The Eyes of a Child: Chapter 08

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The one conducting Domoto’s interview was a man named Kuraho, who looked to be in his late fifties. He said he was the head of the tutoring school, but dressed as he was, in a polo shirt and jeans, there was no real sense of formality about him. With a somewhat stocky build and an overall round impression, his demeanor, too, was soft. Kuraho set Domoto’s resume down on the table.

“You’re 25 this year, Mr. Domoto? Still very young. It says here you were working as an elementary school teacher until this spring,  may I ask why you left?”

The room was small, maybe the size of four tatami mats. From beyond the tightly shut window came the overlapping sounds of passing cars and the steady drone of cicadas. Domoto let out a quiet breath.

“I started having doubts about the way elementary education is run today. It’s not about educating children,  both teachers and students end up tied down by the rigid structure imposed by the schools. I started to feel suffocated in that environment, and came to the conclusion that I wasn’t cut out to be an elementary school teacher.”

Kuraho nodded deeply, in agreement.

“Actually, someone else who used to be an elementary teacher came to interview here before. They quit because they were disillusioned with the school system, but in the end, they told me they still loved working with children.”

Domoto lowered his gaze and looked down at his own tightly clenched hands, resting in his lap. It wasn’t a lie, he had felt stifled in the classroom. But not to the extent that he had no choice but to quit. Not really.

“The school I run isn’t focused on getting kids into competitive schools. It’s more of a supplementary space, a place where children can study at their own pace and enjoy learning. That’s our core philosophy… Mr. Domoto?”

Tears fell onto the backs of his clenched hands.

“Ah, sorry. My eyes are just a little irritated…”

Just remembering it was enough to make the tears spill.

He was the one who ended it. He was the one who said the cruel things. But he’d been the one who loved more. He’d loved far more, by tens, by hundreds of times more than the child had. Otherwise, why would the ache in his chest have driven him to give up being a teacher?

Even as he told himself he didn’t regret what he’d done, Domoto struggled to contain the tears that refused to stop.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

One year ago, Early Autumn

Hiroki Domoto was warned by a fellow teacher that his lessons were progressing too slowly. Ever since summer break ended, the pace of his teaching had lagged. It had been the same the previous year. After a long summer, kids needed time to mentally shift back into study mode. The heat outside still lingered, and memories of running around in the sun were vivid and fresh. He couldn’t blame them for not wanting to sit through boring classes.

Some teachers gave tests right after the break to jolt students back into focus. Domoto thought that was probably effective, but he didn’t want to assign unnecessary tests. When he was in elementary school, nothing made him more anxious than tests. More than the standard number felt like a burden, both on him and the kids. But even with his own logic guiding him, he was accused by the fourth-grade head teacher of "slacking off" because he didn’t assign enough.

Fifth period. The main bell rang, but the noise still spilled out into the hallway. As he slid the classroom door open and stepped into Class 4-C, the room fell into a sudden, eerie silence. Normally, his presence didn’t even register, his students would just keep yelling over each other like cicadas in full chorus. But now, there was a weird quiet. Feeling something was off, Domoto looked at the blackboard, and froze.

Scrawled in large, crude letters were the words: “Mr. Domoto is a homo.”

As he stood there stunned, laughter suddenly erupted from all around him, as if bubbling up from beneath the floor.

“Mr. Domoto, are you really a homo?”

It was a blunt, childish question, pure curiosity without malice, the kind only a kid could ask so nakedly. Domoto wordlessly picked up the eraser and scrubbed at the board. He pressed too hard, chalk dust exploded off the surface, making him cough and sting his eyes. It hurt.

“We’re starting class. Open your textbooks.”

“I don’t wanna hear no crap from some homo!”

It came from the back corner of the room, near the hallway window. The voice belonged to a boy named Kobayashi, always talking, never paying attention, and a problem in every class. Watching him, Domoto thought: Kids are like piranhas. They smell weakness, and once they’ve found it, they sink in their teeth, whether it hurts you, whether it makes you cry, they don’t care. And yet, they get bored just as quickly.

He remembered something another teacher once told him:

“Some people say the ideal teacher is someone the kids can see as a friend, but I think authority matters more. Even if you’re not naturally the authoritative type, you have to act like you are. Because if kids think you’re on their level, or beneath it, they’ll never listen to you.”

“I’ll say this clearly: I’m not gay. Now, open your textbooks—”

“But I saw you kissing a guy.”

His heart gave a hard, sickening thud. For a moment, everything in his mind went blank. Kobayashi narrowed his eyes in triumph, chin raised in smug satisfaction.

“I saw it with my own eyes.”

Last night, he’d gone to a bar, met a guy, and ended up at a hotel. He was drunk. The other man was assertive. They kissed, right there on the sidewalk. He’d had enough sense to duck into the shadows, but he’d thought no one was around. He was sure of it.

