“…period? There are rules?”
“It’s kind of like Beaujolais Nouveau, isn’t it? I just heard about it too, but apparently there’s a school rule that you can’t do welcome activities until 1 PM today.”
For a moment, it sounded like Iwama had used another academic term I didn’t know, but it was nothing, just talk about French wine whose release date is set by law.
“Why would there be such a rule?”
“Who knows… Izuta-kun, have you decided which clubs to check out yet?”
“For now, I thought I’d check out the science clubs. Like Chemistry Club, or Biology Club. What about you, Iwama-san?”
“Me? Well, I’m thinking of going to Basketball Club’s trial! A friend from middle school invited me.”
She said this with such an anticipatory expression that for a moment I wondered if I’d misremembered. Iwama had been in the science club in middle school, and wasn’t she interested enough in science that we’d accidentally hit it off?
After agonizing over how to express my doubt, I mumbled:
“Science clubs… on another day?”
There was a brief pause.
“…I’m not sure yet.”
“So you’re not really considering cultural clubs?”
“No, I’m definitely interested in science clubs too, but… sports clubs are hard to give up on… doesn’t a youth devoted to sports sound fun too?!”
What an ambiguous way to put it. But Iwama must have her circumstances. If she wants to devote herself to sports, it would be difficult to join both that and a science club at this school.
After thinking, I realized my own presumptuousness. It shouldn’t matter to me which club Iwama joins.
“Sports… that does seem like you, Iwama-san.”
Words I didn’t mean flew out of my mouth. Perhaps it was some foolish ritual to convince myself that “this person and I have different interests and aptitudes, we live in different worlds.”
But saying “that seems like you” was probably appropriate. Basketball Club, doesn’t that suit a bright, active honor student well?
Iwama didn’t respond. I used taking out my textbook as an excuse to turn back around to face forward.
The reason for the designated period and time for welcome activities became clear when the morning classes ended, short homeroom was done, and the classroom wall clock pointed to exactly one o’clock.
A noise, likely from someone turning on a switch, crackled from the speaker above the clock.
[It is now 1 PM on Monday, April 15th. Welcome activities are now unlocked. Please conduct recruitment activities with moderation, cleanly and properly, ]
Along with that strange school-wide announcement, dirty footsteps came thundering down from the floor above. We first-years’ classrooms were on the second floor, second-years on the third, third-years on the fourth. The upperclassmen had all started moving at once.
The footsteps that seemed to pierce through the ceiling carried not a trace of moderate, clean, or proper atmosphere.
“Oi, Delta, doesn’t this feel kinda dangerous?”
Mizusaki, who’d been about to spread out his lunch in Iwama’s seat, said this and hurriedly retied the furoshiki wrapping cloth he’d just started to undo. Iwama had probably met up with friends from another class. She was already gone from the classroom.
“Sounds like a zoo with the cages opened.”
I also put my lunchbox back in my bag. I judged it better to be ready to escape at any moment.
And our judgment was accurate.
The sound of the animal stampede approached like a tsunami and quickly reached Class 1-C’s classroom.
“‘Scuse us!”
Possibly I misheard, but probably “excuse us” was right, a male student’s gruff voice echoed from the hallway.
Right behind Mizusaki, the sliding door was flung open with enough force to nearly break it. Without missing a beat, the door at the front of the classroom opened too. I stood up sensing mortal danger, but it was already too late, we had no escape route.
“Anyone wanna exercise?! Anyone wanna break a refreshing sweat with rugby?!”
“We’re doing a concert right now! Anyone interested, come to the audiovisual room!”
“Baking club tasting session in progress! Anyone who wants delicious cookies, follow us!”
The upperclassmen poured into the classroom, each shouting whatever they pleased. Then, like surfactants, they surrounded the helpless first-years and began aggressive recruitment.
“Whoa whoa whoa, it’s like namahage.”
Mizusaki’s comparison was quite accurate. I think there was even a witch from a candy house mixed in. Once you took the bait and ate a cookie, you wouldn’t be let go until you filled out a club application form.
“Mizusaki, let’s run.”
“Roger!”
We exchanged glances and shouldered our bags.
Being seated near the exit was fortunate. The area by the wall was in the blind spot of the upperclassmen rushing into the classroom. We slipped out during a brief moment when the flow stopped.
However,
“Wait, no way…”
Mizusaki stopped. I too was stunned by the scene visible over his shoulder.
The hallway was completely filled with upperclassmen. Not just in uniform, some wore martial arts gi or sports uniforms. Predators in all colors.
“Oh! You guys look athletic! Wanna join the swim team?”
Men wearing swimming goggles on their foreheads for no apparent reason immediately attacked. Despite it being spring, they were all deeply tanned with skin gleaming.
