The school building at Chiba Municipal High School has a shape not commonly shared among high schools, namely the shape that somehow resembles a cube with a smaller cubic hole in the middle, plus the small AV building hanging off the side, mostly abandoned pending refurbishment. The main building that contains the classrooms is on the side of a corridor opposite to its smaller counterpart. The two buildings are connected via a passageway on the second floor and the small square space enclosed within the school building is a courtyard for the privileged dating couples. At lunchtime they would happily enjoy their meal, then play tennis to strengthen their bonds. When the sun finally begins to set, the couples head out again under the last rays of sunshine, sitting against the school's coarse concrete walls while they eloquently converse about love and watch the stars surrounded in a gentle breeze that carries a salty taste from the great Pacific.
The couples play their parts in perfect unison, not unlike the actors in a youth romantic comedy. Though being more than ready to give love, with no candidate on the receiving end, I have no place in such drama.
The school year had not officially begun at this point. We were required to spend some three hours worth of orientation - which unfortunately included the aforementioned essay, in my case. Judging by the lazy rays of afternoon sun cast onto the special building's brown-tinted windows, the time was about eighteen-hundred and almost everybody had returned home for their Friday family dinner. The old corridor was paved in an interlacing pattern of large black and white tiles, something one would expect to see supporting the cheerful footsteps of high school girls dressed in outdated deep blue sailor uniforms. Occasionally we would walk past rows of grey-coloured lockers with paint peeling off from the edges, still standing guard for an era that had long ceased to exist. As Hiratsuka's footsteps echoed down the silent hallway, I grew increasingly wary of the bizarre nature of my journey.
The word "service", is rarely expressed in today's dialect; rather the use of the term would only be reserved in the form of an extension of servitude, in a restrictive sense. For example, when referring to the kind of service a slave would provide for his master. If this was the sort of service that club provided, it would have been a pleasure for someone like me, at the bottom of the social ladder, to finally find some self-worth from providing assistance to the socially adept.
Though in reality, such a thing wouldn't happen. The old building was falling apart, thus a more reasonable prediction would be shoving around rusted steel desks and cabinets around the empty classrooms.
In front of me, Hiratsuka took a sharp right turn away from the well-lit corridor and into a windowless one with doors on both sides.
"I have this chronic disease in my bones… which is, osteo...porosis? Yeah, definitely not the best condition to be moving things around…"
"Worry not, I've not yet received a doctor's notice excusing you from PE. What I'm asking you to do isn't physical labour anyways." She regarded me with an exceedingly contemptuous expression.
We did not make another turn, instead, Hiratsuka stopped at what appeared to be an empty classroom.
"We're here."
There was nothing on the doorplate above the frame. As I stared at the entrance, Hiratsuka slid the door open with a clatter. There were chairs and tables piled up in cluttered stacks along the edge of the room, perhaps it was being used as a storage room and apart from that there was nothing special.
At the centre of the room, there was a girl sitting on a chair. Her back partially facing the window. She was reading a book by the twilight. For a while, she seemed motionless, like a wax sculpture. It seemed as if she would continue reading until the end of time itself. That was the illusion she gave, so much so, that it was like a scene from a Renaissance masterpiece.
I was inadvertently fascinated by such otherworldly serenity.
Realizing our presence, she placed a bookmark in between the pages and averted her gaze from the paper to us.
"Have I not informed you that I would appreciate a knock before your entry, Hiratsuka sensei?" The girl announced.
Delicate features. Long, flowing ebony hair. Wearing the same uniform as every other girl in our school but still managed to look uniquely untouchable.
"Even if I do knock, you never respond."
"That's because you enter before I have time to," The girl glanced at us, brows furrowed in response, "And I see that you have invited an honourable guest?" She gave me a quick once-over with a cold wince of her eyes.