“Y-You must have mistaken me for someone else…”

His voice trembled.

“Nope. I followed you after you left.”

He followed me… all the way to the hotel.

All the color drained from Domoto’s body.

“L-Look, I didn’t do anything like that. That’s enough chit-chat—”

His hands shook. He raised his voice deliberately, trying to keep control.

“Open your textbooks. Today’s lesson is on the history of agriculture—”

He turned his back on the students.

Something hit him in the head.

He looked back. A half-used eraser rolled across the platform at his feet.

“Homo, homo…”

The chant started small. Then grew louder. Notebooks, textbooks, pencil cases began flying across the room, coming at him from all directions. Domoto stood there, paralyzed, as the classroom erupted into a chaotic storm.

“St-Stop it!”

Domoto’s voice was drowned out. They wouldn’t listen. They refused to listen. The mouths of those fledgling chicks, chirping in cruel unison, were terrifying. Just as the chaos spiraled beyond control, the classroom door banged open with a harsh rattle.

“What the hell are you all doing?!”

The shout came from Mizobuchi, the stern, notoriously scary teacher from the neighboring class. He stormed in, his presence enough to silence the room instantly, like water dumped over a raging fire.

“Mr. Domoto, what on earth is going on here under your supervision?!”

Domoto stared down at the scattered erasers and pencil cases at his feet, unable to reply. He couldn’t tell the truth, not even if someone forced his mouth open.

“What caused this commotion?!”

Mizobuchi’s furious voice slammed into his chest like a hammer. Even though the man had experience, his teaching was sloppy, Domoto had never liked him. Maybe that kind of vibe got picked up unspoken, because Mizobuchi always seemed especially harsh toward him.

“Kobayashi started teasing Mr. Domoto, saying he was a homo.”

A clear, ringing voice cut through the tense silence.

Mizobuchi snapped, “Kobayashi, it was you?!”

Kobayashi went pale and shook his head wildly.

“Th-That’s a lie, Jotaro!”

He leapt to his feet and lunged at the boy who had spoken, Jotaro Kashiwabara.

“It’s the truth,” Jotaro said, cool and flat.

“Shut the hell up!”

Kobayashi hurled the textbook on his desk straight at Jotaro. With catlike reflexes, Jotaro batted it away with one hand and sprang to his feet. Then he charged. The two boys were instantly locked in a full-blown fight.

“H-Hey! Knock it off!”

Mizobuchi rushed in to break it up, but even he struggled to separate them. Domoto stood frozen until Mizobuchi barked, “Mr. Domoto, what are you standing around for?!”

Snapping out of it, he ran over to help. Mizobuchi grabbed Kobayashi from behind while Domoto restrained Jotaro by the arms. Kobayashi was red-faced, crying loudly, while Jotaro, even with both arms held, kept kicking out furiously.

“Kashiwabara! Apologize to Kobayashi!”

“No way!” Jotaro yelled back.

“You can't follow a teacher’s orders?!”

“He’s the one in the wrong!”

“That doesn’t give you the right to hit your classmates!”

“He threw a book at me first. And he’s not apologizing.”

Mizobuchi’s face twitched. For just a second, it looked like he was actually thinking it over.

“If crying gets you out of trouble, then I’ll cry too. Idiot.”

Kobayashi, who had been sobbing with his head down, snapped his face upward.

“You think you can talk back to me, you damn outsider!”

With a snarl, Jotaro flared up again. Domoto gripped the boy tighter, almost like hugging him from behind, doing his best to hold him back.

In the end, the lesson was derailed for nearly thirty minutes. Mizobuchi ordered each student who had thrown something to pick up what they’d launched, books, erasers, pencil cases.

Following his suggestion, Jotaro and Kobayashi were made to stand at the back of the room.

The class resumed, but Domoto, and the rest of the students, couldn’t stop glancing at the two boys behind them. He managed to get through maybe a third of the lesson before the chime rang out. Honestly, that bell felt like salvation.

“Both of you, come to the staff room after school.”

As Domoto was leaving the classroom, he said it to them quietly. Neither of them responded. They just stood there, sullen and silent, lips pressed shut.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

After school, the only one who came to the staff room was Jotaro. Though he'd called out to them earlier, to be honest, he hadn’t expected anyone to actually show up. Neither of the boys had responded, and unlike their homeroom teacher, he didn’t have the authority to compel them.

“Where’s Kobayashi-kun?”

When he asked, the child kept his head down and jutted out his lower lip in a sulky pout. “I don’t know,” he replied. It was true, expecting the two boys, who had just gotten into a fight, to walk in holding hands would’ve been ridiculous.

“About fifth period… you still shouldn’t hit your classmates.”

“He threw his book at me first.”

