● March 24 (Thursday) Yuuta Asamura

The morning of the third day of our graduation trip belonged to Tomokazu Maru—a pilgrimage to his sacred site. Following the pattern of the previous day, Maru, the one most familiar with the area around Kandai-mae Station, was the natural choice to lead. Even before we left the hotel, his enthusiasm was palpable, his voice brimming with confidence as he declared, “Ask me anything.”

I appreciated his energy, but Ayase-san and I had planned this trip to strengthen our friendships, not just to lean on others. Relying entirely on Maru felt like shirking our responsibility. “I think I can guide us to the destination,” I offered, glancing at my phone. “I’ve looked it up.”

Maru grinned, unfazed. “Alright, Asamura, it’s all yours.”

With his blessing, I took the lead, determined to navigate us to Kandai-mae Station. Today, Ayase-san and I needed to step up, to bring some spark to the group. We couldn’t keep depending on Maru and Narasaka-san to carry the mood forever.

As I strode ahead, Ayase-san slipped quietly beside me, her voice a soft whisper in my ear. “You’re really fired up, huh, Asamura-kun.”

“Of course,” I replied, keeping my eyes forward.

That morning, I’d messaged Ayase-san, reminding her why we’d planned this trip. Maru and Narasaka-san had always been the ones pulling us along, setting the pace, making things fun. This time, we wanted to take the reins, to let them relax and enjoy themselves. If we kept leaning on them, it’d defeat the whole point of giving more than we take. A bit late to realize, maybe, but from here on, I was determined to put in the effort.

“I’ll do my best too,” Ayase-san said, her tone resolute.

“Well, enjoying ourselves is important too, you know.”

Maru and Narasaka-san always prioritized their own fun, and I wanted to emulate that spirit. Ayase-san clenched her fists, a determined “Yup” escaping her lips. I glanced at my phone, checking the schedule and route. Maru’s sacred site was ‘around First, we needed to get there, and I’d chosen a specific path.

“From the hotel, we walk to Shin-Osaka Station,” I explained. “Then we follow the tracks south to Minamikata Station.”

Ayase-san tilted her head. “We’re not taking the train from Shin-Osaka?”

I shook my head. “I considered it, but I decided we’d stick to the Hankyu Kyoto Line.”

Minamikata Station was about a ten-minute walk from Shin-Osaka, following the tracks. The station’s name, by the way, was read exactly as written: Minamikata-eki.

“Why that route?” she asked.

“I could’ve gone with the Midosuji Line for one stop, then switched to the Hankyu Kyoto Line, but that’d mean a transfer.” I glanced at the group, and all three nodded, encouraging me to continue. “I’m only sounding this confident because I’ve got the schedule on my phone,” I admitted with a sheepish grin. “One reason is I didn’t want us getting lost during a transfer. On the Midosuji Line, we’d get off at Nishinakajima-Minamikata Station.”

Ayase-san frowned. “Isn’t that a different station?”

“Exactly. According to the map app, it’s a three-minute walk from there to Minamikata Station.” Their faces fell, likely recalling the maze-like struggle at Shin-Osaka Station two days ago. Navigating unfamiliar stations was a hassle we didn’t need. “Once was enough for playing dungeon seekers,” I added, earning a few chuckles. “Though, to be fair, the transfer might’ve been simpler than I thought. We’ll see if I made the right call.”

I paused, then added, “Also, we all went a bit overboard at the breakfast buffet.”

Narasaka-san, rubbing her stomach, groaned dramatically. Maru had teased her earlier for piling her plate high.

“It was so good!” she exclaimed. “Tomo-kun, everything in Osaka is delicious, isn’t it?”

Maru shrugged. “I won’t deny that.”

I gave a wry smile. “So, I figured a leisurely walk might help us digest. Plus, we’ve got a lot of walking ahead today, so it’s a bit daunting.”

After the pilgrimage, we’d head to the aquarium. My muscles were already bracing for the inevitable soreness.

“You’re young, you’ll be fine!” Narasaka-san chirped; her energy boundless.

Ayase-san sighed. “I’ve been sitting so much for exams, I might be out of shape.”

“Let’s take it easy,” I suggested. “Part of this trip is about enjoying the differences in lifestyle and culture.”

Walking let us soak in the scenery better than navigating crowded stations. The ten-minute stroll along the tracks was straightforward, and when I spotted the entrance to Subway Nishinakajima-Minamikata Station, I let out a quiet sigh of relief. So, this was where we’d have gotten off if we’d taken the Midosuji Line—just a minute by train. Minamikata Station was a three-minute walk from here, according to the map. Turning left, I spotted it, and the weight of being the guide lifted slightly. Our stuffed stomachs were settling, too.