“Ah, I actually can’t swim…”
When Mizusaki tried to escape with a convenient lie, a woman popped out from behind the men.
READ THE ORIGINAL TRANSLATION AT LOCALIZERMEERKAT.GITHUB.IO
“It’s fine, it’s fine! I started from not being able to swim too!”
“We totally welcome beginners. Actually, wouldn’t it be better to learn to swim during high school?”
As if following a manual, their instantly deployed logic was well-organized, steadily blocking our escape routes. We were surrounded and driven right up against the wall.
In times like these, I don’t know how to fight. The talkative Mizusaki resisted with all his might.
“Neither of us is really the athletic club type, we want to live peacefully without competing.”
“It’s not just competitive swimming! We actually perform synchronized swimming at the culture festival, and lots of people have their youth through that instead of racing!”
“S-synchronized swimming…?”
Even the great Mizusaki was faltering.
All the tanned swim club members had ridiculously nice smiles, making them hard to brush off coldly. Being physically surrounded meant we couldn’t even bow and back away. Checkmate.
The thought of just checking it out for a bit before escaping briefly crossed my mind. But that was probably exactly their goal. If they could maneuver so skillfully in this hallway, the place they’d take us surely had traps laid out in layers.
“Ah, um, we actually have a condition where we expand dozens of times when immersed in water.”
Mizusaki finally started saying incomprehensible things. What are you, a superabsorbent polymer? I kept that retort to myself.
“Oh, nice! Sounds convenient! Come join us!”
The swim team’s response was equally incomprehensible, but one thing was clear, they had no intention of letting us go no matter what we said.
I could already see many similar victims around us. Some of them were being led away with resigned looks. I didn’t think Mizusaki or I had any more fighting power than they did.
However.
Just when we’d half given up, she arrived.
It was like magic. She parted the upperclassmen-packed hallway without stopping for even a moment. She gently pushed aside the elbow of a well-built swim club member and stood right in front of us.
“Delta-kun, Mizusaki-kun. Do you have a moment?”
A low voice cut through the commotion, freezing Mizusaki, me, and all the swim team members in place.
It was our classmate, Mikage Aya.
If Iwama-san is the sun, then Mikage-san is the moon—that’s Mizusaki’s assessment.
I can somewhat understand what he means. A tall, mature-looking girl. While she exudes a quiet atmosphere, her almond-shaped eyes possess a dignified beauty. According to Mizusaki, she’s a “cool beauty.”
Her long, silky black hair is tied in a single bundle at the nape of her neck, giving her ta stance almost like a female samurai. It’s easy to imagine her swiftly drawing a Japanese sword and cutting down villains one after another.
Due to our seat numbers, she sat right in front of Mizusaki, so we’d had several chances to talk before. That’s why she calls me “Delta-kun.”
She even joined our conversation once when we were discussing the Michaelis-Menten equation. Apparently, she likes mathematics.
Incidentally, both Mizusaki and I are terrible at math.
Mikage rescued us from the clutches of the swim team members and smoothly navigated through the hallway where upperclassmen were running rampant, guiding us to the less crowded science building.
Her skill was unbelievable, but once I observed carefully, I figured out the trick. She instantly calculated the path forward from people’s movements, applied minimal force to manipulate the flow, and created space for her body to pass through. In the sense of using opponents’ force to move them, it was close to aikido.
Mizusaki and I just had to follow in Mikage’s wake.
On the second floor of the science building was a neat lounge space. The walls and floor were paneled with wood, with wooden tables and chairs arranged throughout. Since the second floor of the science building also connects to the gymnasium, it probably serves as a rest area for students active in the gym.
We were invited by Mikage to have lunch there.
Despite saying “do you have a moment,” Mikage didn’t actually seem to have any business with us. She had pretended to have something to discuss in order to rescue us from the swim team.
While greatly appreciated, the question remained: why would she do such a thing?
“Man, Mikage-san, seriously thanks. Never thought we’d get attacked by kappa in the hallway. You saved our lives.”
To Mizusaki’s thanks, Mikage responded with only a quiet smile.
She’s not much of a talker. Silently opening her school bag, she pulled out a convenience store plastic bag. I averted my eyes as memories of Katakuri threatened to flash back.
Mikage opened a carton of unsweetened iced tea, inserted a straw, and began gulping it down. Her drinking was impressively vigorous. We each deployed our lunches as well.
Mine was my usual cherry tomato bento. Mizusaki’s was nori bento—a large tupperware container packed about ninety percent with white rice. “In the end, carbs give the highest satisfaction,” he explained. Apparently his mother’s handiwork.
What Mikage pulled from her plastic bag was a pack of hand-rolled sushi. Tuna mayo, to be specific. She might be the first person I’ve seen buy this instead of onigiri for lunch.
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