Second Serenade: Chapter 27

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Hayashida got in touch to say there would be a preview screening. They’d finished filming at the end of August, and by early September it had finally taken shape as a proper film. The sweltering humidity hadn't changed one bit, but the calendar alone had gone ahead and left summer behind.

To accommodate Sunahara, now that school had resumed, everyone gathered at Hayashida’s apartment on Saturday afternoon. The last time they’d been there, there had still been enough space for one person to lie down, but now the room was so cluttered with the projector, scraps of film, and other debris that there was barely any room to step. Even so, he’d done his best to make it resemble a screening venue: blackout curtains covered the windows, and a large screen hung on the wall.

Takagi-san, who was standing in a corner of the room, gave a small smile when their eyes met. The awkwardness after the wrap party had been bothering him, and he’d been anxious about seeing her again today. But Takagi-san approached him as if she’d completely forgotten any of that.

“People can think I’m being self-congratulatory if they want. I think it’s absolutely amazing.”

Sunahara arrived soon after, and with everyone holding their breath in anticipation, the film began to roll.

At first, the screen was a blank white. Over the white image came the sound of passing cars, and gradually the image came into focus.

A boy appeared. Pretending to wait for the bus, he simply watched the girl he liked board it.

A boy who loved music, who promised his friends he would debut one day, who tore down a poster for a band contest with nothing but youthful confidence and a belief that nothing could scare him.

A boy who scoffed at the sight of a middle-aged man drinking an energy tonic at the train station on his way to work in the morning.

There was hardly any music. The soundtrack was made up of everyday sounds—cars, rain, the clamor of the station—blending into the scenes.

Suddenly the image shifted. The former boy, jolted awake by an alarm clock, combed his hair and knotted a tie.

He grabbed his suit jacket and ran. Bought a tonic drink at the station and finished it by the trash can. On the stairs up to the platform, he missed a step, stumbled slightly forward, then looked back. The ambient noise cut out. The man turned, as if searching for his past self in the direction he had just come from.

He stopped in front of a large company building but couldn’t bring himself to go in. He turned back and retraced his steps. Sat hunched over on a bench in the park.

A child played in the sandbox. Beside him stood his mother. The moment he realized that mother was the girl he’d once loved, the screen alternated between pitch black and slow-motion footage of the man. A slow, resonant bell—like the sound of a railroad crossing gate descending—echoed over the black screen. The man approached the child and began to strangle him.

HATE MEDIOCRITY

White text on a black screen. That was the end.

There had been no room to breathe in the second half. Who was that on screen? It felt like watching a complete stranger. Someone with the same face—but not himself.

The room lights came on, and everything suddenly brightened. The screen was now blank.

“That was incredible. I never imagined Kakegawa would fit that role so well. The first time I saw it, I got chills.”

Hayashida rattled off breathlessly next to his ear.

Chills wasn’t the half of it. It had sent a shiver down his spine.

“It’s kind of scary.”

That was how he honestly felt. He’d read the script and thought he understood it, but he really hadn’t. Filming only involved scattered scenes—he’d never felt anything like this during it.

His throat tightened. It was such a bleak, negative film.

“What do you think, Sensei?” Takagi-san asked, turning to Sunahara.

The teacher, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the screen the entire time, had his hand to his chin, covering his mouth.

“Watching this…”

His words trailed off.

“…No one’s going to walk away feeling uplifted. But I can understand wanting to make something like this.”

He gave a strained smile.

“If you were older, it might make more sense. But for college students like you to come up with this—it’s strange.”

With only the film shown, the test screening ended quickly. Leaving Takagi-san behind, who said she would stay a bit longer, Kakegawa left the apartment with Sunahara.

He didn’t say he had come by motorcycle. Instead, he walked beside Sunahara. The man, who always took the subway home, slowed his pace a little when they reached the station entrance.

“I have something I want to talk to you about.”

He had noticed that Sunahara had kept glancing at his watch the whole time, clearly anxious about the time—but he spoke up anyway. If he didn’t say it now, there might never be another chance. He felt like he might never be able to speak of it again.

“I just really needed you to hear me out…”

The teacher looked over at Kakegawa’s face and then gave a small smile.

“Wait here a sec.”

He walked a little ways off to make a call on his cell phone. When he came back, he asked:

“So, where are we going?”

◇:-:◆:-:◇

They went into a cozy little café. The smell of coffee filled the narrow space. They chose the two-person table in the very back and sat facing each other.

Even after placing their order, when it came time to actually talk, Kakegawa realized he had no idea how to start. The teacher sat quietly, waiting for him to begin. What should he say? Where should he start? This person didn’t know anything.

