Chapter 42: Controlled Burn

Chapter 42: Chapter 42: Controlled Burn

Shion’s monologue, POV

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​My biggest flaw is my attachment to him.

​I know that, but... I’m not at fault; he made me this way.

​"Junpai, listen to the context—" Nanami began, reaching out, but Aki instantly stepped into her path, his broad frame blocking her advance with a cold, unyielding finality.

​"You know Shion can’t lie," Aki said.

​"I found it strange that an upperclassman was really into Junpai, but he’s my bro," he added.

​"And it was my job to support him in whatever way I could, but I let it escalate to this point."

​"...." Nanami didn’t say a word.

​There wasn’t much to be said to prove them wrong. To them, this could be a long-term plan extending into the school’s politics.

​It was already hard to trust one another, so a little threat or suspicious move would prove a total collapse.

​"I sure was a fool," he added.

​"Listen, I—" Nanami tried to communicate, but was still stopped halfway.

​"I think you should back up," Aki said, his tone devoid of its usual energetic warmth, replaced by a hard, protective edge.

​From the back of the group, Inosuki watched the fallout with awe and surprise.

​Funny thing is, he hardly makes those types of expressions.

​This was outside his plan to begin with. I waited for him to make his move, even if the possibility of it being successful was almost 0%. It would still leave a mark on Junpai’s psychological reasoning and emotions.

​Beside him, Mataguchi stood perfectly still, his dark eyes fixed on the phone in my hand. His expression remained entirely unreadable, a frozen mask in the midday heat.

​Did he notice something?

​You know, honestly, I still don’t want to get it.

​When someone is excited, their eyes tend to widen slightly. When they’re frightened, their gaze becomes more alert. When they’re amused, the muscles around the eyes change. When they’re angry, the focus becomes intense.

​His eyes weren’t empty. Empty things had nothing inside them. His had something; I just couldn’t tell what. They watched everything with the same quiet attention, as though emotions were merely another variable to be recorded.

​His gaze directed to Inosuki, then back to the group. He was slowly watching everyone’s reactions.

​Nanami’s mind was filled with overwhelming emotions of confusion, guilt, sadness, and embarrassment. That was what could be seen as her skin grew pale.

​"....."

​"...."

​"...." Nanami’s mind still remained blank. She just froze in place. Or so it seemed to me.

​Was she expecting pity?

​Nanami stood at the edge of the concrete boardwalk, where the tiles gave way to the sand.

​Her cream-colored sundress fluttered slightly in the sea breeze, but her posture remained perfectly centered, completely devoid of the frantic, defensive panic she had displayed near the Ferris wheel. She looked at Junpai.

​Her light brown eyes were soft, reflecting a quiet, profound exhaustion that felt entirely authentic and completely final.

​The afternoon sun sat low on the horizon, casting a flat, metallic glare across the water.

​The rhythmic, repetitive hiss of small waves flattening against the wet sand was the only consistent sound, a stark contrast to the chaotic white noise of the amusement park they had left behind.

​"I think it’s best if I head home from here, Junpai," Nanami said, her voice dropping its standard melodic lilt for a quiet, grounded tone.

​I guess it was the best idea considering the situation.

​Junpai flinched as if struck. He took a half-step forward, his hand instinctively rising from the pocket of his jacket, his fingers twitching. His mouth opened slightly as if trying to say something, but nothing came out.

​This wasn’t a sight I was proud of seeing. This was a problem I had brought up because of my selfishness. For tests, exams, and trials of the school, this would definitely cause a drawback to their class.

​Some students were already making big plans or thinking of ways to get through this semester without faults, but here we are wasting it on a date.

​I know I shouldn’t be saying this since I myself was kind of getting into it. But for me, the only way I could pass the trials of both life and the school was with Oota next to me.

​Nothing else.

​"I’m sorry, Junpai," Nanami added softly, her gaze lingering on his pale face for a fraction of a second.

​"I’m sorry for not being the perfect girlfriend you were looking for."

​She turned smoothly, her movements fluid and unhurried, and began walking toward the transit station stairs. She didn’t look back at all.

​His shoulders slouched inward, his chest heaving in a shallow, silent rhythm of absolute heartbreak.

​An agonizing, prolonged silence settled over the remaining teenagers. They stood scattered across the entrance of the beach like random strangers.

