Ano natsu, bokura no koi ga kienai yo ni Ch - 2

 II. The Cursed Galaxy

Even ten days after the entrance ceremony, I still couldn’t get the hang of waking up early. I’d lived too carelessly for too long, so even when my phone alarm went off out of habit, I’d shut it off instantly. Unable to stand watching me struggle, Yoko-san lent me an alarm clock, but its showa-era bell sound was no match for my overpowering drowsiness. Forcing my sleepy eyelids open, I dragged myself out of bed.

“…What’s this?”

In my line of sight was a gravure idol poster plastered on the wall. I didn’t know her name, but she was lying on a sandy beach, striking a pose.

…Only one person came to mind who’d sneak into someone’s room and stick something like this up without permission.

I didn’t have time to deal with it now, so I left the poster as is and headed to the living room.

“Runa. Shoji-Kun likes it sweet, Kaho-Chan prefers it mildly sweet, and Towa-Kun wants no sugar, okay?”

“Got it, leave it to me!”

In the kitchen, where the exhaust fan hummed, Runa was making thick rolled omelets with Yoko-san. Breakfast let us choose between bread or rice the day before. It seemed everyone went with Japanese-style today—miso soup, grilled nori, and salt-grilled salmon lined the table.

“Hey, cut it out,” I whispered to Shoji as I took my seat.

“Hm? What’s up?”

“The poster. I don’t want it—take it back later.”

“It’s fine! Your room’s too bleak and boring, Tsuzumin. A poster adds some flair.”

“I’m not looking for flair. Plus, if someone saw that, they’d get the wrong idea.”

“Wrong idea? From who?”

He stared at me blankly, and just then, a fluffy rolled omelet was set in front of me.

“Here, your share. Add soy sauce yourself, okay?”

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

Runa helped Yoko-san with an enthusiasm that left me impressed. At first, I thought it was like a part-time job for her, but it’s apparently all voluntary—Yoko-san offered her pocket money as a reward for her efforts, only for Runa to refuse.

“The miso soup’s always delicious. Do you make the broth from katsuobushi (dried bonito flakes)?”

Sasano ate with her usual refinement. She’s always the first to finish anything, and unlike me, still in pajamas, her uniform ribbon was tied perfectly symmetrical—a textbook stickler for detail.

“Seconds, please!!”

Shoji devoured at least three bowls of rice or four slices of bread every morning. Loud at all hours—breakfast, lunch, dinner—he was already becoming the boarding house’s mood-maker. Meanwhile, I’d say I lack personality compared to them. I finish my food but don’t ask for more, and even when it’s good, I can’t bring myself to say it outright.

“What, do you sleep upside-down or something?”

Taking off her apron, Runa sat across from me to eat. She didn’t meet my eyes, but the question was aimed at me.

“If I had a talent like that, I’d have mentioned it in my intro.”

“Your bedhead’s seriously bad again today.”

“First period’s PE—wind’ll fix it then.”

“Hope you can manage that much effort. It’s fitness testing today.”

…Fitness testing—I forgot! Our smooth banter cut off, and Runa sipped her miso soup quietly. Reuniting with her after ten years taught me she’s moody as hell—chatty when she feels like it, stonewalling me completely when she doesn’t. She’s elusive, hard to pin down.

“Thanks for the meal! I’ve got morning practice, so I’m heading out!”

Shoji shoveled every last grain of rice from his bowl, jumping up with momentum.

“Oh, wait, wait—you forgot your bento!”

“Thanks! I’ll savor it!”

Grabbing the lunch from Yoko-san, he bolted out. Yoko-san makes bentos for us every day—surely supporting countless boarders’ growth, body and soul, like this.

On the way to school, the gakuran I once found awkward now felt more natural, and my once-pristine loafers already bore scratches. Ahead, Runa and Sasano walked shoulder-to-shoulder. They seemed opposites at first glance, but Runa’s friendliness bridged the gap nicely.

Then, Runa suddenly crouched, reaching for the asphalt.

“She’s picking up junk again,” I muttered as I passed, unable to hold it in. In her hand was another pyrite, like the one from the other day. Not particularly shiny or appealing, yet she wrapped it carefully in her star-patterned handkerchief.

“Whether it’s junk is my call.”

“What if it’s got dog pee on it?”

“Don’t say gross stuff first thing in the morning!”