“That might be true, but responding to violence with more violence doesn’t solve anything. Instead, you could try talking it out—”

The child raised his face.

“I don’t like getting hurt. And I don’t like holding it in when it hurts.”

“Maybe so, but—”

“Isn’t that why adults go to war?”

Domoto blinked hard.

“They can’t stand being insulted, so they fight, right?”

“That’s… not the same. And war is caused by more complicated things—”

“No, it’s the same. People fight because they’re angry.”

He almost felt crushed under the weight of that clear, unwavering gaze. People fight because they’re angry. In a way, that might be the truth, but it was a truth he couldn’t afford to acknowledge here. That much, he understood.

“You know war is wrong, don’t you, Kashiwabara?”

The small head gave what seemed like the faintest nod.

“If you know it’s wrong, then why are you using it as the reason for your own mistakes?”

The child couldn’t respond. His mouth clamped shut, lips pulling into a hard line.

“You shouldn’t hurt others. And you can’t blame what you’ve seen for doing it. In this world, there are things that are right and things that aren’t, but I want you to choose to see what’s right.”

A long, long silence followed. The boy was thinking. It would’ve been easy to tell him you can go now, but something told Domoto the child still had more to say. So he waited quietly.

“I hate Kobayashi,” Jotaro murmured at last.

“He always calls me kataoya (single parent).”

His small fists clenched tight.

“My mom didn’t die because she wanted to. Dad cried a lot. And I cried too. We were really sad. So why does he say it’s something bad?”

The boy who hadn’t shed a tear even during a rough scuffle with his classmate now had his eyes brimming. The sight made Domoto’s chest ache.

“That’s…”

“Everyone said my mom was pitiful. So why does he laugh about it?”

He didn’t know how to answer. It would’ve been simple to say Kobayashi was just an unkind child, but that wasn’t good enough. Even if it wasn’t a perfect answer, he needed to offer something, some kind of framework for understanding. Domoto thought for a moment.

“Kobayashi can’t imagine it.”

The child furrowed his brow.

“He can’t picture what it would be like to lose his own mother. That’s why he can’t understand how painful and sad it was for you.”

“So just because he doesn’t understand… he can laugh at me?”

That was probably it. But Domoto didn’t want to say so. So instead, he fell silent.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

That particular incident left a strong impression on Domoto regarding the student named Jotaro Kashiwabara. Being the assistant homeroom teacher for Class 4-C, Domoto had of course known the name and face, but Jotaro wasn’t academically gifted, athletic, or especially cute in a way that would draw attention. He didn’t get into trouble like Kobayashi, who constantly demanded extra attention, and overall, he was just an ordinary kid.

Given how common divorce was these days, having just a father or just a mother wasn’t unusual. Domoto had seen Jotaro’s father once during a parent observation day, a young man who gave off the vibe of someone who might’ve been a bit of a delinquent in his youth.

By the middle of October, the lingering summer heat had finally begun to fade. One day, while heading to the supply room to prepare for the next day’s class, Domoto noticed a student still lingering in the now dim classroom of 4-C. He glanced at the clock. It was already 5 p.m., well past dismissal. He recognized the boy immediately as Jotaro, but didn’t call out. He figured the kid would go home soon enough.

It took about twenty minutes to locate the video material he wanted to use in class. He had planned to head home as soon as he found it, so he was a bit annoyed at how much time had been wasted searching.
The hallway glowed a deep orange-red as he walked back slowly and passed by 4-C’s classroom once more. Jotaro was still there.

“You should head home,” Domoto called from outside the classroom. The small figure didn’t show any sign of moving.

“If you wait too long, the main gate will be locked by 6:30. You won’t be able to get out, and your dad will start worrying.”

Finally, the child stirred, weaving between desks and chairs to step into the hallway. His head was lowered, hiding his expression. Watching the small body, Domoto noticed something unusual, it seemed like he was carrying nothing.

“Kashiwabara, where’s your backpack?”

The boy turned, but said nothing.

“Where’s your backpack?” Domoto asked again.

“I don’t know,” the boy mumbled, almost dismissively.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

Suddenly, Jotaro bolted down the orange-tinted hallway, the slap of his shoes echoing before fading into silence. Domoto was concerned, but didn’t think it necessary to chase after him. Instead, he headed back to the staff room.

On his way out, using the rear gate rather than the front, he caught sight of a figure in the dim schoolyard. It was Jotaro. He hadn’t gone home after all.

“You should head home,” Domoto called from a distance.

The child looked toward him, but didn’t move. Domoto slowly approached, glancing down at his watch for emphasis.

“Come on, time to go. Everyone else is already gone.”

Jotaro looked down again.

“You don’t want to go home?”

The boy shook his head.

“Want me to walk with you partway?”

Another shake of the head.