From Minamikata Station, we hopped on the Hankyu Kyoto Line for a fifteen-minute ride to Kandai-mae Station. From hotel to destination, it took about forty minutes. So far, so good. But the real challenge was next. I’d never seen the anime that defined Maru’s soul. From here, we’d rely on his commentary.

Ayase-san and Narasaka-san were in the same boat, though Narasaka-san piped up, “Oh, I managed to watch the first three episodes in my free time!”

Ayase-san blinked. “That story… is it an anime to begin with?”

Narasaka-san nodded eagerly. “Yup! Apparently, there’s an even earlier source material.”

“An earlier source?”

“A game, right, Tomo-kun?”

Maru confirmed, “Yeah, an adventure game from a while back.”

Ayase-san, whose gaming experience was limited to family-friendly party games, tilted her head. “Adven… what?”

Maru began, “Well, you see—” but I cut him off before he could launch into a lecture on gaming history. If left unchecked, he’d start from the dawn of video games, and Ayase-san, with her love for history, might egg him on with questions. She hated leaving things unclear, and Maru’s detailed explanations—starting from adventure games, veering into computer game origins, maybe even touching on 1974’s Dungeons & Dragons—could derail the entire day. By the time he’d finish, the sun would be setting, and our trip’s purpose would be lost.

“For now,” I interjected, “it’s enough to know there’s an original source.”

“Hm. Fair enough,” Ayase-san agreed.

“Glad you get it,” I said, relieved.

“Friend,” Narasaka-san added with a teasing grin, playing on Maru’s name—Tomokazu, meaning friendship—and my words. Was she suggesting I add some humor to keep things lively?

“Wait, do I have to?” I protested.

“Mufu!” She flashed a smug peace sign.

“Narasaka, what are you expecting from Asamura?” Maru asked, half-laughing.

Her expectations were comedian-level, but she just grinned. “It’s all for living each day to the fullest!”

“Some things just aren’t my forte,” I muttered.

“That’s why I’m supporting you! Tomo-kun’s friend is as good as my friend, right?”

“Look, just because someone’s a friend of a friend doesn’t make them your friend,” Maru shot back. “They’re still a stranger. Also, didn’t you pull that line yesterday?”

“Tomo-kun, you’re so cold.”

“You’re the one who’s too warm.”

“Alright, alright,” I said, steering the conversation back. “So, this is the sacred site for your favorite anime, right, Maru?”

I glanced around the rotary in front of Kandai-mae Station. The plan was to spend about two hours here: an hour walking to the spots Maru wanted to visit, then back to the station area for lunch before heading to Kaiyukan in the afternoon.

Ayase-san, still unclear on the concept, asked, “This pilgrimage thing… how do you actually do it? The anime’s a fictional story, right?”

Maru nodded. “The story’s made up, but recent anime often use real-world locations as models.”

“Even though it’s fictional?”

“Exactly because it’s fictional.”

Ayase-san tilted her head, puzzled. “The characters aren’t supposed to actually exist there… Is that okay?”

It was a fair question, maybe even obvious, but Maru nodded readily. “Good question. Some might think that way. But consider this: when we visited Osaka Castle the day before yesterday, what did you think, looking up at it from under the cherry blossoms?”

Ayase-san paused, thoughtful. “Well, the castle was built in the Azuchi-Momoyama period, late 16th century, about 400 years ago. The scenery back then probably isn’t preserved. The castle was rebuilt in the Edo period, and the cherry trees in the park aren’t the same either. But I wondered if the people from 400 years ago, looking at that grand castle in spring, felt the same way I did—like, ‘What a huge castle, so impressive.’”

Maru nodded, pleased. “Exactly. That’s a normal reaction when visiting historical sites.”

“Maybe… yeah.”

“But when you looked at the castle, were those people from back then actually there?”

“…Humans don’t live 400 years, so no way.”

“There’s Sanada Yukimura’s hidden passage, but you can’t meet him or Toyotomi Hideyoshi. All that’s left are traces of their dreams.”

Ayase-san smirked. “If there were ghosts, I’d love to hear their stories.”

Was she not scared of ghosts, or was she just caught up in the conversation? I couldn’t tell.

Maru continued, “Even so, standing where they lived, seeing the same scenery, breathing the same air—it connects you to them. That’s valuable, right?”

“Oh.” Ayase-san nodded, understanding dawning.

“So, seeing the landscapes that inspired the setting evokes the same emotions as the fictional characters,” she said.

Maru smiled. “Exactly.”

I got it too. It was like reliving a character’s struggle climbing a steep hill, feeling the sweat, or gazing at the city from the top, just by standing in the same place. You could imagine, “This is how they felt here.” It was like connecting to historical figures through their traces, but with fictional characters through their settings.

“I see,” Ayase-san said. “When you put it like that, I kinda get it.”

Maru added, “A heads-up: just like visiting historical sites, there are manners. Don’t touch what you’re not supposed to, no graffiti, no noise in museums, no photos where prohibited.”