She puffed her cheeks, visibly annoyed. Sometimes she’s mature, other times childlike like this. Which is the real Runa? I still don’t know.

“You don’t have to walk with me—go on ahead!”

“Yeah, yeah, got it.”

Brushing her off lightly, I passed her. I was slowly getting used to her cold jabs.

In the noisy classroom, cliques had already formed. Still socially stunted, I hadn’t made any real friends, but I didn’t feel particularly lonely either—I figured I’d gotten off to a decent start in my own way.

“Runa’s so cute. Do you do something special for your skin?”

“Nah, nothing at all.”

“No way—that skin and figure don’t come from nothing!”

Runa barely sat at her desk outside of lessons, always in some group’s circle. She mingled with everyone equally, quickly becoming the class’s centerpiece.

…How does her adaptability work? It’s beyond impressive—I can’t help worrying if she’s okay. She wasn’t like this as a kid. To me, it feels like she’s forcing herself.

“Hey, Tsuzumi, what club you joining?”

A guy in front of me asked, holding a club application form.

“Uh, I’m…”

Some, like Shoji, had already joined clubs, while others were testing them out cautiously. This was my miscalculation—an unexpected snag. Clubs aren’t mandatory, but opting for the “go-home club” apparently forces you into a committee with high odds.

Clubs meet four to five days a week; committees gather twice a month. Committees sound way easier, but here’s the catch: those two meetings don’t account for the hefty workload assigned per class. You’re dragged into school events, forced to give speeches to “show off” the work—pure hell. Joining a laid-back club and ghosting as a member might be smarter.

“Uh, know any clubs about to die out?”

“Die out?”

“Well, yeah. Like, ones that barely do anything.”

“Oh, then maybe, the Astronomy Club?”

“Astronomy Club… it exists?”

“Yeah. It’s technically still a club, but you can’t see stars around here no matter how much you try, and I hear it’s got almost no members.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

True, there wasn’t a Astronomy Club flyer among the recruitment pile. A club that can’t function even if it wants to. The name irked me, but it fit my conditions perfectly.

“Excuse me, I’m here for a club application form.”

I visited the staff room during break. The Astronomy Club advisor was a grandpa-like teacher nearing retirement—not my label; students called him “Grandpa-sensei.”

“Hm? What year, what class?”

“Year 1, Class 1.”

“Then your homeroom’s Matsuzaka-sensei. See, you’re supposed to get the form from your homeroom teacher.”

“Oh, I see.”

“But Matsuzaka-sensei isn’t back yet, so I’ll give it to you this time.”

Grandpa-sensei moved at a snail’s pace, leisurely pulling a form from his drawer.

“You coming to me means you’re joining Astronomy Club?”

“…Well, yeah. That’s the plan.”

“That’s rare. What’s your name?”

“Tsuzumi Towa.”

“Eh, Tsuzumi!? How’s it written?”

“Uh…”

Explaining it verbally was tough, so I wrote it on the form. Grandpa-sensei put on his reading glasses, scrutinizing it intensely.

“Do you know Tsuzumi Koichi?”

The moment he reacted to my family name, I had a bad feeling.

“…My dad.”

“I knew it! You kinda look like him, and Tsuzumi’s so rare—I figured as much!”

His excited voice drew stares from other teachers.

“I’m a fan of your dad’s. Especially his paper on the Einstein Ring—it’s fascinating.”

The “Einstein Ring” refers to a ring-shaped image of a distant galaxy or celestial body.

“His papers on cosmic expansion and dark matter exploration are amazing too! Where’s the professor now? A year ago, he was with a U.S. research team, right?”

“…Dunno, I don’t keep up.”

I hadn’t expected my dad to come up here—my chest churned. He’s an astronomer, famous for numerous discoveries, a household name to anyone with a passing interest in the field.

“Uh, I heard Astronomy Club doesn’t do much…”

I steered the topic away.

“Sadly, yeah. No members, no budget. But this year, two joined, so there’s a glimmer of hope.”

“Two?”

“Yup, you and… uh, what was it…”

Grandpa-sensei rummaged through his drawer again, pulling out another form. “Right, Serisawa-san!” he said cheerfully.

“…Serisawa-san?”

“Yeah, look.”

It read 【Year 1, Class 1 Serizawa Runa】. …Seriously? I knew she loved stars, but I figured she’d join something mainstream.