“You don’t want to walk with me?”

He only shook his head again. Domoto couldn’t figure out what was going through his mind.

“For now, let’s at least get moving.”

He held out his right hand. But the boy didn’t take it.

Feeling at a loss, Domoto crouched down to be eye-level with the child.

“If you have a reason you don’t want to go home, talk to me about it.”

Still, the boy said nothing. Domoto began to wonder if the kid simply didn’t trust him. That thought had just crossed his mind when,

“My backpack’s gone.”

The small lips moved.

“Where did you lose it?”

“…In the classroom. I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, it was gone.”

The word bullying flashed across Domoto’s mind.

“Are you sure you didn’t leave it somewhere?”

“I left it on top of my desk.”

Honestly, Domoto wasn’t sure what to do. As the assistant homeroom teacher, would it be okay for him to involve himself in this kind of issue before the main teacher? But the child, unaware of Domoto’s hesitation, lifted his face and looked him straight in the eye.

"I want to look for my backpack."

"Do you have any idea where it might be?"

Jotaro shook his head. At this point, Domoto figured he might as well see it through.

"I'll help you."

The boy looked up.

"It's faster if two people search instead of one, right?"

He was being stared at with eyes that looked like they were searching for rescue.

"I was heading home anyway. Let’s look for your backpack."

Domoto and Jotaro returned to the school building. They opened every locker in the fourth-grade classrooms, anywhere a kid might hide something. But the black backpack Jotaro described was nowhere to be found. And before they knew it, it was already 6:30, when the main gate was locked.

"It's already dark now. Why don't we try again tomorrow? I’ll talk to your homeroom teacher about the textbooks you lost so they can work something out."

Jotaro shook his head again.

"I want to keep looking."

"If you're out too late, your dad will get worried."

Reluctantly, Jotaro gave up the search and followed Domoto to the front entrance.

"Do you have any idea who might’ve hidden it?"

He didn’t nod or shake his head.

"If you think you know, why don’t you tell me? I can talk to your homeroom teacher. That way, something like this won’t happen again."

A long silence followed. The boy seemed to be holding something in.

"When I said my backpack was missing, Kobayashi laughed. If it really was him… I’ll kill him."

The way he spat the words sent a chill down Domoto’s spine. He was small, but clearly the kind of kid who wouldn’t hesitate to get into a fistfight. And if he did, things could easily spiral out of control.

"You shouldn’t say things like ‘kill,’ not even as a joke. If you just talk—"

"They’re only doing it because they think it’s funny to watch me suffer."

Jotaro narrowed his eyes at the empty space ahead of him.

"But if anyone dirties or breaks the backpack dad gave me, I’ll never forgive them."

"I understand how much it means to you, but—"

"You understand? How could you understand? You’re not me! That backpack meant everything to me! We’re poor, we didn’t have any money, and still, dad bought me the one I wanted. Because of that, he couldn’t even afford to eat lunch anymore…"

Domoto hadn’t imagined things were that dire. Poverty showing up in kids because of their parents’ circumstances was one thing, but to skip meals just to buy a backpack?

"I'm sure we’ll find it—"

He meant it as comfort, but Jotaro shot him an unexpectedly sharp look.

"You say that… but do you know where it is?"

He was shorter, physically weaker, and less knowledgeable than Domoto. But right then, Domoto felt afraid. This child was scary.

"Well… no, I don’t. I just hope we find it…"

With a very adult-sounding tch, Jotaro turned toward the shoe lockers. He put on his shoes and dashed off without looking back.

Domoto felt oddly relieved, like a wild animal had finally left. But almost immediately, irritation boiled up. He had taken the time to help look, and yet that effort was dismissed with a click of the tongue and a bad attitude. It felt like a slap in the face.

He made his way to the shoe locker himself, intending to go home. A shiver ran down his spine. Now that the sun had fully set, it was surprisingly cold.

The chill made him need to use the bathroom again, so he headed back toward the faculty room. After finishing in the staff toilet, something caught his eye, a locker where the cleaning supplies were kept.

They had already searched the bathrooms near the classrooms. But this was in front of the faculty room. Hiding something here would be bold, too bold, really. Still… he figured it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick look.

He opened the locker and was stunned.

Sitting atop a tin bucket was a single black backpack.

Here? he thought, and reached for it. It was unexpectedly heavy, as if it were filled with sand or stones.

He opened the flap in the hallway. Domoto put a hand to his forehead.

The textbooks inside were soaking wet. And they reeked of milk.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the schoolbag and the scattered textbooks and notebooks left open in the corner of the room. Domoto paused his cooking and turned around.

“That’s the bullied kid’s schoolbag. Not only had it been hidden, but they apparently poured milk inside it, it stank. I’m airing out the contents, but the textbooks and notebooks are probably beyond saving.”

