MaruMA:Gaiden04:Chapter 5

Until He Becomes Maou

Just as I thought the season of spring showers has past, the intense heat of the summer hits suddenly.

  In order the escape the heat and rehydrate, we duck into a shop not too far away from the station. Shibuya stares at the display shelf, muttering, “One donut a day, just one.”

“What about pies?”

“Pies are the same, right? The best ones are foods with high protein and low fat content. Apparently you shouldn’t eat too much sweet stuff.”

“Don’t they say that sugar is energy for the brain?”

“But you’re always using your brain, Murata, and you’re fine, right? As for me… To put it frankly, I’m a musclehead type.”

Pointing at the rough glass, he says in all seriousness.

“Mn—Then I won’t hold back, I want two. Don’t you go nagging me later, okay?”

“Just eat to your heart’s content—”

Shibuya purposely whistles and puts on an I-couldn’t-care-less expression, even though he knows he’ll be tempted instantly, he still orders the slightly less fatty dessert.

As I expected, Shibuya polishes it off in a no time at all, and even stirs his orange juice looking unsatisfied.

Just as I’m wondering if I should split half of mine to him, the cellphone in my pocket rings. Maybe because the ringtone is a song he heard before, Shibuya puts his hands on the table and says proudly,

“It’s ‘Jaws’.”

“That’s right. Someone sent a message… to me.”

I quickly peek at the message, and then turn off my phone.

“Is it okay to not reply?”

“It’s nothing important.”

Because that’s a status report message.

To be honest, I have no interest at all in knowing what the other person is doing. I think, don’t get someone else to record your movements for you, just go home and keep a diary. It’s a different matter if you want to create an alibi.

“Come to think of it, I don’t know your phone number.”

Shibuya taps the table with four of his fingers, excluding the thumb.

“What, you suddenly remembered?”

“C’mon, it only just occurred to me too. Although I have your cell number on my house phone’s speed dial, that just won’t cut it. Although it’s very convenient, I’m putting all the work on the machine, and I myself don’t even remember a simple cellphone number. Damn—so this is how human memory slowly deteriorates.”

“Don’t blame it on the machines. Give me your phone, I’ll put it in for you… Ah—Shibuya doesn’t have a phone, I really can’t help you. Paper, do you have paper? It’s okay if I write it here, right?”

Just as I’m reaching out for the thin serviette, Shibuya blocks me with his right hand, and then splays onto the table, avoiding the empty tray, saying as he holds his head with both hands,

“You don’t have to write it, just tell me. I mean, if I can’t even remember a short line of simple numbers, how can I be a proper catcher? Alright~~ I’m ready, tell me!”

After I say my number twice, he starts muttering it non-stop, trying to memorize it. When he repeats the last four digits again, he can’t help but murmur to himself,

“It’s so easy to remember… 4156? That number sounds familiar.”

“Maybe you heard it often on TV commercials.”

“No, that’s not the reason, it’s like a long time ago… What is it? Mgh—I can’t remember.”

Those neatly trimmed short fingernails grab his hair as Shibuya mutters under his breath, his expression unsatisfied. The twirl on top of his head is facing me, should I throw some carrot pie crumbs onto it?

The first time I met Shibuya was when Mom held my hand into the kindergarten entrance ceremony.

I was wearing a suit with bright and beautiful colors, but Mom’s mood was really bad.

Right now she’s only interested in her career, but back then it seems she had very high expectations for her only son’s education. Because she wanted me to join the kindergarten-offshoot of some famous university, or those international kindergartens that only spoke in English-- in other words, a real life Sesame Street.

But in the end I ended up in a normal private kindergarten, living a normal person’s life, and there were many children who didn’t understand English at all in there, covered in paint and playing in the sand. This is all because of my Dad, who couldn’t be bothered to join those all-important parent-child interviews.

“…Ken-chan, Mommy’s begging you, please don’t get too friendly with those children no matter what.”

Even though she was pleading me in all seriousness, my gaze had long since been fixed on a certain spot.

It was a girl standing under the sakura tree, holding hands with her parents, who seemed to have good taste. Her soft long hair was divided into two sides, and tied above her ears. The spring breeze lightly dyed her cheeks a rosy red, and she smiled the moment she saw me, opening her petal-like lips. Those large eyes behind those long lashes didn’t seem black, but were instead a bright and beautiful brown.

I even thought she was an angel. I just felt as though there was a white glow around here, or even beautiful music playing.