“Get your parents’ signatures on the form. Oh, could I get Professor Tsuzumi’s autograph too?”

“Haven’t seen him properly in years.”

“Of course, he’s busy!”

Not what I meant, but I didn’t argue—it’d drag on.

“Get it in by the end of the month, please.”

“Yeah…”

Already weighed down, I wanted to quit. Clutching the form, I turned away, then remembered something and glanced back.

“Sensei, it’s not Serisawa, it’s Serizawa.”

Not a big deal to correct, but it felt like something I couldn’t let slide.

“Yo, Tsuzumin, heading back?”

After school, swapping shoes at the entrance, Shoji appeared in his uniform, lugging a massive enamel bag.

“Yeah. You’ve got club?”

“Yup. Oh, I’m starting extra practice after club, so I won’t eat dinner with you guys for a while.”

“Got it.”

“Dude, act sadder!”

We’d still be in the same house, and he’d probably barge into my room at night anyway—no sadness here.

“Shoji! Seniors are coming!”

“On my way!”

Called by teammates, he waved “Later!” and dashed to the baseball field.

His back, chasing what he loved, looked huge—enviable, even. I’m at an age where I should chase something too. But passion can lead you astray. I know that best.

The road to the boarding house was uphill, tough for my bean-sprout stamina. Would my loafers wear out and my legs toughen up enough to climb easily? Nah, no chance—I hate exercise; I’ve never built muscle.

Lost in thought, my vision glimmered. Beyond the guardrail, factories glowed gold past orange, smoke from chimneys drifting melancholically, tinted by the sunset. Rapid urban growth hid the stars here, but I bet they still shine every night, unseen.

I used to say I “liked” things openly. I admired my astronomer dad more than anyone—bragged about him too. His pursuit looked cool to my young eyes. But that admiration faded as I grew.

Dad was never home. No parents’ day, no birthdays, no anniversaries with Mom—just work excuses. Phone calls went unanswered, letters unreturned. Rare visits brought no apologies—just one-sided astronomy lectures.

Each disappointment and lonely moment made it clear: I wasn’t in his “likes,” nor was Mom. My admiration died, and with it, my love for stars.

In middle school, living star-free, a friend said, “Your dad was on that ‘Know the Oldest Science’ show! Talking about space and stars—super complicated!”

I should’ve brushed it off, but “You’re into stars too, right, Tsuzumi? Talk passionately like him!” ticked me off. “Shut up!” I snapped, shoving him. He got hurt—minor, thankfully—but it shattered our friendship. I lost my place, stopped going to school. That’s my dumb dropout story.

Where Dad is now doesn’t matter. Mom probably told him I’m boarding, but no contact—still no interest in his son, I guess.

Back when stars were visible here, I’d gaze at them with him. All my childhood star knowledge came from him. That awe and affection? Gone. Like this starless town, a fog lingers in my heart, never clearing.

That night, sprawled on my bed, I stared at the club form. Spaces for homeroom and guardian signatures. Guardian… Yoko-san, maybe? Mom could work too.

The issue was 【I wish to join ___ club】. I had to fill in the blank.

…Astronomy Club, huh. Without my distrust of Dad, I’d probably still be starry-eyed, eagerly joining without hesitation. Now, writing it felt daunting. Groaning, brow furrowed, a “Hey” came from the door. Startled, I looked—Runa stood there, grimacing too.

“W-What? Don’t just barge in—knock!”

“I did, with my foot.”

“Rude.”

“My hands are full because of this!”

She plopped familiar clothes on my desk—my laundry from before dinner.

“If you don’t take it out when it’s done, the next person can’t use it—meaning me!”

“No washer at home?”

“I forgot some stuff, but Mom already started hers. Anyway, don’t you have something to say to me for bringing your laundry?”

“Thank you very much. It’s a big help.”

“Good.”

Satisfied, Runa moved to the balcony. “Night air’s nice—ventilate a bit,” she said, opening the window. Cool breeze shifted the room’s air—my clothes might dry by morning. Her shoulder-length hair swayed softly. Post-bath, probably—soap scent drifted my way.

“Meant to ask, was your hair always that curly?”

“It’s permed now.”

“Huh.”

Runa already stood out at school. Upperclassmen came to gawk; today, some begged for her contact. She didn’t dodge but said, “Sure, why not?”—sparking a chain of “Me too!”

“Maybe stop being so nice to everyone.”

