Unrequited Love: Chapter 1

While you may already be familiar with these terms, I’ve provided their English definitions for those who may not be. I’ve also changed the name order to First and Last, rather than the Last and First order used in the original Japanese text.

1. さん (san): This is a general, respectful suffix used to address or refer to someone. It's similar to "Mr.," "Mrs.," or "Ms." in English. It's commonly used for people of all ages and social statuses in both formal and informal contexts.

2. 君 (kun): This suffix is often used for addressing younger males, or in a more familiar or casual setting. It can be used with people of the same or lower status, and it's commonly used among friends, students, or in professional settings where there is a clear hierarchy (like between a superior and a subordinate). 

3. 先生 (sensei): This suffix is used to address or refer to teachers, doctors, professors, or other professionals who are considered experts in their field. It conveys respect and recognition of their knowledge or position. It can also be used more broadly for mentors or highly skilled individuals, such as artists or writers, especially in formal or respectful contexts.

Content warning: This novel contains descriptions of explicit sexual content. I will not be adding a trigger warning to each chapter with graphic content, so please consider this a general warning.

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Despite the calendar showing spring just around the corner, the biting cold of February persists, with subzero temperatures recorded every morning. Satoshi Yoshimoto found himself at a familiar izakaya, drinking with two close friends from his high school days.

Yoshimoto and the friend seated next to him, Naofumi Kadowaki, were university students, while Takashi Mikasa, sitting across the low table from them, was already a working adult. Back in their third year of high school, Mikasa, who disliked studying, had decided against college after a brutally honest assessment from their homeroom teacher: "With your grades, if you want to get into college, you’d need to study at least five hours a day at home." Mikasa promptly abandoned the idea and started working for a local construction company.

Despite their differing paths—Mikasa working and Yoshimoto and Kadowaki studying—they remained close. Three years had passed since graduation, yet they still met two or three times a month, defying the distance that often grows with time and diverging lifestyles.

The reason for today’s gathering had already been forgotten. Yoshimoto guessed it must have been something trivial, like Mikasa landing a big project at work or Kadowaki, with his niche hobby of stamp collecting, acquiring a rare find. In the end, it didn’t matter; they just wanted an excuse to drink together.

Their conversation started with complaints about the relentless snow this year. Mikasa grumbled about construction delays caused by the need for snow removal. Somehow, the topic shifted to Kadowaki venting about a professor who assigned an overwhelming number of reports in their seminar. Mikasa, who likely had no clue what a seminar actually entailed, nodded along with exaggerated agreement. Yoshimoto observed the exchange with a detached air.

"Yeah, Kadowaki's seminar does have a reputation for being tough," Yoshimoto said, feigning sympathy. He knew that Kadowaki had willingly chosen the challenging seminar and, despite his complaints, was actually well-liked by the professor. Yoshimoto kept those thoughts to himself, though.

As the conversation about snow and seminars drifted on, Yoshimoto’s eyes lingered on Mikasa’s throat. The prominent Adam’s apple, its cartilage rising and falling as Mikasa spoke, caught his attention. Something so ordinary on any man felt oddly sensual to Yoshimoto. He imagined touching it with his fingers, even tasting it with his tongue, a thought that sent heat coursing through his body. Shaking off the erotic daydream, he reached for his sake. Although he preferred cold sake, the snowy weather had convinced him to indulge in a warm brew.

A lull in the conversation followed Kadowaki’s complaints. Mikasa, who had been fidgety all evening, running his hand through his close-cropped hair, seized the momentary silence. Almost as if he’d been waiting for it, he finally spoke.

"I'm getting married."

The sudden declaration left the table stunned.

“What?” Yoshimoto's voice came out in an exaggeratedly nasal tone, echoing awkwardly.

“What kind of joke is that?” he laughed, waving his right hand dismissively.

