In high school, my class had a girl who was like a queen. It wasn't that she actually ruled over a sovereign nation. She was simply a bit more beautiful than the rest, had a loud voice, and was the type who spoke her mind without hesitation.
Human beings are weak creatures. They cower before those stronger than themselves and ruthlessly bully those who are weaker.
Every one of our classmates understood this instinctively. When they compared themselves to her, they realized they were inferior.
Naturally, she had plenty of friends. The types who wanted to bask in her authority. The types who were terrified of her and became her lackeys. There were a few who seemed like genuine friends, but even they couldn't bring themselves to use strong words with her.
After spending three years of high school leading people like that, she eventually earned a nickname.
The Queen.
But anyway, putting those old stories aside, about four months had passed since I moved to Tokyo for university.
I was putting in another shift at the convenience store today, desperate for some spending money. The night shift paid better than the day, and more importantly, I didn't have to worry about it overlapping with my lectures.
The only real problem was the overwhelming drowsiness that would hit me during class. That was about it.
Even though it was technically within the city, this store was close to a residential area, so there was almost no foot traffic during the late-night hours. In the middle of that quiet, a rare customer arrived.
A woman walked in—a young one. But she looked completely drained of life, dressed in nothing but a gray sweatshirt and matching pants.
Well, about half the female customers who came in at this hour looked like that. During the day, women who stopped by before going out were usually done up to the nines, wearing frilly miniskirts or shirts with open necklines. But the women who came in at this hour were usually just one step away from bed, hardly a sight for sore eyes.
Just buy your stuff and get out already.
Cursing her inwardly, I watched the woman through the surveillance monitor in the break room. Contrary to my wish, she stopped at the magazine rack first. Then she began a time-consuming browse.
This looked like it was going to take a while.
Just as I thought that, she seemingly decided the magazines weren't interesting and began scouring the rest of the store.
Daily necessities. Snacks. Finally, after filling her basket with a bento, she started walking toward the counter.
"Hup..."
An old-man-like groan escaped me as I stood up from my chair. The hourly wage was good, but a life of university by day and part-time work by night was taking a toll on me physically. I stepped out to the counter, thinking I should ask to have my shifts reduced starting next week.
The woman at the counter was staring blankly at the contents of her basket.
I hadn't been able to tell from the surveillance camera, but looking at her up close, I realized the woman in front of me was quite a beauty.
Long black hair. Long eyelashes. A high bridge on her nose. A small mouth.
Even a beauty like this wears sweatpants, huh.
Actually, she looked somewhat familiar, like I’d seen her somewhere before. Then again, I’d probably just rung her up at the register a few times during my shifts.
Thinking nothing more of it, I decided to focus on my work.
Beep, beep. I was scanning the barcodes of her items when it happened.
"Wait... Yamamoto?"
It was a slightly thick, heavy voice, uncharacteristic of a woman. Maybe it was an old-fashioned way of thinking, but I’d always felt that women should project a certain grace and charm. To me, that heavy voice was a point against her... but what concerned me most was that I recognized it.
Wait, does she know my name?
I looked away from the products and raised my eyes.
I took a slow, careful look at her.
The woman in front of me was an undeniable beauty. ...But she had a bit of a surly expression. That face, too, was familiar.
The voice, the face, and the attitude.
I hadn't noticed because of the sweatpants, but I knew this person. We had met back home before I moved to Tokyo. Back in high school. I had been in the same class as her.
"Hayashi?"
"Mm. It's been a while."
Megumi Hayashi.
The girl from my class back at that rural high school. The surly face, the overbearing voice. And her well-proportioned body, currently hidden by the baggy clothes.
The high school version of her was... the Queen I had just been thinking about. It was unmistakably her.
"You live around here?" she asked.
Hayashi and I hadn't been close in high school. I could count the number of times we'd spoken on one hand. I had never intended to seek her out, and I’m sure she felt the same. If anything, I’d always assumed she hated me.
Yet, unexpectedly, Hayashi was speaking to me in a friendly tone.
"Yeah, an apartment nearby. You too?"
"...Yeah. Sort of."
I knew she had moved to Tokyo for university because of our mutual friends. I just never imagined she lived in this area. To be honest, I found the coincidence unpleasant.
"Which university were you going to again?" she asked.
"K University."
"Heh, impressive. You were always smart."
"I just studied like hell. What about you?"
"Eh?"
"What do you mean 'eh'? I'm asking which university you're at."
I finished scanning the barcodes and looked at her with an exasperated expression.
Hayashi looked down, her face clouding over with a troubled look. She didn't have to look that annoyed. It wasn't like I was planning to surprise her on campus or stalk her. It was just the natural flow of conversation, initiated by her. It was just small talk that I’d forget the moment she left the store.
"...M University."
"Hmm. Do you need a bag?"
"I do."
I added the three-yen charge for the bag and prompted her to pay. While she was feeding money into the machine, I packed her items.
