Yellow Diamond: Chapter 2 - part 3

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The results from the midterm tests had come back. When handing out the papers, their homeroom teacher, Fukiyama-sensei, gave a particularly meaningful smirk. Shun’ichi, puzzled by the look, took the folded paper and returned to his seat. Curious, he peeked at the score portion—and was stunned. He quickly closed the paper, then unfolded it again to check. Sure enough, every answer was marked with a red circle. He’d always been good at math, and he knew he had answered all the questions, but he hadn’t expected to get a perfect score. He flipped the paper over right away. Mizusawa, sitting in the seat in front of him, kept clicking his tongue in frustration and turned in his chair to look at Shun’ichi. 

"Hey, what did you get?" 

Without waiting for a response, Mizusawa tugged at Shun’ichi’s paper to peek at it himself. 

"No way! Seriously?" 

His rude friend was quickly scolded by the teacher, who pointed and said, "Mizusawa, keep it quiet." Mizusawa clicked his tongue again and turned back to face the blackboard. 

"This class ranked the lowest in the first-year group for this test, even though it’s my own homeroom," Fukiyama-sensei said. "The problems weren’t that difficult, and if you had paid attention in class, you should have been able to solve them. I know you all have club activities and other responsibilities, but don’t forget that your main duty as students is to study." 

He then turned to Shun’ichi. 

"But Sanada, you did really well this time. You were the only first-year student to score a perfect hundred." 

A murmur spread through the classroom, and Shun’ichi felt several gazes flicker in his direction. Since entering junior high school, he hadn’t been publicly praised for his grades before, so the sudden attention felt both embarrassing and pleasing at the same time. The commotion didn’t last long, though, and the lesson resumed as usual. Riding the high of being praised, Shun’ichi felt good as the class continued. It wasn’t until later that he noticed Mizusawa was repeatedly stomping his right foot under the desk. Whenever Mizusawa was in a bad mood, he always stomped his right foot like that. Shun’ichi figured it must have been because Mizusawa didn’t score well on the test. 

As soon as the break started, Mizusawa turned around and pouted. 

"There’s no way this makes sense," he muttered. "It’s impossible that you got a perfect score. You don’t even go to cram school like I do. You must’ve been pretending to slack off at school but studying like crazy at home, right?" 

His tone reeked of resentment. After all, when they first took the placement test upon entering junior high school, Mizusawa had ranked near the top of the class, while Shun’ichi was near the bottom. When Mizusawa found out about Shun’ichi’s low score, he had offered to tutor him, even though Shun’ichi hadn’t asked. Back then, Shun’ichi had thought Mizusawa was just being a nice guy. At first, the different format of junior high school tests had thrown Shun’ichi off, but after a few tries, he’d gotten used to it and figured out the tricks. And since he was already good at math, his scores improved dramatically. That was all there was to it. 

"I don’t really study that much at home," Shun’ichi said. 

"Yeah, right. There’s no way you could do that well without studying!" 

For Mizusawa, the only explanation for good grades was extensive studying at home. 

"I’ve always been good at math." 

Mizusawa’s scowl deepened at those words. 

"What do you mean, ‘good at math’? Don’t be so cocky. You probably cheated or something." 

Shun’ichi was taken aback by how outrageous Mizusawa’s accusation was, and it stung.

"Don’t take your frustration out on others just because you didn’t do well." 

Mizusawa’s face turned bright red as he stood up from his chair and stormed out of the classroom. He didn’t come back until the bell rang for the next class. At first, Shun’ichi had been furious about the insult, but as time passed, he started to feel like maybe he had gone too far. During the next break, he tapped Mizusawa’s back with the end of his mechanical pencil, intending to apologize, but Mizusawa ignored him, pretending not to notice. Shun’ichi could feel the intensity of Mizusawa’s anger radiating from his back. He had planned to apologize during lunch, but the moment the fourth period bell rang, Mizusawa grabbed his lunch and joined another group to eat with them. Considering they always ate lunch together, this felt like a betrayal. Even so, Shun’ichi couldn’t bring himself to join Mizusawa’s group, so he resigned himself to eating alone, quietly biting into the bread he had bought from the school store. Mizusawa kept pointing in his direction, laughing loudly as if mocking him. It made Shun’ichi feel sick. 

"Hey, you’re eating alone today?" 

Shun’ichi looked up to see Akimori standing next to him. 

"The teacher called me, so I’m late for lunch. Mind if I eat here?" 