“It’s not a joke. I’m serious,” Mikasa said, clasping his hands and speaking firmly. “I’ve been seeing someone for a while, and I think she’s the one.”

Yoshimoto froze. Mikasa’s expression was more earnest than he had ever seen. Could he be serious? The realization left Yoshimoto’s mind blank. Marriage, marriage, marriage—it was all he could think about.

Mikasa hunched his tall, muscular frame, honed during high school basketball, and glanced up at Yoshimoto with an almost pleading look.

“Why are you both so quiet? Can’t you be happy for your best friend’s marriage?”

“What the hell are you thinking?”

Yoshimoto shouted, his voice sharp and accusing. Mikasa pursed his lips in a sulky pout, glancing at Kadowaki for support. Kadowaki, who had been momentarily surprised, quickly regained his composure and offered a calm congratulations: “Well, that’s great news. Congratulations.”

Yoshimoto slammed his hand against the low table with enough force to startle Mikasa into straightening his hunched back.

“Do you really think I’m going to just say, ‘Congratulations,’ like that? You idiot!”

Mikasa frowned, his brow furrowed in frustration, but he didn’t argue back. Yoshimoto knew all too well that Mikasa, this big, dumb guy, had always been unable to stand up to him. Watching Mikasa’s silence, Yoshimoto let out a derisive snort, tapping an empty sake cup against the table.

“After dragging us through all your drama with men, now you suddenly tell us you’re marrying a woman? Do you think I’m supposed to believe that?”

At Yoshimoto’s biting words, Mikasa pulled back slightly from the table, muttering under his breath.

“I… I really do love her. That’s why…”

Yoshimoto had heard Mikasa declare he was “truly in love” more times than he could count. Every time Mikasa fell for someone, it was “true love,” like a mantra. Usually, Yoshimoto would just roll his eyes and think, Here we go again. But this time was different, and he knew why. This time, it was a woman Mikasa claimed to be “truly” in love with—and he was talking about marriage.

“Knowing you, it’s just because men didn’t take you seriously, and you figured a woman would at least put up with you. It’s a compromise, isn’t it? You’ll take whatever you can get, right? Pathetic.”

“Yoshimoto!”

Kadowaki’s sharp reprimand cut through Yoshimoto’s venomous tirade, forcing him to hold his tongue. Frustrated, Yoshimoto poured himself a drink, the sake barely filling half the small cup before the flask ran dry. Clicking his tongue at the meager amount, he downed it in one gulp and chased it with the lukewarm beer left in his glass. An uncomfortable silence settled over the table.

Kadowaki sighed lightly and turned to Mikasa with a soft smile.

“If you’re happy and confident about this decision, then I won’t say anything to stop you. You’ve had a rough time with love, and honestly, I’ve felt sorry for you watching from the sidelines. Twenty-one does feel a bit early, but that doesn’t make it wrong.”

Mikasa, who had been through his fair share of heartbreak, smiled sheepishly, the tension easing from his face.

“Thanks, Kadowaki. That really means a lot. I did hesitate a bit about getting married, but honestly… even if I might still have feelings for men, right now, more than anything, I just want to make her happy.”

The words sent a shiver down Yoshimoto’s spine. The sheer shamelessness of it was revolting. When Yoshimoto looked up to see Mikasa’s face, hoping for at least a trace of hesitation, he was instead met with the worst sight imaginable: Mikasa’s eyes, sparkling with an almost blinding sincerity.

“Running from reality, huh?”

Yoshimoto spat the words out, jabbing a finger toward Mikasa’s face.

“It’s not that easy to fix your preferences. You liking men isn’t something you can just change—it’s an ingrained, nasty kind of sickness. Even if you marry a woman, you’ll just end up looking at men again. Then you’ll get divorced and come crying to us. No doubt about it.”

Kadowaki’s sharp glare silenced Yoshimoto. Mikasa lowered his face, his expression pitiful, like a lost puppy.

