2.1
Who in their right mind thought it’d be a good idea to go see a fortune-teller?
“I might have messed up,” I muttered.
The intense late-August heat blazed down upon me. I saw a shimmering heat haze ahead, above the concrete, and through the roadside trees. The dorm rooms came equipped with air conditioning, so we didn’t feel the heat much indoors. However, it was summer, and in direct sunlight, you instantly started sweating buckets.
The heat reduced people to complete lumps. I desperately sought out shade. Fortunately, the school boasted a rather expansive campus littered with tons of trees.
It was 9:30 A.M., well before most student activities, as I made my way towards the fabled fortune-teller. Fortune-telling services were supposed to begin at ten, but I didn’t plan to stick around for long. I’d quickly get my fortune read, then leave just as quickly. That was my plan.
But, as I neared my destination, I realized that my plans were about to be shattered.
I expected Keyaki Mall to be nearly empty. Instead, numerous students lounged around in their summer clothes. I prayed that they weren’t all there for the same reason I was, but I suspected they were. I decided to at least escape the blazing hellscape by entering the building, and started looking for the elevator, since the fortune-teller was on the fifth floor.
“Geh.”
I let out a grumble. Nearly ten students were hanging around in front of the elevator. I wondered if any of them would understand my plight. Whenever I took elevators alone, I was the sort to push the “close” button repeatedly. I wasn’t good at riding elevators with large groups of people my age. I’d need a great deal of courage to mingle with that crowd.
Although it’d be inconvenient, I decided to take a detour and get on a different elevator. Another elevator, across the way, was far less crowded.
“Calm down,” I muttered.
Getting to the other elevator took more time and effort, but the peace of mind it brought me was a lifesaver. After I reached the fifth floor, I made my way toward the fortune-teller. However, an even more uncomfortable situation awaited me.
“There are couples everywhere.”
Boys and girls stood in pairs all over. A number of them seemed to be in relationships. Of course, there were groups of only boys and only girls, but those were far fewer.
Seeing a fortune-teller about a couple’s future and romantic compatibility was common, I supposed. However, it made this visit significantly more awkward than I’d anticipated. Not many people had come alone to have their fortune told. Single guys were fewer still.
In any case, a line was forming. I decided to queue up. When I did so, a woman scanning the area called out to me.
“Good morning. Will your partner be joining you later?” she asked.
“Partner? Uh, no, it’s just me.”
Of course, it wasn’t exactly odd for her to ask me that question, but she’d put it rather strangely. I wished she’d be more sensitive to single people.
“Umm…” The line attendant looked at me with a sheepish expression. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid that, in order to have your fortune read today, you need a partner. So…”
“I can’t have my fortune read if I’m alone?”
She gave a small nod and pointed at a written notice.
“Guidance is for couples only. We humbly ask for your understanding.”
I now saw why Sudou had insisted on inviting Horikita. He and Horikita would’ve had to line up together and talk to each other.
“That means he never wanted me along, from the very start,” I muttered.
Sudou’s behavior took on an entirely different meaning, now. He’d never really wanted to invite me. He probably would’ve found some excuse to send me packing once he had Horikita to himself. That was pretty sad.
“Out of curiosity, is the rule the same for the line next to me?” I asked.
“Yes. Ukon-sensei is only reading fortunes for couples,” the woman answered.
“I understand.”
I bowed my head and slipped out of the line. The students behind me advanced one step forward.
I couldn’t believe I’d fallen for something like this. I’d pictured a lone woman sitting on a street corner, being paid in small coins, but reality had other plans. Apparently, this sort of romantic divination was all the rage right now. I would’ve liked to try the fortune-teller’s services, but there was nothing I could really do. Trying to invite Horikita again would have been a waste of time.
I decided to just slink away quietly.
“Huh? So, I can’t have my fortune read alone?”
I heard an angry voice. Another victim of singleness was apparently standing in the next line. Feeling somewhat sympathetic, I glanced over. Unfortunately, I caught that person’s eye.
“Ah.”
It was Ibuki Mio, a Class C student. When I pretended I hadn’t seen her, she chased after me. I quickened my pace.
“Wait!” Perhaps Ibuki thought that I was trying to run away (which I certainly was). She grabbed me by the shoulder.
