Second Serenade: Chapter 18

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Leaves overhanging the road formed a wall of green, rushing past at the edges of his vision. As the motorcycle leaned sharply into a sudden curve, Kakegawa felt the arms wrapped around his waist tense reflexively. He could sense the pressure of fingers against his stomach, the rumble rising from his hips, and the swirling rush of wind all at once.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

His heart thudded.

When Kakegawa pulled his motorcycle into the parking lot, it was a clear, sunny Sunday, but the place was surprisingly empty. The river nestled between the mountains was known for its beautiful autumn foliage, the vibrant reds and yellows of the maple leaves that framed its banks. But in this in-between month of June, there wasn't much to do here but fish, so it was no wonder the crowds had thinned out.

If you followed the narrow path along the river a bit upstream, you'd come to a small waterfall. Watching the countless droplets tumble downward, flowing endlessly into the pools below, was mesmerizing. He'd first come here as a middle schooler, riding behind his cousin on his motorcycle around this same time of year. Back then, he hadn't understood why his cousin had chosen this place to take him. He'd thought only old folks found beauty in mountain views and clear streams.

But the dappled light filtering through the overlapping layers of green maple leaves, the way the icy, glass-clear water felt against his skin—all of it soaked into his mind, leaving a lasting impression. It had been surprisingly refreshing, almost exhilarating. On the way back that day, his cousin had made him a promise: "When you turn sixteen, I'll give you this motorcycle."

With the sound of the river fading behind him as they rode home, Kakegawa had resolved to one day bring someone special here—a girl he liked. He'd believed without a doubt that anyone he brought would find it beautiful, too. Looking back now, his teenage earnestness felt a little embarrassing.

"We're here."

Kakegawa cut the engine and called back to the person on the seat behind him.

"Ah."

As soon as the man swung his leg off the back, his knees buckled slightly.

"Man, my legs are still shaking, and all I did was sit there..."

He muttered this half to himself, patting his knees as if to excuse their unsteady state. When Kakegawa looped their helmets onto the holder and turned around, he found the man a few steps away, gazing intently at the motorcycle.

"It was my cousin's," Kakegawa said, brushing a hand over the frame. "He switched to a car and handed this one down to me. It's a bit old, but..."

The man pulled a cigarette from his jeans pocket, lit it, and took a slow drag before replying.

"Zephyr 400, right?"

"You're pretty sharp, Sensei."

With the cigarette still held between his lips, the man gave a boyish grin, a stark contrast to his actual twenty-five years.

"It was all the rage back in the day. One of my college buddies had one. I was never that into motorcycles, but around that time, I saw Easy Rider on video. The motorcycles in that movie had those big, swooping chopper handles..."

He demonstrated, bending his wrist in an exaggerated arc.

"Not exactly like this, but it made me want to try riding. I even thought about getting a license, but, well... look at me." He straightened up to his full height. "I'd look ridiculous, like a kid riding on someone else's motorcycle, so I gave up on the idea."

"It's not too late, you know," Kakegawa said, leaning back against the motorcycle with a grin. "You should get your license. We could go touring together when you have the time."

"Nah, I just bought a car, and I'm a little old for motorcycles now."

The cigarette was already burning down to a stub, his fingers twitching with the restless energy of a long-time smoker. His gaze wandered around the parking lot, eventually landing on a trash can near the steps.

"There's a bin over there," Kakegawa offered, nodding in that direction.

"Oh. Right."

As he turned to toss the dead cigarette, Kakegawa found himself thinking about what had drawn him to this man. A math teacher, older, male, and not exactly handsome with his boyish face and scattered freckles. Not someone anyone would call conventionally cool, but...

The man flicked the spent cigarette into the trash bin, his expression as neutral as ever.

"You're surprisingly conscientious, Sensei," Kakegawa said with a teasing lilt.

"Huh?"

"You actually bother to throw your butts away."

"Idiot. That's just common sense."

Walking side by side, Kakegawa stood a full head taller. Being on the shorter side, this man often blended into the crowd of students, making him difficult to spot. Kakegawa had grown used to scanning every face, always searching, always hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

When Kakegawa started high school, he had no real goals. He'd drifted through his days, no longer as enthusiastic about kendo as he'd once been. Though he'd kept practicing at a nearby dojo, he hadn't bothered joining the school club. It was this man who had broken through the haze of his unmotivated routine.