She must be an angel descended onto Earth. Since this was a Christian kindergarten, and there was even a small church beside it, I thought that angels would be studying in class with us. Thinking back on it now, though, I sure was stupid. Not incurably stupid, but that incident was truly too much.

“Let’s go, Yuu-chan. Yuu-chan is in the Tulip class, y’know!”

So her name was Yuu-chan—

The father holding a digital camera led the way, and the three of them walked towards the entrance of the kindergarten, looking pretty as a picture.

“Yuuka likes tulips the most—If you could make many friends, then—Gwoh!”

Yuuka-mama with her pretty flower brooch made a strange sound as she turned to a side, the football that hit her head beautifully spot-on rolling slowly onto the asphalt.

“I’m—so—sorry! Oh my oh my my what a mess! There’s a ball mark!”

The woman who jogged over rubbed Yuuka-mama’s face in panic, pulling a little child with her right hand,

“Sorry, my Yuu-chan just naturally likes baseball, and he’d pick up and play with anything round. Goodness, there’s mud on you, I wonder if I can get it off…”

“It’s fine. Uhm, my foundation… Mmph!”

“I’m really so very sorry, I’ll tell my son to apologize to you straight away. Hurry, Yuu-chan, apologize to Aunty!”

The child who had fallen to the ground instantly got up obediently. He was not wearing the hat designated by the kindergarten, but a blue baseball cap. His empty right hand was holding a baseball bat tightly, and he raised his head nonchalantly, his black eyes swiveling nimbly as he stared at the motionless, wordless trio.

The light blue frock he wore in place of a uniform was already covered in mud before the opening ceremony.

He was Shibuya Yuuri.

“Alright, Yuu-chan, apologize now!”

“Shou-chan said, if you apologize in this society of lawsuits, things’ll be bad… Ow!”

The mother pinched his soft cheeks, pulling them outwards,

“This isn’t America, y’know. And this now is Yuu-chan’s fault.”

“S-sorry~~”

“That’s right, didn’t Mommy and Daddy always tell you? You must hit the ball towards the bleachers in the left outfield, and never at someone else.”

“But I’m not the king of homeruns…”

"Then from today onwards, practice batting towards the moon.”

Come to think of it, how could a pre-kindergarten child have hit a football so hard that it flew so high and hard enough to leave a mark on a grown woman’s face? His legs weren’t that long, and he wasn’t that tall. Besides, he didn’t kick or throw the ball, he hit it out with his inflatable baseball bat.

Rather than calling it baseball, wasn’t it more like golf?

That mother-son duo ignored the spectators’ gazes of confusion, however, and started chatting among themselves.

“Yuu-chan, that isn’t baseball, it’s cricket, y’know!”

“Bricket?”

Acting like an idiot.

“No, no, it’s nothing to do with bricks, those would hurt if you kicked them. And you shouldn’t kick away your blankets either, or your tummy will catch a cold.”

Both of them were acting like idiots.

That mother-son duo who didn’t need a straight man for their show, are the Shibuya family that later plays a very large part in my life.

Shibuya-mama, dressed in a young girl’s style, swung her son’s hand as she says,

“Yuu-chan’s class is the tulip with the really—long stem. Thank goodness—tulips are really easy to draw.”

“Sulish?”

“Zurich is the capital of Swiss, okay.”

Seems like it would be far too hard to keep up with their conversation.

But I was a little kindergartener as well, and I didn’t think I would get too friendly with someone hard to get along with, I only thought he was a weirdo. With the wit and wisdom of a five-year-old, there was no way I could have known this baseball boy’s future.

Besides, back then I also hadn’t noticed how I was different from others. The unfamiliar scenes that surfaced in my memories occasionally put me at a loss, and sudden triggers would also bring up adult emotions to the surface. Although the memories of multiple lives confused me, I still never told anyone, keeping them hidden within my heart. Even if I wanted to tell someone, I probably wouldn’t be able to explain it properly.

Back then, uncommon words like ‘maou’, ‘other world’ or ‘sage’ had yet to appear in my memories. Even if I searched through all the memories in my brain, I wouldn’t find Shibuya Yuuri’s face and name.

So even if my future best friend appeared in front of me, I didn’t introduce myself. Besides, we were in different classes.

“Ken-chan is in Sunflower class, right? Do you know how to write ‘sunflower’?”

“I remember how to write ‘sun’.”