“…I see,” Satoko murmured as she slowly approached the schoolbag spread out on a bath towel. Staring at the black, glistening leather, she quietly said, “Poor thing.”

“He’s a strong kid, so I think he’ll be okay. I don’t think he’ll let it crush him.”

“But that doesn’t mean he won’t be hurt, does it?”

Her words felt like they cut straight through his chest. Her movements were slow, and so was her speech, but Satoko was sharp. She always got straight to the point with just a few words.

Returning to the table, Satoko tucked her legs to the side, rested her chin in her hand, and gazed at him quietly. Ever since elementary school graduation, people no longer mistook them for each other, but even now, she still looked a lot like him. His fraternal twin, his sister Satoko, twirled a strand of her long hair around her finger.

“…How’s Mom doing lately?”

When Domoto asked, Satoko blinked slowly.

“She’s doing well. Her broken pinky’s healed too.”

“I see,” he responded with a nod.

“How about Dad?”

“Still the same as always… Why don’t you come home?”

If you're that concerned about them, then just come home, her eyes seemed to say. Domoto gave a wry smile, eyes lowered. His parents had found out he was gay in his senior year of high school, just before graduation. His mother had walked in on him having sex in his room with a classmate who was his boyfriend at the time. She panicked. When his father heard about it, all he did was yell, angry and confused, unable to comprehend what he’d heard. Their stares became unbearable, and he left home like he was running away, starting life on his own. He hadn’t been back since. But Satoko still came to visit his apartment from time to time, telling him how their parents were doing.

Time always seemed to move more slowly around Satoko. It had been like that since they were children, and being near her brought a strange sense of calm. His thoughtful, kind sister, Domoto could speak honestly only with her.

“I think Mom and Dad… want to see you.”

Domoto muttered a vague “Maybe next time.” Satoko ate the dinner he’d prepared and then went home. Since getting a job, she too had moved out of their parents’ house and lived on her own.

“See them… huh.”

As he did the dishes, Domoto spoke softly to himself. Seeing his parents again probably wouldn’t fix anything, not for himself, and not for the problems around him. Being gay, giving in to carnal urges and sleeping with strangers when he had no steady partner, he no longer agonized over whether that made him shameless. He just didn’t believe his parents could ever understand what counted as “normal” in this world.

By the time he stepped out of the shower, the clock on the wall was just shy of midnight.

He had been thinking about calling Jotaro’s house to let them know the schoolbag had been found. But he couldn’t find the 4-C class address list. He’d planned to call the homeroom teacher to ask, but then Satoko had shown up. And now, it had gotten a bit too late to be calling someone else’s home.

…Tomorrow should be fine.

With that thought, Domoto crawled into bed.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

When he opened his eyes, it was already past 7:30. Domoto shot out of bed in a panic. He quickly got ready and left his apartment shortly after 8:00. Picking up his pace a little, he arrived at school at 8:15.

Since carrying it openly would draw attention, he had placed the schoolbag into a large paper bag. As soon as he dropped it off at his desk in the teachers' room, Domoto headed to Class 4-C to return it, but there was no sign of Jotaro.

What are you doing here before class even starts?, the stares from the kids seemed to say, piercing him.

“Has Kashiwabara arrived yet?”

He asked the student sitting beside Jotaro’s desk, but they only shook their head with a “No idea.”

Maybe he’s the type who shows up just before the bell, Domoto thought as he left the classroom.

There was a morning staff meeting at 8:25. Even if Jotaro had already arrived, Domoto didn’t have time to go hunting for a kid who might be anywhere on campus.

As he walked back toward the teachers' room, he spotted Jotaro through the window, walking along the far edge of the schoolyard. He slid the window open and called his name. The boy turned and came running toward him. His small mouth was puffing out breaths, huffing and puffing.

“Here, this.”

Domoto handed over the paper bag. The moment Jotaro looked inside, his eyes and mouth widened in surprise. He practically tore the bag apart as he pulled out the schoolbag.

“I found it yesterday, just before going home. It’s still a little wet, so it might be better to let it dry a bit longer.”

The boy just stood there, holding the schoolbag, completely still.

“The textbooks and notebooks inside got soaked too, so I’m drying those now. I know which ones are no longer usable, so I’ll have replacements ready before class starts.”

With his thin arms like twigs, Jotaro hugged the still-damp bag tightly to his chest. Tears started spilling from his eyes and dripping down, and Domoto froze for a moment. He had heard the schoolbag was important to him, but he hadn’t realized the boy had been so worried he might cry like this.

“I really wanted to call your house as soon as I found it yesterday, but I didn’t have your phone number. Sorry about that.”

The boy’s small shoulders trembled as he clung to the schoolbag.

“...’ank you.”

The voice was so small, Domoto couldn’t make it out.