Kakegawa's first impression had been blunt: Short and a bit funny-looking. His classes were slow-paced, carefully structured to be easy to follow, without the meandering tangents that young teachers often fell into. At first, Kakegawa had written him off as the dull, serious type.

But that view changed about two months into the school year. One day, his homeroom teacher asked him to unlock the audiovisual room for the next class and guide the students there. Kakegawa had thought, Why not just ask the class rep? but ended up agreeing anyway.

As he stepped into the faculty room to get the key, a sharp slap rang out, snapping his head in that direction. He quickly realized what had happened—Kumagaya, the notoriously hot-tempered English teacher, had just smacked a male student across the face. The boy, though visibly shaken, glared back at Kumagaya without backing down. Kakegawa didn't know the reason for the confrontation, but it was clear neither side intended to budge.

Just as Kumagaya's right hand twitched, as if to deliver another blow, someone stepped forward to grab his arm.

"That's enough, don't you think?"

It was the short math teacher.

"I mean, yeah, he was definitely in the wrong for reading manga in class, but come on, don't you think this is a bit much?"

"You're just a rookie. You got a problem with the way I handle my class?"

Kumagaya's rage swung toward the math teacher, but the student he'd struck took the chance to edge behind his unlikely protector, using him as a shield.

"Hey, I get it. I used to sneak KochiKame under my desk in high school, too. It hits close to home, watching a kid get chewed out like this."

The math teacher gave a lopsided grin, and for a moment, Kumagaya seemed to deflate, his anger leaking away like air from a balloon. He sighed.

"Just... don't read in class anymore, alright?"

The math teacher gave the student a gentle nudge, signaling that it was safe to leave. As the boy slipped out of the faculty room, everyone present let out a small, collective sigh of relief.

Without a hint of triumph or self-satisfaction, the math teacher simply returned to his desk, flipping open a reference book as the bell signaling the end of break chimed. He stood, gathered his teaching materials, and walked out of the room, brushing past Kakegawa with an almost startling nonchalance.

It had been a simple act, free of bravado, but to Kakegawa, it had felt quietly heroic. People like this exist, he realized. People who can act on their principles without hesitation, without a hint of self-consciousness.

It hadn't taken long for others to notice, either. Gradually, a circle of students had formed around the math teacher, Sunahara, drawn to his steady, reliable presence.

Kakegawa had never met anyone like him. He wanted to know more. He wanted to be noticed. It took him a year to recognize that this desperate need to monopolize the gentle gaze of a kind person was love.

In his second year, a chance encounter during the school's culture festival brought him closer to Sunahara. His class had made a film, and Sunahara, as the faculty advisor for the film club, naturally became involved. Though Kakegawa wasn't one of his students, he'd grown close enough to visit Sunahara's house without it seeming out of place. Those early days had felt like a dream.

But the dream shattered all too soon—at the start of the next school year, Sunahara was reassigned to a high school in the countryside.

Three months passed. This visit made just the third time they'd seen each other since then. The longer they stayed apart, the stronger Kakegawa's longing grew. He wished for a way to meet without needing an excuse—no need to borrow a film, no flimsy pretense about future plans.

But confessing his feelings to a man, a teacher, felt like a dangerous leap. The fear that Sunahara might look down on him, might reject him outright, gnawed at his heart. Yet the tiny, stubborn hope that things might work out kept him from giving up.

"Sensei..."

On the rocky path along the riverbank leading up to the upper waterfall, the man walking ahead slowly turned around. Kakegawa's heart pounded at twice its normal speed, a tremor spreading to his fingertips. If he kept delaying it, putting it off until the next bend in the path, he might never find the courage to say it at all.

"I like you, Sensei."

The man in front of him tilted his head slightly.

"Kakegawa..."

"I like you."

He'd planned so many cooler, more eloquent things to say, but now, standing here, his mind was blank, and all he could manage was the same clumsy confession over and over. The embarrassment crashed over him all at once, and he dropped his gaze, terrified of the expression his teacher might be wearing.

"I understand how you feel," came the reply, the man's voice carrying clearly through the rustling leaves. "But I can't respond to those feelings. I already have someone I like."

"That's a lie."

Kakegawa's head snapped up. Last year, the man had said he didn't have anyone, had even laughed about it. He remembered it clearly.

"Lying wouldn't do me any good, would it?"