“Do you want something?” I asked.
“Where’s Horikita?”
She looked around as she asked this. Ibuki was sort of like Sudou; she saw me as little more than a Horikita whisperer. I wished she’d just go see Horikita directly and not involve me.
“It’s not like I’m with her all the time or anything. I’m alone today,” I said.
“Ah, I see.”
During the deserted island test, Ibuki had been sent to infiltrate Class D. Her mission was to spy on us and stir up chaos, and she and Horikita ended up trading blows in a fistfight. Since then, Ibuki had been rather hostile toward Horikita. She probably considered them archenemies.
Although Ibuki was her usual crabby, unsociable self, she had pretty good fashion sense. She looked great. With a slightly different attitude, she could have been popular.
“Fortune-telling is usually something you do one-on-one, isn’t it? I really didn’t expect this at all. Don’t you agree?” she asked.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought, anyway.”
“So, are you going to invite Horikita or something?”
First Sudou, now Ibuki. It seemed like Horikita was the sole topic of conversation whenever I was involved.
“No, I’m not. If you want to talk to Horikita, why don’t you reach out to her yourself? Try telling her that you want to go have your fortunes read together.”
“Huh? Absolutely not. It’s not like I have anything to talk to her about.”
If that’s true, then I really wish you’d stop bringing her up.
“I wasn’t really that interested in having my fortune read in the first place, so I’m fine. How about you?” I asked.
“I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t annoyed, but…” Ibuki shook her head in frustration. “Well, I don’t really have any choice but to give up. I’m bad at making conversation, anyway.”
That answer sounded fishy. Ibuki said she was bad at conversation, but unlike Sakura, she had never struck me as a person who struggled with that kind of thing. In fact, she seemed comfortable talking to me on equal terms—or comfortable being condescending, at least.
“You could invite Ryuuen,” I offered.
I said that half-jokingly, but Ibuki shot me a scornful glare packed with disgust. “You’re joking, right? I hate seeing his face, even when I have to. I’d rather avoid him during my holidays.”
“But you were always together back on the ship, weren’t you? Isn’t it normal to think that you two might be close?” I pointed out.
Ibuki looked away. “That was because it was my fault that I didn’t discover Class D’s leader,” she answered quietly.
If that were true, Ibuki had only been working with Ryuuen to atone for her failure. That didn’t explain everything, but I supposed only Class C knew the real reason. That said, Ibuki had learned our leader’s identity during the survival challenge on the island. She discovered that Horikita was the leader, and she hadn’t been wrong. She would have contributed significantly to her class if I hadn’t thwarted her.
“I wanted to ask. During the survival test, who was Class D’s leader?”
“Who knows?” I shrugged.
“‘Who knows?’ It’s not like you don’t know.”
“Even if I did, I couldn’t tell you. Honestly, I don’t know. Most of us in Class D have no idea. I think Horikita acted in secret, and somehow managed to pull everything off on her own. That’s the only way I can explain what happened.”
Ibuki seemed to look right through me. However, I wasn’t the sort of person to be easily exposed.
“If Ryuuen’s not an option, why don’t you invite a girl from your class? I’m sure you must have a friend or two,” I said.
“If I did, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I absolutely despise the girls in my class,” she answered.
Ibuki was just like Horikita. Actually, she was probably even more antisocial than Horikita. With the right opportunity, the two might get along.
“You know, you’re making conversation with me just fine right now. Shouldn’t you be able to talk to anyone else, too? I don’t think you’re bad at dealing with people,” I said.
“That’s not true. When you talk to me, you feel something, don’t you? I’m all prickly.”
“Well, yeah. I guess so.” Interacting with Ibuki always made me feel like meat being sliced by a sharp knife. That was the closest I could come to describing her desire for isolation. I’m sure other students felt the same way.
“No matter what I do, the mood always seems to turn sour. Understand?” she asked.
I still had my doubts about Ibuki actually being bad at making conversation, but she was undoubtedly standoffish, even with her own classmates. I could imagine her headstrong attitude challenging the fortune-teller.
“If you’re bad at communicating, I’m surprised you’d want to get your fortune read.”