“Hm?”

“Thank you, Domoto-sensei.”

He murmured the words quietly, and then, still clutching the schoolbag, turned and ran off. Watching his little back recede into the distance, Domoto suddenly felt self-conscious and pressed a hand to his mouth. Being thanked so honestly made him squirm.

He’s the type of kid who punches his friends without hesitation… but he’s surprisingly honest too.

That side of him was so childlike, it was almost endearing.

As he was thinking that, the morning bell rang, and Domoto hurried back to the teachers’ room.

Before the first period began, Domoto explained the situation to the homeroom teacher and prepared replacement textbooks for the ones too damaged to use. When he went to deliver them to the classroom, Jotaro came running up before Domoto could even look for him. Being stared at with those sparkling, puppy-like eyes made Domoto feel oddly shy.

“These are the replacements for the books that got too wet to use.”

Jotaro glanced briefly at the textbooks in Domoto’s hand.

“Don’t need ’em.”

Domoto blinked. “Huh?”

“If I’ve got those, it means I have to study, right?”

“Well, yeah, but you’ll have trouble in class and during tests if you don’t have them…”

Snatching the books away from Domoto as if annoyed, Jotaro muttered, “I guess I’ll borrow ’em, since I have no choice.”

“No choice,” huh…

Still as cheeky as ever. But just as Domoto thought that, Jotaro flashed an adorably smug grin.

“Thanks, sensei.”

Then he darted off. He didn’t look back. Domoto felt strangely embarrassed, but somehow, he sensed that Jotaro was probably feeling the same way too.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

At the end of November, Domoto was in a small room labeled the Social Studies Preparation Room, no larger than four tatami mats, stapling together worksheets for tomorrow’s social studies class. In the corner of the room, Jotaro sat curled up with his feet pulled up on the chair, reading a book with a cover on it.

Domoto often used handouts in his classes. The textbook alone felt too dry, so he liked to make supplemental sheets with behind-the-scenes stories or little historical tidbits to keep things interesting. Since the prep room had a computer and printer, it made the task easier, and he often found himself holed up there after school. Before long, Jotaro had started popping in frequently as well.

His homeroom teacher had warned him: “Try not to show favoritism to any one student…” Equal treatment for all, that’s probably a fundamental rule for teachers. Still… Domoto glanced at the child seated in the chair. They were on friendly terms, but that didn’t mean he was fudging his test scores. His influence over report card grades was negligible at best. Surely letting the boy hang around after school was within reasonable bounds?

More than that, he felt Jotaro needed a safe space right now, somewhere he could “escape” to without fear.

Domoto had already suspected, ever since the incident with the schoolbag, that Jotaro was being bullied by his classmates. But it hadn’t occurred to him that it had all started with the rumor about his supposed “homo tendencies.”

“I was already hated by Kobayashi and the others anyway,” Jotaro had said, but Domoto couldn’t help feeling guilty.

He had told the homeroom teacher about the bullying, but all she had said was, “I’ll handle it.” Since then, the matter had never come up again, not even in faculty meetings.

These kinds of issues were delicate. If a teacher named a specific child as the perpetrator, there was a real risk of the parents coming back with “This is a violation of my child’s rights.”

On top of that, when bullying happens within a class, it reflects poorly on the teacher.

Why didn’t you prevent it? Why didn’t you notice it?, they’d be criticized like that. So most teachers just pretended not to see anything.

If they could just get through the year, there’d be a class shuffle next year, and they could distance themselves from the problem children.

“Hey, Hiro-sensei, how do you read this kanji?”

Still sitting on the chair, Jotaro dragged himself closer with a noisy screech. He held out the book for Domoto to see.

“That one’s read kagaku. It’s made of the characters for ‘jaw’ and ‘below the jaw.’ Basically, it refers to the jaw area.”

“Huh…” Jotaro furrowed his brow with a serious look and set the half-read book on top of a stack of cardboard boxes.

“Hiro-sensei, want me to help with that?”

Jotaro called Domoto Hiro-sensei, a nickname derived from his first name, Hiroki. He was the only one who called him that.

“Domoto-sensei is too hard to say. Hiro-sensei sounds better,” the boy had said before casually adopting it without asking.

“It’s fine, I’m almost done.”

“But I wanna staple stuff.”

Since he seemed so eager, Domoto handed over the stapler. Jotaro started working at it with gusto, going click-click enthusiastically.

But not even five minutes had passed before,

“Hiro-sensei, I’m bored,” he declared, tossing the stapler aside.

“Come on, you said you wanted to do it. At least finish what you started.”

Pouting with annoyance, Jotaro picked up the stapler again. Domoto, meanwhile, reached for the book the boy had left behind and flipped through it. The title, Boxing for Beginners, surprised him.