The green maple leaves whispered softly as they brushed against each other. No, this wasn't the kind of person who'd lie just to avoid a messy situation.

"I'm sorry," Kakegawa choked out, desperately trying to mask the tremor in his voice. "Forget what I said just now. Please, just let us keep meeting as friends."

There was no immediate response, and the silence felt like it was crushing him.

"It'd be better if we stopped meeting," his teacher said finally.

"No."

The word burst out of him like a slap, sharp and defiant. The man gave a strained, bitter smile. Regret crashed down on Kakegawa, threatening to crush him completely. He shouldn't have said anything. It hurt too much, knowing he'd never see him again. How could he move forward when the other person had already rejected him? Tears welled up, not from sadness, but from the raw, bitter frustration of it all.

"Find someone better to love," the man said, the words a dagger to the chest.

"You're the only one. Just this once, for my whole life."

"I'm not that great of a person."

Kakegawa couldn't move, rooted to the spot by the weight of his shattered hopes. It was the teacher who sat down first, and Kakegawa dropped down beside him, curling in on himself to hide his tears, waiting for them to stop. The man beside him said nothing, just sat there in silent companionship.

When Kakegawa finally raised his head, his tears dried, the shimmering, sun-dappled river hurt his eyes. A red maple leaf drifted down into the water, spinning slowly as it was carried downstream.

"What's... that person like?" he couldn't help but ask, the words catching in his throat. "The person Sensei likes."

The man's partner—someone he could never hope to compete with, surely gentle, wise, and perfect in every way. The teacher hesitated, scratching his forehead with a feigned look of uncertainty before murmuring:

"Not a very nice person."

◇:-:◆:-:◇

He'd been rejected. The word itself felt so stale and clichéd that just thinking it made him sick. To be precise, Kakegawa had confessed and been turned down a year ago. And today, he'd discovered that the person his former crush was dating was someone he knew well—a man he considered a friend.

They hadn't seen each other since. After being told, "It'd be better if we stopped meeting," he'd found himself unable to reach out. He wanted to see him, but couldn't, and as the months dragged on, their connection had withered until they were practically strangers.

He'd thought it was the one great love of his life. Just being near him had made his heart race, every conversation felt precious, and imagining their hands touching had left his throat dry with longing. When his confession had been rejected, the pain and frustration had been overwhelming, but the fact that it was another man had offered some small measure of comfort, a bitter rationalization that had helped him make peace with it—or so he'd thought.

Earlier that day, Kakegawa had been riding his motorcycle back from a friend's house in a small town a bit outside the city where his university was. The weather had been good, so on the way back, he decided to take the scenic coastal highway instead of the main road. Along the way, he happened to pass by a place he hadn't seen in a long time—a spot he'd once visited with the person he'd loved. If he took the right turn just up ahead, he could reach a scenic cliff, a place he'd been to for the first time during a drive in that person's indigo-colored car. He'd been so happy then, like a giddy fool, swept up in the excitement of a high school crush.

That had been nearly two years ago. He knew it would get dark if he lingered, but he still felt a stubborn pull to visit that place again, just once more. He hit the right blinker and turned off the main road.

The path quickly turned to rough, unpaved countryside. He followed it to the end, where the pavement disappeared, and parked his motorcycle. Off in the distance, on the other side of a wide, grassy field, he saw a car. It was that same deep indigo shade. He felt a jolt of adrenaline as he ran closer, checking the license plate to confirm what he already knew—it was his car.

It felt like fate. He wasn't in the car, so he must have gone to the cliff, Kakegawa thought, his heart racing as he ran toward the edge. The idea that someone else might be with him never crossed his mind.

When he reached the cliffside, he saw two figures silhouetted against the sparkling water. He stopped dead in his tracks, instinctively pressing himself into the shade of a nearby tree. As he squinted to make out who it was, his breath caught. One of them was Aketo, a former classmate from his second year.

Aketo had been the class representative back then, a refined, handsome guy who'd always had a bit of a cunning streak. They'd been friendly enough, but after their classes had been split in their third year, they hadn't spoken much. He'd heard through the grapevine that Aketo had gone on to study medicine at a national university in the neighboring prefecture.