“I haven’t even introduced her to my parents yet. I just… wanted to tell you guys first since you’re my best friends…”

“And? What, do you want me to thank you? ‘Oh, thanks for coming to us first’? For telling us about your doomed sham marriage?”

Yoshimoto shrugged dismissively, his attitude dripping with disdain. Words designed to hurt and attack Mikasa seemed to pour endlessly from his lips.

“If you do marry this woman, I’ll give you a wedding gift of a hundred grand. But when you get divorced, you’d better pay back every cent.”

“Yoshimoto, enough!”

Kadowaki grabbed his right arm, his grip firm and angry.

“Come on, Kadowaki, you’re thinking the same thing, aren’t you? A fool like this needs to hear the truth.”

Yoshimoto’s relentless berating of Mikasa earned only a frustrated silence from Kadowaki, who wore a difficult expression. Mikasa, meanwhile, looked flustered, watching as his two friends started to argue about him.

“H-hey, Kadowaki. Your glass is still pretty full, isn’t it? Come on, drink up. Yoshimoto, too… Let me order more sake for us. How about hot sake this time? It’s perfect for tonight.”

Mikasa, the source of the commotion, scrambled to lighten the mood, his efforts almost comically awkward, like a wind-up toy monkey in Yoshimoto’s eyes.

Mikasa leaned forward and gave Kadowaki’s shoulder a firm pat.

“Kadowaki, you don’t have to get mad. I get it. Yoshimoto’s probably fed up with all the trouble I’ve caused over the years. It makes sense that he wouldn’t believe me when I say I’m getting married. Besides, Yoshimoto making fun of me is just his usual thing, right? Like a comedian’s comic routine—it’s not worth getting upset over.”

Dismissing his words as a joke? Comparing them to some comedian’s routine? That hit a nerve. Mikasa’s casual tone and assumption that he understood Yoshimoto so well grated on him. You don’t know anything. You don’t know the first thing about me!

Irritation coursed through Yoshimoto, and the sight of Mikasa sitting there, breathing, made him sick. Without a word, Yoshimoto grabbed his coat and stood up.

“What? You’re leaving already?”

Mikasa’s voice called after him as Yoshimoto slipped into his leather shoes. Yoshimoto turned, slapped a 5,000-yen bill onto the table, and said brusquely, “See you.”

“Yoshimoto, I…”

Mikasa started to say something, but Yoshimoto ignored him and stepped out into the cold.

The wind outside was sharp, carrying with it a lingering hint of snow. The chill crept down Yoshimoto’s neck, and he pulled his coat tightly closed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

Normally, he would’ve been pleasantly buzzed by the amount he drank, but tonight he wasn’t even tipsy. Instead, Mikasa’s sudden declaration of marriage had soured everything. The night was ruined, and Yoshimoto’s mood was at its worst.

The half-faded buzz only made the biting cold sink deeper into his body. Even with his hands tucked into his coat, his fingers felt numb with cold. He brought them to his lips and blew on them, his breath misting white before vanishing into the air.

He walked through an old shopping district near the university. The retro stained-glass streetlights, reminiscent of the seventies, cast a faint glow over the shuttered storefronts. Though it was barely past eight, the streets were deserted, and the only sound was the echo of his own footsteps on the pavement.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Walking straight toward the subway station, Yoshimoto muttered the words over and over like a mantra. Mikasa was getting married—of all things, to a woman. An empty can lying on the sidewalk caught his eye, irritating him for no particular reason, so he kicked it hard. It hit the bumper of a parked car with a sharp metallic clink before bouncing into an empty lot and disappearing from sight.

He pushed past a group of high school students chatting on the subway stairs and passed through the ticket gate. As he descended the stairs to the platform, the departure bell began ringing, but he couldn’t be bothered to run. The train pulled away in front of him, and he leaned against one of the cylindrical support columns, sighing as he waited for the next one.

