6. Candor and Concealment

“Did I guess right?”

The one who caused the world to collapse was completely oblivious.

He scratched the back of his head as if deeply interested in this game and said, “You never really looked happy when you smiled before. Yet you always forced yourself to say you liked it. So…”

It was like a heavy stone rolling from my chest down into my stomach, then my head, shoulders, and fragile spine.

The massive boulder that Sisyphus failed to push up came crashing down. Like a sharp slap to the face, like a screaming train crushing me. The whistle buzzed, turning into a dizzying ringing in my temples. The world plunged into the deafening silence of an explosion’s second moment.

I stood there foolishly, almost losing my humanity for a moment.

Like someone who first stumbles upon a bloody crime scene, frozen and unable to look away. Clearly unwilling to listen, yet the ears involuntarily strain to catch every faint sound.

I heard the culprit smile and say, “Aren’t you tired?”

I looked at him calmly.

In that instant, many memories flooded back.

“Accidents,” “incidents”—these things always happen suddenly, causing endless trouble, with no warning beforehand.

Afterwards, everyone just accepts their misfortune and says there’s nothing to be done.

Nothing can be done.

I remembered my childhood.

My mother came home only a few times a year. I cried until I nearly fainted. My father held me gently and said there was no way around it. No way. My mother was busy with her important career. Once, when I clutched a toy trying to find her, I heard her quietly sighing and blaming herself for not taking good care of me.

So later, when I said goodbye to her, I only said I would miss and love her. I never cried or clung to anyone again.

I remembered my music teacher.

She was proud of me and praised me as a rare genius.

Therefore, although I never found joy in playing the violin—mostly boredom, pain, and exhaustion—I could still persevere step by step and rejoice in the sense of accomplishment.

Later, the teacher took me to Russia and Italy for competitions.

I played normally and won as usual. Sneaking backstage for water, I suddenly heard the girl who lost to me crying bitterly.

She sobbed and asked why she lost despite loving the violin and practicing so hard. Her mother comforted her, saying there was nothing that could be done. Genius was always merciless. Her mother was my teacher.

I stood there silently for a long time and ended up not drinking the water.

When we parted, I silently rehearsed a gentle excuse for why I no longer wanted to play the violin. The girl, eyes red and wet, ran up to me. I lowered my head, but heard her say loudly, “Shigevi, this time the result is decided, there’s nothing to be done. But next time, the champion will be me.”

The teacher smiled at us.

The judges who were leaving nodded with relief or began to applaud softly.

At that moment, I was nailed to the center of their gazes.

I don’t know how long it lasted—maybe just a moment—I heard my own happy, spirited voice agreeing.

After returning home, my father asked how the competition went. I proudly said it was too easy and that I didn’t want to compete anymore. He told me to be humble and then asked if I liked the piano or violin more.

The crying girl’s voice circled my mind like a bat. I smiled and said I liked both.

My father asked if I would continue competing.

I said yes.

I recalled the countless admiring glances, the touch of elders stroking my head, the endless expectations. I remembered people saying, “This child will achieve great things,” “Her results are never in doubt,” “Help me, only you can do it.”

I remembered, “With Shige here, we will never lose,” “You’re a genius, luckily you didn’t waste your talent.”

I remembered.

“…I.”

As soon as I spoke, my dry throat choked back a sob.

I was done for.

Crafting a perfect, decent excuse was something I had long mastered. His words, “I doubted several times if I was mistaken,” showed he hadn’t truly seen through me. I still had a chance to cover up my foolishness and cowardice.

In theory, that’s how it should be. In theory, I could do it.

I had rehearsed countless times since childhood.

No one had ever found out.

I stared intently at the cheerful smile, opening my mouth in vain. Before I could speak again, a muffled sound like a derailed train thundered past my ears. I heard my own hoarse, broken, bitter voice:

“I’m tired. That’s just who I am. So what?”

Yamamoto was stunned.

It was over.

Don’t say anything more.

My hand hanging on the door dropped, as if trying to pull myself back, but it felt more like clenching a fist.

“I just don’t like it. I don’t like talking to you because you’re really strange. I haven’t done anything to you, so why do you suddenly get so close like this?”