I shocked myself, blurting it out.

“Why?”

Fair question—I didn’t know why I said it either.

“Being too friendly might attract creeps, and you’d get stuck…”

No, unlike me, Runa’s honed her social skills. She’d spot trouble and dodge it—no issue. That’s not what I meant…

“Ah!”

As I fumbled, Runa yelped, pointing.

“Huh. So that’s your taste.”

Her flat tone aimed at Shoji’s gravure poster.

“Wait, no, it’s not!”

“Not what?”

“Shoji put it up without me knowing!”

“You didn’t take it down.”

“Forgot! I barely noticed it—it’s less than air to me…”

“Guys love this—bikini girls, huh?”

“…”

Damn it. No winning this. I’d make Shoji pay later.

“So, you’re joining Astronomy Club?”

“Oh, topic dodge!”

“Yup. Are you?”

“I am. How’d you know?”

“Went to Grandpa-sensei today.”

I waved my name-only form at her.

“No way, don’t join!”

“It’s fine. I just want the ‘joined’ status—no activity.”

I’d never chase something passionately like Dad. I’d rather coast, energy-efficient.

“Right, you hate stars. Stay that way, then.”

“Planned to.”

Realizing her original task, Runa panicked—“Crap, laundry!”—and rushed out.

“Hey, back in preschool, remember when they called me Tsutsumi-Kun?”

Her feet stopped.

“Tsuzumi” is rare—only about 400 nationwide—and tricky to remember. Kids struggled with it, calling me Tsutsumi for a while. I didn’t care, but Runa corrected them: “It’s Tsuzumi, not Tsutsumi!”

That’s probably why I snapped at Grandpa-sensei earlier—because it made me happy when she did it.

“Dunno, was that a thing?”

Her emotional shutters dropped again. She left quickly, keeping her distance.

…There it is.

She’s all smiles with strangers, but with me, she pulls away.

That’s what I wanted to say earlier. If she can grin at randos, why not me?

But I’m glad I didn’t.

She wouldn’t anyway.

Realizing I’m sulking over her “not doing it” made me admit—I’m kinda, no, really hung up on her.

＊＊＊＊

I don’t clearly recall how old I was when I first saw it. My oldest memory is petting my cat Chacha on my lap, as usual. Something shimmered in the air—a tiny galaxy of stardust, rippling like white waves. I forgot to breathe, entranced, reaching out but unable to touch it. It came from Chacha’s body.

“Pretty…”

Maybe Chacha was a star sprite. I hugged her tight, thrilled—ignorant of what that galaxy really was.

“…Ru, na, Runa.”

My name woke me. Sitting up, Mom peered at me.

“Morning. It’s 7:30.”

“What, no way!?”

I scrambled for my phone by the pillow. I set the alarm for 6, but it didn’t go off—no clock icon; I forgot to set it.

“S-Sorry, I couldn’t help with breakfast…”

“It’s fine. Wash your face quick.”

“Okay!”

After a chipper reply, I rushed to the bathroom. Incense wafted from the hall—the living room’s fusuma was open. My chest tightened; I couldn’t pass it. I fled to the boarding house’s sink instead. Washing with cold water to reset, a gentle “Here” offered me a towel—Kaho-Chan.

“W-Wow, thanks. And good morning.”

“Morning. Running late’s rare for you.”

“Overslept a bit.”

“Really?”

Kaho-Chan’s always put-together—smart, model-student vibe, but not stiff; she’s chill and easy to talk to.

“Hey, can I do your hair, Serizawa-san?”

“Sure, but it’s super tangled today…”

I forgot my alarm and slept without hair oil.

“It’s fine, let me.”

She untangled it with slim fingers, not a brush—ticklish, since I’m not used to it.

“Serizawa-san’s hair is so fluffy—I’m jealous.”

“Really? Yours is so glossy, Kaho-Chan.”

“Just from straightening.”

She swiftly crafted a chic half-up style.

“Wow, cute…!”

“I loved doll play—used to braid my Lili-chan’s hair.”

“No way! Can you do it again sometime?”

“Heh, sure.”

Thanks to Kaho-Chan, my sinking mood lifted. Hurrying to breakfast, I turned a corner and—

“Ouch.”

Bumped into Towa. Usually in pajamas till the last second, he was already in uniform.

“Watch where you’re going.”

“You too.”