“That’s the problem. I’m like someone who loves cats, but has an allergy,” she answered.
That certainly sounded frustrating. “But you did really well spying on Class D,” I replied.
Crabby and unsociable as she might be, Ibuki hadn’t seemed at all disagreeable while she was working as a spy. Our class had accepted her without suspicion.
“That’s different. In any case, talking to people makes me anxious. And when I’m anxious, it puts me on edge. I hate it. It’s not like I want to be this way—wait, why am I even telling you this? People might get the wrong impression about us!”
Flustered, Ibuki abruptly turned away. Really, that should’ve been my line. Everyone who’d been queueing near us had moved ahead, and it was just the two of us. The other students might easily have misinterpreted that.
So, talking to people made Ibuki anxious, huh? If that were true, the solution might be unexpectedly easy. Even if I didn’t know the root cause of her anxiety, I could work with this.
“Earlier, you said that being a spy was different, didn’t you?” I asked.
“Yeah. Because it’s a fact.”
“What’s the difference between then and now?”
Ibuki fell silent for a little while. “I don’t know. It’s just different,” she said finally. It seemed like she’d given up on trying to articulate the difference.
“You haven’t given it much thought,” I said.
“Well, it’s not like I can explain why they’re different. I was just acting.”
“No, I think it’s simple. The difference between you now, and you then, is awareness.”
“Awareness?” Ibuki turned toward me, her interest slightly piqued.
“Your anxiety comes from being hyper-aware of situations. You project your insecurities onto others, so you freeze up when you meet someone for the first time,” I explained.
“What are you talking about? I mean, maybe it’s different for people who are good at communicating, but pretty much everyone gets nervous when they meet someone for the first time, don’t they?”
“Of course. I’m the same way. But would you still feel nervous if you were talking to the clerk at a convenience store?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“The clerk at a convenience store you visit often. ‘Do you have a point card? Would you like that warmed up?’ You don’t get anxious when the clerk asks you those questions, right?”
“Well, th-that’s…” she stammered.
If you thought of communication as a skill, like athleticism, it was simple. You had to train your talents. Ibuki got nervous because she was acutely aware of who she was talking to. I wonder what they think of me. I want them to like me. I hope they’re a good person.
When Ibuki infiltrated Class D, she probably didn’t have time to consider those things. She was playing a part, not thinking about how people would react to her real self. And she usually gave off an outcast vibe anyway, which worked as the perfect disguise.
“I suppose, when you put it that way, you have a point,” she muttered.
“You were ready to talk to the fortune-teller face-to-face. It’s natural to feel anxious, but there’s no reason to. If you don’t think about communication too hard, that should relieve some of the tension.”
“I see. Wait, why the hell are you lecturing me?” Ibuki glared, looking ready to pounce.
“When you’ve been a loner for a long time, you understand these kinds of things. You wonder why you can’t make friends, and you think about the differences between the people who make you nervous and those who don’t. Finally, you think about where people come from and where they’re going.”
“You’re creepy. You seem like the sort who’ll turn out to be a mass murderer later in life. Were you always like this?” Ibuki asked.
“More or less.”
Things had veered into rather awkward territory. I probably came across as a weirdo.
“Well, I’m heading back. How about you?” I asked.
“I’ll probably head back, too. I can have my fortune read alone, anyway. I was really interested in tenchuusatsu, though,” she said.
“Tenchuusatsu?”
That wasn’t exactly the kind of word you heard all that often.
“Wait. You came without even knowing what that is?” Ibuki sighed in exasperation. “Put simply, it’s a type of fortune-telling that tells you what times are unlucky for you.”
Was it really possible to pinpoint an aspect of someone’s destiny like that? My knowledge of fortune-telling was limited to superstitions like “wear the color red,” and “be careful not to lose something this month.” However, Ibuki made it sound like there was far more to fortune-telling.
“That’s why I came. Fortune-telling isn’t all about romance and such.” Ibuki sounded disappointed as she looked back at the long line.
“Maybe some of them came here to check out tenchuusatsu, or whatever it’s called,” I replied.
“Even so, I get the feeling that the romance stuff is what they’re after, since the fortune-teller is forcing us to visit in pairs,” she replied.
And with that, Ibuki left.
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