“Obviously,” Ayase-san replied, nodding.

“The same goes for pilgrimages. These places are often just normal neighborhoods for locals. A road is just a road to them. We can’t disrupt their lives.”

“Oh, so it’s not like a tourist attraction?”

“Some places promote themselves for tourism, but not all. Even then, manners matter. Not every resident loves their town being an anime model.”

Narasaka-san chimed in, “Like Shibuya. It’s been in tons of fiction, but we don’t live there thinking about it.”

“Shibuya too?” Ayase-san asked.

“Yup. Tons of sacred sites. People visit Shibuya, Ikebukuro, Akihabara, even Kasukabe or Washinomiya Shrine in Saitama for pilgrimages.”

“So many… all over.”

“For all we know, our high school could be an anime model!” Narasaka-san teased.

“No way,” Maru said flatly.

Suisei High was just an ordinary school, notable only for its academics. Still, it was strange to think real places—houses, schools, shopping streets—could become as meaningful as tourist spots for fans.

“Narasaka-san, you know a lot,” I said, surprised. I’d thought she stayed home often, looking after her siblings.

“It’s the opposite, Asamura-kun. I can’t go out much, so my list of places to visit keeps growing. Once my siblings need less care, I’m going on a pilgrimage across Japan!”

Maru grinned. “What’s scary is she wouldn’t stop at Japan.”

“Oh, come on! Even I know I can’t just go to places farther than space, like the moon, Mars, or Mercury.”

Ayase-san’s eyes widened, but Maru, catching the anime reference, nodded seriously. Those two would probably go if they could. Terrifying.

With Maru as our guide, the pilgrimage began.

“Oh…! This is the sacred site of a masterpiece for my soul!” Maru exclaimed, eyes gleaming.

Narasaka-san nudged him. “Come on, Tomo-kun, don’t just bask in it—explain!”

Maru sighed wistfully but complied. “You’re right. Sorry, Asamura, Ayase.”

“I’m fine just strolling through an unfamiliar city,” Ayase-san said.

To us, the scenery was just a clean building along an ordinary Osaka road. It didn’t scream cultural difference—maybe the occasional Kansai dialect from passersby, but the asphalt, buildings, and guardrails looked familiar. Still, Ayase-san pointed out a subtle detail.

“Look, Asamura-kun.” She gestured to a shop’s signboard with a phone number.

“Huh?”

“The area code’s 06, right?”

“Oh!” Tokyo’s was 03; Osaka’s was 06. I hadn’t noticed, rarely calling landlines. My lack of observation stung. Talking about experiencing new cultures was hollow if I missed such details.

“And the scent of flowers,” Ayase-san added.

“Scent?”

“Do you know this year’s cherry blossom forecast?”

“Uh… they’re blooming already, right?”

“In Tokyo, yeah. March 20th. But in Osaka, it’s the 23rd—yesterday.”

“Wait, Osaka’s later?”

“Yup. So, at Osaka Castle, the blossoms were just starting. Walking here, you can smell flowers, but it’s more subdued than Tokyo. A few days’ difference, yet winter lingers.”

“I see.”

Maru chimed in, blunt as ever. “Well, Asamura’s always been a bit oblivious.”

Coming from a close friend, it hit hard. “My bad,” I muttered.

“No big deal. Everyone’s got strengths and weaknesses. You don’t sweat the small stuff, so you see the big picture. Ayase notices details, so she might get caught up in what’s right in front of her. Maybe. I dunno.”

“You ruined it with that last part, Tomo-kun!” Narasaka-san teased.

“Take others’ opinions with a grain of salt—maybe one-tenth,” Maru shot back.

“Tomo-kun’s such a worrywart.”

Maru grimaced, her words striking a nerve. A worrywart? Sensitive to his surroundings, perhaps, or caring too much about others’ opinions? I’d always seen him as confident, unfazed by trivialities. But maybe that sensitivity made him a good baseball captain, attuned to his team’s needs. Narasaka-san, I realized, might know him better than I did after three years, and that thought left me a bit deflated.

“Anyway, enough of that,” Maru said firmly. “Let’s talk about my soul’s masterpiece.”

“Guide away,” Narasaka-san prompted.

“Leave it to me.”

With a chest-pounding enthusiasm, Maru shared the anime’s story, pointing out how the scenery before us appeared in specific scenes. The settings, he explained, drew from locations across Japan, even Tokyo, piecing together a fictional city. “Back then, pilgrimages weren’t as common as now,” he said.

“So it’s that old?” I asked.

“The original game came out shortly after I was born. I’ve grown up with its history. It feels like fate!”

We were all born the same year, but I let that slide. “The anime aired three years later, when I was three.”

“Three-year-old Tomo…” Narasaka-san mused.

