● April 12th (Tuesday) – Asamura Yuuta

Just as third period let out, a group of upperclassmen descended upon the lecture hall. One of them, a tall young man, raised his voice to be heard over the shuffling students.

“Hey, to all our juniors in the Social Data Science Department! We’re having a welcome party for all you freshmen. If you’re interested, come grab a flyer!”

As he spoke, he and his friends began handing them out near the exit.

A freshman welcome party, huh? So they actually have things like that… I watched as students filed out, with maybe one in every few showing enough interest to take a flyer. The number seemed surprisingly small, but on second thought, it made sense. The Social Data Science Department was small to begin with, and unlike high school’s rigid class structure, university was all about credits. Not everyone in this lecture was even a first-year in my department.

“If you already got one this morning, you’re good! It’s the same one!” a female upperclassman shouted to the remaining students. Her voice was clear and crisp; she was probably one of the organizers.

I see. They’re targeting lectures where freshmen are likely to be.

“The location, time, and fee are all on here!” she continued, waving a flyer. “If you can make it, please scan the QR code to join the LINE group and let us know you’re in! This isn’t some shady solicitation, I promise! We’d love to see you there!”

Most of the remaining students had cleared out by now. The upperclassmen started gathering their leftover flyers, getting ready to leave. Before I could consciously decide what to do, my feet were already carrying me toward them.

“Excuse me, could I have one?”

“Oh, of course! Here you go,” said the girl with the clear voice. “It’s a pretty casual get-together, so please come~”

“I’ll think about it,” I replied automatically.

My response seemed to amuse her and the other seniors with her, who all broke into knowing smiles.

“That’s the textbook response to a sales pitch!” one of them laughed.

“Hey, at least he’s conscientious enough not to just say ‘I’ll try my best’ and toss it,” another added.

…Are they complimenting me?

“Think it over all you like. That’s a student’s prerogative,” a large, bear-like upperclassman said with a grin. “But we’d be glad if you came!” He reminds me a little of Maru, I thought absently.

Walking down the hallway, I scanned the flyer. The party was at an izakaya near the station—with a note, of course, that underage drinking was forbidden. Since the campus was far from the city center, the event didn’t run too late, meaning I could get home at a reasonable hour. The fee was surprisingly affordable, too.

Although I’d said I would “think about it,” I had already pretty much decided to go the moment I took the flyer.

University was credit-based, not class-based. It was the kind of place where if you didn’t actively make an effort, you could easily go the entire four years without making a single friend.

I exited the lecture building into the courtyard, my next class being in the adjacent building. As I walked along the flagstones, I noticed the scenery had changed. The vibrant pink of the cherry blossoms was gone, scattered by the recent rain, and replaced by a deep, lush green. It had felt warm when I woke up, but I hadn’t expected the temperature to climb past twenty-five degrees Celsius. The sun was strong enough to make me sweat.

The seasons turn so quickly. At this rate, Golden Week would be here before I knew it, and by then, the social circles on campus would likely be set in stone.

Something I’d realized during my graduation trip was how much I relied on chance.

That day of the entrance ceremony at Suisei High.

What if Maru had never noticed the book I was reading?

What if the atmosphere hadn’t been right for him to strike up a conversation?

What if our tastes in literature hadn’t aligned?

Our friendship was built on a series of improbable coincidences, a chain of events so thin it could have snapped at any point.

I lowered my gaze to the flyer. Maybe it was time I started searching for those connections myself. That’s what I’d resolved to do on that trip. I folded the paper, tucked it into my pocket, and felt a small thrill of anticipation.

After my fifth-period lecture, I sent a message to Ayase-san. I needed to let her know I was canceling on dinner.

I’m going to the welcome party, so I think I’ll be late.

A reply came back almost instantly. As it turned out, she was also attending a welcome party tonight. What a coincidence. That meant Dad would be eating alone. I wonder if anything was prepared for him?

I took out my phone again to check with Ayase-san.