“You want to take up boxing, Jotaro?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna be a boxer.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Doesn’t it hurt to get punched?”

“But boxers are strong and cool. Hiro-sensei, do you know the manga FIGHTER?”

“I don’t really read manga…”

“It’s about this guy named Daiki who does boxing. He’s seriously cool. Even though he might go blind from retinal detachment, he still fights the whole world with just his right hand.”

It was amusing how an overused old trope could still hold up in the present. Come to think of it, he himself had once read a manga and decided he wanted to become an F1 racer. …Though that had only lasted for a brief moment. At that age, you were easily influenced by anything, novels, manga, anime, TV dramas. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Once you became an adult, reality stood before you whether you liked it or not, often making it impossible even to dream.

Despite claiming he was bored, Jotaro stapled everything together right to the end.

"Hey, good job, good job."

When he praised him, Jotaro stretched his mouth wide in a grin.

"Hey, Hiro-sensei, we're done now, right? Tell me one of your stories about when you traveled abroad."

Domoto crossed his arms and gave the boy a sidelong glance, saying, “But you know…”

"You always laugh in the middle of it."

Just the other day, during a lull between classes, he had started telling a story about a trip to Chile. Before he could even get to the punchline, Jotaro had burst out laughing, he remembered the story from when it was told before.

"And if I tell it now, it won’t be as funny anymore."

"I won’t laugh this time, promise."

“Come on, tell it,” Jotaro said, clinging to him from behind and shaking him back and forth. When Domoto muttered, “You’re such a handful…”, Jotaro dragged a chair over and plopped himself down in front of him. His gaze brimmed with anticipation. Domoto cleared his throat with a kohon.

It still amazed him how a student who had once seemed difficult and even a little scary could become this affectionate once they let their guard down. …That reminded him of something a friend once said, Kids are like dogs. The more love you give them, the more they get attached.

"If only you'd listen to my lessons as attentively as you do my stories."

He muttered, and Jotaro shrugged with a casual, “Well, you know.”

"Hiro-sensei’s classes just aren’t that interesting."

The bluntness of it pierced him straight through the heart.

"But I really like your travel stories, Sensei. They’re super exciting to listen to."

"Are my lessons really that boring…?"

He asked timidly.

"It’s not just you, Hiro-sensei. None of the teachers are interesting. They’re just reading from the textbook."

"That may be true, but teachers have to follow a schedule and make it through a certain amount of material, so we end up having to teach like that."

"But isn’t learning something we’re supposed to do?"

The words lashed at him like a whip. He had no reply. It was the truth. Teachers often prioritized progressing through the lesson plan, but in reality, they should be teaching for the kids. When Domoto fell silent, Jotaro stood up from his chair and dashed to the window.

"Whoa, the sunset! It's huge and red!"

In the span of a few seconds, his attention had already shifted elsewhere. Kids didn’t care about what they said or how it affected others. And when he got bored of the sunset, he came back and stood before Domoto again, who was still deep in thought about the basic issue of teaching for the kids.

"Hey, Hiro-sensei. There's something I wanna ask you..."

That direct and unfiltered way of thinking always hit hard. Domoto braced himself slightly, wondering what would come next.

"What do you think about homos?"

The unexpected fastball from a completely different direction made him gulp.

“W-what do I think?”

"Like, what do you think about guys kissing each other and stuff?"

He almost wanted to ask back, Do you know about me? He hadn’t said or done anything at school that would reveal he was gay. The only slip-up had been when Kobayashi teased him in class. But Domoto had denied being gay, and more importantly, Mizobuchi had scolded the boy afterward. Since then, neither Kobayashi nor any other student had teased him about it again.

"Why are you asking me something like that?"

He asked back. At that, Jotaro lowered his head and fell silent. After a while, he lifted his face again and looked straight at Domoto.

"Hiro-sensei, you won’t tell anyone?"

"...I won’t."

"Can you promise?"

When Domoto nodded and said, Yeah, Jotaro slowly opened his mouth.

"My dad, his name’s Misaki... he’s gay."

The turn the conversation took was so unexpected that Domoto was struck speechless. He couldn't even give a nod of acknowledgment.

"I live with Misaki and Misaki’s onii-chan, Hitoshi, the three of us. And Misaki and Hitoshi are a couple."

He knew that, for some gay couples, adopting a child was the final step. Still… a young father, raising a child with his male partner, there was something so bold about it, he couldn’t even find the right words. Even for an adult, having their father bring home a boyfriend would be unsettling. For a child, it was only natural to struggle to accept something like that.

"Jotaro, do you not like your new uncle, Hitoshi?"

The boy shook his head.

"New uncle? Hitoshi and Misaki have always been brothers."

"Wait, brothers?"

"They’ve been brothers since they were born."