“Baby Tomo-kun! I wanna see! Show me your album!” she teased.

Maru’s face soured. “Why would I hand salt to the enemy? If you insist, show yours too. Fair trade.”

“Wanting to see your lover’s baby photos? Naughty, Tomo-kun.”

“…Are you an idiot?”

“Hehe. Don’t be shy, don’t be shy. Maaya-sama sees right through you!”

“I’m not shy.”

I cut in before they derailed further. “So, when did you first encounter this fateful work?”

No way he watched it at three.

“Oh, right. Sorry. Obviously not in real-time. I saw it during my high school entrance exam year.”

“During exam season?” I asked, incredulous.

“Escapism from stress. I got hooked. It’s a great story.”

Narasaka-san grinned. “All the girls in it are super cute, right?”

“Come on, Tomo-kun, show them!” she urged.

Surprisingly, the anime’s official website, despite being fifteen years old, was still active. Maru showed us the character introduction page on his phone. Ayase-san and I leaned in, probably looking like tourists checking a map. Instead, we were staring at a 2D girl’s illustration.

“Look, look! This character’s cute, right? Saki, Asamura-kun, which one’s your favorite?” Narasaka-san asked.

“Uh, I don’t know…” I read a lot, but I don’t focus on characters’ appearances. I tag along when Maru buys figurines, but I’ve never bought one.

“Huh, really? I thought your desk would be lined with three rows of girl figurines, Asamura-kun.”

“…Hold on. What kind of logic led you to imagine my desk, Narasaka-san?”

“Birds of a feather?”

Ayase-san and I turned to Maru, who protested, “Wait! No, it’s not like that. The only things on my desk are mass-produced robot models!”

“Tomo-kun, don’t be shy,” Narasaka-san teased.

“I’m not shy! Ugh, this is why I didn’t want you in my room.”

“You’ve been in his room?” Ayase-san muttered.

Seeing Maru, usually unflappable, flustered was rare—a fleeting, precious moment. But we’d run out of time for the aquarium if this continued.

“Maru, continue,” I prompted.

He resumed his role. “This spot is the background for the jacket of the limited-edition DVD, volume six.”

I blinked. “What was that?”

“This.” He pulled a DVD cover illustration from his backpack, carefully stored in a clear file. A character stood against a detailed, realistic background. Holding it up, the scenery matched almost perfectly.

“It’s the same…” I murmured.

Narasaka-san, peering over my shoulder, gasped. “Oh!”

Ayase-san glanced at it, then looked away thoughtfully. “Once you understand how to look at it, it feels like the characters could be walking around in this scenery.”

“Right?” Maru said, delighted.

Ayase-san nodded. “I’ve always been interested in unchanging buildings or ruins, but I hadn’t thought much about the people who lived there.”

“So, your focus is on the architecture?” Maru asked.

“I like how they stay the same for centuries…”

Her love for historical sites stemmed from their permanence, a contrast to the impermanence of her own past—her family’s collapse after her father’s business failed, the joy of her childhood home lost to tension and divorce. She yearned for what endured.

“But this way of looking at things is nice too,” she said, scanning the surroundings—a two-story apartment with external stairs, a canal, a rusty guardrail, a vending machine across the narrow street. “If they lived here, they might’ve crossed to buy a drink from that vending machine, right? Or those metal stairs—they’d make noise going up and down, wouldn’t they?”

Maru nodded. “Yeah, a story can’t cover every detail of daily life. Overexplaining muddies the focus. Those omitted details are obvious to creators, but viewers like us lack the clues to imagine them.”

I understood. Someone like Ayase-san, with her keen observation, could vividly picture historical life from a textbook. But for me, standing at Osaka Castle under the cherry blossoms let me feel what people back then might have. Seeing is believing.

Maru, a bit sheepish, added, “For me, I just want to know more about the characters I love. Dwelling on them lets me savor the work deeper or maybe I’m fooling myself.”

“It’s a hobby,” Narasaka-san said with a grin. “Overthinking’s fine.”

Ayase-san smiled. “That approach feels fresh. Maru-kun, you’re interested in understanding people, real or not.”

Maru’s jaw dropped, as if she’d caught him off guard. “Huh, yeah… I see.”

“I’d never thought of it that way,” Ayase-san continued. “It’s refreshing. This is a great experience. Thanks.”

Maru mumbled, “No big deal,” as Narasaka-san teased, “He’s blushing, he’s blushing!”

“Stop it,” he grumbled.

Following Professor Maru’s lead, we wandered Osaka’s streets. By the time we returned to the station for lunch, even without watching the anime, we felt like we’d relived Maru’s masterpiece.

After lunch, we headed to Kaiyukan, the afternoon’s destination. From Kandai-mae Station, it was one transfer to Osaka Port Station, about forty-five minutes. I led the way again, and we arrived without trouble.