​Junpai couldn’t choose.

​That was the first thing I noticed.

​He stood there between us, staring at Nanami as though the answer was supposed to be obvious.

​But it wasn’t; he wanted to believe her.

​I could see it in his eyes.

​Even after hearing the recording, even after everything I had said, some part of him was still desperately searching for an explanation that would allow Nanami to remain the person he thought she was.

​It almost made me feel sorry for him.

​Almost.

​Junpai wasn’t weak; he was simply attached to an image.

​He hadn’t fallen in love with Nanami.

​Not completely, I’m sure, but he had fallen in love with the way she made him feel.

​The perfect upperclassman who listened to him. The girl who laughed at his jokes.

​The person who made his anxiety feel insignificant.

​He had built her into something larger than a person. So how could he suddenly stand against her?

​Doing that would mean admitting that the person he had been admiring all day had never existed in the way he imagined.

​That was probably why he couldn’t choose.

​He wasn’t defending Nanami, but was defending the memory of her.

​And somehow, that made me uncomfortable.

​Because I understood it.

​Too well, in fact.

​People don’t always hold onto others because they’re good for them. Sometimes they hold on because letting go would force them to admit that they were wrong.

​Junpai looked at Nanami again.

​His lips moved slightly, but nothing came out.

​He wanted her to explain herself.

​He wanted her to tell him that everything was a misunderstanding; he wanted one sentence, just one, to make the entire thing disappear.

​But Nanami couldn’t give it to him.

​And I knew why.

​Because the moment she tried to explain, she would have to expose what happened inside that cabin.

​Our conversation.

​Her intentions.

​My questions.

​Everything.

​And that would just put a smile on my face.

​So Junpai remained trapped between two versions of reality.

​The girl standing in front of him... and the girl he had spent the entire day believing existed.

​I should have felt victorious.

​Instead, I felt something heavier.

​Maybe this was what it meant to destroy someone’s illusion.

​You didn’t just hurt the person who created it. You hurt the person who needed it.

​Still...

​I couldn’t take it back, not anymore.

​I had already decided Oota was mine to protect, and if protecting him meant becoming someone I didn’t recognize...

​Then perhaps I had already crossed that line.

​Aki crossed his broad arms, staring out at the cargo ships on the horizon, his jaw tightly locked.

​Oota remained rigid, his hands buried deep in his shorts, the lingering adrenaline of the afternoon leaving him hollow and exhausted.

​The mechanical click of a phone button broke the stillness.

​Mataguchi stood two paces away, his dark, lifeless eyes fixed on the digital screen of his device. He didn’t look at any of us.

​"According to the optimized itinerary," Mataguchi announced, his voice a flat, clinical monotone that completely ignored the emotional wreckage around him.

​Here he goes again with his dictionary wording.

​"The evening atmospheric cooling has reached its baseline. We have precisely forty-five minutes of daylight remaining. We should move onto the sand now."

​"Prez... seriously?" Aki muttered, his tone dropping into a low, incredulous rumble.

​"What?"

​"Look at the mood right now. You think we’re in the right headspace to just stroll on the beach?"

​"I’m trying to help... The physical location is irrelevant to the processing of psychological trauma," Mataguchi replied deadpan, tucking his phone back into his black trousers.

​"Ahh?" Aki uttered.

​"Remaining stationary on the concrete simply prolongs social stagnation. Moving forward is the only logical course of action."

​"Clearly you are not human," Aki added.

​"He’s... he’s right, Aki," Junpai murmured, his voice cracking slightly as he forced his gaze away from the station entrance. "Let’s just... let’s just walk. I don’t want to go home yet."

​"Oota," I whispered, lightly touching my sleeve, my tears slowly drying as I maintained my fragile posture. "Can we... can we just leave? I don’t want to stay here anymore."

​"Yeah," Oota said softly, his jaw set as he turned his back on the Ferris wheel platform. "Let’s get out of here."

​"The movie theater slots are waiting," Aki added, his gaze lingering on Nanami a moment longer, signaling that she wasn’t excluded anymore.

​As we walked, I turned slightly to her, seeing she had stopped moving. Her eyes weren’t looking at me, but at Oota who was leading me along, and she had this expression of irritation.

​What’s that all about?

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"The greatest enemy of knowledge is not ignorance, it is the illusion of knowledge."

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