I have remembered her name. It was Yukino Yukinoshita, from class J in the 11th grade. Obviously, I had not had the honour of meeting her on a personal basis - there was no way I could have because I seldom ever have conversations with people in my class, let alone someone from a different class. Though it would be next to impossible for anyone of my grade to not have known her by name and face.
At my school, apart from the nine standard classes, in some grades there was also an additional class specifically catered toward nurturing talented students capable enough of fulfilling an active role in the international arena. The class has an academic standard that was at least twice as high as the other ones. It mostly consists of students who have aspirations to study abroad or holders of foreign passports.
Among such a class, the one student that was especially prominent, or rather, naturally drew people's attention and adoration, was Yukino Yukinoshita. Whether it was a simple quiz or a final exam, one would usually find her sitting comfortably among the top 30 in our grade. Simply put, she was one of the naturally intelligent, high-achieving and beautiful-looking upper-class girls whom everybody loved and resented.
On the other hand, my performance at school was rated mediocre at best. While my intelligence went visibly higher than the lacklustre level one would typically find in a mediocre student, I often lacked the motivation inherently found amongst the try-hards. Hence even if Yukino had no idea who I was, I wouldn't be offended in any way. Though the way she winced at me still hit me quite hard, hard enough to distract myself from idyllic fantasies.
"This is Hachiman, he's looking to join the club."
Prompted by Hiratsuka, I nodded in acknowledgement and tried very hard to fabricate a self-introduction without sounding socially awkward.
"I'm Hachiman Hikigaya - Grade 11, Class F. I was informed by my teacher that I must…"
Hiratsuka cut me off.
"You are to engage in this club's activities as a penalty. I won't allow any disagreement, objection, protest, questions or retorts. Cool down for a bit and reflect on your actions." Still holding an arm in front of me, she turned to Yukino. "That being said, you can probably tell by his expression and wording, that his heart is considerably corrupt and may one day become involuntarily celibate. A pitiable, lonely person."
Although I would agree with most of her comments, the way she said it still suggested that I was once again exploited as a laughing stock.
She continued, "If being around an exemplary student can make him clean up his anti-social tendencies a little, can I leave him to you? I'm requesting that you provide him with some practical experience of human interaction."
"If that's how it is, why is he looking to become a member, but not a client?" Yukino replied grudgingly.
Looks like I had failed her first impression.
"Sometimes there are people who can only help themselves by helping others, and having a second member in the club is usually beneficial in the long run."
She looked a bit dazed, seemingly taken aback by the teacher's suggestion.
"I respectfully decline. I'm afraid that his ideologies may not align well with the club's core values." Yukino while replying, readjusted the long bow tie at her collar, which seemed not particularly out of place to begin with.
"Worry not. From my knowledge of him, he is in fact quite adept at self-preservation and sometimes very articulate. He would never say something that may result in a social suicide."
While not being a compliment, what Hiratsuka said had perhaps diffused the tense situation - slightly. Although her comment could be more reasonably rephrased with less spiciness.
"I see…" Yukino replied, very reluctantly.
Whether it was Hiratsuka's diplomacy that successfully persuaded her, or my silence eventually won her trust, the end result matter little because Yukino had come to see me as everything I did not want to be seen as.
"Well… if you insist," She said with a detectable trace of contempt, "I can't very well refuse the offer."
Hiratsuka smiled with satisfaction. "Then I will leave the rest to you." Having said that, she turned and left the room with haste.
I was left standing there alone.
This fic started as a simple rewrite of 8man's essay at the beginning of Oregairu, though since then I have become a lot more ambitious about this project. There are just so many characters and parts of the plot - that seem oddly out of place and do not make much sense. My goal is to use this opportunity to understand more about the characters and hopefully end up with a story that is more sensible than the original.
You can probably see that the three characters so far are behaving more in line with what one would "normally" expect them to be. For example, Hiratsuka not resorting to violence, Yukino not making very hypocritical comments and 8man, while still retaining his cynicism, appears more lonely than hateful.
Please tell me how do you like this idea and more importantly, if anything seems oddly out of place ;)