The high school students from the stairs followed him onto the platform. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but their black uniforms, trimmed with light blue accents, unmistakably belonged to his alma mater. Even though three years had passed since graduation, the sight of those uniforms brought back vivid memories, as if he’d worn them just yesterday.

It had been almost five years since Yoshimoto had first gotten to know Mikasa and Kadowaki. They’d been in the same class during their second year of high school, and their friendship had grown from there. Yoshimoto first became close with Kadowaki because their seats were next to each other. And since Mikasa was Kadowaki’s childhood friend, the three naturally ended up spending time together.

Kadowaki, in a word, was a reserved guy. Despite being intelligent, he never flaunted it and tended to stay a step back, observing those around him. Though he had a gentle demeanor, he knew how to speak up when necessary and wasn’t afraid to be sharp. He exuded reliability and a quiet strength, the kind of person you knew would have your back when it mattered.

Mikasa, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He was loud, energetic, and loved to be at the center of attention, always enthusiastically participating in school events. Academically, though, he was a disaster—so much so that it was a miracle he’d even gotten into high school. He often flunked tests and had to rely on Kadowaki to tutor him. His abysmal grades were in stark contrast to his natural athleticism; Mikasa had been a regular player on the basketball team since his first year and had helped lead them to the finals of the prefectural tournament twice during their second and third years.

Mikasa’s thinking was simple, almost childishly so—like solving a single-digit math problem. His lack of attention to detail and emotional sensitivity always got on Yoshimoto’s nerves.

Yoshimoto respected and valued Kadowaki as a friend, but Mikasa? He found him annoying and tiresome. Still, because of Mikasa’s close relationship with Kadowaki, Yoshimoto put up with him.

Mikasa’s coming-out had been as abrupt as today’s announcement about his marriage. It was back in September of their third year. The autumn sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue, high and dazzlingly clear. During lunch, the three of them had wandered up to the school rooftop. While Yoshimoto and Kadowaki reviewed the answers to a short English quiz they’d just taken, Mikasa stood alone, staring up at the sky.

Yoshimoto had noticed the lonely look on Mikasa’s face but had ignored it. English was Mikasa’s worst subject—if Yoshimoto had to guess, he probably hadn’t been able to answer a single question on that quiz. If Mikasa didn’t want to join their conversation, he could just quietly listen or tune them out entirely. He’d clearly chosen the latter.

“Hey, uh…”

Mikasa’s hesitant voice broke the lull in their conversation. Though it wasn’t outright bullying, Yoshimoto felt a small pang of guilt for having excluded him. Maybe it was time to let him join in. Feeling smug about his own magnanimity, Yoshimoto turned to Mikasa with a satisfied grin.

“What is it?”

Even though Mikasa had initiated, he hesitated to continue. He looked down, seemingly unsure, and nervously licked his lips several times. After keeping Yoshimoto waiting for what felt like ages, he finally clenched his fists, as if steeling himself, and raised his head with determination.

“I’ve kind of thought so for a while now. I was really torn about it, but you two are my best friends, and I didn’t want to keep hiding it. So, I’ll just be honest: it seems like I only fall for guys. You know, the kind of thing people call being gay or whatever.”

Yoshimoto felt as though he’d been plunged headfirst into a freezing sea. His entire body went cold, trembling, and he couldn’t find any words. He hesitantly glanced to his side, where Kadowaki sat with his mouth slightly agape. Ignoring the shock painted across his friends’ faces, Mikasa scratched the back of his head awkwardly and continued.

“Since middle school, the people I’ve noticed have always been guys. I thought it was weird, even to myself. It’s not like I was deliberately keeping it a secret—I just wasn’t completely sure until recently.”

Even Kadowaki, who was rarely shaken by anything, looked visibly uncomfortable. His tense expression and restless gaze betrayed his efforts to maintain composure.

“Actually… there’s someone I like.”

Just saying the word “like” made Mikasa’s earlobes flush crimson.

