My first conversation with Megumi Hayashi was a memory I’d rather forget.
It happened during our first year of high school. She probably doesn't even remember it, but we actually sat next to each other for a time. During that period, we spoke exactly once.
From the moment I met her in high school, Hayashi was the type of girl who was always surrounded by people. Her aggressive way of speaking was a bit of a flaw, but she was beautiful and possessed enough influence that she had what looked like a loyal retinue following her every move. Consequently, during breaks, the area around her desk was constantly swarmed by her entourage. Back then, if I so much as slipped away to the restroom during a break, someone would hijack my seat without a second thought. I couldn't even go to the bathroom in peace.
The stage for our first interaction was the classroom. It took place just as a lesson was beginning, right after the crowd of her many friends had finally dispersed.
I believe it was history class. I remember Mr. Sakaigawa—a name that brings back memories now—had just entered the room and was about to start the lecture.
That was when an eraser tumbled off Hayashi’s desk.
I happened to witness it fall just as I was yawning, but she didn't seem to notice at all.
I weighed my options. Should I pick it up? Should I just leave it?
Then it occurred to me that a woman like her would probably grumble incessantly later if I just sat there and did nothing. Driven by purely selfish motives, I decided to pick the eraser up for her.
As I leaned over, I felt a sharp, piercing gaze from Hayashi. It was the first time I had ever felt genuinely nervous just for picking up a piece of stationery.
"You dropped this," I said, placing the eraser on her desk.
Hayashi gave me a response.
However, it wasn't a thank you. It wasn't even an apology for causing me trouble.
"Tch."
In fact, it wasn't even a word. It was a tongue click.
The response she gave me, after I had gone through the effort of helping her, was a blatant click of the tongue.
What a piece of work. To return an act of goodwill like that. From that day forward, I resolved never to speak to her again. I kept that promise for three years.
That’s why the number of times we spoke during high school could be counted on a single hand. You’d think that being in the same class for three years would naturally lead to more interaction, but not for us.
At the time, I hated her.
I absolutely loathed her—stuck-up, arrogant, and acting like The Queen.
However, despite my feelings, studying in the same room for three years meant I caught sight of her in the corner of my eye more often than I’d like to admit. Because of that, there were things I came to realize.
She was certainly an audacious woman.
But by the same token, she had a fierce sense of loyalty, she was far from stupid, and she had the mental fortitude and drive to express her will and see it through.
And, surprisingly, she was a crybaby.
I remember the Sports Day in our third year. Since it was our last one, the class had set our sights on winning the championship, but we narrowly ended up in second place. Everyone else was cheering, saying we’d put up a great fight. But there was one girl shedding fat tears of frustration.
"Megu-chan, we got second place, that's still great!"
"Yeah, totally!"
She didn't listen to a word her entourage said.
"I wanted to win the championship with everyone."
Back then, given our history, I watched her loudly expressing her regret with a cold, detached gaze. But as time passed and I looked back on it, I realized I could understand how she felt.
I hated that person.
I absolutely loathed that person—stuck-up, arrogant, and acting like The Queen.
But by the time we graduated, those weren't my only feelings. I found myself unexpectedly respecting her as well. There were many times I was impressed by her, thinking that, in her own way, she possessed a very firm resolve.
Perhaps, back then, I held a sort of secret admiration for her.
Maybe that was why, when I learned she was a victim of domestic violence, I brought her back to my home.
Maybe it was just too painful to see the woman I had admired in some way trembling in fear just because a man had used his fists.
Of course, I have no intention of ever telling her that, not even if my life depended on it.
I plan to take that feeling to the grave.
Well, maybe such a grand resolution isn't even necessary.
About a week had passed since I’d started sheltering Hayashi. We had just finished dinner when my smartphone began to ring. The number on the screen belonged to the police station.
"Hello," I answered.
Hayashi didn't seem to know who it was, but she lowered the volume on her tablet.
"Yes. Yes... In that case, I'll let her speak."
I stood up and handed the phone to Hayashi.
"Who is it?"
"The police. It's about that matter."