Shun’ichi could feel others watching them from a distance. After all, it was Mizusawa who had first turned his back on him, and more than anything, Shun’ichi hated being alone, so he nodded. Akimori, holding a large bento box, sat across from him. When Akimori opened his lunch, it was filled with colorful vegetables and fish, arranged so beautifully that it looked like something you’d see in a shop. 

"Do you want some? I’ll give you something," Akimori offered. 

The thought that he had been staring at the bento so longingly made Shun’ichi’s face burn with embarrassment. 

"No, I’m good," he replied, turning away and pretending to be uninterested as he took another bite of his now tasteless bread. Akimori ate neatly, holding his chopsticks with perfect form. Shun’ichi suddenly remembered how his own father held his chopsticks, almost like a fist. 

"Right now, I’m teaching Cherry how to play frisbee," Akimori said, chatting away. "It’s tricky to throw it just right so she brings it back. There’s a bit of technique to it, but it’s fun." 

Shun’ichi didn’t want to think about Akimori’s dog, or his big house, or his mother. 

"You should come over again sometime. Frisbee’s really fun. Let’s play together." 

"I don’t want to hear about dogs," Shun’ichi muttered. 

Akimori paused mid-sentence, his mouth still partly open, then mumbled a small, "Oh, okay." 

"By the way, Sanada-kun, your dad is so cool." 

Hearing Isamu’s name mentioned, Shun’ichi’s heart skipped a beat. 

"He’s so young. I’m kind of jealous. My dad’s pretty old." 

It felt nice to hear someone admire his father’s youth. 

"My mom said he seemed like a really nice person, too. She said you look a lot like him." 

That’s when Shun’ichi realized: Akimori wasn’t talking about Isamu. He was talking about Kunihiko, who had come as his substitute for the parent-teacher meeting. The "cool" and "nice" person was Kunihiko, and the part about them looking alike was definitely just in Akimori’s head. 

"Can I come to your house sometime?" 

The thought filled Shun’ichi with a sudden, overwhelming dread. He felt utterly cold. Akimori was misunderstanding things, offering compliments he thought would be well-received, and now he wanted to come over? Why? 

"Why do you want to come?" Shun’ichi asked bluntly. 

Akimori, confused by Shun’ichi’s curt tone, scratched his head awkwardly. 

"I just thought it’d be cool to see your room. I’m curious about what kind of stuff you’re into." 

That’s when it hit Shun’ichi. Akimori wanted to be his friend. While it didn’t feel bad, it certainly didn’t make him happy either. 

"I’m not interested in you." 

Akimori’s face fell, looking hurt as he lowered his gaze. 

"Why?" 

"No reason. That’s just how it is." 

Shun’ichi didn’t want to invite someone who lived in a big house to his own shabby apartment. And he certainly didn’t want to introduce anyone to his father, who wasn’t smart and wasn’t cool. Of all people, he especially didn’t want Akimori to come over. Though he had reluctantly eaten lunch with him today, Shun’ichi decided then and there to keep his distance from Akimori from now on. What he didn’t realize at the time was that this was his instinctive way of protecting himself, a defense mechanism to avoid the pain of comparing himself to others. 

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The fifth period was English class. As Shun’ichi erased a mistake in his notebook—he had used the wrong conjunction—his eraser slipped from the desk and rolled toward Mizusawa’s feet, who sat in front of him. Realizing he wouldn’t be able to retrieve it himself, Shun’ichi reluctantly poked Mizusawa in the back, despite their ongoing cold war.

"Sorry, but could you grab the eraser by your feet?" 

Mizusawa turned to look at him but only narrowed his eyes and snorted dismissively before facing forward again. He didn’t pick up the eraser. Fed up with this obvious act of hostility, Shun’ichi had no choice but to bend down and retrieve the eraser himself, trying to avoid the teacher’s gaze. As he stretched out his arm to grab it, Mizusawa, who had been still until that moment, suddenly stomped on Shun’ichi’s hand with his indoor shoe. 

"Ouch!" 

Shun’ichi yelped, jerking up in pain. In the cramped space, he thrashed around trying to free himself and finally emerged from under the desk. Standing tall before him was the English teacher, infamous for being "strict and scary," glaring down at the commotion.

"What do you think you’re doing during class?" 

"I... was picking up my eraser," Shun’ichi mumbled, shrinking under the teacher’s sharp gaze.

"Your eraser?" the teacher repeated, hands on his hips.

