Chapter 1: The Domain Cut Out by Light Pink
Spring is such a frivolous season.
Just when you think lush greenery has suddenly sprung forth from a world that had been dried brown throughout winter, flowers begin popping open here and there. It’s as if the earth’s vitality, suppressed by frost, can no longer contain itself the moment it detects the north wind relenting and comes gushing out.
The earliest bloomer is, of course, the plum blossom.
While still walking with your neck hunched against the cold, you’ll sometimes be hit by a wind carrying such a dense fragrance you’d think there was a perfume convention going on. The plum trees are blooming. Only after noticing the red and white at the tips of their branches do you finally think, “Ah, it’s already that season”—an annual tradition.
Along with the scent of plum blossoms, my nose starts to itch. Cedar pollen.
After the war, with the demand for lumber skyrocketing for reconstruction, the government planted an absurd amount of cedar under the name of expanded afforestation policy. We modern folk are now paying for what our predecessors did. The male flowers of cedar trees blooming all across Japan scatter their harassment-like yellow pollen like smoke, attacking people’s eyes and noses. While I’m dripping with nasal discharge and sneezing, the plum blossoms have already scattered.
Then comes the main act.
After all, the pinnacle of spring is the cherry blossoms.
Is there any other single plant species that gets the entire nation of Japan this excited? The variety that blooms progressively from south to north, with even weather forecasts reporting on its flowering daily, is the Somei Yoshino, developed during the Edo period. Propagated from a single specimen through grafting and cutting, all Somei Yoshino are clones—literally copies of one another. Because all the trees have identical genes, they bloom all at once in the same location.
Once those faintly light-pink flowers burst open in full bloom, it’s time for hanami—cherry blossom viewing parties. People pour into neighborhood parks, children eat cherry blossom mochi, and adults chug beer. The hundred-plus famous cherry blossom viewing spots throughout Japan are packed with crowds.
In the Kantō region, April finally arrives only after experiencing all of this.
And by then, someone with as little stamina as me is already completely exhausted. I have no energy left to frolic in the warm spring weather. At best, I can only look at the cherry blossom petals that have pooled on the roadside and turned brown while sniffling from the cedar pollen still raging in full force.
This holds true even if you’re supposedly a new first-year high school student stepping into the midst of what they call youth—a supposedly enviable position.
“Good morning, Delta! What a magnificent morning!”
Called out to by an excessively cheerful voice, I sigh before turning around.
A familiar guy was waving his hand widely while grinning.
I raise my hand slightly in response, then turn back forward. When I slow my pace a bit while walking, he comes up beside me, looking like he’s thoroughly enjoying this supposedly magnificent morning.
Mizusaki Ryuichi. He claims every day updates his personal record for fun, and always greets me like this. True to his cheerful nature, he has a somewhat flashy atmosphere about him.
“Hey, it’s only your second day of high school life, and you already seem gloomy.”
“That’s because I’m walking in the shade.”
The morning sun shining brilliantly down is blocked by houses if you walk on the east side of the road. It’s already warm enough as it is—if my blazer were bathed in sunlight, it would exceed a comfortable temperature and become hot. Walking in the shade is an eminently rational decision.
“I see, that’s certainly true. But you know, this morning I need my best friend not to walk in the shade.”
Mizusaki straddled the white line, shifted to the roadside, and jumped out into the sunlight.
I was about to tell him to come back because it’s dangerous when I noticed the reason for Mizusaki’s behavior.
Something about his atmosphere was different—he’d dyed his hair. A dark reddish-brown, or perhaps dark brown, subtle enough that you wouldn’t notice the change from his natural color if he were in the shade.
Receiving my gaze, Mizusaki tilts his face at a suave angle.
“Well? Notice anything?”
“Did you go a bit bald?”
“Hey. I didn’t go bald. I dyed it. What they call a ‘high school debut.'”
