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"You didn't eat well at noon, did you? And you're probably thinking of just toughing it out at the store now—that's not good for your health. Have these to tide you over first."
Kiyono turned his face away and snorted. "But don't get the wrong idea! I didn't buy these specifically for you; Yanami just had some extra snacks, so I'm giving you some."
"Are you… are you stalking me? Seriously…"
The girl looked at the food in her hands and then at his face. A blush gradually colored her cheeks as she mumbled softly.
This person always seemed to be like this.
A strange, inexplicable emotion welled up in her heart, like a still spring stirred into ripples.
At that moment—even she didn't realize it—her mood was far, far happier than when the club president praised her.
"A person's life should be lived like this: when he looks back on the past, he should not regret having wasted his years, nor be ashamed of having lived a life of mediocrity."
Another weekend. Having just finished the third volume of his novel, Kiyono strolled aimlessly along the riverside path, dyed red by the setting sun.
Perhaps the sense of time passing had grown sharper lately, because he would occasionally ponder like this.
Was he living in this real, simulated world the right way? Had he wasted time? Would he achieve his goals in the end?
Time is precious.
Having several more years of life experience than others is an incredibly valuable asset, so… his original intention had been just to live leisurely, yet without realizing it he had tightened his own spring, even feeling guilty about playing games online.
At that moment, playful shouts ahead interrupted his thoughts.
"Idiot, why aren't you swinging your sword!"
"A coward like you doesn't deserve to be a samurai!"
He looked up. Not far ahead, a group of elementary schoolers were playing and laughing. Each held a stick as a sword, apparently role-playing. Three boys were sparring, but the thinner one only dodged and retreated, showing no intention of fighting back.
The boy's behavior seemed to displease his two companions; the bout turned into the two of them chasing and swatting him together.
Kiyono stopped and watched for a while, realizing it wasn't exactly bullying, since the others looked half-hearted—only poking him symbolically with their sticks. Even so, the boy looked about to cry.
Finally, the three ran off to play elsewhere, leaving the boy sitting alone on the riverbank, staring blankly at the water.
If Yukinoshita Yukino were here, what would she do?
Believing in "correctness," she would probably coldly scold the other three, then strictly guide the boy to gather his courage and fight back.
Thinking of this—
Kiyono narrowed his eyes, nostalgic.
He also had his own way of doing things.
Kiyono walked over and sat beside him. "Hey, little samurai, what's your name?"
The sudden voice made the boy wary. He subtly scooted farther away and said, "K-Komari Yuuta."
Komari?
Kiyono started. He looked more carefully and indeed found familiar traces.
Is this family's unpopularity a hereditary setting… he grumbled inwardly, then said, with gravity:
"Do you want to become stronger?"
"…Stronger?"
A gust of wind swirled up cherry blossoms from the ground, and Yuuta's eyes widened.
No boy can resist that word.
Why isn't Yuuta back yet…
Komari, washing ingredients in the kitchen, frowned, then ran to the living room to check again.
Generally, Yuuta came home before sunset. After all, like her, her little brother had no friends; even if he played outside, he wouldn't be out long.
Could he have been bullied?
The thought made her even more anxious. She took off her apron, quickly told her sister, changed shoes, and headed for the places her brother usually went.
Ah, he's here after all.
Seeing the boy in the distance waving a branch, Komari put one hand on her hip with big-sister authority and walked over step by step—like a leopard on the approach.
As she drew closer, she finally saw the figure at her brother's side—and suddenly froze.
Kiyono? What is he doing here!?
Like a leopard encountering a lion, Komari squeaked and immediately ducked behind a large tree. After two seconds, she cautiously peeked out to observe.
"Your strength is too weak! This stance can't even cut through the morning mist! Again!" the man called lightly.
"Yes, Master!"
—He's already calling him Master? How are we calculating seniority now!?
"M-Master, I'm so tired. Why do we have to keep practicing the sword?"
"To temper your courage—so you can draw your blade to protect your family in the future."
"P-Protect!?" The boy's eyes sparkled.
If she closed her eyes and only listened, the girl could picture a classic scene—under a rain of cherry blossoms, a tall and a small figure seated on the ground, a long sword across their laps: the boy innocent, the man smiling.
And if Kiyono were a samurai, he should have a high ponytail, be lean and handsome, with eyes that smiled when he smiled… Wait! What am I thinking!
Komari shook her head, refocusing—and promptly broke the illusion. A man barking orders while holding a stick only made one think chuunibyou.
