” I said, meeting her stunned gaze, unable to suppress a slight smile that curved my eyes. “It has some of the commonly mistaken problem types recently, so it should be worthwhile for you.”

“…”

After a brief silence, her eyes suddenly glistened with moisture. “Seiga—Your Highness!”

“What kind of title is that? Are you from ancient times?” I teased.

“Ah!” The girl half-covered her mouth, embarrassed. “Actually, I’ve recently been reading The Tale of Genji… In short, I’m very impressed—”

Before she could finish, another loud call drifted in from the doorway.

“Vi, the teacher said to come and get something!”

I quickly apologized to her and turned toward the voice.

The male class president from next door’s 2nd-year Class B poked his head in. Leaning against the doorframe, he gave a familiar thumbs-up and gestured for me to hurry out.

As is well-known, top students often hold class positions and are considered strong (free) and reliable (obedient) labor by teachers.

So even though he and I were in different classes, sharing the role of class president and frequent trips to the office had formed a bond of mutual errands.

No choice.

I set down my bag and said, “Got it, I’m coming!”

Glancing sideways, I saw the girl beside me also looking toward the door, her brows furrowed with a trace of disappointment at being cut off.

I said, “Takamine.”

She registered the name. “...Yes?”

I stepped around the desk and passed her by, whispering farewell: “Keep it up. Takamine, your recent progress is making me feel threatened. I won’t fall behind either. See you!”

In the few steps toward the door, I responded to greetings from other classmates.

---

“Bye, Vi!”

“See you tomorrow!” I waved.

“Vi, are you free after volleyball practice? After the meeting, I want to discuss something with you…”

“I am! I’ll come find you as soon as I’m done.” I gave an OK gesture.

“Good luck with practice, Seiga.”

“Thanks!” I smiled broadly.

The Class B president waiting outside the door had his hands in his pockets.

When I approached, he stepped aside slightly and teased, “Even though classes just split, you’re still unquestionably popular.”

I lowered the arm I had just used to say goodbye to Takamine and looked up at him with an “Are you kidding?” expression.

“It’s just because everyone in our class is really nice,” I said solemnly. Then, walking with him toward the office, I matched his teasing tone: “If we’re talking about that, you’re no different.”

As a fairly good-looking honor student, he was often surrounded by classmates in his own class.

I walked a little faster, eyes fixed ahead.

—Middle school, the restlessness of adolescence came as expected.

In elementary school, children lack awareness of gender differences, but now they start noticing the distance between sexes. Some gradually develop an interest in appearance; others grow increasingly shy and cautious. Some build new social circles; others experience the first stirrings of love, irresistibly focusing on the school’s social stars.

These pure and delicate feelings, combined with the most impulsive and impressionable age, naturally divide into an atmosphere nearly impossible for anyone to avoid:

The school’s invisible social strata become increasingly apparent.

Those bullied become more ostracized; the popular become even more scrutinized.

Among our three neighboring classes alone, many renowned figures can be identified.

Class A especially.

A rough count brings to mind Hayato Inujiri, a returnee transfer student rarely seen but deeply impressed upon me—an exceptional academic achiever rumored to often leave early, talk back to teachers, and rarely seen studying; practically branded a prodigy.

Takeshi Yamamoto, a talented but somewhat odd baseball player.

Kyoko Sasagawa, an unusually adorable child.

Tsunayoshi Sawada, remembered as a very hardworking person.

Class B has its class president and a very delicate-looking girl who leads the archery club.

As for Class C, well, there’s me.

Other grades need not be mentioned.

In short, there are those who bask in success and those who remain unnoticed. Together they form a small social circle, a microcosm of society.

Perhaps you actively radiate charm to become notable, or perhaps influence forms passively without your awareness. But inevitably, you keenly feel your name beginning to carry certain expectations.

And I am caught within such expectations.

---

“All right, that’s all for now… the materials.”

The teacher handed me the last stack of A4 sheets, sighed with relief, clapped his hands, and smiled again.

“All good?” he asked with concern. “Should we call Ueda-kun back to help? You came together, right? That kid didn’t even wait a moment.”

I weighed the stack; it was manageable.

Holding the materials firmly, I smiled politely at the middle-aged man’s kind face.

“No need. I do exercise regularly. Ueda has urgent matters in his club,” I said. “If the teacher has nothing else, I’ll deliver these now.”

Teacher: “Thanks for your hard work, Seiga.”

Me: “Happy to help, sir.”

“Even with Inujiri from Class A here, your quiz scores still top the charts. Impressive. The teachers all have high hopes for you. Keep it up.”

“Thank you, sir. I will do my best.”

“Oh! Almost forgot about this.” Suddenly recalling something, he scratched his head, turned sideways, and rummaged through the cluttered folders on his desk. Finally empty-handed, he looked up again. “I remember, Seiga, you’re on the volleyball team, right?”