Don’t say anything more.

“I absolutely, definitely have to do everything perfectly… I’m exhausted, but I just have to. Do you want to say I’m wrong?”

I tried to laugh bitterly, but my heavy, stiff lips kept falling. Yamamoto’s face blurred further. His breath shuddered suddenly, and I bit my aching tongue hard, turning my gaze away.

“Where did I go wrong to make you so smug about catching my flaws? You’re happy to finally expose the real Shigevi, right? What’s next? Tell everyone I pretend to be normal every day but am nothing more than a clown?”

Outside, the sun shone brightly, like someone else’s turbulent youth.

I lowered my head slightly, unable to understand why icy raindrops still soaked my eyelashes, stinging my eyes with soreness and swelling. Blood pulsed in my head. Every blink cleared my blurred vision for a moment before turning it back into a rain-soaked skylight.

Forehead hot, eyes hot. My nose was hot, but my cheeks felt frozen and cracked.

I frowned in discomfort, trying to suppress the quiver in my voice, but it only made it worse. When I looked up suddenly, I caught the boy staring in a daze, frozen in place.

A sharp, overwhelming sense of having done wrong struck my back.

Nothing could be more terrifying than this moment.

My mind went blank, and the momentum of despair threw all reason into the storm.

I said, “Forget it, I don’t care what you want to do. Now you know!”

I added, “I hate it but don’t say it. I’m a hypocrite. I pretend to be popular and do things just to please people… Right? You noticed. You’re everyone’s good friend, standing up for those I’ve deceived, so you keep coming after me, right?”

Yamamoto no longer smiled. His easygoing demeanor seemed shaken. He waved his hands anxiously—trying to explain but unable to interrupt—fumbling to find something on his person.

Just as I finished speaking, he pulled out a small packet of tissues from his baseball jacket pocket.

He almost dropped it as he fumbled, the packet hopping in his hands like a fish flapping ashore before he caught it.

“No, sorry, I really don’t have those thoughts… Sorry, sorry, don’t cry.”

He hurriedly tore off a tissue and stepped quickly toward me.

“I want to say, I admire you… Really, I’m sorry! I won’t say anything else. Holding your breath like this will suffocate you. Breathe deeply, Shige!”

I stumbled back two steps, my back almost pressed against the classroom door. Still crying, I glared at Yamamoto, clutching my uniform’s hem tightly.

“Really? Weren’t you just smiling so… so happily?!”

Tears surged uncontrollably. I broke down completely, speaking in broken sobs, intermittently sniffing.

“I’m crying, I’m crying! So what? Isn’t this what you wanted to see?” My wet face was a mess, and I struggled to breathe, forcing myself to gasp deeply. “You think, you think I look ridiculous like this, don’t you?!”

Yamamoto: “Not at all! I don’t think that!”

Me: “You think—I—I—I would believe you?!”

Yamamoto frantically waved the tissues: “You can believe me, I swear on baseball I’m not lying!”

My voice trembled tightly: “I lied to you! I—I—I lied, I lied to everyone. Now you’re mocking me! And worse, you want to pity me! Right?!”

“No!” he said, “I wouldn’t mock you. Rather, I think you’ve worked very hard, facing everything… Ah, what’s that saying? Facing everything… Face… Ramen? Ramen face?”

I sobbed in despair: “Face, facing everything?”

Yamamoto’s face lit up for a few seconds.

“Yes, facing everything! That’s not something ordinary people can do. Besides, I don’t think you’re lying… Uh,” he said, suddenly serious and flustered, “I won’t say that word anymore. Don’t cry, sorry, don’t be afraid…”

He tried hard to explain, but seeing I hadn’t taken the tissue, he carefully reached out to wipe my tears.

I dodged without hesitation, ducking under his arm.

His voice followed closely.

“Shi—”

“Enough! Shut up!”

I stood inside, back to the source of all this, interrupting loudly. I could feel the skin around my eyes raw and fragile, the weight of the sunlight alone enough to sting. I hated pain.

Yamamoto finally fell silent.

Breathing. Breathing again.