“So you don’t know ‘flower’, huh. Ken-chan, since you’re already in kindergarten, you should make some new friends, y’know.”

But Mom suddenly lowered her voice, murmuring so that no one else could hear,

“…But if you made friends with that child just now, you’ll only get hurt, so don’t look for him.”

“Mn.”

It’s not like I never got close with Shibuya just because of what Mom said. Because afterwards, in all those kindergarten activities, Shibuya and I never came into contact much.

Even at five years old, he already demonstrated his personality as a passionate young man, from suggesting that desserts be divided equally to the incident where he exposed Santa Claus, leaving behind legends in kindergarten history. But until we graduated kindergarten, he never once spoke to me, who was preparing to enter a famous elementary school.  

The first time I spoke to Shibuya, it was already many years since then, during autumn of our fifth year in elementary school.

Even if my results in school were flawless, I never got into that private elementary school after all. Because my family got involved in a real estate problem—to be precise, arguing which house near our old place we were going to buy.

By the time my parents came to a compromise, I was already a regular freshman in a public elementary school, and they weren’t particularly against it.

Even so, my mother refused to give up on her elite education plan, and sent me to cram school as usual. That’s why, like those of my classmates who were preparing to get into a private middle school, my life involved taking a thirty-minute train ride after school, running between school and cram school. Although I didn’t find that life particularly stressful, it is true that my free time decreased.

On the way to the nearest train station, there was a riverbank sports field. There was some low-quality red soil, an unmaintained rusty fence, set bases, and something like a pitcher’s mound. That’s why even usual people could play baseball here, and baseball teams could use it any time.

Every evening, our school practiced there.

There was a reason why an educational sports activity was moved outside the school, and it was a sad reason.

Although Shibuya refuses to admit it to this day, the truth of the matter is that children’s interests have shifted from baseball to football. Because of the World Cup, there was a football fever enveloping Japan, and it means that Japan has a spot to stand on the world stage of football. That’s why children’s dreams quickly became to join the professional football union.

All the boys were playing football during recess, and afterschool club activities revolved around football as well. The field was taken over by the football club, and even the roof was used for five-on-five football.

The baseball club got lower and lower on the hierarchy, and all they could do every day was practice tosses behind the dorms. After school on Wednesdays was the only time they could swing to their hearts’ content.

To make things worse, the baseball was smaller than a football, so it was very hard to spot in mid-air. Just a moment of carelessness made it hard to avoid, and so many people were hit by the balls, until finally the baseball club was chased off the field.

Having been chased out, they finally came to this field with the third-year teacher who was forced into becoming their teacher advisor. Apparently even the number of members barely met the mark, so it was a problem when they wanted to hold friendly matches.

That day I was walking on the road by the riverbank as I watched them, all covered in sweat and mud. I thought to myself, what’s so fun about baseball?

There were only two sixth graders, four fifth graders and two fourth graders, so they would find themselves lacking at any moment. But since there were two pitchers, Shibuya was usually an outfielder.

How about today?

When I was checking out the home base as usual, I suddenly heard a metallic clang, and the batted ball slowly few upwards. An out ball fell not far from me with a dull clatter, just like that.

“Could you pass it here--!”

Shibuya pulled up his mask and was waving his right hand. His clothes were filthy today as well, because he practiced in his baseball clothes, so there wasn’t a name or number.

I picked up the ball by my foot, and toss it out using my shoulder. The softball fell onto the ground a few feet away, and then rolled down the slope of the riverbank. Although its speed was hampered by the long weeds, it did eventually roll onto the red clay field.

“Thanks--!”

He put his hands on his hips, his mask set on top of his head, and a large mitt on his left hand. His round black eyes sparkled; he looked really happy.

“However—”

As he dragged out his word and lifted the pitch, his teammates on the field glanced towards their catcher in unison and sighed heavily, their expressions saying, “Hey hey hey, there he goes again.”

“If you use all the power from your whole body, you’ll be able to throw that further, y’know--? I’ll teach you how to pitch, come over here and play a while--! We just happen to have an empty position in the outfield…”

I turned around without replying, continuing on my way to the train station.

“Hey! Hey--! Do you hate baseball--!?”

He kept on yelling without a care in the world, while I was the one feeling embarrassed.

“You’re always welcome to join us! Hey, we’re practicing here every day--!”

