The teacher wrote another stoichiometry equation on the chalkboard.
"…three moles of Helium gas. A mole of any gas occupies a space of 22.4 liters, so using that to convert…"
My pen flitted across the page as I took careful notes. During a brief pause, I glanced out the newly polished window I was next to, and I had a wide view of the school grounds, sparkling clean and scrubbed for a new school year. I noticed that they'd planted a new row of cherry blossom trees, each sapling carefully tied to a wooden pole for support. Their elders stood tall and rigid above the new generation, whose thin limbs rebelled against the wind and the wooden poles.
I wonder if they're old enough to blossom this year, I mused.
The edge of a piece of notebook paper sliced across my finger, and a small gasp bubbled to my lips. I glanced down at the vivid line of red. The blood slowly welled up.
Baka, I scoffed at myself.
"Fuji-kun, would you mind telling us how many grams of methane are required to react with 18.5 moles of oxygen gas according to this equation?"
Maybe this is karma for not paying attention.
"You would multiply the oxygen gas by the mole ratio and molar mass…"
This will take forever to heal.
"…so finally, the amount of methane required is 29.4 grams."
I need a band aid.
Heads turned to my direction and whispers broke out through the classroom.
"Holy shit…"
"Of course, it's Fuji Syus—"
"I mean, he's a genius…"
"—I didn't even get what she was asking, and he just…"
"—did it all in his head!"
"…genius…"
"That's my Fuji-sama!"
The teacher shushed the chorus of admiring whispers.
"That is correct. Very good, Fuji-kun." She flashed an approving smile to me and turned to face the class again. I could see in my peripheral vision some girls who were still trying to catch my eye.
Genius.
Ever since I entered Seigaku, that one word seemed to define my life—it followed me, labeled me; glorified my being as someone you could expect everything from.
What can't geniuses do?
I stared down at my bleeding finger. They can't stop karma, for one thing, I thought, and it brought a wry smile to my face.
I didn't think that people understood—that whatever I had been given, I had lost things too.
Yuuta, for one. The months after he left, no one knew that I almost couldn't bear to play tennis, because it filled me every time with raw guilt and grief. How could he have coped with being the "little brother", being the tempered, spirited teenager that he was? No one understood that. Every time he called home, I saw the way my mother clutched at the phone, as if she was afraid that if she let go, that her Yuuta would disappear with it too. No one knew how much that had killed me.
I warred with myself those months. In the beginning, I blamed my classmates, for their expectant whispers. For dumping their expectations for me onto him. Then I blamed myself, simply for being who I was. And now, almost a year later, I had convinced myself that if Yuuta could let it go, it was time for me to do the same.
But I still hadn't forgiven myself. Not quite yet.
Inhaling deeply, I turned back to the window and stared out into space, looking over the cherry blossom trees and—
I spotted the lights first. Tall, silver poles arranged around in a long rectangle. And then it occurred to me what it was, and I smiled. A warm wave of familiarity washed over my body, like a hot shower after a run in the rain.
Tryouts start this afternoon…
And I realized how much I had missed every square inch of my second home.
That's right—tennis was the thing that had given me that name. The "genius". And also from tennis did I find the strength to shoulder it. What tennis had given me, could outweigh anything.
The bell rang for the end of class, and still drifting in my own thoughts, I reached out and picked up my notes, forgetting about my bleeding paper cut…
The blood instantly stained through the paper.
It had to be karma.