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Unlike our middle school, Tsunagai High School has no rules regarding hair color. Still, I think it takes some guts to dye your hair the day after the entrance ceremony. However, the fact that the color is quite subdued feels very Mizusaki-like—unable to fully commit to being flashy.
“I admire the high school debut, but isn’t dyeing your hair a hassle? Black hair grows back at a rate of one centimeter per month.”
“You don’t get it. It’s fine even if it’s a hassle. This is like the hummingbird carrying water to the forest fire—just one drop. I’m just doing what I can to be popular with girls.”
“Don’t use that beautiful South American hummingbird tale for such impure purposes.”
“‘Impure’ sounds so bad. A high school boy wanting to be popular is the same as a male peacock growing beautiful tail feathers. See, in Delta-speak, it’s the ‘natural order of things.’ Delta, you’ve got good raw materials too, so you should pay more attention to your appearance.”
What a cheeky guy, calling it the natural order of things.
“Mizusaki can aim to be a flashy peacock if he wants, but I’ll aim to be a crow.”
“Huh, a crow? Why would you deliberately choose such a plain bird?”
“Because crows are smart.”
“Ah, I see. You mean you’ll focus on academics. As expected of an honor student!”
Mizusaki happily accepts my sophistry. We’ve been friends since elementary school. Most of the arguments we exchange are like little skits, and each other’s reactions are mostly as expected.
If Mizusaki dyeing his hair makes him a peacock, then I’m a pitch-black crow.
I don’t particularly care how anyone sees me. Mizusaki wants to walk in the conspicuous sunlight, but I prefer to walk in the quiet shade. Mizusaki uses wax in his hair, but I just wet down minor bedhead. Mizusaki apparently never misses his muscle training, but I like my slender physique. Mizusaki tells me I should switch to contacts, but I’ve been wearing glasses since middle school.
Being this different makes being together more comfortable.
Perhaps feeling guilty about walking outside the white line, Mizusaki returned to the shade.
“…By the way, Delta, there’s something super important I need to talk about.”
When this guy says something like that, it’s usually followed by something trivial.
“What is it?”
“There’s a girl named Iwama-san, right?”
“Ah, the one sitting behind me.”
“Oho, so you do remember? You do remember her?”
Mizusaki grins.
Remember or not, our student numbers differ by one, we sat next to each other at the entrance ceremony, and our classroom seats are front and back—her face and name are inevitably etched in my memory whether I like it or not.
Iwama Rio. A female student with a neat ponytail who looked exceptionally competent.
Just looking at her face, just from the first impression, you could tell she existed in a different world from me. She was as radiant as a cherry blossom befitting her name.
“So, what about this Iwama?”
“Well, she was incredibly cute, wasn’t she?!”
“…Is that all this super important talk was about?”
“Come on, Delta, you thought so too, right? You saw her talking. Did you see that smile?”
Iwama’s appearance was certainly objectively attractive. Clear-cut features, bow-shaped eyebrows that gave an intelligent impression, and a dazzlingly bright smile.
“She certainly smiled a lot.”
“Right? And it’s not just her looks—her behavior exuded good upbringing, her way of speaking was smooth and crisp, she’s like a model student dressed and walking around.”
“It would be troublesome if a model student walked around undressed.”
“Picky guys don’t get girls. So, do you agree she seems like a model student?”
“Well, I did think she seemed like that type.”
Iwama was so much the model student that you’d think it’d be a lie if her grades were poor. She’ll surely gather the trust of classmates and teachers. She’ll almost certainly be elected class representative. She probably excels at sports too and will be in high demand among athletic clubs during recruitment.
After all, she’s a cherry blossom. Iwama Rio, a model student bearing the name of cherry blossoms.
The same cherry blossoms that everyone pays attention to each spring, those popular cherry blossoms.
“So, so Delta, I’ve made a genius-level discovery.”
Mizusaki turned a meaningful gaze toward me.
“A genius-level discovery?”
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