I don’t know myself what it was about me that caught his attention, so that he wanted me to join his baseball team. Maybe he noticed how boring my life was, running between school and cram school every day. Or maybe he didn’t really have any special reason, and he just wanted to meet the minimum requirements for membership numbers, so he would want anyone to join, regardless of who it was.

Back then I had just learned how to organize all the other people’s memories, living a life where I hadn’t lost my sense of self, at least. My mind was full of lives I never experienced, and if I were to look for the beginning of it all, there would be no end to it. Although it was way past time to fret over where I went wrong, I was still very uneasy inside.

Since the first time I encountered him in kindergarten, my memories have been chasing after him unconsciously. The truth is I never considered making friends with him at this time either, neither did I hate him so much I’d keep staring at him. In that case, why would I be so preoccupied with Shibuya?

Maybe a brand new door of memories opened due to some miniscule trigger, and the day that I could understand the relationship between us was fast coming—I muttered to myself, and walked towards the station.

  Our relationship changed drastically a few hours later.

After finishing cram school, I was waiting for the train together with the white collar workers getting off work. But even though the time was fifteen minutes past the number on the timetable, the high speed train was still nowhere in sight.

Apparently there was a mishap at the intersection, causing trains on both sides to stop.

Once I finally found out what the problem was through the murky PA system, I turned on my phone just like the adults around me. I should have told Dad that I would be home early today.

“Hello? Ah—it’s me. Apparently there’s been a mishap at the intersection, there’s a truck stuck there and it can’t move either way, so the trains stopped. You go ahead and eat first, then. Mom’s still at the office anyway, right?”

On the other end, Dad sounded really sleepy.

“Oh yeah, the network called.”

“The network? What’s that?”

“Something about initiating Plan T, and you’d know once you heard it. What kind of plans would fifth-graders set?”

“It’s nothing, kids at our age always use words people can remember easily.”

No matter how pleasant the title sounds, there’s no changing the despicable contents.

It was a plan that had been raised two weeks ago, to utterly ignore unimpressive, well-behaved students in class. In other words, it was psychological bullying. The target this time was the son of some university professor, an introverted boy who would keep his head low whenever he spoke, regardless of what he was saying. His results were above average, and he was quite tall for a fifth-grader, sitting in the last place next to the corridor.

The reason he became a target for bullying was mainly because of his quiet and honest personality. The other 10% or 20% was because his family was too famous—His father’s thesis gained international attention. Technically elementary school students don’t understand the contents of the research, but since the teacher mentioned it during self-study in the morning, the class’ attitude towards him had changed.

Those of us who were preparing for the middle high examinations basically didn’t plan to participate or hinder the project. If we got pulled into this idiotic plan and it affected our results in school, that’d be a problem. Although I didn’t know why it became such a big deal, with everyone getting roped in, but I was surprised that everybody could be so united just to bully one poor sucker. But to the rest of us, that’s just a waste of time and energy.

“He even said this is a network, and you have to pass it on to the next person. You even have a network in your class? But it’s really late now, do you want me to help you make the call?”

The hour hand on my watch was already pointing at nine. As I thought to myself, ‘what time do fifth graders sleep?’, I replied over the phone,

“It’s okay, I’ll call with my cellphone right now. Check the phone book for me, and tell me that guy’s number. His name is Yazawa…”

Although I couldn’t really hear clearly whether Dad said 1 or 8, but if I call both I’ll get one right eventually.

Once I was sure that he’d hung up on the other side, I also dialed the number I just memorized.

The call went through after three rings, but the reception was terrible, so the voice on the other side was all broken up.

“Hello, I’m sorry to call your house this late at night… Ah, it’s Yazawa.”

The signal became clear all of a sudden, and the voice that came from the other end was that of a boy my age. Although the sound immediately became blurry again, I was relieved just to know it wasn’t MR. Yazawa or MRS. Yazawa. So I directly passed on the message,

“Just now someone called and said this is a network, it got cut off at my place for a while. Thank goodness you’re not asleep yet. Although this has nothing to do with us, but it seems there’s something like a Plan T? And they said it’d start tomorrow.”

“…Who are you?”

“You’re asking who I am!? Isn’t this about Terakawa? Haven’t you guys decided everything? You already made such a big fuss out of this, don’t play the idiot with me now, asking who I am. Haven’t you guys decided to ignore Terakawa as an entire class? I’m not joining, and I don’t care even if you make me the next target for not joining. Hello--?”

