Someone was laughing up front. Three others joined in, swelling the chorus of laughter.
From an aisle seat, the tinny speaker of a smartphone blasted a distorted tune. It was impossible to make out the song. Someone started clapping along, another told them to cut it out, and the banter sparked another round of laughter. Apparently, that was just what the inside of a chartered bus was like on the second day of a school trip.
Eiji Kuze sat in the very back row, gazing blankly out the window. It wasn't that he couldn't join in. He just had no reason to.
The seating arrangement had been decided by lottery. He still remembered the faint chuckles when he drew the window seat in the last row. No one called it a win, nor did anyone call it a loss, but nobody offered to redraw either. Eiji simply set his bag down, and that was that.
As he later found out, deciding seats by lottery was purely nominal; everyone else had freely swapped names around afterward.
(Man. If I'd known it'd be like this, I should've just skipped.)
Grumbling inwardly, he stared out at the passing view.
Outside the glass, carved-out hillsides receded behind them. Rows of cedar trees. Power lines tracing the contours of the slopes. The sky had been overcast since morning, blurring the ridgelines into a soft gray haze.
Every time the bus crossed a seam in the pavement, a metallic clatter rattled near Eiji's right ear. It came from the emergency exit right next to his seat. The latch receiver had worn down, leaving the catch too shallow. With every jolt of the ride, the door struck against its frame with a dry, hollow thud.
(How annoying.)
If someone wanted to fix it, replacing the catch plate would do the trick. Or even just wedging a thin shim into the hinge side.
This past summer, he had worked on a shed door with the exact same issue at his grandfather's workshop. He had spent nearly all of August in front of the workbench, pressing out scorched bearings and clamping warped frames in a vise to bend them back into shape. The faint smell of machine oil and iron filings still clung to the skin of his fingers.
Items brought to the workshop had almost always been on the verge of being thrown away. They were things people were told would be cheaper to replace, yet they brought them in anyway. Rather than shelves lined with shiny new parts, worn wooden handles buffed smooth by years of use felt far more natural in Eiji's hands.
Though, of course, there was no reason to go messing with someone else's bus door. Eiji stopped counting the rattles.
He knew it was a habit of his. If a classroom desk wobbled, he immediately noticed the uneven legs; if an umbrella stand tilted, he could tell a corner of the base was cracked. Naturally, even when he noticed, he usually left it alone. Pointing it out would only make people think he could fix it, inviting unnecessary favors. And more favors just meant having to turn people down more often.
Yesterday, in the group photo taken in front of the temple gate, Eiji had stood at the back on the far left. He had simply lined up where he was told. When the photographer said, "Squeeze in a little closer," the boy next to him shifted half a step inward, leaving that half-step gap permanently etched into the print.
A girl walking down the aisle stopped beside the back row.
"Oh. Kuze-kun, we'll pass the photos around to you later."
"...Sure."
When Eiji gave his brief reply, she flashed a bright smile and headed back toward the front. He didn't know what passing the photos around entailed, but it wouldn't matter much to him anyway.
Eiji readjusted the bag on his lap and turned back toward the window.
Before he had even settled, another figure appeared in the aisle.
"Mind if I sit here?"
His childhood friend, Yuna Shirakawa, rested her hand on the headrest in front of him.
Her waist-length black hair caught the ceiling lights in a sleek, silky sheen. Perfectly straight without a single kink, not even the tips showed any split ends. A lock that had slipped from her shoulder spilled forward over her chest.
The uniform suited her remarkably well, accentuating her slender frame all the more. She wore it with impeccable precision. Her ribbon was tied straight beneath her collar, and both cuff buttons were neatly fastened.
When she lifted her lowered eyelashes, her clear, dark eyes met Eiji's. The diffuse light from the overcast sky fell softly across her fair cheeks.
A graceful, picture-perfect beauty—even through the eyes of a childhood friend, that was how she appeared.
Hearing Yuna's voice, several people in the aisle glanced over. The moment they realized she was talking to Eiji, quiet clicks of the tongue rippled through the air. Whenever Yuna stood next to a boy, this was the default reaction. It felt like those scoffs were especially pronounced whenever she was next to Eiji, though that was probably just his imagination.
Eiji spoke up.
"...Aren't there open seats up front?"
"Yeah. But I want to sit here."
"Suit yourself."
"Then I will."
Smoothing down the back of her skirt, Yuna sat down and set her bag on her lap. Unzipping it, she rummaged around inside for a moment.
Then, she held out her hand.
"Here, candy."
"Candy?"
"I thought it might help with motion sickness."
"I'm not carsick."