“It’s hard, you know? I can’t even tell him I like him because he’s a guy.”

Yoshimoto was too preoccupied trying to calm the turmoil in his own mind to respond. Kadowaki, however, was the first to regain his composure and take control of the situation.

“I think love is a personal choice. It’s up to the individual. That said, I’ve never experienced romantic feelings for someone of the same sex, so I don’t know if I’d be able to give you much advice.”

Mikasa’s tense expression softened, and he smiled, clearly relieved.

“I don’t need advice. I just wanted you guys to hear me out. Honestly, I was worried you’d think I was disgusting or something for bringing it up.”

Yoshimoto took a deep breath and placed a hand over his chest. His heartbeat was steadying. He wasn’t panicking like he had when Mikasa first started talking. He told himself he was calm now—it was fine.

Kadowaki picked up a small piece of broken concrete and casually tossed it away. “So, who’s the guy you like? Someone we know?”

Though Kadowaki asked the question, Mikasa’s gaze kept flicking toward Yoshimoto. Yoshimoto swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. Don’t even think it. It can’t be me. It better not be me…

“The baseball team’s… Yuguchi.”

The words came out in a small, hesitant voice that didn’t match Mikasa’s large frame. Yoshimoto’s face stiffened as though it had been paralyzed. He stared at Mikasa, forgetting even to blink. Mikasa, misinterpreting Yoshimoto’s silence as a failure to hear him, repeated the name: “Yuguchi.”

Before Yoshimoto could think, the words burst from his mouth.

“Are you freaking kidding me? Don’t say gross stuff like that! You’re not normal. You’re a freak, a pervert. You idiot!”

Mikasa’s eyes widened, his face crumpling as if he were about to cry. His lips trembled, but he bit down on them and, through his distorted expression, fired back.

“Even if I’m a perverted idiot, I can’t help liking who I like! What am I supposed to do about it?”

In a blind surge of rage, Yoshimoto grabbed Mikasa by the collar and punched him squarely in the face. Mikasa, taller but visibly shaken, collapsed backward, landing heavily on the cracked concrete with his hips.

“Hey, Mikasa. Are you okay?”

Kadowaki rushed over and helped the fallen Mikasa sit up. Blood was trickling from the corner of Mikasa’s mouth.

“Yoshimoto, what the hell are you doing to him?”

The shock of having hit someone for the first time, combined with the pain in his knuckles, left Yoshimoto’s right hand trembling violently. Mikasa, holding his left cheek where he’d been punched, stared at Yoshimoto with a dazed expression. Around them, other students on the rooftop had noticed the commotion and were now watching curiously from a distance. Taking a few steps back, Yoshimoto turned and bolted, fleeing the rooftop without a word.

He burst into the classroom and collapsed onto his desk by the window, burying his head in his arms. The sunlight streaming through the glass burned his exposed neck, stinging like an open wound. Yet he didn’t draw the curtains or move to a shadier spot. The droning of cicadas, loud and oppressive like midsummer, combined with the noisy chatter of the classroom to further irritate him. Normally, such noise wouldn’t bother him, but now it fanned the flames of his anger.

Yoshimoto thought bitterly that Mikasa might as well die. The world wouldn’t suffer for the loss of an idiot like him. The image of Mikasa’s shy face as he had blurted out “Yuguchi”—the name of the boy he liked—sent a shiver of revulsion down Yoshimoto’s spine.

Claiming it was too painful to confess his feelings, yet casually dropping the name of the guy he liked—Mikasa’s carefree attitude about it made Yoshimoto’s blood boil.

It wasn’t that Yoshimoto cared if Mikasa was gay. It didn’t matter to him. What he couldn’t tolerate wasn’t that Mikasa liked men or that he could admit it so easily—it was the horrifying fact that Mikasa liked Yuguchi, the same person Yoshimoto had secretly harbored feelings for.