There was a little burst of sound in my ear, and the receiver went blank for a while. But the signal recovered after a few seconds, and it was a lot better than before, so we could finally talk properly.

“Alright, who are you?”

It was still no good.

“Eh? Isn’t this Yazawa’s…”

“People always get it wrong. His number is 8, mine is 1. There would be at least 2 missed calls every week.”

Although one out of the two was correct, the chance of getting it wrong was also one out of two.

“Sorry, I called the wrong number. Pardon me for disturbing.”

“It’s okay. When I saw 4126 at the end, I knew it was a new number.”

4126 was my cellphone number, which means the other guy’s phone should have a display function.

“Speaking of which, who are you… Forget it, either way I heard something I can’t ignore. Hey, 4126! Did you say you were going to ignore Terakawa? And as a whole class, too? The Terakawa you’re talking about, it’s that university professor’s son from Class 2 next door, right? That guy who’s really tall but talks super soft. What is this! 4126, are you guys mob bullying? Your class is really messed up, y’know!”

“Next class, you said? Now I wanna ask, who are you?”

To think that I coincidentally called the wrong number, and the person on the other end was a student from the same school and same year! And this voice was really familiar, could it be… No, it shouldn’t be.

Although I knew it was already too late, I still cursed my outdated device. The cellphone couldn’t connect directly to a landline, and it sounded as though there was a thin veil between the two of us, so it didn’t sound like his voice.

“Shibuya!?”

This might not have been the first time I called his name, but it was the first time talking so much with him.

“Shibuya! Hey, you’re Shibuya, right!?”

He hung up the call, so all I could hear was that ringing tone that made me want to cover my ears.

“Damn it!”

By the time I recovered, I noticed that my surroundings were slightly off.

Adults carrying their briefcases watched me, the grade schooler yelling into his phone, from afar. They must have been thinking, “Kids these days sure have bad tempers.” Normally I would act casual, but this time I really couldn’t play it cool.

After all, I was just a kid back then, and a kid with an extraordinary secret I could only fret about myself.

Unlike now, I couldn’t think about things logically, and I didn’t have such trustworthy friends either.

I crouched on the platform and held my head.

What the heck, our first conversation actually turned out like that. Please forget about it. If you can’t, I hope you never realize that that person was me. Although I didn’t know what kind of relationship we would have in the future, but no matter what I didn’t want that person I care about to think I was a terrible guy.

Before the station worker rushed over, I kept staring at the white line in front of my fingers.

 

Shibuya was even rasher than I expected.

He took action the next afternoon itself, his efficiency was kinda scary.

Thanks to that highly secretive network, everyone in the class except for the teacher and the victim Terakawa received the message, and the plan was launched immediately after homeroom ended in the morning.

The whole class was ignoring the only good student in class—I felt it was stupid just by describing the plan. But I wasn’t that righteous, willing to stick myself out for a sacrifice I wasn’t that close with.

To make things worse, we were at that age where things would go forward uncontrollably unless someone stepped on the brakes. After the morning recess, where the teacher wasn’t around, everyone’s synchronicity suddenly increased, and no one would even approach Terakawa’s seat at the corner of the classroom. The whole class stood around in twos and threes, talking amongst themselves, and would occasionally glance at him for a giggle. Even if the victim tried to leave the class, unable to stand the atmosphere, there would be someone standing in the doorway to stop him.

By the time a certain baseball-loving guy from the next class interfered, half a day had already passed in that manner.

The rice-white door was forcefully pulled open, and Shibuya Yuuri walked into the class,

“Is Terakawa here--?”

He was wearing a baseball jersey with no number or name, and a blue baseball cap with an English letter on it, even carrying a baseball bat on his shoulder.

His appearance would make anyone think, ‘Whoa~~ The baseball nut is off to practice.” He even brought two or three people who look like team members, but I didn’t really recognize them, so maybe they were from different years.

“Hey, is Terakawa here?”

The whole class turned around to look at the victim.

Hearing his name so suddenly shocked Terakawa beyond words, too. After all, the other guy was someone he never met before.

“Ah~~ Found you, found you. You’re Terakawa?”

“…That’s right.”

The other baseball players waited outside as Shibuya and another tall student walked in unhesitatingly, grabbing Terakawa’s shoulders and arms without asking. Judging from the color of their indoor shoes, it seems the guy who came with him was only a fourth grader, how brave of him.

“Not bad. Really not bad, right? And he’s tall too.”