"I dropped it under the desk in front of me, and when I bent down to grab it, I got stepped on," Shun’ichi explained, glancing at Mizusawa, who was watching with a smug smirk. But suddenly, Mizusawa stood up.

"I didn’t step on your hand!" Mizusawa shouted, his voice filled with anger. Shun’ichi was shocked by the seriousness of Mizusawa’s lie.

"I’m not saying you did it on purpose..." Shun’ichi tried to explain.

"Don’t lie! You’re trying to get me in trouble. I know what you’re doing!" Mizusawa yelled, his voice rising in volume. The teacher’s face grew even more severe, and Shun’ichi had no idea how to handle the situation.

"Um..." 

A quiet voice cut into the tense silence that followed Mizusawa’s outburst. Akimori had raised his hand and was now standing, his expression serious.

"I saw Mizusawa-kun step on Sanada-kun’s hand," Akimori said calmly. 

Mizusawa’s face flushed a deep red, then drained to a pale blue, like a litmus paper changing colors.

"You... you’re in on this with Sanada, huh? Are you both enjoying ganging up on me?" Mizusawa stammered, his voice frantic and stumbling over his words. In contrast, Akimori spoke coolly and matter-of-factly.

"You might not have noticed, but you definitely stepped on him."

While Mizusawa floundered, the teacher glanced down at Shun’ichi’s hand, which was red from the impact.

"Do you need to go to the nurse’s office?" 

Shun’ichi shook his head, and thankfully, that was the end of it. The teacher trusted Akimori’s account and only told Mizusawa to "be more careful" before returning to the front of the classroom. Though Shun’ichi was relieved that his innocence had been proven in such an unexpected way, he couldn’t help but notice Mizusawa trembling in his seat in front of him.

"Hey, I’m not mad about it," Shun’ichi whispered gently toward Mizusawa’s back. Mizusawa turned his head slightly.

"Shut up," he muttered in a low voice, then turned back to face forward. His expression was so filled with anger and hostility that it sent a chill down Shun’ichi’s spine.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Shun’ichi usually walked home with Mizusawa. If one of them was running late, the other would wait in the classroom—an unspoken understanding between them. But today, as soon as the homeroom session ended, Mizusawa stood up, joining the group he had eaten lunch with earlier without so much as a glance or word to Shun’ichi. He left the classroom, chatting away, while Shun’ichi remained, left behind alone. 

Shun’ichi thought about chasing after him, but he knew Mizusawa would probably just ignore him. Instead, he decided to stay seated for a while, watching the scene outside the window. The baseball team, dressed in their uniforms, was running on the field. He had often heard how tough their practices were, but from a distance, it looked like they were having fun. 

Shun’ichi had decided not to join any clubs. He had considered joining the baseball team but couldn't bring himself to ask. The cost of the shoes and uniforms, not to mention the extra expenses for summer and winter training camps, would have been too much. He knew how hard Isamu had worked to buy his school uniform, bag, shoes, and indoor slippers when he entered junior high school. Isamu had even taken on extra night shifts at construction sites to make ends meet. Shun’ichi once offered to get a part-time job that junior high schoolers could do, but Isamu wouldn’t allow it. 

"Kids should play and study while they can," Isamu had said, laughing. "Otherwise, you'll end up like me, a fool." 

Shun’ichi never knew if Isamu was joking or being serious. 

As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, the classroom grew quieter, almost desolate. He stared absentmindedly at the empty seat in front of him. Mizusawa was the first friend he had made in junior high school. Shun’ichi knew Mizusawa was friendly and didn’t like being alone. Though Mizusawa was prideful and could be mean sometimes, deep down, he was honest and easy to get along with. His smile even reminded Shun’ichi a little of Isamu. 

Shun’ichi picked up his schoolbag, which felt heavier than usual, and walked past the now-empty shoe lockers and the metallic clangs of baseball bats from the field. He headed out through the school gate, and he hadn’t gone more than a few meters before someone tapped him on the shoulder. Thinking it was Mizusawa, he turned around quickly, full of hope. 

"Heading home now? Let’s walk together for a bit," Akimori said. 

Even though Shun’ichi knew Mizusawa would never wait for him like that, considering how mean and indifferent he could be, yet he still felt a flicker of hope—and disappointment when it wasn’t him. Both emotions frustrated him. Akimori, without saying anything, simply started walking beside him, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Today was supposed to be club practice, but the advisor had something to do, so he canceled it. Everyone just messed around during self-practice, played through three or four songs, and then we were done," Akimori said.