His gaze always felt top-down. Obviously—he’s fifteen, taller, broader, deeper-voiced. At five, people mistook him for a girl.

“I already ate.”

“Oh, cool. Bragging you beat me to it?”

“Yup.”

“Don’t get smug just ‘cause you woke up early for once!”

Pushing past him, Kaho-Chan, watching, said calmly, “Serizawa-san, why’re you so harsh only to Tsuzumi-Kun?”

True, I’m too cold to him—harsh enough I notice it myself.

“…I have to be.”

“Have to? I don’t get it, but you’ve known Tsuzumi-Kun forever, right?”

“Huh, how’d you…”

“You can tell just watching you two.”

We’ve spent more time apart than together—not enough to call us childhood friends. But I’d heard the heart forms between three and five. That’s when I was with Towa—a dense, unforgettable time for me. I tried not to think of him for ten years, hoping to forget. Just as I hit that decade mark, thinking I’d coast peacefully, he returned.

That moment, my heart nearly stopped.

At school, Miyo-chan rushed over. With so many local kids from elementary and middle school here, it’s familiar turf.

“Yumacchi and Harada-Kun wanna hang out as a foursome soon.”

“Hmm, four…”

I’d rejected Harada-Kun’s confession in middle school. He said it was fine, but the awkwardness lingers.

“Want more people? Oh, let’s invite those seniors you swapped contacts with, Runa! There’s one I’m totally into~”

“Really? Who?”

Miyo-chan’s self-centered in a good way—topics shift fast, saving me. People probably see me as “nice”—no trash-talk, always cheery, no two-facedness. They say I’m trustworthy, uplifting, approachable. But that’s not the real me.

I don’t gossip ‘cause I’m not that close to anyone. I’m bright to hide my cracks. I’ve got countless “good girl” masks. I’m colder than I seem—always on yellow alert, cautious, never lax.

“Oh, huh…?”

Class started, everyone scrambling to seats. I glanced between my desk and bag—no Japanese textbook. We’d been told there’d be reading today; I’d be screwed if called on. As I fretted, a curt “Here” tossed one my way. Next to me, Towa rested his cheek on his hand.

“You forgot, right?”

“Yeah, but… if you lend it, you won’t have one, Tsuzumi-Kun.”

“I don’t care.”

He’s not active in class—stays awake to avoid demerits but zones out. Yet he’s not clueless; he answers casually when called on. Slacker vibe, but sharp—I know he’s smarter than he lets on.

That’s what’s unfair about him.

“I hate owing favors.”

I scooted closer, placing the book between us, flipping it open.

“Cool with that?”

He looked surprised. His words carried layers.

Fine sharing it half-and-half?

Fine with desks this close?

Fine with me near?

No way it’s fine. But he lent it knowing I’d hate splitting it, right?

I don’t treat him like a germ or want to hurt him. I just can’t fake pleasantries with him alone.

I can’t be kind to Towa.

I want him to hate me, think I’m awful.

After school, I walked the third-floor hall. Sports club shouts echoed outside. The mostly empty school—kids at clubs or home—was quiet, my footsteps loud.

—Slide. Opening the 【Astronomy Club】 door, dust hit my nose. No one’s been here in ages; the windows were locked. Unlatching them, soft air flowed in.

In middle school, I did Earth Science Club for a year—quit when it was mostly fossil-hunting—then two years of badminton, joined on a whim, no fun. So I swore I’d join Astronomy Club in high school.

The room’s small but thrilling—lunar calendars on walls, telescopes, compasses, star charts. Shelves brimmed with space books—like a dreamland, I was ecstatic.

“…Oh, this is…”

I grabbed a familiar book: a simple guide to Greek mythology. Sitting at the central table on a pipe chair, my fingers found the page instantly.

【The Tragic Love of Orion and Artemis】

Hunter Orion and moon goddess Artemis were close, drawn to each other. But her brother disapproved, scheming to split them.

He tricked Artemis, claiming Orion’s head in the sea was a rock, and had her shoot an arrow. It flew straight, striking true—Orion died by his beloved’s hand.

Grieving, Artemis wept three days and nights, begging Zeus to make Orion a constellation. Now, on winter nights, the moon passes Orion’s stars to see him.

I traced “Orion” with my finger.

Towa had this book at five. We loved this story most out of all the myths, reading it endlessly together.

Even then, I knew I was “different.”