The tall fourth grader only went ‘Mm-hmm!’, desperately nodding as he obeyed his senior’s words, so I guess that was his task. And then Shibuya muttered, “Then it’s decided!” Raising his head and puffing out his chest so everyone noticed him, he said,

“Come play baseball, Terakawa!”

The person who was invited, as well as everyone present, jumped in shock.

“Have you ever played baseball? No? but it’s fine, I’ll teach you from the basics, and the right outfielder is a position very well suited for beginners. Let’s start immediately from passing practice. As they say, there’s no day like today!”

It’s no like ‘but’ today.

Terakawa was a weak person by nature to start with, so as long as someone was holding him forcefully by the arm, he would go with them meekly.

“Hold on a sec. It’s still lunchtime now, he can’t simply leave the classroom.”

There was finally someone in class who spoke out, trying to stop Shibuya. A few of the people who started the plan also came over to help, one after the other.

Lunchtime ended long ago, but in order to get rid of the intruder, any illogical reason could be used.

“Yeah, yeah—Our class also prohibits other students from entering—”

“Why would you come here, Shibuya—”

“It’s enough for Harajuku to throw plastic balls outside.”

They actually dared to call him Harajuku. Maybe that was the trigger, and hot-tempered Shibuya started making a fuss,

“You guys are really noisy, y’know! Listen up, baseball isn’t about throwing! And that isn’t a plastic ball either, it’s a baseball, don’t get it wrong! Besides, it’s because you announced that Terakawa is designated for assignment, that’s why I’m here to take him away. Our team lacks people in the outfield, so we just happen to need players who are big and tall. What’s wrong with you guys? You’ve taken Terakawa out of your roster, and now you want to keep him?”

Most of the people cocked their heads, thinking, “What does designated for assignment mean?” At the same time they realized that their plan had been leaked.

In that moment, the atmosphere in the class got very nervous. Everyone looked at each other, trying to weed out the traitor, all the while whispering, “Who broke the promise?” Shibuya continued,

“Eh, promise? Oh, do you mean the contract isn’t over yet, is it? I see, so is that how it is? Is it? Never mind, I get it. In that case, the baseball club will take this guy on loan from you guys. You football fans should surely understand what on loan means, right? Even if it’s not about the teams, it’s find as a class unit as well, from this moment today until the end of fifth grade, I’m borrowing Terakawa. That way, it’s fine even if he leaves this classroom, right!?”

“Why do you want him so bad?”

Just as the whole class was silenced by Shibuya’s aggressive stance, one girl walked up to ask.

“Why? Because the right outfield… So it’s you.”

The girl smiled at Shibuya, who was looking annoyed,

“Don’t you think Terakawa is really disgusting?”

That’s right, she was the mastermind behind this plan, and she was the leader among the girls as well. Raising her chin slightly, she looked at her prey, a mean smile on her lips, her long hair tied above her ears and swaying slightly. Her experience since young was how to make herself look as cute as possible, and she was so confident of her own looks, even her not-angelic smile was a weapon.

“Why would you want that disgusting guy?”

Terakawa never dripped milk from his nose, or sniffed girls’ exercise clothes. But the scariest thing about mob mentality, is that when the person at the center says something, everyone else just agrees.

“I don’t know which part of him is disgusting.”

Shibuya narrowed his eyes, examining the mastermind’s appearance, as though trying to decide whether or not to forgive her,

“Our baseball team needs a right outfielder. Your class doesn’t regard him as an asset, but you insist he’s part of your class, and forbid him from leaving, right? In that case, I’ll just make an appeal to borrow him, then. As long as he’s not a student of this class, there’s no need for him to obey Your Majesty the Queen’s orders, right? Can you understand that much, Miss Mastermind of this meaningless plan? I really can’t stand you, to think you could come up with a plan like this, you really haven’t changed a bit since kindergarten.”

After saying all that in one go, he turned around forcefully to ask the future right outfielder,

“What do you think?”

“…I’ll go.”

Be it the mastermind or the participating classmates, none of them had heard Terakawa say anything in rebellion for a long time. Of course, that goes the same for those of us who insisted on watching from the sidelines.

Although the prey’s sudden comeback threw everyone off guard, the girl in charge immediately stands up straight, continuing to threaten Terakawa as though she was long since prepared for this,

“Are you really fine with that? I don’t know anything about loaning, but if you go with him, you’ll never be able to return to this class, y’know? Because your seat will be cut away, and you will no longer be part of this class.”