“I’m thinking we should put our luggage in a locker,” I suggested as we stepped out into the bustle of Osaka Port Station.

Ayase-san nodded. “Good idea. Museums and galleries are best explored light.”

It was our final day, and we’d checked out of the hotel, lugging our bags from a two-night, three-day trip. The morning’s leisurely walk had been manageable, but the afternoon promised more strain. An aquarium, likely dimly lit, could be tricky with heavy bags, especially if the footing was uneven.

“The aquarium probably has lockers too,” Ayase-san said, “but is it a long walk from here?”

“Not too far. About six minutes on foot.” I glanced at my phone’s map app. “But just in case the aquarium’s lockers are full, I’d rather store them here.”

She seemed satisfied with that, her expression softening. We found a locker just beyond the ticket gate, stashed our bags—keeping valuables with us, naturally—and set off.

“The aquarium’s north of the station,” I said, checking the map again. “This way, I think.”

A passageway led north from the gate, and a sign for Kaiyukan on the wall eased my nerves. We were on the right track.

“You don’t get lost, do you, Asamura-kun?” Ayase-san teased, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“I’m just following the map,” I admitted, a bit sheepish.

“Some people get lost even with a map,” Narasaka-san chimed in wistfully, likely recalling someone directionally challenged. “And they’re always so confident, striding ahead like they know the way. You follow, thinking they’ve got it, only to wander forever, and then they ask, ‘So, where are we headed?’ My dad’s like that!”

She laughed, calling it a familial weakness. I didn’t think it was such a flaw—families are human, not omniscient deities.

“From the map, it’s a straight walk with one left turn,” I said, keeping an eye on our surroundings. “Should be hard to mess up.”

The sky felt wider than in Shibuya, the road—Minato Ward Route 287, according to the map—a two-lane street with broad sidewalks. The grid-like layout suggested a newer area, maybe reclaimed land like Tokyo Bay. It was nearly 2 p.m., and the sidewalks were quiet. Osaka schools started spring break around the 25th, so crowds might pick up tomorrow. We’d timed this trip to avoid that, and I hoped it stayed peaceful.

“Look!” Narasaka-san pointed ahead, her voice bright. “A Ferris wheel! It’s huge!”

I’d noticed something looming beyond the buildings. As we drew closer, it revealed itself as a massive Ferris wheel, its circular form emerging from what first looked like a thin rod piercing the sky.

“That’s the Tempozan Giant Ferris Wheel,” I said, checking the map app. “A hundred meters in diameter, 112.5 meters tall—one of the world’s largest, apparently.”

“Wow, world-class!” Narasaka-san exclaimed.

“No way,” Maru cut in flatly.

“Ngh! I didn’t even say anything yet!”

“You want to ride it, right?”

She nodded eagerly, like a small animal. Maru shook his head. “If we ride it, we won’t have time for the aquarium.”

“Ughhh,” she groaned.

“Hold off.”

“Fine…” Narasaka-san pouted, but Maru softened.

“I get why Maaya’s drawn to ‘world-class,’ though. I’d have liked to ride it if we had time.”

“Some seats have transparent floors, apparently,” he added.

My heart skipped at that. Terrifying. But Narasaka-san and Ayase-san’s eyes lit up, their faces practically glowing with thrill-seeking glee.

“We’ll pass this time,” Maru said, glancing at me. He was likely holding off because the aquarium was my pick. Narasaka-san and Ayase-san nodded, though their reluctance was clear.

As we approached, craning our necks at the towering Ferris wheel, we reached a wide, cross-shaped intersection labeled Ichijo-dori on the map. Crossing the pedestrian bridge and turning left should bring Kaiyukan into view.

“A giraffe,” Ayase-san said suddenly.

I looked up from my phone. A giraffe? Here?

Not a real one, but a massive statue, three times a person’s height, built from toy blocks, stood at the corner. Why a toy giraffe?

I checked the map. “Oh, there’s a toy block theme park nearby.”

“No way, really?” Narasaka-san’s eyes sparkled.

“Narasaka,” Maru warned.

“I know, I know! You’ve all indulged our hobbies, so we’ll stick to the aquarium.” She sighed. “I just thought my brothers would love it.”

Maru suggested she bring them next time, but lamented that she couldn’t handle that many kids alone. How many brothers did she have? “A ton,” she’d said once, but probably three or four. She was a devoted big sister, always thinking of them.

Five minutes later, the aquarium came into view. “That must be it,” I said, closing the map app and turning to the group.

We joined the ticket line, which was longer than expected. “The main attraction is the permanent exhibit with multiple tanks,” I said, sharing notes from my phone. “It recreates Pacific Rim’s ecosystem, with tanks mimicking regions like Japan, the Aleutian Islands, Monterey Bay, Panama Bay—a tour around the Pacific.”