Kakegawa's former teacher was dressed in jeans and a light blue shirt over a white tee. Aketo, beside him, wore a short-sleeved button-up and cotton pants. His hair was shorter now, giving him a slightly more mature look. The pairing struck Kakegawa as odd, but not particularly worrying—until he saw Aketo reach out, slipping his arms around the teacher from behind, pulling him into a loose embrace.

Their shadows merged perfectly as they leaned into each other, then kissed. The teacher didn't resist. On the contrary, he wrapped his arms around Aketo's shoulders, pulling him closer.

No way...

It wasn't a quick, passing kiss, either. It lingered, the kind that left no room for doubt. When they finally broke apart, the teacher gave a bashful smile, pushing Aketo back a little before turning away, clearly embarrassed. Aketo just chuckled and moved to follow him as they headed back up the path, neither sparing a glance in Kakegawa's direction as they passed.

Even after returning home, the questions kept circling in his mind. What kind of relationship did they have? Why had they been kissing out there, like lovers? And that kiss... It clearly wasn't their first.

Kakegawa vaguely remembered hearing that Aketo had a girlfriend back in high school. How had he ended up with their former teacher? And the teacher... How could he have chosen someone like Aketo, of all people? He'd liked Aketo well enough back then, but even he could admit that the guy had a sharp, cunning side, hardly the sort of person he imagined his former teacher falling for.

Then he remembered. The last time he'd seen the teacher, right after his confession, he'd asked, "What kind of person is it that you like, Sensei?"

"Not a very nice person," had been the reply.

That night, Kakegawa couldn't stand being alone in his apartment. Normally, he'd hit up a noisy izakaya, drown himself in cheap beer, and get rowdy with his friends, but tonight, he just didn't have the heart for it.

He wandered aimlessly through the city streets. It was a stifling, humid night at the end of June, and with each step he took beneath the glittering lights of the entertainment district, memories of that person resurfaced. Even if he managed to forget by the second step, those thoughts would sneak back in by the third. It didn't take much—a glimpse of his own reflection in the darkened window of a closed shop, looking on the verge of tears. Whenever he caught sight of his own pained expression, his steps would falter, and a sharp ache would flare in his chest.

He stopped in front of a familiar sign and pushed open the door. This was the bar they'd gone to for a second round during a recent afterparty. A small place, with just three tables and a counter, its white walls adorned at regular intervals with Toulouse-Lautrec posters. A few potted plants sat here and there, but there was nothing particularly remarkable about it—just another run-of-the-mill, unremarkable bar.

Maybe it was too early for customers, or maybe it just wasn't a popular place, but the bar was empty except for the bartender. Kakegawa hesitated, not thrilled at the prospect of sitting alone at the counter, directly across from the man, but he took a seat anyway.

"Gin and tonic," he ordered, even though it wasn't a drink he particularly liked. The bartender, a stocky man who looked to be a few years older than Kakegawa, raised a brow but wordlessly set a glass down beside Kakegawa's loosely clasped fingers.

He had to get drunk. He couldn't stand it anymore—the thoughts that wouldn't leave his head, the rage he couldn't shake. Why Aketo, of all people? Why not him? Just when he'd started to forget, the old feelings had come rushing back.

If Aketo had a chance, then maybe he could have, too. If he'd confessed his feelings sooner, maybe the teacher would have looked his way. The regret felt bottomless, dragging him down like an anchor, wave after wave of bitter realization crashing over him.

The bartender's fingers tapped idly against the polished mahogany counter, as if bored, their rhythmic drumming gradually grating on Kakegawa's nerves. He was just about to snap, to tell him to cut it out, when the door swung open.

Two men in their late twenties or early thirties took seats a few stools down the counter. Both were in suits—one in gray, the other in navy. The man in gray ordered a beer, while the one who sat closer to Kakegawa, the one in navy, ordered a martini.

The man in the navy suit had a strikingly handsome face—sharp features, a straight nose, long, narrow eyes. He looked almost too perfect, his hair neatly combed back without a single strand out of place. His clean-cut, almost sterile appearance gave him a cold, unapproachable aura, like a flawless but lifeless portrait.

In contrast, his companion's face was so unremarkable that it seemed almost unfair by comparison.

Kakegawa hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but the conversation naturally drifted his way. The man in the navy suit seemed to be doing most of the talking.

"…These young women at the office these days are so poorly trained. They spend all their free time chatting, and it's always about the most pointless things. All they have to do is make copies and pour tea, and even that they can't manage properly. Then, just when they finally learn some basic manners and discipline after a few years, they up and quit to get married. Must be nice, huh?"