Half a year into high school, Yoshimoto had fallen for Yuguchi, a classmate and member of the baseball team. Yuguchi wasn’t conventionally handsome, but he had rugged, sharp features and a serious, quiet demeanor. He loved baseball more than anything, often staying late to practice long after club activities officially ended. At first, Yoshimoto had simply been intrigued by this stoic, awkward athlete, but he gradually took the initiative to talk to him and grow closer.

As their friendship deepened, Yoshimoto became infatuated with Yuguchi’s single-minded devotion to baseball. He didn’t expect to be more important than baseball, but he wanted to be the closest person to Yuguchi among his friends. Yoshimoto worked hard to maintain the image of a good friend, and his efforts paid off. Yuguchi came to trust him, even seeking him out for advice and visiting Yoshimoto’s classroom after they were assigned to different classes in their second year.

Yoshimoto had been content to remain Yuguchi’s best friend, knowing full well that Yuguchi was a typical boy who liked girls. He had no intention of confessing his feelings—doing so would ruin everything. Given Yuguchi’s personality, their friendship wouldn’t survive such a revelation. Being disliked was one thing, but the thought of being despised or scorned was unbearable.

Yoshimoto kept his feelings a tightly guarded secret, something he had nurtured and stifled within himself. It was enough to hold onto that love quietly, to kill it slowly inside him. He had accepted this reality.

But then Mikasa came along, casually voicing the words Yoshimoto had believed he could never say, even at the cost of his life. It felt as though Mikasa had sullied something precious and private, something Yoshimoto had carefully kept hidden.

Shortly before lunch ended, Mikasa and Kadowaki returned to the classroom together. Mikasa headed straight for Yoshimoto’s desk. Yoshimoto knew he was coming but deliberately kept his eyes fixed on the view outside the window.

“About earlier… I’m sorry.”

Yoshimoto turned to glare up at Mikasa, his face dark with anger. Mikasa’s left cheek was red and swollen. As Yoshimoto’s gaze bore into him, Mikasa scratched the back of his head nervously, looking almost frightened.

“Kadowaki made me think about it, and I realize I was wrong. You’re Yuguchi’s best friend, Yoshimoto. If you thought I was looking at him in a weird way, of course, you wouldn’t feel good about it.”

Mikasa’s gaze flicked nervously toward Yoshimoto, trying to gauge his reaction. Feeling guilty for having punched him, and aware that Kadowaki was watching from a distance with concern, Yoshimoto decided to stay calm. He clenched his fists on his lap, forcing himself to suppress his anger with reason.

“I was caught off guard by what you said earlier. I got emotional and hit you. I’m sorry about that. Are you okay?”

The moment Yoshimoto extended this olive branch, Mikasa let out a relieved sigh and smiled sheepishly.

“I’m fine, really. You know me—I’m built tough.”

He lightly tapped his swollen cheek with his hand, only to wince and mutter, “Ouch.” The gesture was so ridiculous that even then, Yoshimoto couldn’t bring himself to laugh.

“You don’t have to worry, Yoshimoto. When I confess to Yuguchi, I’ll make sure to follow the proper steps.”

The anger Yoshimoto had been holding back surged to the surface. Not only was Mikasa refusing to give up on Yuguchi, but he was still planning to confess to him. Just drop dead already. But with the last vestiges of his self-control, Yoshimoto didn’t lash out. Instead, he kicked Mikasa hard in the shin under the desk.

Despite Yoshimoto’s fury, Mikasa’s feelings for Yuguchi didn’t waver. In fact, Mikasa ended up confessing to Yuguchi in the middle of a classroom during lunch, completely disregarding the time or place. This impulsive act caused a stir, and by the next day, everyone in their class knew about it.

Yuguchi, a perfectly ordinary high school boy, didn’t take kindly to a confession from another guy. He called Mikasa “disgusting” and came to Yoshimoto for advice.