Ayase-san tilted her head. “Pacific regions?”

“Yeah, like the Aleutian Islands, between Alaska and the Kamchatka Peninsula,” I clarified.

Narasaka-san blinked. “Aleu… what?”

Despite acing Japan’s toughest university exams, she seemed stumped. “No, I know, I know!” she insisted. “Between Alaska and Kamchatka!”

“Exactly.”

“Panama Bay’s by the Panama Canal, right?” Maru added, pulling up a Pacific map on his phone. “The Pacific entrance, near the equator, around 8 or 9 degrees north latitude. Monterey Bay’s on California’s coast.”

“They recreate these environments for marine life,” I said.

“Oh, there’s Antarctica too! Penguins and polar bears!” Narasaka-san exclaimed.

I shook my head. “Common mix-up, but polar bears aren’t in the Antarctic exhibit.”

Her eyes widened, genuinely surprised.

“Polar bears live in the Arctic, the northern hemisphere,” I explained. “Penguins are southern hemisphere creatures, so they don’t coexist naturally. Also, some penguin species live in warmer places.”

“Huh,” she murmured.

“Didn’t know that,” Ayase-san said. “You’re knowledgeable, Asamura-kun.”

I felt a flush of shyness at her praise. “Let’s head in.”

We bought four entry passes and stepped into a world of blue. Kaiyukan’s interior was dim, bathed in blue hues—not just the walls, but likely the transparent tank panels, too.

“Why’s it so blue?” Narasaka-san wondered.

“Don’t trip, okay?” Maru cautioned, eyeing her on the gently sloping floor.

“I’m fine,” she replied. “Excited, but not reckless.”

Maru’s skeptical look softened as she proved her restraint. Conversations hushed naturally—animals dislike loud noises, and banging on tanks disturbs everyone. Narasaka-san kept her lively tone but lowered her volume, showing consideration.

“She’s acting spoiled,” Ayase-san whispered to me.

Narasaka-san, usually the caretaker, was letting Maru look out for her, relishing the role reversal.

“Hey, Asamura-kun,” Ayase-san said. “Why’s it so blue? Because it’s the ocean?”

I considered where to start. “The biggest tank here, the Pacific Tank, is nine meters deep, thirty-four meters wide, and thirty-two meters long.”

“Nine meters deep… that’s pretty deep.”

“Sunlight—visible light, specifically—penetrates water differently by color. Red light gets absorbed quickly, fading within ten meters. Blue light reaches over a hundred meters. So, at ten meters deep, the sea is filled with blue.”

“Wow…” Ayase-san breathed. “The ocean floor is a blue world.”

“At this depth, it’s shallow compared to the deep sea—beyond 200 meters, where no light reaches, it’s pitch black. The Mariana Trench is ten thousand meters deep.”

“You know a lot.”

“Do I?” I shrugged. “I kept tropical fish as a kid, so maybe I picked it up then.”

I’d also done some prep research, but I could pull this from memory. “I loved encyclopedias as a kid,” I added. “Not just animals—space, vehicles, everything.”

My dad’s bookshelf had been full of them, plus picture books. As an indoor kid, I’d pore over them constantly. “Kids love showing off what they know, right?”

“Do they?” Ayase-san asked, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“Maybe not you. I was that kid—spouting facts everywhere.” I cringed, recalling my precocious self, proudly declaring whales were mammals or light-years were distances, not time. “When I see kids do that now, I want to hide from secondhand embarrassment.”

Ayase-san chuckled softly. “Sharing knowledge helps you remember it. The trivia I learned back then still sticks.”

My parents had indulged my smug ramblings, listening patiently. “So, the stuff from earlier—polar bears, penguins—came from that?” Ayase-san said

“Not quite. Kids’ books aren’t that detailed.” I paused. “If I were a real fish nerd, I’d probably ramble about sanma’s taxonomy every time you cooked fish. But I can barely tell what I’m eating now.”

“True,” she said, laughing.

Opening those childhood memories brought something else back. I’d shown off to my parents—Dad and Mom. “You’re so knowledgeable, Yuuta. Teach me too,” Mom would say, smiling. That was before elementary school, when the family wasn’t so strained. Her praise—“You’re amazing, Yuuta”—had made me beam. Looking back, my precociousness might’ve pushed her to make me take entrance exams. Failing them twice dulled my thirst for knowledge. As the family grew tense and Mom left, I lost the drive to learn, idling at home, staring into space. Dad—being worried— took me to zoos and museums, where I slowly rediscovered books and curiosity, like water seeping into dry sand.

“Stuff like water pressure increasing by one atmosphere at ten meters or light traveling 9.46 trillion kilometers a year—I probably learned later from reading,” I said. “I don’t even remember where.”

“I see.”

