The Queen in Sweatpants

Back in high school, there was a girl in my class who was like a queen. Not because she was actually ruling a country or anything, but because she was just a bit prettier than others, had a loud voice, and spoke her mind clearly.

Humans are weak creatures. They tremble in fear before those stronger than them and relentlessly bully those weaker.

My classmates instantly understood. When they compared themselves to her, they realized they were inferior.

Naturally, she had tons of friends. Some wanted to bask in her authority. Others were intimidated by her and became her lackeys. A few seemed like genuine friends, but even they couldn’t use strong words with her.

Leading such a crowd through three years of high school, she gradually came to be known by a certain name.

The Queen.

Well, enough about old stories. I’d moved to Tokyo for university, and about four months had passed. Today, like always, I was working my convenience store job to earn some cash for fun. Night shifts paid better than daytime ones, and they didn’t clash with my lecture schedule.

The only downside was the overwhelming sleepiness that hit me during classes. That’s about it.

Even though it’s in Tokyo, this convenience store is near a residential area, so there’s hardly any foot traffic at night. But then, a rare customer showed up.

It was a woman. A young woman. But her outfit—gray sweatpants—lacked any kind of energy.

Well, about half the women who come in at this hour are like that. During the day, women stopping by before going out are usually decked out with perfect makeup, frilly miniskirts, or low-cut tops. But at this time of night, they’re usually in a “just gonna sleep” state, not exactly easy on the eyes.

Just buy what you need and get out already. Grumbling to myself, I watched her through the break room’s security camera. Contrary to my wishes, she headed straight to the magazine section and started flipping through them, taking her sweet time.

This is gonna take a while. I thought as much, but maybe the magazines weren’t that interesting, because she quickly moved on to browsing the store.

Daily necessities. Snacks. Then she tossed a bento into her basket and started walking toward the counter.

“Alright, here we go.”

I let out an old-man grunt as I stood up from the chair.

The pay was good, but juggling university in the day and work at night was physically draining. Maybe I’ll cut back on shifts starting next week, I thought as I headed to the counter.

The woman at the counter was staring blankly at the contents of her basket. I couldn’t tell from the security camera, but up close, I realized she was quite beautiful. Long black hair. Long eyelashes. A sharp nose. A small mouth.

Even someone this pretty wears sweatpants, huh? I felt like I’d seen her somewhere before, or maybe not. Probably just someone I’d rung up a few times while working here.

Thinking that much about the woman in front of me, I decided to put some effort into my job.

Beep, beep. I was scanning the barcodes of her items when it happened.

“Wait, Yamamoto?”

Her voice was a little rough, not very feminine. It’s an outdated way of thinking, but I always figured women should sell themselves with grace, charm, and refinement. A voice this rough was a demerit in my book… but what caught my attention more was that her voice sounded familiar. More importantly, she knew my name?

I looked up from the items. And I carefully observed the woman in front of me.

She was undeniably beautiful… but her expression was a bit sour. And that face—it felt familiar somehow.

Her voice, her face, her demeanor.

…The sweatpants had thrown me off, but I knew her. We’d met before I moved to Tokyo, back in high school. We were in the same class.

“Hayashi?”

“Hey, it’s been a while.”

Hayashi Megumi.

A girl from my high school class back in our rural hometown. Sour expression, commanding voice. And now, a well-proportioned figure hidden under those sweatpants.

Back in high school, she was… well, the very queen I’d just been thinking about. No doubt about it.

“You live around here?”

We weren’t exactly close in high school. I could count the number of times we talked on one hand.

I never went out of my way to talk to her, and I’m sure she felt the same. In fact, I thought she probably disliked me.

But surprisingly, Hayashi struck up a conversation with me in a friendly way.

“Yeah, in an apartment nearby. You too?”

“…Yeah, pretty much.”

I knew she’d moved to Tokyo for university because we had mutual friends. But I never imagined she’d be living around here. Honestly, I wasn’t thrilled about it.

“Which university are you at again?”

“K University.”

“Whoa, that’s impressive. You were a smart one, huh?”

“Just studied my butt off. What about you?”

“Huh?”

“Huh? I’m asking about your university.”

I’d finished scanning her items and asked with an exasperated look.

Hayashi looked down, her face twisting like she didn’t want to answer.

Come on, you don’t have to make that face.

I wasn’t planning to show up at her university or stalk her or anything. It’s just the flow of conversation, like she started with me.

Just small talk I’d forget the moment she left the store.

“…M University.”

“Huh. Need a bag?”

“Yeah.”

I added the three-yen charge for the plastic bag and prompted her to pay. While she fed money into the machine, I packed her items into the bag.

“You still keep in touch with Kasahara?”

I asked. Kasahara was… her best friend back in high school.

“Haven’t seen her.”

“Huh. You two were pretty tight.”

Well, it’d only been about five months since high school graduation, but I’d already lost touch with plenty of friends.