I tried my best to calm myself, but the sobbing and cursing couldn’t stop immediately. In the tightly closed classroom, only my shameful, uncontrollable sobs remained.

Suddenly, I felt as if I had returned to being three or four years old, crying helplessly one last time at the airport.

…How ironic.

I closed my eyes. When no more tears burst out rebelliously, I opened them again.

Silence behind me.

Sniffling, I quietly glanced back. Yamamoto held the tissues, looking helplessly at me. I quickly turned away, smoothing the wrinkled hem, still speaking to him with the back of my head.

“Are you going to tell anyone?”

The voice behind immediately replied, “I’m not that kind of person.”

“Really?”

“Really!”

“Don’t come closer.”

The footsteps trying to approach stopped immediately.

“Step back,” I said again.

Two seconds later, I heard the rustle of retreat.

Sometimes, as long as I withdraw from my emotions and look at myself objectively, calming down isn’t so difficult. I finally breathed out slowly, confirming my mind was a little clearer, then continued.

“I can’t let anyone know I cried. I need to stay here and sort myself out.”

“Well,” Yamamoto’s tone brightened as if he recovered his good mood faster than me, “here, tissues—”

I snapped angrily, “No!”

Silence fell again.

In that brief pause, I belatedly felt a swell of guilt.

…What am I doing?

Suddenly, the lively noise of celebration came from outside—probably the hurdle relay race had just ended. Then the lunch bell rang, melodious and clear over the loudspeaker. I clenched my fist hanging by my side.

“Anyway, you should leave quickly,” I urged.

He sounded reluctant, “But you…”

I said, “You’ve been gone so long, surely someone’s looking for you.”

Yamamoto paused, seeming to find sense in that.

“Okay, you’re right. If you need help, just ask.”

“I don’t need your help. I can manage.”

“Alright, don’t be so harsh.”

“…”

I frowned, turned around, glaring at the nagging boy with a fiery, tearful look.

“I said I don’t need anything. Don’t try to comfort me!”

I retorted as I walked quickly past him. The black-haired boy raised his hands in surrender at my sudden outburst. His wide eyes were forced backward until his back pressed against the door, a cold sweat appearing at his temple.

“Okay, okay!” He looked almost scared, lowering his head and retreating. “I got it.”

I just extended my arm, passing around him to pull open the half-open classroom door.

The sliding wheels creaked, revealing the hallway outside. Fortunately, no one was there. I pushed with all my strength, palm pressing against Yamamoto’s chest.

He let out a startled “Whoa,” pushed back a little.

I then pushed his arm harder. After an emotional upheaval, sensitivity heightens briefly. My nose tingled, tears inexplicably returning to my eyes. I dared not look up.

“Don’t look at me… You’re so annoying, get out!”

Yamamoto was pushed until half his body was out the door. Still a bit confused, he tried to make amends in his own way, pressing one hand against the doorframe and pointing behind him with the other.

“I’ll be eating lunch in the classroom today,” he said.

“That’s none of my business,” I pushed him once more.

The door slid shut with a whoosh, but he quickly blocked it.

“I’m in Class 2-A, sitting second last in the second row near the door!” Yamamoto declared, trying to wedge his head back into the door gap.

I nearly cried in frustration. “I know! Go away!”

Finally, the door slammed shut.

“…”

…It’s over.

Oh no, did I just curse? Even worse. But at this point, no matter what, he probably won’t come poking around me again.

I finally exhaled, sniffed my sore nose, pursed my lips, and silently wiped the cool tears from the corner of my eyes with the back of my hand.

Then, outside the door, a boy’s straightforward voice suddenly came through, slightly blurred.

“And by the way, my name is Yamamoto Takeshi. I’m a baseball team batter.”

I paused wiping my tears.

“Who doesn’t know that…”

He naturally didn’t hear my muttered complaint. My head throbbed from crying, my face taut with tear stains, and I had no desire to speak to him.

But just as I turned around, that voice came again, just one door away, carrying a teasing smile.

The Yamamoto Takeshi from Class 2-A, currently sitting second last in the second row, baseball team batter, said, “Nice to meet you, Shige!”