Maru and Narasaka-san, who’d wandered ahead, returned, their faces lit with excitement. “Yo, there’s a huge thing in the big tank,” Maru said.

“It’s amazing!” Narasaka-san added.

I raised an eyebrow. “Huge” and “amazing”? That’s it? Still, I had a guess. “Let’s go, Ayase-san. It’s probably the main attraction.”

She nodded, recalling. “Some kind of shark, right? Whale shark?”

“Yeah. I heard it’s big, but it’s my first time seeing one.”

The Pacific Tank, Kaiyukan’s centerpiece, sat in the building’s core, with visitors spiraling down around it, viewing it from multiple angles. Nine meters deep—about a three-story school building—and thirty-four meters wide, like four or five classrooms. Half a school’s worth.

“And the huge thing is?” I asked.

Maru pointed right, slightly upward, through the acrylic glass. “That. It’s coming this way.”

“Coming?”

I glanced over and let out a “Whoa.”

“That’s… a whale shark?” Ayase-san murmured, almost dazed.

A massive fish glided toward us from above, four to five meters long, its flat, wide head and horizontal mouth distinct from the pointy-nosed sharks I’d imagined. “No wonder it’s called the world’s largest fish,” I said.

“Looks like it could swallow you whole,” Ayase-san muttered.

Perfect chance to flex my prep work. “Know what whale sharks eat?”

“Uh… big fish, maybe, since it’s so huge?”

“Plankton.”

“Huh? Plankton… like, the tiny stuff?”

“Yup. Water fleas, euglena—small aquatic creatures that can’t swim against currents. Their main food is tiny.”

“Is that enough?”

“They need about eight kilos a day,” I said, drawing on my research. “They open that huge mouth, suck in seawater, and filter out plankton. Despite their size, they’re gentle, not aggressive toward humans.”

Its dopey, laid-back face matched its calm nature, swimming leisurely to the tank’s bottom and back. “So huge, yet so gentle,” Ayase-san said softly.

“They’re ovoviviparous,” I continued. “Eggs hatch inside the mother, and the young are born somewhat developed. About 300 per litter, but since they don’t raise them, only a few survive.”

“They don’t raise them?”

“Yeah, a high-birth, high-death strategy, common in fish, amphibians, insects.”

“Are all fish like that?”

“It caught my interest when I looked it up.” Maybe because both Ayase-san and I knew the sting of parental absence, it resonated. Still, arguing against a species’ survival strategy was pointless.

“I found a site explaining that ‘parenting’ depends on how you define it,” I said. “Broadly, it’s about increasing a child’s survival odds. Make sense?”

She nodded, so I went on. “Most marine fish scatter eggs in the water, carried off by currents. Parents can’t care for them—many die or get eaten before hatching. With ovoviviparity, eggs hatch inside the mother until they’re more developed, boosting survival odds. You could call that parenting, broadly.”

“So, those 300 are born after being nurtured to survive better,” she said.

“Exactly. Though 300 is still high-birth, high-death.”

“Only a few survive…”

“But it makes sense. If a male and female produce two offspring that reproduce, the population holds. The oceans aren’t overflowing with Whale sharks, so 300 keeps the species going.”

“They’re less likely to survive?”

“Once big, they’re rarely eaten, but growing big is their main defense. No poison like pufferfish, no claws like crabs, no ink, no speed. They’re not aggressive.”

“No defenses except growing big…”

“Exactly.”

“Even though it’s a shark.”

“Not all sharks are man-eaters,” I said. “Growing this big must be tough. They’ve really survived.”

I watched the Whale shark glide closer. “But once they’re this big, they can live a long time—about a hundred years, like humans.”

Ayase-san’s eyes softened, a kinship forming. “In that sense, humans are nurtured in the womb too, so parenting starts before birth, right?”

Her words caught me off guard. I hadn’t considered it. Human parenting had layers. “Could Whale sharks survive with fewer births if they extended parenting?” she asked.

“Like, raising them in the womb until they’re bigger?”

“Yeah. If they grew ten times bigger before birth, maybe they’d need only a tenth of the number.”

“In theory, maybe. But it’s not that simple.”

“A tenth is still thirty,” she mused. “Triplets ten times, Asamura-kun…”

Her mind was wandering somewhere odd. “No, you can’t split one litter into ten batches,” I said, half-laughing.

“Thirty kids! No way, that’s impossible.”

“Huh?”

“Kids. I can’t have that many. Triplets, please! In installments! I’d manage somehow.”

“You’d… manage?”

“Huh?”

“Huh.”

“Oh, uh… I meant react to the installments part,” she said, flustered.

Was she riffing on Narasaka-san’s bit from yesterday? I glanced around—Maru and Narasaka-san were distracted by a huge ray on the tank floor. Good, no one else heard her joke.