A small wrapper rested in her open palm. Even when Eiji made no move to take it, Yuna didn't withdraw her hand. She held still for a second, then twitched her fingertips twice to urge him on.
"I know. My favorite is this pudding flavor."
"Doesn't that sound like the kind of flavor that'd make you more sick?"
"It's really good, though."
"......"
Tasting good had nothing to do with preventing motion sickness, but that logic didn't seem to faze her.
She had always been like this. Utterly serious about the most offbeat things.
Back in elementary school, she had worn her rain boots on the wrong feet on a rainy day, remarking with a straight face how difficult it was to walk. During a middle school trip, claiming she didn't want to get sick, she swallowed two motion sickness pills before departing and ended up sleeping through the entire bus ride. She harbored no malice; in her mind, it made complete sense. Even if someone pointed it out, Yuna would merely offer a helpless, sheepish smile.
"Fine... Just one."
To bring the conversation to a close, Eiji plucked the wrapper from her hand. Tearing it open, a sweet, milky aroma drifted up. He popped it onto his tongue; it tasted surprisingly mild and smooth.
Satisfied, Yuna popped her own piece into her mouth and leaned back against the seat. One of her cheeks puffed out slightly around the candy.
Her profile carried a look of quiet contentment. Did she really like this candy that much?
"You spent your whole summer break at your grandpa's workshop, didn't you?"
Yuna spoke up out of the blue.
Eiji couldn't help but grimace.
"...How'd you know that?"
"I walked past the shop a few times."
"If you saw me, you should've said something."
Tilting her head slightly, Yuna traced the strap of her bag with her fingertips.
"You looked so focused, Eiji-kun. I didn't want to bother you."
"Not really. That stuff was just to pass the time. I was bored out of my mind."
"Really? Then... maybe I'll say hi next time."
Bracing her knees against the seat ahead, Yuna pulled a folded itinerary sheet from her bag. Smoothing it out, she traced tomorrow's schedule with her finger.
"Tomorrow's free-roam period is organized by group, it says."
"Seems so."
"Who's in your group, Eiji-kun?"
"Beats me. I just wrote my name down."
Yuna folded the paper back up and let it rest on her lap in silence for a moment. Then, as if an idea had just occurred to her, she turned toward him.
"Then why don't you join my group? We're short one person."
"You've got enough, no matter how you slice it."
"We're short, though."
She repeated it as if to drive the point home, her finger tracing back and forth along the crease of the itinerary.
There was no way they were short. If they had been, someone would have approached Eiji about it long before now.
"If you don't want to, you don't have to force yourself, but..."
Yuna let out a quiet, subdued murmur and slipped the itinerary back into her bag. As she did, she reached over and adjusted the position of the bag on Eiji's lap. Its strap had caught on the corner of the seat, so she simply unhooked it and set it straight. He didn't even have time to brush her off.
Shifting his gaze from her to the passing view outside, Eiji muttered under his breath.
"It's not that... I don't want to."
"Wait, really?! Then can I tell the others in my group?"
Her eyes instantly lit up.
Why was she so thrilled about this?
"...Do whatever you want."
"Okay! Then I will!"
With that, Yuna whipped out her phone and started typing away.
It looked like Eiji's free-roam group was officially being changed.
For that matter, wouldn't the other members of her group mind? She was supposed to be grouped up with her close friends.
(Good grief... Why does she fuss over me so much? It's because she acts like this that people get the wrong idea.)
Letting out a silent sigh, he glanced at his childhood friend's delighted profile.
Because Yuna constantly initiated conversations like this, he had occasionally overheard rumors circulating about the two of them. Denying them would require explanations, so he had always left them alone out of sheer laziness... but didn't it bother her at all?
Yuna Shirakawa—they had known each other for as long as he could remember. In other words, childhood friends.
Simply because their houses were close, they had walked the same route to school since before elementary school. Moving on to middle school, then high school, even as Eiji drifted away from the class's social circles, Yuna's demeanor toward him never changed. She would share food from her lunch, and she would send him class notes whenever he stayed home sick.
She looked out for him because they were childhood friends. Eiji had never imagined any reason beyond that. That was how completely different their worlds were.
He stood at the edge of the world; she belonged at the center. He had held that impression for years. Yes, just like the seating chart on this bus.
And yet, Yuna went out of her way to come to the back corner just to talk to him. Almost as if to make sure that Eiji, who seemed so liable to be forgotten on the fringes of the world, wouldn't fade away entirely.
Up near the front, Kaito Dojima stood up. Reaching toward the overhead luggage rack, he called down the aisle.