I see, my stepmother bought some canned mackerel simmered in miso… After sending a message to my dad about my late return, I added a note about the food. With my duties done, my worries were gone.

By the time I arrived at the izakaya on the map, a group of students was already gathered by the entrance. There were twelve or thirteen of them, a mix of guys and girls. It seemed small for a “freshman welcome party,” but Ichinose University’s new Social Data Science Department only sixty students. Considering that, this was a pretty good turnout.

Hm? A new department? …Come to think of it, that’s right. Then who were those upperclassmen organizers?

“Oh, welcome! Glad you made it!”

I looked up to see the crisp-toned female upperclassman from earlier.

“Ah, yes. Um…” I can’t just ask “Who are you?” can I? What should I do?

“What’s up? Got a question?” she asked, then paused. “You’re… uhm.”

“Ah, I’m Asamura.”

The moment I said my name, her eyes widened in amusement.

“Ooh, so you’re the one!”

“Huh?” What is this about? “What is it?”

The giant, bear-like upperclassman from before ambled over.

“He says he’s Asamura-kun. You know, the one who supposedly toyed with Kudou-san alongside Professor Mori.”

I had just been accused of something outrageous.

“Ooh! So you made it in. Congratulations,” the bear-senpai boomed. “The professor was just talking about you the other day, happy as could be. Said he’d recruited another promising youth into the field. Your name was kept anonymous, of course. Unfortunately for you, my wicked friend here was enjoying a coffee nearby at the time.”

“Walls have ears, I take it?”

“Exactly! Sorry about that,” he laughed. “And welcome to the new department. It’s a shame we can’t have a promising newcomer like you as our direct junior, but as fellow students of sociology, it’s a pleasure to have you.”

“…Are you one of Professor Mori’s students?”

He nodded, and everything clicked into place. Since it was a new department, there shouldn’t have been any upperclassmen. But Professor Mori had transferred from another department within this same university. These must be the students he was in charge of there—seminar students, maybe even graduate students. They had no obligation to do this, yet here they were, taking care of a bunch of lost freshmen. It spoke volumes about how adored Professor Mori was, even after his transfer.

When our reservation time came, we were led to a corner of the izakaya. All twenty-five of us. It was a huge group. A partitioned-off section of the restaurant was completely filled by the party.

It was my first time in an izakaya, and everything felt novel.

It started with the very first words from the upperclassman who’d planned the event.

“Alright, who wants a beer to start!”

Honestly, I was moved. So this is the legendary ‘Toriaezu Nama’… What really surprised me was that a few of the freshmen actually raised their hands. I glanced over and saw a gentleman with a beard that framed his entire mouth, looking like a masterless samurai. …A freshman?

[Note: Toriaezu Nama (とりあえず生) is a casual Japanese phrase meaning “for now, draft beer,” commonly used when ordering the first drink at an izakaya.]

“Just to be sure, you are over twenty, right?”

“Turning twenty-three this year!” he declared with a grin, effectively confessing to being a five-time rōnin without even being asked.

“Okay then. One beer for you. As for the rest of you freshmen, it’s all-you-can-drink, so feel free to pick from the menu, but for the first round, let’s all get the same thing to make it easy. We can order oolong tea by the pitcher. Is that okay with everyone?”

No one seemed to object. The organizers and the masterless-samurai-freshman got their beers, and the rest of us got oolong tea. Once the drinks arrived, the party began with a toast.

Even so, there were no formal introductions. When the food arrived, everyone just dug in.

Isn’t this just a regular drinking party…?

“Well well, it’s edible. Yeah, not bad. Just so-so, though.”

Huh? I recognized that voice—a unique accent, sort of like Kansai dialect, but not quite. I turned to my left, and the person sitting there turned toward me at the exact same moment. Our eyes met.

“Oh.”

“Ah.”

Blond hair with black streaks. He was tall and well-built, like an athlete. I think we sat next to each other on the first day…

As I searched my memory, he spoke up.