That’s really an excuse as lame as Shibuya’s, and if we weren’t all fifth graders, no one would believe it. Although Terakawa hesitated, he still gripped his fist and replied,

“I’m fine even if I’m no longer a student of this class. School is… a reflection of society, the unit of this class is just like the country. If I’m not accepted in this country, I’ll just go outside, and make friends all over the world… That’s what… Dad told me before.”

“Mn!”

Shibuya nodded his head hard, looking pleased. Even the fourth grader behind him was in awe—or at least he looked like he was, on the surface.

“Your dad’s words sure are cool!”

He seemed to like deep-sounding words like that.

The unexpected external interference, as well as the target’s sudden backlash, made the mastermind step back a little. Shibuya didn’t let go of that opportunity, preparing to take Terakawa out of the classroom.

“What the heck! I’m telling the teacher!”

“Go ahead if you want to. Come on, Terakawa. I’ll lend you the glove I’m not using.”

Shibuya and his baseball club junior also pulled their new team member away without looking back.

Perhaps out of resentment that her plan didn’t go as planned, that girl immediately ran to the staffroom to tattle. Teacher, Shibuya-kun from the next class switched Terakawa-kun’s classes without asking—On one hand, she did exactly as she said she would, but she never mentioned the fact that she masterminded the bullying.

That day after school, Shibuya’s guardian was called to the school.

I wasn’t there, because I had to go to cram school, but according the person who was eavesdropping on the principal’s office, Shibuya just said, “I want a right outfielder.” And refused to say anything else.

“Really, Yuu-chan, you can’t suddenly switch players just like that, y’know? You have to deal with these things properly.”

His mother came dressed in the extravagant clothes young girls liked, and easily laughed off her son’s crossing the boundary.

After the flawed Plan T dragged itself out for a month, the class teacher finally found out about it.

Although the teacher said, “Everyone, please try to understand how the student who was ostracized must feel,” those who were just forced to stand will probably never understand how Terakawa felt inside.

As for the supposed victim of psychological bullying, he passed all his days practicing ball with Shibuya, who came to fetch him according to all the rules and standards. Even if the whole class ignored him, other than during class, he was never in contact with them anyway. Since their expectations fell flat, the offenders started whispering among themselves, and quietly judged the mastermind. To Terakawa, however, he had long since stopped looking at that organization that shunned him.

By the time everyone noticed it, he had become an excellent baseball boy, with brand new gloves and a baseball hat, who would dash to the back of the school dorms as soon as lunch break started. Maybe it’s because of the sweat, darker skin and dust, but there was no longer any sign of his meek, introverted personality.

 

“Ah—I got it!”

The hair spiral in front of me jolts suddenly, and the frustrated baseball boy raises his head, almost knocking into me.

“4126 is Terakawa’s jersey number.”

“Huh?”

As though finding the answer to the question that bothered him made him exceptionally excited, that’s what he said with an expression of delight.

Shibuya is rather fond of explaining things.

“Murata doesn’t know, right? When he was in elementary school, Terakawa was the right outfielder. But a lot of things happened in the midst of it, and I told him, ‘Your lucky number is 4126.’ So he said he would make that his jersey number. The problem is jersey numbers can’t be four digits, so he took the first two numbers, and became number 41.”

“A four digit lucky number is strange in itself, isn’t it?”

“Well, that couldn’t be helped! Because…”

Shibuya wipes the condensation off the paper cup, saying as he bites the straw,

“Because the telephone number of the person who helped him was 4126.”

The person who h-helped him?

“…It’s because Terakawa was sucked into a scary plot. But it’s thanks to him—that brave informant, who made one call, that the disaster was prevented.”

“The one who helped him was you, wasn’t it!?”

Shocked by the way I leaned over, Shibuya can’t help but widen his eyes,

“Eh, what? Why do you know about this, Murata? Was that incident that well-known? I thought you were in the advanced class, so you didn’t know.”

Although I was in the advanced class, it wasn’t a special organization that got isolated. We were just like the normal students, staying in our respective classrooms—but forget that for now.

“The one who helped the bullying victim was you, who pulled him into the baseball team by force, right!?”

“Helped? Of course not, I just wanted to get someone who could take the right outfield.”