"Gakuto, I heard you loaded all the bags for us? You're a lifesaver, man."
"Yeah, leave it to me!"
Gakuto Goda turned around and raised a hand. The boys around him laughed, clapping Gakuto on the shoulder. Wearing a thoroughly satisfied grin, Gakuto ran his raised hand through his hair.
Kaito's compliments always ended with "lifesaver" or "a big help."
It was the same during intramural games and sports festivals. He would list someone's contributions and tack on a word of gratitude at the end. The recipient always took it well, and in truth, he probably genuinely appreciated the effort.
Steadily gripping the seatbacks one by one, Kaito walked down the aisle toward the rear. There was no hesitation in his stride. No matter whose seat he stopped beside, the atmosphere naturally rearranged itself around him. When passing the teachers, he offered a respectful nod, his easy smile never slipping for a second.
"Shirakawa, why don't you come up front? Isn't it a bit dreary back here?"
Casting a fleeting glance at Eiji, he called out to Yuna.
"No, not at all. I like it here."
Without so much as looking up at him, Yuna gave an immediate reply.
Her tone was blunt enough to verge on icy. For someone who was generally affable toward everyone, it was a rare reaction.
"I see. I just figured you'd prefer the front too, Shirakawa."
Kaito put on a playfully disappointed face for a split second before returning to his smile. Miu Kiritani leaned out from her seat two rows ahead.
"Shirakawa-san, you really aren't coming up?"
When Yuna shook her head with a troubled smile, Miu shrugged and turned back around. She sat motionless in her seat for a long while after.
"Sorry about that, Kuze. Didn't mean to be noisy."
"...Don't worry about it."
Kaito raised a hand casually and made his way back up the aisle. Along the way, two students called out to him, and he stopped to answer both. He told one the meeting time for tomorrow and borrowed a phone charger from the other. He thanked them warmly, which visibly brightened the other student's mood.
He wasn't a bad guy. At least, that was the case up to this point.
Taking his place, Gakuto stepped out into the aisle. Kicking the backs of the empty seats as he walked, he made his way toward the rear. With every kick, the seatbacks jolted with a sharp snap.
The seat right in front of Eiji clattered, and the footsteps halted. Gakuto looked back.
"Sorry, Shirakawa. Must've been loud. Whenever I see these empty seats, I just get the urge to kick 'em."
Directing his apology solely to Yuna, Gakuto headed back up front without so much as glancing in Eiji's direction. Several students up front who overheard chuckled, and one of them shoved Gakuto playfully in the back. Miu's voice mingled with the laughter.
Yuna merely shook her head, offering no real response. On her lap, her fingers tightened around the handle of her bag.
Eiji rested his hand on the top edge of the jostled seatback, checking the seam with the pads of his fingers.
...One of the internal clips had worked itself loose. The structural frame of the seat didn't seem damaged. It was the kind of thing that would snap right back into place with a quick realignment and two firm presses.
Eiji pulled his hand away. There was no reason to go out of his way to fix a seat that wasn't even his.
Just then, Yuna looked down at her phone, her face lighting up.
"Ah, look!"
She turned the screen toward him.
It was a group chat on LIME, apparently set up for their free-roam group. It made him wonder if his original group had made one too. Though, even if they had, checking would only confirm he had been left out, so it was better left unknown.
Looking at the chat log, a series of messages showed Yuna asking if they could add Eiji to the group, followed by enthusiastic agreements from the others.
"The girls said it's totally fine!"
"I see."
"Let's walk around together tomorrow, okay?"
"...Yeah."
For some reason, his childhood friend was beaming from ear to ear.
There was nothing to gain from dragging someone she only shared an old, worn-out connection with into a high school event this late in the game.
She was considerate to a fault.
Then—ping—a new notification popped up on Yuna's phone.
[Way to go, Yuna! Hope you make some moves on this trip! Go get 'em~]
A preview banner flashed across the top of the screen.
In a sheer panic, Yuna slapped her hand down over the display.
"D-Did you see that...?"
"...No. Nothing."
When he gave his answer, Yuna let out a long, audible sigh of relief.
He had seen the whole thing, but since it was clearly something she would die of embarrassment over, he pretended otherwise.
What did "make some moves on this trip" even mean?
He didn't quite get it, but apparently, his childhood friend had something specific she wanted to accomplish on this trip.
(Well, not like it's any of my business.)
Sucking on his pudding-flavored candy, he gazed out the window.
The same monotonous scenery stretched on beneath the gray sky.
An ordinary, everyday school trip.
Up until this moment, that was what everyone on the bus believed—.