Kyoto A University, Kendo Club.
Hojo Shione sat on a bench, eyes fixed on the two figures trading blows at center court.
Clack-clack! The bamboo swords rang out in a steady volley.
Shione didn't know kendo, but even she could tell the match was almost one-sided. The fighter wearing the white ribbon moved with sharp, decisive strikes and footwork that was steady yet light.
She couldn't even follow White's sword path—only the afterimages slicing through the air.
"Men!"
White's shinai whipped down onto Red's faceguard with a heavy smack. The power was startling—the bamboo flexed and the opponent was knocked flat. Even after landing the hit, White didn't relax; like a wary hare, she hopped back at once.
Zanshin.
Shione remembered Shiratori Kiyoya mentioning it: after attacking a vital target, you jump clear to avoid a desperate counter. She remembered that point only because Kiyoya said it embodied the spirit of "all-out effort, start to finish."
As for the rest of the complicated rules—she never could keep them straight.
After both players bowed, the fighter with the white strip lifted off her helmet, revealing a bright, valiant face with a rosy glow.
She shook her head; black hair fanned out like a waterfall. Under the lights, her delicate oval face seemed to shine.
Shione's heart gave a thud, her eyes narrowing despite herself.
Even she had to admit this girl was magnetic.
She'd seen the girl's brilliance at the Inter-High. She'd also been curious why Kiyoya broke up with her.
She'd asked him twice, and both times he'd brushed it off with "we weren't a good match," "there were lots of reasons." Back then, because he treated her so well—and wanting to be the understanding girlfriend—she'd dropped it when she saw how unwilling he was to talk.
Looking back, how childish.
With a girl this compelling, this skilled, why would anyone break up unless there'd been some fundamental line crossed?
She should've seen it sooner. But pride had fed the thoughts "she's not as good as me" and "Kiyoya and I will be fine."
Shione chuckled at herself. How stupid she'd been.
Back then, Hasegawa Saori was what she was now. The only difference: Saori's gift was kendo; hers was singing.
Judging from the parts of their lives that touched Kiyoya, she and Saori were too much alike.
With that hunch, she'd rushed to get in touch with Hasegawa Saori as soon as she returned from Tokyo…
…
Helmet tucked under one arm and shinai in hand, the girl spoke briefly with a middle-aged instructor, then glanced around the gym. Her gaze found Shione, and she strode over.
Shione stood at once; a moment later the girl was in front of her.
Even in tabi socks, the girl was Shione's height in sneakers.
Shione opened her mouth—then met the girl's eyes, and the words caught in her throat.
She had never seen eyes so clean.
Clear, pure, bright—like black pearls dropped into a snow-rimmed lake.
"Hojo Shione?"
The crisp voice snapped Shione back. She smiled. "Mm. Sorry for dropping in—could we talk?"
Hasegawa Saori tilted her head and looked past Shione, as if searching for something she didn't find. Disappointment flickered in her eyes. She refocused on Shione.
"How's Kiyoya doing lately?"
Shione's fingers clenched, nails biting her palm.
Still can't let him go, huh…
Wanting to test how deep that feeling went, she forced a smile. "He's probably in Tokyo on a date with his girlfriend right now."
"Eh?"
Saori's eyes rippled—just as Shione expected. "You two broke up?"
"…"
Stung, Shione's face tightened; she bit her lip, unwilling to answer. After a beat, she sighed and said helplessly, "Yeah. Dumped—just like you."
With Kiyoya not present, she didn't bother to keep up the saintly act. After getting jabbed twice, she wanted the girl to feel a sting too.
But Saori said, "I didn't break up with Kiyoya."
"…?"
Shione froze. Her expression soured. "What do you mean 'didn't break up'?"
"'Didn't break up' means didn't break up. It doesn't 'mean' anything." She paused. "Please wait here."
Saori turned and headed toward the changing room.
Shione stood, expression darkening and clearing by turns.
Didn't break up—what does that even mean? If she never broke up with him, then while he was dating me…
Wouldn't that make me the other woman?
Dating me while giving part of his love to someone else?
Maybe I should lock you up, Kiyoya.
Her chest felt like a piece had been punched out; resentment leaked through the gap.
Only when Saori reappeared in sweats did Shione snap out of it. She pressed again: "What did you mean just now about not breaking up?"
Saori gave her a look like she was an idiot. "You don't need Japanese class to be a singer?"
She blinked innocently, as if genuinely curious.
A tightness pressed at Shione's chest, but she held her temper. "When he was dating me, was he also dating you? He never broke up with you?"
"Oh, he tried. I didn't agree."
Saori sat beside her, pulled a plastic bag from her pocket, and took out two nori-wrapped rice balls. She raised one toward her mouth, paused, turned, and offered the other. "Want one?"
"…"
Looking into those pure eyes and sensing there was no malice, Shione finally felt something was off.
Is she… dumb?
If not agreeing to a breakup means it didn't happen, then I haven't broken up with Kiyoya either…
What kind of mental gymnastics is that?
She waved the rice ball away and pressed on: "After he tried to break up, were you still together a lot?"
Saori quietly withdrew the onigiri, glanced at Shione's chest, and muttered, "Do those grow without eating?"
She looked down at her own, a flicker of sadness in her clear eyes, then chomped twice in annoyance.
Two bites and one rice ball was gone. She licked her lips. "He used to come cheer at my matches a lot, but once he started college, not so much."
"It's been a long time since I've seen him…"
Her mood dipped; she took another fierce bite.
"…"
Hearing the loss in her voice, Shione reflexively empathized—and felt a pang herself. Then a thought hit and she pressed: "You said he came to cheer you on—high school?"
"Mm."
"Tenth grade?"
"Mm."
"Eleventh?"
"Mm."
She moved like a wind-up toy: poke and it responded. If you didn't know better you'd think the author was padding word count.
Any sympathy Shione had evaporated. So while he was dating her, that jerk kept up strings with his ex—still going to cheer her on…
She decided that when she and Kiyoya got back together, she'd lay that out with him properly.
As she stewed, Saori finished the first rice ball, licked her lips, and said, "But it'll be fine next month. I'm going back to Tokyo—then I can see Kiyoya."
"?"
Shione's eyelid twitched. "Aren't you at university here in Kyoto?"
"Of course not. Kiyoya's in Tokyo—why would I be in Kyoto where I can't see him?"
Saori shot her another "are you dumb" look.
"I'm only here because my coach is guest-instructing at Kyoto A for a few days. I'm heading back soon. Then I can see Kiyoya."
A smile crept over Saori's face again; light returned to her eyes. She bent and took another bite.
Shione felt a stab of jealousy, but sensed this wasn't so simple. She probed: "He'll see you in Tokyo? You two are still in touch? Didn't you just say you haven't seen him in ages?"
"We're not in touch—and it's already been half a month since I've seen him."
Saori shook her head, swallowed the last bite, tucked away the plastic, and looked at Shione. "Do you know what assassins are?"
"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?"
Shione's brows creased.
"I'm going to protect Kiyoya for life, so I obviously can't show up everywhere. If I do, I can't eliminate potential threats."
Her tone turned oddly resigned. "You're so dumb. Are singers all dumb?"
"…"
And what does that have to do with assassins?
Choosing not to wrestle with a fool, Shione swallowed her irritation and asked one last question:
"How did Kiyoya try to break up with you?"