“We meet again. Uh, you’re…”

“Ah, I’m—”

“Hold on! Wait a sec,” he interrupted, snapping his fingers. “Right, your name was…”

I don’t think you’d know, since I never told you.

“I got it! Takashimaya!”

“Isn’t that a department store in Nihonbashi?”

“Huh? The Takashimaya main store ain’t in Nippombashi, it’s in Namba, y’know.”

“Eh?”

“Huh?”

“Ah, um. I said ‘Nihonbashi,’ not ‘Nippombashi.’ And wait, the main store is in Osaka? Anyway, my name is Asamura. Nice to meet you.”

“Ohh, I see, I see! Didn’t expect ya to reply so seriously to my little joke. But uh, is it cool if I call you Asamura?”

“Yeah. Asamura Yuuta.”

“Yuuta, huh. I’m Nakamura. Nakamura Hironobu. Last name, first name, whatever works for you is fine. How d’ya write Nakamura? It’s ‘naka’ and ‘mura.’ Got it? ‘Course ya got it! Hironobu is written with the characters for ’widely’ and ‘proclaim’! My parents named me that hopin’ I’d be a kid who’d have a good influence on everyone around me, but before I knew it, I just became a kid who spreads laughter!”

He rattled all that off in a single, breathless monologue. His lung capacity is insane. He’s definitely played a sport, hasn’t he? I just listened, unable to get a word in edgewise.

A quiet voice came from my other side.

“If you look that surprised, you’ll never get a chance to speak. You’re better off just cutting Hiro off.”

Huh? I turned my head to the right this time. A boy with long black hair tied back casually with a string was sipping from a full glass of oolong tea, leaning down to meet it. His profile was so pale it was almost concerning. He flicked a sleepy gaze toward me. His eyes seemed to ask, “What?” but at the same time, they warned, “Don’t talk to me unless you have a reason.”

“Yuuma’s face always looks grumpy,” Nakamura chimed in. “Don’t worry about it, just talk to him. He’s just sleep-deprived.”

Sleep-deprived… Really?

“It’s not that I haven’t slept. I just don’t waste my energy being hyper like Hiro,” the boy—Yuuma—muttered, then looked at me again. “…What?”

Uh…m. “Ah, no, I was just thinking that you two seem to get along.”

““Huh!?””

There was no need to shout in such perfect sync.

I mean, I thought you two were about to fight the other day, but now you’re calling each other by your first names.

When I pointed that out, the sleepy-eyed boy, Yuuma, fell into a sullen silence for a moment before replying, “Hiro just introduced himself on his own. Like he did just now.”

Like just now… he means the ‘widely proclaiming Hironobu’ thing? But even so, you’re calling him ‘Hiro.’ And Nakamura-kun was calling you ‘Yuuma’ without any honorifics, too.

“Hiro and I just happen to have a lot of the same classes registered.”

“We’re kindred spirits, y’know!” Nakamura declared.

“Well, I guess that’s fate, too,” I interjected.

The two of them, despite their vastly different auras, looked at me with identical expressions. Huh?

“Eh? Did I say something weird?”

“Not really,” Yuuma said.

“Yuuta, you’ve got a real honest personality, eh,” Nakamura added.

I wonder. I’d always seen myself as rather cynical, so hearing that was genuinely surprising.

“If anything, I think I come off as a gloomy type.”

“A gloomy type is what ya call that Yuuma over there,” Nakamura said, jabbing a thumb in his direction.

“I won’t deny it,” Yuuma mumbled.

“I don’t know about that. Compared to me, who hasn’t had a proper conversation with a classmate in a week, you’ve already made a friend in… uhm.”

“Kikuchi Yuuma.”

“Thanks. I’m Asamura Yuuta. Anyway, I think you’re much more sociable, Kikuchi-kun.”

At that, Kikuchi-kun forcefully tore his gaze away from me, turning his attention back to his oolong tea. He tilted the glass and took a tiny sip, as if it were hard liquor.

“That’s not true,” he muttered.