—I make people around me unhappy. “Runa-chan’s a death god!” someone once said. Why am I not normal? Not knowing why, I cried alone. Only Towa stayed by me.

That’s why it crushed me when he had to leave town for his parents’ work.

“…Won’t I see Towa anymore?”

“It’s okay. We’ll meet again. I’m Orion, after all.”

At our goodbye, he said that and gave me something. But my open hands held nothing. What did he mean? What was his gift? I still don’t know, can’t ask.

“Huh, where’s Grandpa-sensei?”

A voice jolted my shoulders. Towa appeared as the door opened.

…Why now? I exhaled to brace myself.

“Not in the staff room?”

“Went there; they said he’d be here.”

“Maybe he left? When I asked to use the room, he just gave me the key.”

“What, no show as advisor? Can teachers ditch that freely?”

“Don’t ask me!”

Harsh again. He clutched his form—maybe here to back out?

“Don’t snap. I just came to ask if Yoko-san can sign as my guardian.”

Forms need details, homeroom, and guardian signatures. It’s not strict—some kids fill it all out themselves.

He seems careless but is oddly diligent here.

“So, what were you looking at?”

“N-Nothing to do with you!”

I slammed the book shut, shoving it under the table. “What’s that?” he said, but his interest shifted.

“Nice telescope here.”

Towa knew tons about stargazing—tagged along with his astronomer dad, studied stars eagerly. Thick constellation guides were his favorite reads.

“…Why’d you start hating stars?”

“Hmm. To stay mad, maybe.”

“At who?”

“Dad.”

He spilled his feelings bit by bit. Dad neglected family. He gets the allure of stars—frustratingly—but refuses to understand Dad’s obsession. Understanding would mean forgiving.

“Childish, huh?”

He laughed lightly—a front, I think. He’s not hating stars; he’s trying to. Maybe that’s why he came to this starless town.

“…It sounds childish out loud, but I kinda get it. I think families should stick together too.”

Did he catch my shaky voice? I faked looking out the window.

“Been wondering… where’s your dad now?”

I knew this’d come up eventually, with no sign of him around.

“Far away—hardly see him.”

“Business trip?”

“Yeah, sorta.”

“Oh.”

He didn’t pry further.

No real activities happened that first club day, but he stayed. A random two-tatami mat space held a “people-ruining cushion.” He lounged there, reading a manga—nothing star-related.

The dismissal chime rang. We left together, returned the key, swapped shoes—then I panicked.

“Go first or follow—your pick?”

“Huh, what’s that out of nowhere?”

No subject confused him, but he got it. “Oh, you don’t wanna walk back with me. Fine, you go. I’ll wait till you’re out of sight.”

Making him say that stung. Apologizing felt wrong, so I left silently through the gate.

“Serizawa-saan!”

A voice called. Turning, Kaho-Chan climbed the hill, breathless.

“Serizawa-san, club just now?”

“Yup. You’re in Literature Club, right? What’s it like?”

“No set activities. Some write novels, some draw—everyone’s got their own world, so it’s cozy.”

“What about you, Kaho-Chan?”

“Reading, studying. I focus better with people around, weirdly.”

“Haha, really?”

She matched my pace, our shadows neat on the asphalt.

“…Uh, Kaho-Chan, do you, like, have someone you like?”

I gripped my skirt hem, asking.

“Not now—or ever. Haven’t met someone I’d feel that for. You, Serizawa-san?”

“Nope! Not at all!!”

Too loud—she flinched.

“Saw Tsuzumi-Kun earlier, trudging like a turtle. Fight again?”

“Not a fight… Towa’s never mad at me.”

No matter what I say or do, he takes it in stride.

“You call Tsuzumi-Kun ‘Towa.’”

“Oh, that’s…”

“No need to hide it from me. I won’t dig into you two.”

Her straightforwardness eased my tension.

“Call me Kaho too. We’ll be together a while.”

“Then call me Runa, not Serizawa-san!”

“Heh, Runa. Got it. Names feel special, huh?”

Kaho smiled, eyes crinkling.

True, I treasure names. Girls can drop honorifics, but I’ve refused guys. Only Towa calls me “Runa” among boys.

But… hearing my name hurts—it makes me want to run. I’d rather he stuck to “Serizawa-san,” distant.

To keep my heart’s brakes intact.

To protect Towa’s “life.”