"That's right—you know your sister's weakness, don't you? Imagine, in ten years, she's still like this. By then, only you, the samurai, can protect her!" Kiyono patted the boy's shoulder.
I can't pretend I didn't hear that, hey.
Komari's eye twitched.
"I understand… I will become stronger for my sister!" The boy gripped the branch tightly.
"It seems you've already grasped the core of Niten Ichi-ryu. Come back tomorrow to continue your training."
What is he saying in public like this…
Shame prickled. Hiding behind the tree, she twirled a strand of hair with her index finger. Hearing such words from her usually timid brother still touched her heart a little.
Moreover, she discovered a different side of Kiyono.
So he makes such childish gestures, too.
But he often joked anyway… Huh? Something feels off.
Slowly, a thought formed. Kiyono wasn't the type to say these things without reason; likely he'd seen Yuuta being pushed around and used this method to encourage him.
"Idiot, idiot."
A soft place in her heart was poked. She had always known her brother's sensitivity and inferiority—and that it stemmed from family—but she didn't know what to do, because even she had always been like this, able only to offer words so dry she herself didn't believe them…
This Kiyono person…
As she thought, panic and shyness inexplicably welled up. She quickly averted her gaze and began silently repeating Club President, Club President, Club President in her heart.
At first, it had been the club president who took the initiative to talk to her—the gloomy one—giving her two seniors she could call friends, and a place to belong at school…
At that moment, a devil in her heart seemed to whisper: But Kiyono also helped you; he affirmed you when you were lost, giving you courage to take the first step…
Komari started and hurriedly switched to silently chanting Tamaki, the club president—but halfway through, she was shocked to find the name in her heart had quietly changed.
In the week after that day, Yuuta came home every evening wearing a smile, brimming with energy—an expression she had rarely seen.
"Yuuta, you've been coming home so late lately. What have you been doing?"
In the living room, Komari, wearing an apron, called to her brother and asked casually.
"Training!"
"Training with whom?"
"A cool big brother."
Komari coughed, trying to keep her tone steady. "How do you… how do you feel about this big brother?"
Elementary schoolers don't use many adjectives—only the coolest, most straightforward words in their hearts.
"A hero!"
In every boy's heart stands a hero, back turned, bathed in light.
"With Big Brother training me, Kenta and the others will play samurai games with me now. It's all the courage Big Brother gave me. I want to grow up to be like him!"
"I see."
Komari smiled and ruffled his hair.
The first volume was to be submitted to the newcomer award.
At nine in the evening, in a room without the lights on, the computer's glow illuminated a pale face—the girl stared intently at the screen, eyes bloodshot, like someone trading foreign exchange on full leverage.
With the deadline upon her, hesitation crept in; her mind teemed with chaotic thoughts.
But there was no more time to hesitate.
If she delayed any longer, this world might come to an end.
She still had so many things left undone.
Komari gathered her courage and pressed Send.
Then she quickly took out her phone and messaged someone:
Volume One sent.
Pure Love Warrior: Congratulations—go fulfill your dream.
Strange… it's the same chat as usual, so why am I so happy seeing this now…
Could it be… this is love?
Komari jumped onto the bed and pulled the covers over her head. Her emotions boiled like water, churning and surging; her pale face flushed crimson.
This feeling reminded her of when she first liked the club president—but the two weren't quite the same. Compared to the clear, socially defined liking the club president back then, her current feelings were more complex, more chaotic.
It couldn't simply be called liking.
Rather, it was a mixture of longing, inferiority, admiration, and a chain of other emotions.
She didn't dare confirm her feelings so easily. Moreover, there was a greater distance between her and Kiyono than between her and the club president. If she had to compare, it was like the distance from Earth to the Moon.
Such emotions had lingered in her heart lately.
She thought about them when she slept, when she went to school, when she worked part-time.
She was thinking about them now, too—on her way home, pedaling after buying groceries.
Suddenly, a clanking sound yanked Komari back to reality. She instinctively stopped her bike—the fixing screw of the front basket had fallen out, tilting it downward. She guessed it was because she had bought too many things today, plus a large bottle of drink.
She dismounted, took down the plastic bags, her small face clouded with worry. How am I going to deal with this? Home is still a ways off!
Just then—
"Hm? Komari?"
Ah—an angel appeared.
A bicycle slid to a neat stop beside her, brakes singing, and the familiar young man smiled at her.