Nakamura’s voice overlapped his. “Well, from where I’m standin’, ya ain’t that different. Your names are similar, too. You’re the Yuu-Yuu Combo!”

Even if you say it like we’re a comedy duo…

“From your perspective, Hiro, everyone’s probably a gloomy type. If you’re the standard, anyone would sink into a world of shadows. Don’t come near me, your sunny aura hurts.”

“I see, so that’s why you were sitting at a non-painful distance,” I said casually.

The moment the words left my mouth, Kikuchi-kun whipped his head toward me, an expression of what looked like pure fear on his face. He quickly dropped his gaze back to the oolong tea in his hands.

“Does Asamura always… look at people like that?” he asked quietly.

“I’m not sure what ‘like that’ is, but… well, probably?”

“Huh? What a weirdo,” Nakamura said. “I was wonderin’ why ya always sat one seat away. Figured some guys just don’t like bein’ close, but does it hurt? My bad if it did.”

“I don’t think it’s bad. If I thought that, I wouldn’t sit near you.”

I worried I might have said something unnecessary, but I was relieved when neither of them argued back.

“Well, whatever. Chance or not, it means we’ve got a connection from sittin’ near each other. Yuuma, Yuuta, lookin’ forward to gettin’ along with ya—er, I mean, ‘I’m looking forward to our time together.’”

“Don’t force yourself to speak standard Japanese. It’s creepy,” Kikuchi deadpanned.

“What’d ya say!”

“Now, now, now.” Why do these two, who seem to get along, get so confrontational when I’m between them?

“Likewise, it’s nice to meet you,” I replied.

My premonition was right, I thought. That “premonition of a storm” I’d mentioned to Ayase-san.

But at the same time, I couldn’t deny the feeling that something new had finally begun.

“By the way, Nakamura-kun, I heard your family’s in Osaka. Where’s your home, Kikuchi-kun? For the record, I was born and raised in Tokyo, in the Shibuya area.”

“Sendai,” Kikuchi-kun said simply.

Sendai, the capital of Miyagi Prefecture. So we had Osaka, Tokyo, and Miyagi gathered right here. It was another reminder that university was a place that brought people together from all over the country.

“Yuuta, you’re from Shibuya, eh. That’s the place with the doggie, right?” Nakamura asked.

“Hachikō, you mean. Yeah, that’s the place.”

[Note: Hachikō was an Akita dog in Tokyo remembered for his unwavering loyalty, waiting daily at Shibuya Station for his deceased owner for nearly a decade]

“Hah. Ain’t that a long commute?”

He wasn’t wrong. A round trip took over two hours. I’d only been doing it for a week, and while I appreciated the time to read, I was already starting to wish I had a bit more free time.

“Well, I’m managing. And I get to read a lot.”

When I gave that noncommittal answer, Kikuchi-kun asked what kind of books I read, and the conversation drifted from there. By the time the party wound down, I had somehow become friendly enough to talk with both of them.

On the way home, the length of my commute hit me with full force once again. As I opened the front door with a tired, “I’m home,” I found Ayase-san just putting away her shoes. She looked up, her eyes wide with surprise.

“That’s surprising. We got home at almost the exact same time.”

“Welcome back. Um… Saki.”

Dad was probably asleep, but I had to be careful. If I didn’t make a conscious effort, I’d slip back into calling her Ayase-san. A thought occurred to me. Maybe living at home was the problem. If I moved out, I wouldn’t see her in front of our parents nearly as often. Then, maybe calling her “Saki” would finally feel normal.

“Ah, I’m home. Yuuta-niisan.”

She seemed more used to calling me by my name than I was hers, though she still tacked on the “-niisan” as if it were an afterthought.

“You look kind of tired.”

Come to think of it, she’d had a welcome party too. She shouldn’t have been drinking, but she seemed completely drained.

“No, I’ll be fine once I get some sleep. Yeah.”

With that, she quickly disappeared into her room.

…Did something happen?