Four months into university, it’s the time when you’re busiest building new relationships, so maybe she was just prioritizing that.

“You enjoying university?”

“…Yeah, I guess. You?”

“Take a guess, considering I’m working a night shift. It’s going great.”

“Which is it? Don’t be so vague.”

Hayashi said with an exasperated tone. Come to think of it, back in high school, she always made a face whenever I made these kinds of quips. She probably didn’t like my evasive way of talking.

But for someone who started this conversation so casually, she sure clammed up when I asked about her life.

This… feels like her university life isn’t going so well.

That was a real surprise.

Sure, she’s pretty, but that’s not the only reason I thought that. Back in high school, everyone revered her as the “Queen,” but I never really saw her that way. I didn’t dislike her, nor did I like her.

I just thought she was a bold, gutsy woman.

She was called the Queen and feared, but she wasn’t exactly reckless or overbearing.

She had a sharp tongue, hated injustice, and was quick to snap—that was my impression of her. …Wait, isn’t that pretty much being overbearing?

“Here, your stuff.”

“Thanks.”

Hayashi reached for the bag of items.

In that moment, I caught a glimpse of something. A bruise on her wrist, hidden by the sweatpants.

I froze, startled.

Hayashi’s face twisted, realizing I’d seen it.

“…Your wrist. Did you get hurt?”

Let me be clear—I didn’t mean to stare at her bruise. And I didn’t ask because I wanted to. It was just bad luck that I saw the painful-looking bruise.

And the reason I asked… was because the girl who, back in high school, hated injustice more than anyone and stood up to anyone, no matter who they were, was now looking down with a frightened expression.

…Hayashi was literally trembling with fear.

A bruise isn’t something you’d normally care about others seeing. If anything, you might flaunt it to get sympathy or special treatment.

But Hayashi hid it. Like it was something she couldn’t let anyone see.

“I got hit.”

“By who?”

“…My partner.”

It hit me then, how unnatural this was. It’s the height of summer. Even at night, it’s too early to be wearing long-sleeved sweatpants, let alone walking around outside in them.

Yet here she was, dressed like that. And she said the bruise on her wrist was from her partner hitting her.

A bad feeling crept into my mind. As someone who studied alongside her in the same class and graduated in the same year, it was a feeling I didn’t want to be true.

…What if, under those sweatpants, her body was covered in bruises? Painful, dark bruises.

“…Where’s your partner right now?”

“At home.”

“At home…?”

“We’re living together.”

To think, in just a few months since graduating high school and moving to Tokyo, she was already in such a serious relationship.

That shocked me, but more than that, I felt a growing sense of urgency.

“Stay at my place tonight.”

“What?”

“Don’t give me that intimidating look. It’s freaking me out.”

Feeling her high-school-level intimidation again, I realized something.

Back then, she scared me just as much as she does now, but now she’s being hurt by her partner.

“I get it. I won’t do anything. If you’re scared, I’ll crash at a net café tonight. I’ll just give you the keys.”

Hayashi glared at me, still intimidating.

“…Is that okay? Just don’t go home tonight. Actually, don’t go back at all. Talk to your parents and go back to your hometown.”

Luckily, it’s summer break for university right now. There are plenty of excuses to go home without her partner suspecting anything.

“…I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“…My parents disowned me.”

“Why!?”

“They got really mad when I told them I was living with my partner.”

I was at a loss for words. This must be what they mean by being speechless. The queen-like Hayashi from back then no longer matched the person in front of me.

Now, she was like a scared kitten.

“They said they wouldn’t pay for my tuition if I did that… so I dropped out of university.”

“…Just don’t go home tonight.”

After a brief silence, I told her. Everything she’d said so far was shocking, and I was terrified there was more to come.

“I’ll grab my keys. I’ll give you my address then.”

I went back to the changing room and quickly returned to the register. I had a gut feeling that if I gave her too much time, she’d bolt.

“Here.”

I tried to hand Hayashi the keys.

“…I don’t need them.”

“Hey.”

“…I’ll wait.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll wait until your shift’s over.”

Looking closely, I saw her body trembling.

It finally hit me what she was feeling. She was scared.

Maybe she thought going to my place instead of home was a betrayal of her partner.

Or maybe she was terrified of what her partner would do if they found out. Or perhaps she was afraid I’d treat her the same way her partner did.

Whatever the reason, she wanted to stick with me right now, even though she probably disliked me.

“…About an hour left, so read a magazine or something while you wait.”

The sun was rising outside, the sky growing lighter.

I was relieved it’d only be an hour before I could get her out of here. But then I realized something. At this hour, her partner, who she’s living with, let her go out alone?

Back in high school, we weren’t close. In fact, I thought she probably hated me.

Our relationship was the kind that should’ve naturally faded after graduation.

To reunite with her like this and learn about her current situation… what’s this anger boiling up inside me?