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Then please do me a favor. On your way, drop by the baseball club and tell Yamamoto to bring the attendance sheet from the equipment room to the logistics teacher’s desk after practice. Can you do that?”

That was a small matter.

Walking from the school’s courtyard toward the sports hall did indeed pass by the baseball field.

I cradled the materials quietly, adjusting my fingers to avoid cramps. Then, just to be sure, I asked:

“Yamamoto is?”

---

“Oh, he’s Takeshi Yamamoto. You’re in the same year, so you should have interacted at least a little.”

“Got it.”

“All right,” the teacher said, raising his chin softly, “Just ask anyone at the baseball field; someone will surely guide you.”

That said,

I hadn’t had much contact with Yamamoto.

Though we were in the same year, as one of the “people in the spotlight,” whether it was me, the Class B president, or the star athlete active in baseball, everyone was very busy daily.

My direct knowledge of Takeshi Yamamoto barely extended beyond the fact that he was good at baseball.

In first grade, he was in Class A while I was in Class C. Throughout the entire year, we spoke fewer than fifteen sentences.

Back then, there were quite a few fans of Yamamoto in class—though I dislike calling school relationships that way—but whenever there was a sports day or competition, people made cheering banners for someone they barely knew, went to the stadium to cheer and scream, and argued with opposing supporters—these things required strong will and patience, typically only fans could manage.

In another sense, Takeshi Yamamoto was a popular and approachable campus star.

Everyone who mentioned him smiled broadly, saying he was nice, easygoing, handsome, and reliable.

His baseball skills were especially outstanding; he was an undisputed main player since enrollment.

It’s just that I wasn’t much into baseball games.

I didn’t pay much attention to others’ opinions about him. I believed “hearsay is unreliable,” whether praise or criticism. To truly know someone, one must meet them personally.

On the other hand, seeing is believing.

I had witnessed that boy jump off a building.

It was undoubtedly one of the most horrifying things I had ever encountered. Even now, I remember that day vividly: during the break, I was eating a freshly made fried soba bun.

Out of the corner of my eye, white clouds drifted outside, the sky washed in painterly blue.

Then chaos erupted.

Like a meteor shower in the movie Dinosaur, suddenly, a shout rang out in the hallway: “Yamamoto is going to jump off the rooftop!”

Everyone was half in disbelief; some stayed in their seats, others hesitated before running out.

I choked on my bun, tears streaming.

While gasping and coughing, I hurried to alert the teacher and rushed toward the rooftop, which was already surrounded by a dense crowd of students. I pushed through the tight throng and barely caught sight of a figure standing beyond the railing.

A person with an arm in a cast.

Someone everyone praised as “easygoing and generous.”

A heavy-hearted, determined-to-die Takeshi Yamamoto.

Many classmates gradually spoke words of comfort; he frowned and smiled bitterly, saying things that made him seem like a colossal fool. Standing at the edge of the crowd, I raised my voice once in desperation.

My voice was not loud.

It was drowned out by the noisy chatter and the wind, hardly audible under normal circumstances.

But maybe it was my imagination; in retrospect, I felt as if I had briefly caught his startled gaze. Then, a savior appeared—Tsunayoshi Sawada from his class charged forward and tried to talk him down. In the struggle, both accidentally fell off the rooftop.

In that instant, the pounding sensation in my temples still echoes in my ears.

Fortunately, they were unharmed.

Perhaps memory’s protective mechanism dulled the impression; I’ve since forgotten how they survived the fall unharmed, only remembering many people laughing afterward.

But I could never bring myself to laugh.

Back in class, lessons, dismissal, club activities.

Life continued as usual.

Only on rare occasions, when I happened to say goodbye to friends or ran errands for teachers alone, did I suddenly encounter Yamamoto—who barely ever crossed my path before.

He would suddenly appear beside me, wearing a rough, old baseball glove, asking if I needed a hand.

(PS: That was the first time he initiated conversation, but his tone made it seem as if we were longtime friends. Honestly, I found it a bit rude. Normally, making eye contact for more than a second signals greeting. But even when I caught him in the corner of my eye, I was in a rush and had no time to look directly.)

(PS again: Moreover, after the rooftop incident, I had nightmares for three or four days straight. Just walking along normally, suddenly hearing someone speak above my head, turning to see not a face keeping distance, but a boy clad in a baseball jacket so close it startled me again. Do friendly strangers usually invade personal space so abruptly?)

(PS... In short, I felt this guy wasn’t as magnanimous, easygoing, or understanding as people said.)

A person whose image differed from the rumors.

I found this classmate from a neighboring class a bit strange, so I politely declined his offers three times, then rarely encountered him directly again.

Such topics about classmates were unnecessary to discuss with teachers.

I simply agreed, bid farewell to the staff in the office, and hurried away with the materials in my arms.