"Have you seen Kasahara lately?" I asked.
Kasahara was... her best friend back in high school.
"I haven't."
"Hmm. You two were so close, though."
Well, even though it had only been five months since graduation, I had lost touch with countless friends myself. It had been four months since the start of the semester; this was the time when people were busiest making new friends. She was probably just busy with that.
"Are you enjoying university life?"
"...I guess. You?"
"Just look at the fact that I'm working at this time of night. It's going great."
"Which one is it? You're being vague," Hayashi said, sounding exasperated.
Come to think of it, she used to make that same sour face back in high school whenever I made light remarks. She probably didn't like my non-committal way of speaking.
However, for someone who called out to me so friendlily at first, she sure got tight-lipped the moment the conversation turned to her personal life.
Was her university life not going well?
That was incredibly surprising.
It wasn't just because she was beautiful. Back in high school, everyone had revered her as the Queen, but I never personally saw her that way. I didn't hate her, but I didn't like her either.
I just often thought she was a gutsy, masculine woman.
She was feared as the Queen, but it wasn't as if she was pointlessly cruel. She just had a bit of a foul mouth, hated dishonesty, and was quick to anger. That was my impression.
...Wait, isn't that pretty much the definition of a tyrant?
"Here. Your stuff."
"Thanks."
Hayashi reached for the bag.
In that moment, I saw it. A dark bruise on her wrist that had been hidden by her sleeve.
I instinctively recoiled in shock.
She realized I’d seen it. Her face contorted.
"...Did you hurt your wrist?"
For the record, I didn't see the bruise because I was looking for it. And I didn't really want to ask.
Seeing that painful-looking mark was an accident. But the reason I spoke up was because this girl—the girl who hated dishonesty and had the sense of justice to stand up to anyone—was now looking down with a face full of terror.
Hayashi was literally trembling with fear.
Normally, an injury isn't something you have to hide. You can just say you're getting treated, and people will usually cut you some slack. If anything, most people would be vocal about it.
But Hayashi hid it. She hid it as if it were something shameful or dangerous.
"I was hit."
"By who?"
"...My boyfriend."
Only now did the strangeness of the situation sink in. It was the height of summer. No matter how late it was, it was far too hot for long-sleeved sweatpants. Walking around outside in them was unthinkable.
Yet, here she was. And she was saying the bruise was from her boyfriend.
A dark premonition crossed my mind. As someone who sat in the same classroom as her and graduated in the same year, I desperately hoped I was wrong.
...Could it be that under that sweatshirt, she was covered in even more of them? Painful, blue bruises?
"...Where is he today?"
"He's at home."
"At home...?"
"We're living together."
I was stunned that she had already progressed that far in a relationship only a few months after moving to Tokyo. But more than that, a sense of urgency took over.
"You're staying at my place tonight."
"Huh?"
"Don't give me that look. It's scary."
I flinched as she glared at me with that old intensity, but then the reality hit me. The girl who used to be so intimidating was now being subjected to violence by some guy.
"I know, I know. I won't do anything. If you're that worried, I'll stay at a net cafe. I'll just give you the key."
Hayashi continued to glare at me, trying to act tough.
"...Is that okay? Look, just don't go home tonight. Don't ever go back there. Call your parents and go back to your family home."
Fortunately, it was summer break. She could make up any number of excuses to go home without her boyfriend getting suspicious.
"...I can't."
"Why not?"
"...My parents disowned me."
"Why!?"
"When I told them I was moving in with him, they got furious."
My jaw dropped. The "Queen" I knew from high school was nowhere to be found. The woman standing before me was like a frightened kitten.
"They told me they wouldn't pay my tuition anymore if I did it. ...So, I dropped out of university, too."
"...Anyway, just don't go home today," I said after a long silence. Everything she told me was a shock, and I was terrified that there was even more to the story.
"I'll go get my key. I'll give you the address."
I hurried to the back room and then rushed back to the register. I had a feeling that if I gave her even a moment alone, she would run away.
"Here."
I tried to hand her the key.
"...I don't need the key."
"Hey."
"...I'll wait."
"What?"
"I'll wait until your shift ends."
Looking closely, I saw her body was shaking. Only then did I truly understand her state of mind. She was terrified. Maybe she thought going to my house was a betrayal of her boyfriend. Or maybe she was picturing the retaliation that would follow if he found out. Or maybe she was scared that I might be just like him.
Whatever the reason, she felt the need to be with someone—even someone like me, who she probably disliked.
"...It's only another hour or so. Just read a magazine and wait for me."
Outside, the sky was beginning to brighten as the sun rose.
I was relieved she only had to wait an hour. But then a thought occurred to me. Had her live-in boyfriend really let her wander outside alone at this hour?
Back in high school, we weren't even friends. If anything, I’m pretty sure she hated me.
Our relationship was the kind that should have ended the moment we graduated.
To reunite with her like this and learn the state she was in... What was this anger boiling up inside me?