Domoto’s head spun. If he took Jotaro's words at face value, that meant Misaki, the father, was in a romantic relationship with his own biological brother and they were living together.

"I like dad. And I like Hitoshi, too. I’ve seen them kiss lots of times. I’m happy they get along. But… is that weird?"

His clear eyes pierced Domoto.

"Is it wrong?"

He couldn't answer. There was no way he could.

"When Kobayashi said you were gay, Hiro-sensei, the kids in class were like, 'That's gross,' and 'What a pervert.' But I know dad and Hitoshi, so I didn’t think it was gross. I looked stuff up on the computers at school, but I still don’t really get it. So, tell me, what’s gross about it? Do you think it’s gross when it’s between two guys, too?"

"That’s, um…"

Jotaro wasn’t asking because he suspected Domoto was gay. Even knowing that, Domoto still felt shaken.

"That’s… well, it’s a difficult question. But, compared to the past, people’s views on that kind of thing are starting to change. In some countries, same-sex couples can even get married now."

"Really? That’s cool."

Jotaro nodded emphatically.

"In Japan, there’s still a lot of prejudice against men dating men, so even if someone is gay, most people probably hide it."

That included himself, of course. When Domoto said this, Jotaro muttered, Hmm, and pulled both feet up onto his chair, tilting his head slightly.

"Dad really depends on Hitoshi. And Hitoshi treats dad like he’s super important. That’s what you call love, right?"

Hearing such a melancholy word come from a child’s mouth felt strangely out of place. And yet, Domoto couldn’t look away.

"Hiro-sensei… do you think what dad and Hitoshi are doing is wrong?"

His gaze almost felt like it was drawing something out of him. Domoto rubbed his eyes hard.

"...N-no, I don’t."

"Do you think I’m weird for thinking it’s fine if two guys are happy together and get along?"

"...I don’t."

Jotaro looked up at him with wide, cat-like eyes, trying to read his mood.

"Really?"

"Lying wouldn’t do any good. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being gay. But… I think people who feel the way I do are still in the minority, so it’s better not to talk about it with others too openly."

Jotaro dropped his feet back to the ground, dragged his chair with a scraping noise, and moved right up next to Domoto.

"If I told people that dad and Hitoshi were gay, I think Kobayashi would start teasing me. He’s just a dumb kid who doesn’t know anything."

There was something oddly awkward about hearing one child call another “a child.” It made Domoto want to say, But you’re still a kid too, aren’t you?

"But grown-ups know, don’t they? That being gay isn’t a bad thing."

"I don’t think you should tell the adults about your dad either."

Jotaro tilted his head.

"It’s not like you’ll get arrested for being gay, but even adults have their prejudices. When it comes to things they don’t understand, things they haven’t experienced themselves, they tend to be conservative..."

"I don’t really get what you’re saying, Hiro-sensei."

He pouted. Domoto had completely forgotten he was talking to a fourth grader.

"I mean adults can say and do cruel things about stuff they don’t understand."

"Then that’s just like Kobayashi. Even though they’re adults."

"Just being alive longer doesn’t mean adults are that great."

Like when they turn a blind eye to bullying to protect their own position. Or when they go on with a lesson even though they know the kids aren’t keeping up, just to meet their own quotas...

Seeing the puzzled look on the boy’s face, Domoto thought, I messed up. No matter how true it was, he shouldn’t have said that out loud. There are things kids should know and things they shouldn’t. Realizing that parents and teachers aren’t special, that can wait until they’re older.

"I don’t really get grown-ups, but I like you, Hiro-sensei."

The words were thrown straight at him.

"You’re my fourth favorite person in the world."

The oddly specific ranking made him laugh despite himself.

"Number one is dad, two is Hitoshi, three is Grandma, and four is you, Hiro-sensei."

Fourth place... Who would that be for him? He cared about his parents, but didn’t get along with them. His twin sister, friends from high school, coworkers, drinking buddies… He’d lived more than twice as long as this kid, and yet he couldn’t even name a first, let alone a fourth.

Jotaro grinned and squeezed Domoto’s right hand tight.

"Hiro-sensei, I’m hungry."

Even though he couldn’t rank the people in his own life, being someone’s fourth favorite in the world made him a little happy.

"I want a curry bun."

He flicked the boy’s forehead with his left hand.

"You’re trying to make me treat you, aren’t you?"

"Got me," Jotaro laughed.

"Then let’s go to the convenience store by the station together. And eat in the park out back."

It felt nice to be told I like you. When someone relies on you, you want to support them. When someone small and stubborn looks to you, you want to protect them. Domoto ruffled the boy’s thread-thin, black hair. The boy squinted, like it tickled.

He could already picture himself giving in and buying that curry bun for the kid who’d cling to him like a puppy, and he couldn’t help but smile wryly.

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