Shun’ichi had heard from Mizusawa that Akimori was in the brass band. Shun’ichi, on the other hand, had hated music class ever since elementary school. His clumsy fingers made him terrible at playing the keyboard, and his inability to hit the right notes made him so bad at singing that even the teacher had chuckled at him. He had often wished music class would disappear altogether, so he couldn’t understand why anyone would voluntarily choose to play music in a club.

Even as Akimori tried to make conversation, Shun’ichi barely responded, only giving half-hearted nods. Akimori’s voice grew more fragmented, and eventually, he fell silent. Finally, the intersection before the station—where they would part ways—came into view. As Shun’ichi started to turn right, he heard his name being called. He turned back to see Akimori, who should’ve already been crossing the street, running back toward him at full speed. Akimori stopped in front of him, slightly out of breath, biting his lip and nervously tapping his foot.

"Sanada-kun, I know you’re close with Mizusawa-kun, and I hesitated a lot before saying this, but... I have to tell you. I hope you’ll listen. Mizusawa-kun and I go to the same cram school—Meiran Prep. And... he talks a lot of bad stuff about you there. He says you’re stupid, that you can’t do anything without him tutoring you. Things like that..."

From early on in their friendship, Shun’ichi had realized that Mizusawa could lie without batting an eye. He’d often deny saying things even when he clearly had, but it was usually over trivial matters, so Shun’ichi didn’t care. Still, he hadn’t imagined Mizusawa would talk behind his back like this.

"You should be careful around him," Akimori continued. "I heard from someone who’s known him since elementary school that Mizusawa’s always been a liar, and he didn’t have many friends."

Shun’ichi didn’t think Akimori was lying. Even so, he still liked the bright, friendly face Mizusawa had shown him on the first day of school. Mizusawa could be selfish, but he was straightforward and easy to understand. When their conversations clicked, it was genuinely fun. Liking someone and getting along with them isn’t something you can explain with logic.

"So what?" Shun’ichi replied, his voice low and growling.

"What do you mean, 'so what'? Someone who badmouths you behind your back isn’t a real friend. I just think you shouldn’t be so close to Mizusawa-kun..." 

"And why are you telling me this? We’re not even friends."

Even words spoken out of kindness can feel annoying if they aren’t what you want to hear. Akimori looked hurt.

"Just go home," Shun’ichi muttered, turning his back on him. 

The fact that Mizusawa had been badmouthing him behind his back stung, but as long as Mizusawa stopped, it would be fine. That said, could he really confront Mizusawa about it? Probably not. Wanting to shake off the messy feelings inside, Shun’ichi sprinted all the way home.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

It had been a gray, drizzly morning, with rain quietly falling since dawn. On the way to school, he'd made up his mind about something he'd been thinking over for a while. No matter how much Mizusawa might glare at him, today he was going to talk to him. If Mizusawa had joined another group, then he’d just have to ask to join in, too. After thinking about it all night, he had reached a conclusion: "I still want to be friends with Mizusawa."

As soon as he slid open the classroom door with a rattle, several gazes immediately focused on him. The strange, wordless atmosphere hung in the air. He looked back, but no one was behind him. He walked across the room, feeling those stares clinging to him, wondering, What’s going on? Standing in front of his desk, he gasped. Scrawled in thick black marker across the top were the words, "Idiot" and "Die." The moment he saw it, his head flushed hot with anger. He could hear giggles from somewhere behind him. He slammed his bag down onto the desk with all his strength.

"Who the hell wrote this!?"

His shout silenced the classroom. He glared around, but no one dared meet his eyes.

"This is awful..."

Mizusawa, who sat in front of him, turned around and pointed at the scribbles on the desk, muttering in a gentle voice, a complete contrast to his coldness yesterday.

"It was like this when I got here. Who could’ve done this? It’s unforgivable."

Even though he was being kind, it made Shun’ichi feel uneasy. Mizusawa traced a finger lightly over the writing on his desk.

"You won’t be able to clean it just by rubbing. Go borrow something from the teacher to get it off. I’ll help you."

"Ah, right…"

He stood there, dazed, until Mizusawa urged him again.

"What are you waiting for? Hurry up!"

Shun’ichi hurried out of the classroom. Immediately, a burst of laughter erupted behind him, ringing in his ears. He glanced back, unsure why everyone was laughing. It was probably aimed at him, considering the timing, but he couldn’t be sure.