He holds his paper cup, shaking it so the ice shards tinkled, and says,

“I just barely heard about it myself, something like no one would talk to him during recess, and they’d ignore him all day. If it was a weaker guy, he would definitely give up within three days. That guy actually managed to survive a month under those circumstances. If I bumped into something like that, I would skip class every day and run to the baseball field. But the only reason Terakawa could hang in there, was always thanks to Mr. 4126’s call.”

You’re really unbelievable—

“On the surface it looked like the whole class was in on the plan, and no one jumped out to defend him. But thanks to that one phone call, he could think that he wasn’t alone after all, and he could believe that there was someone in the classroom who quietly supported him. It’s because of that guy that Terakawa could hang in there. After all, this takes a lot of guts, right? Although I’m not too sure about it, but back then, if anyone showed just a bit of disapproval, they would become the target instead, right?”

Shibuya shakes the cup with nothing but ice left, as he keeps on saying,

“Impressive, that guy was seriously brave, and worthy of respect. He even said firmly that he wouldn’t join the plan, and it’s fine even if he became the next target. Super cool, right!? The problem is he said it to the wrong person… he actually called my place by accident. To think such a mistake would happen at such a crucial moment.”

“It wasn’t a mistake! Ah…”

This agitated, un-‘Murata Ken’-like display takes him completely off guard. Shibuya stops shaking the empty paper cup, staring at my glasses relentlessly,

“What’s the matter?”

“No, it’s nothing. I just thought that the call wasn’t a mistake. Thank goodness it went to you, and not anyone else.”

He raises his hands, leaning back onto the chair and gesturing as though yelling out,

“But before I could get his name, the other guy hung up. So to this day, we still don’t know who that hero was.”

“But it was obviously you who hung up.”

“What did you say?”

I shake my head, “Nothing.” It’d be a problem if he misunderstood, but I still can’t stop the smile on my face.

Friendly, he says? Who? And hero? Who’s that!?

At first I wanted to just come clean here and now—the truth is I’m not friendly, and I’m no brave informant. But just like you’re His Majesty the maou that no one knows, I…

I…

 

After taking a few deep breaths, I slowly look around me—Looking at the table, the tray, the pineapple pie, and Shibuya sitting opposite me in order, and then I think, with my properly oxygenated brain, whether or not this is the time to explain.

In order to prevent making any mistakes, let me end it in a way I won’t regret this time.

“Forget it—”

“What do you mean, forget it!? You’ve been smiling really eerily for a while now, it feels disgusting. Ah, don’t tell me you’re thinking something mean about me again!? Could it be this incident just proves what an idiot I am!? You must know something, that’s why you’re laughing, right!? Eh, or could it be that everyone knows who 4126 is, and I’m the only one who’s out of the loop, thinking he’s Mr. Purple Rose?”

“I think no one knows, though I’m not sure about Mr. Purple Rose.”

“I think so too… then that’s a relief.”

The truth is you just have to ask the students in that class, and you’ll easily find out who the stupid elementary school kid who called the wrong number was, but as you bite on your straw, you say it’s a coincidence.

“But coincidences really do exist in this world—I remember 4126 alright, to think it’s exactly the same. Don’t you think it’s strange, though? That your cellphone number is exactly the same as someone else’s.”

“It’s not that bad—Of course it’s still possible if it’s only four digits.”

At that point, I notice Shibuya’s gaze falling on the slightly charred pie every so often. The truth is he is really defenseless against temptation.

“Didn’t I tell you not to nag about it?”

“Ah, it’s not like I think it’s very tasty or anything! Nothing like that!”

“We should’ve just ordered two from the start. Take it.”

Shibuya gives me simple thanks, looking slightly awkward as he takes away half of the apple pie. The serviette turns transparent because of the leaking oil.

I can’t help but ask him a sudden question,

“…Do you still meet him?”

Even though my question was so sudden, Shibuya still answers immediately,

“Who? Terakawa? Sure, I meet him occasionally.”

“Is that so—”

“I should say, he’s going to join our team, as the outfielder.”

“…I knew it.”

That’s something I guessed long ago, but you should still tell me these things earlier.

“So, Murata, about our summer holiday plans…”

“Before that, you have to deal with the semester exams, right? I heard your mathematics results are terrible, and if you fail these semester exams, you’ll have to do summer classes.”

The mouth about to bite down heartily on the dessert, shrieks for the fifth time today,

“Why do you know everything!? Although I did mention it a few times, you really are…”

  I spent almost ten years, fretting over when to explain everything to you clearly.

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