That he had been so heartbroken after being rejected that he’d started sleeping with a terrible man, almost like revenge. That such an unnatural relationship wouldn’t last very long.

“Movies are fascinating, huh.”

The teacher suddenly spoke. He took out a cigarette and lit it.

“You start with nothing, and end up with something. And what you make, no one can ever touch. It exists only inside the film. Like cigarette smoke—it’s vague, it only remains in your mind and heart, and yet it can change your whole life.”

He glanced at Kakegawa’s unresponsive face, then fell silent. The ticking of the wall clock echoed in his ears, as if urging him to speak. It was early evening, and the café was starting to fill up, becoming noisier.

It was impossible to avoid saying things just because they were inconvenient. He would have to lay bare all the awful, messy parts too, or else he’d never truly be understood. Even if that understanding took the form of revulsion. He hadn’t said that he was dating a man—but Sunahara was like that too. There shouldn’t be a reason to hesitate. And yet it was so hard to say.

“Is there something you’re struggling with?”

The teacher broke the silence. When Kakegawa looked up, he was smiling softly.

“I’m not rushing you, so you don’t need to force it. Talk when you’re ready. If telling me makes you feel even a little better, I’ll listen to anything. I can’t solve it for you—this is your problem—but I’ll listen.”

“…Okay.”

He moistened his dry throat with the now completely lukewarm water. The coffee on the table had long been finished. He could feel the manager’s gaze, making it uncomfortable to linger any longer, so in the end, he left the café without saying a word.

It was past six, but still bright outside, and many children were playing out front. Sunahara strode ahead without looking back. Not knowing where he was headed—or whether he might be going home—Kakegawa followed anxiously, hurrying to keep up. They eventually arrived at a park.

The same park where they had shot the final scene of the movie. Dodging running children, Sunahara sat down on a bench and beckoned to the standing Kakegawa. He sat beside him. The breeze was cool—it was definitely different from the height of summer.

From a distance came voices calling to children, and one by one, the kids disappeared from the sandbox. The teacher’s gaze idly followed the children leaving with their mothers.

“It’s strange, isn’t it? I must’ve been that age once, too, but I don’t remember it at all.”

A faint sigh escaped him. The backs of the children were small and frail, looking like they could be crushed in an instant by a great force.

“Maybe you don’t remember because there’s no need to,” Kakegawa said.

“Could be.”

A faint smile played on Sunahara’s lips. The thought occurred to Kakegawa that maybe, someday, he would no longer need to remember this man either—and the idea made him laugh inside. If he could think that way, maybe he could say anything now.

“You know how I said before that I was dating someone awful? Lately, I’ve been trying to change how I think about it.”

He was learning to accept his own cowardice. He was no longer a child—he was cowardly, pathetic, and selfish, but even someone like that could be allowed to keep a few secrets. The teacher slowly turned to look at him.

“I figured, even if he’s awful, I could try turning him into someone better.”

The teacher gave a sudden grin and ruffled Kakegawa’s hair, with a gesture so full of affection it hurt.

“That sounds like you.”

It was just a simple remark, but it felt like praise. It tickled him, and his chest grew warm.

“Don’t you think it’s strange, falling in love with someone?” Sunahara murmured.

“Even if at first you think they’re the worst, somehow they become someone you can’t ignore. And you don’t even know why. There’s no real reason for it.”

He scratched his head.

“It’s such a pain. It’s embarrassing, it’s pathetic… and I know I’m all over the place emotionally. But I still can’t stop myself from wanting to see them.”

He gave a laugh, as if to say even he wasn’t sure what he was going on about.

“You’re someone who knows how to look at the world around you. You should have more confidence.”

“I…,” Kakegawa began. He felt like he could finally say it.

“I’ve always wanted you. I still have feelings for you, but… now, there’s someone I love even more.”

The teacher seemed to smile faintly, but he quickly turned away, making it hard to read his expression. After a silence that lasted the length of a cigarette, Sunahara glanced at his watch and stood.

“Shall we head back?”

“Yeah. I’ll walk you part of the way.”

“I’m meeting someone nearby, so…”

He scratched the back of his head with a fingertip.

“Let’s part here. Sorry about today.”

“Don’t worry about it. See you.”

The teacher began walking briskly.

“Sensei,” Kakegawa called out.

He stopped and turned around.

“Is Aketo kind to you?”

Surprise flashed across Sunahara’s face for an instant—then he gave a sheepish, troubled smile.

“…More or less.”

He turned left at the entrance of the park and disappeared from view. The person he had loved so deeply. This was closure for Kakegawa. Letting go of his former love—that was the first step toward a new one.

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