E-book bonus: Original Short Story
The edge of Hiiragigaoka Academy’s campus.
A tiny, cramped study room in an old, weathered school building.
After school, while reviewing today’s lessons at one of the desks, a sheet of loose-leaf paper suddenly arrived from the seat next to me.
On it was written a single line:
‘Alright, it’s time for the shiritori tournament!’
[T/N: Shiritori (しりとり) is a popular Japanese word game where players take turns saying a word that starts with the last kana (character) of the previous word.]
It was written as if this were a regular event, but I had no memory of ever participating in such a tournament.
I added a quick note to the loose-leaf and passed it back to the neighboring seat.
‘Bring it on.’
My focus was starting to wane, so this seemed like a perfect way to take a break.
Sitting next to me was Nishimaru Nanna, a female classmate.
She served as the representative of the club alliance, a charismatic student who commanded immense popularity.
In contrast, I was the student council president, essentially the leader of an organization that could be considered the club alliance’s rival.
In the public eye, Nishimaru and I were sworn enemies, the kind who’d start bickering the moment we crossed paths.
Yet, in this study room—a hidden world no one else seemed to acknowledge—we somehow ended up studying side by side, and occasionally, for some reason, engaging in written exchanges like this.
‘I think we should set a theme. Can I decide?’
‘Go for it.’
‘Then the theme is words that follow (Higashiguchi Makita is…). I’ll start.’
“Huh?”
In the silence of the no-talking study room, a puzzled sound slipped out of me. What kind of theme was that?
‘Your glasses don’t suit you.’
I had a feeling something like this was coming, but to think she’d start with an insult right off the bat.
Either she’s got a seriously nasty personality, or she genuinely hates my glasses. Or maybe both.
A theme like ‘What comes to mind when you think of yourself?’ is pretty tough, but for someone like me, with such an easily imagined public image, it shouldn’t be that hard.
‘Gloomy.’
‘Nope, out.’
“Wha—?”
Another involuntary sound escaped me. To think my very first answer got rejected outright.
‘You’re not gloomy at all. Others might not get it, but I know better. Try again.’
She shut me down so directly it caught me off guard.
Well, it didn’t feel bad, I guess.
Getting too self-deprecating wouldn’t do me any good. As she said, I’d try again.
‘Valiant.’
‘Out.’
But once again, it was instantly shot down.
‘You’re not exactly the valiant type, are you? Don’t get cocky. Try again.’
“…………”
This was bad. I’d stumbled into an absurdly troublesome shiritori tournament.
For now, I swallowed my complaints, reconsidered as instructed, and submitted another answer.
‘Intimidating.’
‘You’re not intimidating at all. You’re actually pretty kind, aren’t you? Try again.’
‘Handsome.’
‘No way. Stop messing around. Try again.’
This is such a pain!
If I get a bit self-deprecating, she gently shoots me down. If I get a bit confident, she cuts me off harshly. What is this, some kind of emotional whiplash?
Forget continuing the shiritori—I didn’t even feel like I could get past Nishimaru’s screening.
I had to find just the right balance, or I wouldn’t even make it to the second round.
Suppressing my emotions as best I could, I racked my brain for another answer.
‘Seems like I’d like ikura (salmon roe).’
Even I thought it was a half-hearted response. This could easily tick her off.
And Nishimaru’s reaction was…
‘Seems like you’d like unagi (eel) too.’
It went through?! What kind of impression is that? And what’s with her next answer? I do like it, though.
This bizarre shiritori tournament was, for better or worse, going to drag on a little longer.