The homeroom teacher hadn’t arrived yet, but after explaining the situation, the neighboring classical literature teacher lent him some benzine. Still feeling unsettled, he returned to the classroom, only to find a worn-out rag placed on his desk.

"This is really terrible, who could’ve done it?"

Mizusawa, who had said he would help, was now just watching as he scrubbed the desk furiously. His voice sounded sympathetic, but why did his eyes look like they were laughing?  Could it be that Mizusawa was the one who did this? Was he just pretending to feel sorry for Shun’ichi, while secretly deceiving him? After all, they had had a huge argument yesterday. Mizusawa had a reason to be mean to him. He desperately tried to push those thoughts away. He didn’t want to think ill of anyone. Mizusawa was being kind to him now, wasn’t he? He even gave him a rag, even if he wasn’t helping him clean. Maybe he felt guilty after Akimori had scolded him...

The benzine worked wonders, and in less than five minutes, the graffiti was gone. But so was the wood grain on the desk, leaving a white patch. Shun’ichi went to the sink to wash the now-blackened rag and froze in shock when he spread it open. The word “Toilet” was written on the rag in black ink. Furious, he slammed the rag into the sink, stormed back to the classroom, and slapped his hand down on Mizusawa’s desk with a bang.

"Why the hell did you make me use that rag?!"

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

Mizusawa blinked in exaggerated confusion. His feigned ignorance irritated Shun’ichi even more.

"You knew that rag was from the toilet, didn’t you?!"

"No way~ I got it from the cleaning supply locker, right over there. Oh, maybe someone brought it over by mistake. Sorry, sorry."

Even though Shun’ichi was sure it was a lie, he couldn’t accuse Mizusawa of lying. He had no proof, and besides, Mizusawa had apologized. Swallowing his anger with nowhere to direct it, he grabbed another rag from the cleaning supply locker in the corner of the classroom. He checked both sides to make sure there were no "Toilet" markings before wiping down his desk.

"Doesn't it smell kinda bad?"

Mizusawa wrinkled his nose.

"It’s just the benzine."

Shun’ichi responded irritably, still annoyed by the toilet rag incident.

"No, it’s not the chemical smell. It’s you."

Mizusawa pointed straight at him.

"Since earlier, there’s been this rotten garbage smell, and it’s making me sick. Can’t you do something about it?"

Garbage... The word hit him like a shock, and, still holding the rag, he frantically pressed the cuff of his school uniform to his nose. He couldn’t smell anything. But maybe he was just used to it. Maybe he really did stink. Isamu, whenever he came back from his garbage collection job, always reeked of something strange. He was careless about cleanliness, often falling asleep in his dirty, smelly clothes. Shun’ichi constantly nagged him to take a bath, but after living like that for so many years, maybe he had become so used to the smell that he couldn’t notice it anymore. He quickly took off his uniform jacket. If anything smelled, it had to be that.

"Whoa, don’t take it off all of a sudden. Now the smell’s even worse."

"Oh, sorry..."

While they were talking, people had started gathering around Mizusawa. Yamashita, Mihara, and Tsutsui—his three friends from yesterday's lunch group—were all there now.

"What’s all the fuss about?" Mihara pushed his face in closer.

"Don’t you think it smells in here?" Yamashita grinned as he pinched his nose in an exaggerated gesture.

"Yeah, I thought so too," Tsutsui chimed in.

"That’s because it’s Sanada here who stinks."

As soon as Mizusawa said that, the three of them burst into laughter. A cold chill ran down Shun’ichi’s spine.

"Dude, you need to take a bath every day."

Yamashita muttered in a condescending tone.

"I-I do take baths."

His voice came out in a strange, high-pitched tone.

"Liar. No one who bathes every day would smell that bad. Sorry, but can you stay away from me today?"

Mizusawa’s final, decisive comment left Shun’ichi with no choice but to hang his head. The four of them surrounded him, whispering and chuckling. Unable to stand it any longer, Shun’ichi left the classroom. He suddenly noticed he was still holding the rag. At the sink, he began washing it, when his eyes caught sight of the white soap nearby. It’s probably pointless now, he thought, but he rolled up his sleeves past his elbows and lathered up the soap, scrubbing his arms thoroughly. As he was washing, someone called out, "Good morning."

Standing behind him, holding his schoolbag with a slightly tense expression, was Akimori.

"Sorry for saying weird stuff yesterday."

Akimori took a step closer, but Shun’ichi instinctively stepped back. He had been told over and over that he smelled. If Akimori got too close, he might think the same.