I saw Hayashi’s face stiffen. The hand holding the tablet suddenly began to tremble.
"...It won't mean anything unless you hear it yourself, right?"
"...Yeah."
Hayashi took the phone from me.
"Hello. Um... yes. ...Yes. Yes. ...I see."
Her expression sank even further. A bad premonition crossed my mind.
"...Yes. Yes. ...Yes. I understand. Thank you very much. ...Goodbye."
Hayashi ended the call.
"How was it?" I asked.
She remained looking down and didn't answer. Her complexion was pale. From her perspective, was it bad news?
"Hayashi?"
"That person... he was arrested."
A heavy silence followed.
Only the heartless ticking of the clock echoed through the room.
Hayashi’s face didn't brighten. This was the arrest of a man who was once her lover. Regardless of what he’d done, she must have had complicated feelings.
"Usually, in domestic violence cases, they only make an arrest if they catch them in the act. But because of the questioning and the extent of my injuries, they were able to confirm the malicious nature of it... so he was arrested."
"...That's good, Hayashi."
"Is it?" Her voice was trembling. "...Back then, I didn't tell him to stop. And yet, at the very last minute, I went and filed a police report on my own. I did it without even talking to him. Was this really the right thing to do?"
"...It was."
"...But."
"I'm just really glad you're alive."
Hayashi looked at me with a frightened expression.
"...Even if I told you that I won't forgive him for what he did to you, it probably wouldn't mean much. So, I have nothing to say or think about him. I'm an outsider, after all. ...However, I'm glad you're safe. That's all that matters."
Hayashi looked back down at her lap.
"You'll probably feel guilty. You'll think you ruined his life. But you were only one step away from... having your own life ruined by him. Every action you took this time was done so that you could survive."
I stepped closer to Hayashi and gripped her shoulders.
"It’s okay to be conflicted. But don't punish yourself. Don't go looking for self-destruction. That would be the same as saying everything you did to stay alive was a waste."
I wondered if I had ever looked at another person with such intensity before.
"...It would be the same as making my hard work pointless."
The back of my neck prickled with embarrassment.
"It’s natural for you to struggle with this. Just don't let my efforts go to waste. If you’ve lost the will to live, then fine—hold a grudge against me if you have to, but keep living."
I was becoming incredibly self-conscious, so I decided to go finish the bathroom cleaning I had started before dinner. Hair was starting to clog the drain. It was a tangled mess of soap scum and strands—exactly the kind of unpleasant thing I needed to focus on.
"Thank you, Yamamoto."
I realized Hayashi was standing behind me as I reached the bathroom.
"There’s no reason to thank me. I’m being quite cruel, if you think about it. In the end, I'm just telling you to go along with my own selfish desires, aren't I?"
"You just don't know any other way to say things, do you?"
"...If that's what you think, then maybe so."
"I've been thinking lately," she said.
"About what?"
"Why didn't I talk to you more back in high school?"
...What a coincidence. I was thinking the same thing.
I had plenty of reasons to hate her. I didn't think of myself as an elitist, but I wasn't exactly social, either.
Hayashi had been the sole exception. Even if my internal opinion of her had shifted over the years, she was the only one I never changed my attitude toward.
"Isn't it a good thing?" I asked.
"Huh?"
"That you’ve been given a chance to change your mindset."
Even if a person were to experience Life's Second Lap, my theory is that it wouldn't necessarily be better than the first.
What is required to make a life good is not more time, but a change in mindset. Facing problems, struggling, and making decisions—that is how a person polishes their own life. Whether it’s your first life or your second, that doesn't change. For those who neglect that effort, life only grows duller.
"From now on, I intend to change how I interact with people too."
"...You don't even have enough friends to change your interactions with."
"I do. Right behind me."
Hayashi fell silent.
I was too embarrassed to say anything more, so I silently returned to my work.
However, we would both soon realize the reality of the situation.
The arrest of Hayashi’s ex-boyfriend meant her safety was guaranteed. In turn, it meant there was no longer any reason for her to stay with me.
It was two days after the arrest that Hayashi began looking for her next apartment.