“I don’t get it—liking guys, I mean. I know people like that exist, but I can’t wrap my head around it. I hope you’re not offended since you’re close to Mikasa, but…”

“Mikasa’s a bit strange, but he’s not a bad guy. I’ll make sure to tell him you’re not comfortable and get him to stop saying weird stuff to you.”

Not wanting to seem like a heartless friend, Yoshimoto defended Mikasa even though he didn’t want to. At the same time, he tried to appear sympathetic to Yuguchi’s concerns. He hated himself for playing the role of the supportive friend, but he kept it up.

Yoshimoto couldn’t curse Mikasa enough for putting him in this position. Seeing Yuguchi’s visceral rejection of Mikasa’s confession forced Yoshimoto to confront the harsh reality of what would happen if he ever confessed his own feelings. While nodding along to Yuguchi’s comment, “Two guys being together just doesn’t make sense, right?” Yoshimoto felt like crying on the inside.

At the same time, he was deeply relieved that his own feelings had never been revealed. Mikasa’s clumsy confession had inadvertently provided Yoshimoto with the worst-case scenario, a simulation of how his own confession would have turned out.

Yoshimoto had, of course, fantasized about confessing to Yuguchi. But in his fantasies, he had always been met with acceptance. Yuguchi would be surprised but admit, “Actually, I’ve liked you too,” before pulling him into an embrace and kissing him. It was a dream that could never happen in reality.

In reality, Yuguchi had outright rejected Mikasa, saying, “It’s not going to happen. I can’t even see you as a friend anymore. Don’t talk to me unless it’s absolutely necessary.” His decisiveness left no room for ambiguity.

I never want to end up like that. Yoshimoto thought, his resolve hardening. I won’t make the same stupid mistake Mikasa did.

After being rejected by Yuguchi, Mikasa was visibly downcast for a couple of days but rebounded with astonishing speed—so much so that those around him were left in disbelief. His recovery? It was thanks to a new crush. While Yoshimoto continued to hopelessly hold on to his feelings for Yuguchi, unable to let go, Mikasa had already started warming up for his next romance. And this time, it was another classmate.

Even Kadowaki, who was often patient with Mikasa, couldn’t help but sigh at how quickly he moved on. “Well, if he’s fallen for someone, I guess there’s no helping it,” Kadowaki said with a wry smile.

Ever since his confession to Yuguchi had resulted in his coming out to his closest friends—and by extension, to much of their social circle—Mikasa seemed to have let go of any hesitation. He no longer bothered to hide his feelings for the people he liked. To Yoshimoto, who often found himself by Mikasa’s side, this lack of subtlety was mortifying.

Mikasa charged at the objects of his affection like a bull, confessing his feelings without any concern for how uncomfortable it might make the other person. Even when it was clear to everyone else that his chances were slim, Mikasa pursued them with an almost desperate intensity. As expected, he was frequently and harshly rejected, and each time, he came crying to Kadowaki or Yoshimoto for comfort.

Whenever Yoshimoto witnessed Mikasa’s failed confessions, he felt both a sense of schadenfreude and an uncomfortable pang of self-recognition.

Kadowaki usually listened silently to Mikasa’s laments, but Yoshimoto was different. Even when Mikasa cried over being rejected, Yoshimoto would yell at him without restraint.

“I told you from the start that it wouldn’t work! This is what happens when you don’t listen to people. Learn your lesson and aim for a normal relationship next time!”

By “normal,” Yoshimoto meant a relationship with a girl. He knew, of course, that Mikasa couldn’t easily fall for girls—after all, Yoshimoto was the same. But when it came to Mikasa, Yoshimoto could be irresponsibly harsh.

Be normal. Be normal. Yoshimoto had been repeating that mantra to Mikasa for four years now. In that time, Mikasa hadn’t had a single romantic success, and Yoshimoto hadn’t been able to confess his feelings to anyone.

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