"Don’t come near me."

Akimori’s face clouded with sadness as he walked into the classroom. Shun’ichi didn’t even have the mental space to feel sorry for him. He turned back to the sink and scrubbed his arms again, all the way up to his elbows. Relieved for a moment by the scent of the soap, he suddenly started worrying that his face might smell too, so he washed his face. Then, after washing his face, he began to worry that his hands would now smell like his face, so he washed his hands again. Until morning homeroom started, he kept washing his hands and face over and over, realizing how absurd he must have looked even to himself.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The sight of the empty shoe locker dealt a blow that was beyond words. Just a week ago, his indoor shoes had gone missing, and he had searched the entire school. Two days ago, he finally found them behind the gym, in the drainage ditch—filthy and covered in mud. He had snuck them home and secretly washed them, making sure Isamu didn’t notice. He had felt relieved that he wouldn’t have to wear slippers anymore, but now, they had been stolen again. Shun’ichi headed to the staff room to borrow a pair of visitor slippers. The sound of the plastic slippers slapped against the floor, drawing attention wherever he walked. He hated that, and there were times he tried going barefoot, but his homeroom teacher had scolded him, insisting he at least wear the slippers.

With a heavy heart, Shun’ichi opened the classroom door and stepped inside. “Morning,” a voice called out to him. Mizusawa was waving from his usual spot by the window, surrounded by the same group of friends. Even if Shun’ichi didn’t want to get involved with them, his seat was right behind Mizusawa’s, and he had to go over to place his bag on his desk. Yamashita was sitting on Shun’ichi’s desk, and even when Shun’ichi approached, he didn’t make any move to get off. Shun’ichi had no choice but to tell him, “Move,” but Yamashita just smiled lazily and said, “Oh, come on, it’s fine.” When Shun’ichi roughly pulled Yamashita by the arm, he finally gave up and moved off the desk.

“Hey, Sanada, slippers again today? Didn’t you say you found your indoor shoes?”

Mizusawa asked with a grin, his tone sickeningly insincere. Shun’ichi felt nauseated by the obvious pretense, wanting to confront him—You were the one who hid them, weren’t you?—but he held back. He couldn’t prove anything. No matter how much he suspected it, he hadn’t actually seen Mizusawa take his shoes.

“You’re really something, so clueless.”

Mizusawa laughed, shrugging his shoulders.

“By the way, you smell even worse today. Can’t you do something about it already?”

Shun’ichi hung his bag on the side of the desk and quickly left the classroom. He hurried down the corridor to the special classroom wing, hiding the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. It wasn’t normal to have to go to another building for the first period, but the sink here was out of sight. He washed his hands vigorously. For the past two weeks, every morning before leaving the apartment, he had been taking a shower. He washed his shirt and socks every day, and as soon as he took off his school uniform, he stored it in a plastic bag with deodorizer. Despite all this, ever since that day, Mizusawa had been telling him every day that he “stinks.”

He knew it was harassment, a deliberate lie. But still, hearing “you stink, you stink” repeated over and over made him feel like maybe it was true. So he washed his hands. Washed his face. Isamu had joked, “You got a crush or something?” when he started using the shower every morning. Seeing Isamu’s oblivious, carefree face made Shun’ichi want to spill everything he had been holding inside.

“I’m being bullied because of you. It’s because you do that filthy job of collecting garbage that people say I smell weird too.”

Those words thrashed inside his chest. They were selfish, and Isamu wasn’t to blame. He should be grateful—Isamu worked hard and raised him with the money he earned. No, he shouldn’t be thinking these things. He tried to lock away those thoughts, but they kept swirling around in his mind. The feeling of resentment wouldn’t stop.

“This is no big deal,” he muttered, staring at his damp, pale hands.

“It’s nothing at all.”

Being told he smelled shouldn’t bother him if he didn’t care. But it did. Every time he heard it, it made him feel miserable. It only hurt in his heart, but no one could see that. Not Isamu, and not Mizusawa. The numbers on his watch blurred behind the splash of water on the glass. Homeroom would start soon. He looked up and saw the blue sky through the dirty window. He wanted to run away, to leave without going back to that classroom. It took strength to go back—and strength to leave. What would happen if he just left? Would the teachers get angry, call Isamu to report that he skipped class?

It was almost summer, yet his hands were as dry and cracked as they were in the middle of winter. He wiped them with a handkerchief, took a deep breath, and reluctantly started walking back toward the classroom—the classroom that felt like hell.

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