“Was that… kinda embarrassing?” she asked, her cheeks seeming to flush, though the dim blue light made it hard to tell.

“Why not? It’s not a loan repayment,” I said, but my delivery fell flat.

“…Forget it.”

“…Got it.”

Her bold attempt at humor, inspired by Narasaka-san, sank thanks to my poor response. I felt a pang of guilt, my comedy skills failing her.

By the time we boarded the Shinkansen, the sun had set, the sky pitch black. Yet, reluctant to let the trip end, we kept chatting, no one sleeping. I’d expected us to collapse from exhaustion, but the energy held.

“Your guiding at Kaiyukan was great, Asamura-kun,” Narasaka-san said out of nowhere, just after the announcement for Shinagawa Station.

I blinked, caught off guard. “Why the surprised face?”

“I just… didn’t feel like I guided that well.”

“True, the first half was you and Saki flirting, wasn’t it?” she teased.

“We weren’t,” Ayase-san protested instantly.

I was ready to admit I hadn’t guided well, but not the flirting part. At Kaiyukan’s café, we’d taken a break, enjoying themed items like the Spotted Eel Dog—a long sausage in a matching bun—and Whale Soft, a gray-blue soft-serve mimicking the Whale shark’s colors. Blue food could be off-putting, but the ice cream, evoking the shark’s gentle face, was surprisingly tasty. We ordered based on hunger, sipping coffee and licking ice cream to recover from walking.

I’d reflected then. Kaiyukan was my pick, so I should’ve done more to engage the others, especially since this trip was partly to thank Maru and Narasaka-san for always having our backs. In the second half, I’d sprinkled in quiet trivia to keep things lively, but I wasn’t sure it landed.

“It was fun, like touring with an audio guide,” Narasaka-san said.

I sighed in relief. “If you felt that way, I’m glad.”

“We’re almost there,” Maru said, gazing at Tokyo’s glowing city lights outside.

Just three days away, and I felt a quiet relief. “Hometown” often means countryside in novels, not “back to Tokyo.” But seeing those lights, I felt at ease—a city kid through and through.

Ayase-san’s reflection in the window caught my eye, her gaze glistening slightly. “Saki, are you crying?” Narasaka-san asked, seated in front of her.

“I’m not,” Ayase-san insisted.

“There, there,” Narasaka-san cooed, pulling Ayase-san’s head to her chest, patting gently.

“I said I’m not crying…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Maru, looking past Narasaka-san to the window, murmured, “Well, it was a good trip.”

I nodded in agreement.

Narasaka-san, still holding Ayase-san, said, “It’s not like this is goodbye forever.”

“I’m not crying,” Ayase-san repeated.

“Sure, sure.”

“Ugh! …Maaya and Maru-kun have it good. You’re going to the same university,” she said, a touch sulky.

Meetings and partings are life’s rhythm, but some connections you cling to. University life would likely be busier than high school, leaving less time for ourselves.

Ayase-san eased away from Narasaka-san. Their closeness, forged by fate or chance, felt almost surreal.

“We probably won’t have times like this, the four of us together,” she said softly.

“You think?” Narasaka-san asked.

“Probably. As adults, free time dwindles. I wish I’d hung out more with Maaya and the others…”

Her words evoked the nearly empty classroom before graduation, Ayase-san gazing around during a study break. “It’s not regret, exactly,” she continued, “but I feel like I wasted something.”

“We can make up for it quick,” Narasaka-san said brightly. “We’re still young. How about the four of us do something together?”

Ayase-san shot her a skeptical look. “Do what, exactly?”

“Hmm… how about posting videos? The four of us. It’s trendy.”

Even Maru looked baffled. “Entertainment’s not that easy.”

“It doesn’t have to be serious!”

“Narasaka, even for fun, putting stuff out there comes with responsibility. It’s not just for us—”

“How about Maru-kun’s treasure reveal channel?”

“I don’t have treasures worth showing. My greatest treasure is, at best—”

I cut in as the Shinkansen slid into the platform. “Come on, we gotta get off.”

The conversation fizzled as we hurried to disembark. Narasaka-san and Maru bickered while dragging their luggage.

“You’re always like this—”

“A YouTube channel streaming Saki and Asamura-kun’s lovey-dovey life would go viral!” Narasaka-san teased.

A chill ran down my spine. What a horrifying idea. Wasn’t this supposed to be for all four of us? Why was it suddenly about me and Ayase-san?

“It’s over, huh,” Ayase-san said softly behind me, her voice tinged with exhaustion and fulfillment.

We exited the Shinkansen gate, parting ways to our respective routes. Ayase-san and I headed to Shibuya, walking the familiar path from the station, our conversation a patchwork of trip memories.

Maru’s words echoed in my mind: Well, it was a good trip. I think so too, Maru.

With that, the graduation trip ended, and with it, our high school lives.