It was the kind of rant you'd hear from a jaded salaryman, the kind that wasn't particularly rare or interesting for anyone on the receiving end. But the man in navy didn't stop there. His grievances spilled over to his direct supervisor, then on to the company's entire management structure. He had a complaint about everything.

After nearly thirty minutes of this, the man in gray, his face strained with fatigue, finally found an opening to cut in.

“Why don’t we change the subject?”

The man in navy fell silent for a long moment, then finally spoke, his tone dripping with irritation.

“If you don’t like it, why don’t you just go home? I don’t need to hear complaints from you too.”

The man in gray hesitated, looking caught off guard.

"No, I didn't mean it like that…"

“How unpleasant.”

The man in navy spat the words and told the bartender, “Same again,” pushing his empty glass toward the back of the counter. Another heavy silence fell between them, broken this time by the man in gray.

“I have something important to tell you today.”

The man in the navy suit gave no response. Undeterred, the man in gray continued.

“I want to break up.”

Both the man in navy and Kakegawa turned toward him in surprise.

“Do you have any idea where we are right now? Just how far do you plan to push me before you’re satisfied?”

The navy-suited man’s voice hovered just on the edge of anger, frustration burning through it.

“You and I… we think differently. Sure, that’s normal—we’re two separate people. But if we’re going to be together, we both have to compromise somewhere. I’ve bent over backward for you, but you’ve never once considered me. I don’t see how this could possibly work long-term. You’re... a difficult person.”

Suddenly being witness to a breakup—and between two men, no less—made Kakegawa squirm with discomfort. He told himself this isn’t something I should be watching, yet couldn’t stop listening.

“Sorry for all the times you had to accommodate me. I must’ve made you suffer quite a bit.”

The man in the navy suit said it gently, a stark contrast to his earlier tone. A fleeting softness appeared on the gray-suited man’s face.

“If you want to break up, fine. There’s plenty of men who won’t complain like you do.”

The words were said softly, almost kindly—but what they implied was far from gentle. A dark shadow passed through the eyes of the man in gray. He stared at the other man for a moment before looking away, as if giving up, then stood.

“Sure, you’re attractive, intelligent, and successful at work. Maybe there are plenty of people who think they need you. But I don’t think there are many who could handle your selfishness and egotism in a private relationship. Even if someone does, it won’t last.”

“Pathetic last words. Why don’t you just go home already?”

The man in the navy suit snorted. There wasn’t even a hint of regret in his manner toward his former lover. A flush of red flickered across the face of the man in gray.

“If I’d known from the start that you were a spiteful, selfish bastard, I never would’ve dated you. You were just a pretty face, and when I finally got a taste, the inside was rotten. That face is all you’ve got going for you—take good care of it.”

Splash.

A sharp sound of water echoed. Over the navy man’s shoulder, Kakegawa could see the man in gray, soaked, water dripping from his head. Looking like a drowned rat, the man smiled softly, almost kindly.

“I went too far. Sorry.”

With that, the man in the gray suit walked out of the bar. The bartender hurriedly reached for a towel to hand him, but couldn’t catch up in time. The instant the door swung shut, the expression on the man in navy changed completely. The softness drained from his face, replaced by a sharp glare as he fixed his eyes on the counter, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ground audibly.

There he sat—completely motionless. The bartender, having missed the right moment to clear the empty glass, hovered awkwardly. And then there was Kakegawa—the lone spectator to this ugly scene.

“How much?” the man asked, lifting his head at last.

“Ah… um… it’s two thousand yen,” the bartender stammered.

Fishing a bill from his wallet, the man muttered, “Sorry for the trouble.”

Then, without warning, he let the bill flutter from his fingers—straight onto the wet floor.

“Oh dear, look at that. Dropped it. Mind picking it up for me?”

Not even pretending to reach for it himself, he turned toward the door. He glanced back, catching the sight of the bartender scrambling around the counter to fetch the soaked money, and scoffed under his breath.

The moment he stepped outside, the bartender spat as though waiting for the chance. “Fucking homo.”

Kakegawa rushed after him. Sprinting, running, until he finally caught up as the man stopped at a red light. He called out to him.

Of course, this wasn’t fate—not something like destiny, not something that was meant to be. It was never going to turn into that.

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