Interlude 17: Mako

The first day of class after the match with Rinkai, and her grandmother's death, Mako stumbled to school, walking up to the gate alone, having cried herself to sleep the previous night, and only gotten a few hours of sleep in the process. She wondered if the disciplinary committee members knew her well not just because of how often she was tardy, but because she often came by herself.

"You're late, Reizei-san," Saro said. "If you'd come even a minute later, I would have had to mark this as an unexcused absence."

Mako quickly glanced at her watch and, upon seeing the time- several minutes past the bell- raised an eyebrow.

"I thought that it was already too late for that..." Mako said.

"Your watch must be fast," Saro said. "In any case, get going before I change my mind."

Mako silently complied. As she reached the building, she turned back, and saw Saro looking back with a concerned expression on her face.

At practice, Mako met with the other members of Anglerfish Team inside the tankery hangar.

"How are you holding up, Mako-san?" Miho said.

Mako sighed.

"To be honest..." Mako said, "not well. The only good thing I can say about it is that I didn't hear the news before the match."

"I was afraid of that," Miho said. "...A few people spoke with me, saying they were worried about how you were taking your grandmother's passing."

"It's that bad, huh?" Mako said.

Saori sighed, as she and the rest of Anglerfish Team looked to one another, wondering how to respond.

"Well, a death in the family is quite hard," Saori said. "It was quite hard on me when I lost my grandma four years ago, and, well, my circumstances weren't the same as yours."

Miho nodded, thinking back to how her own grandmother had passed away around the same time. Hotaru was in many ways like her daughter Shiho, as she had no regrets about devoting her life to the Nishizumi school, and expected her daughter and granddaughters to do the same. But while Miho had few memories of her grandmother, much less a very strong bond with her, she still considered her grandmother family, and missed her.

Miho knew that Mako had her own experience with loss, and that subsequent deaths in the family did not get any easier. With that in mind, Miho made her decision.

"You're excused from practice for today, Mako-san," Miho said. "For our driver, let's try to see if we can get one of the new girls up to speed."

"Sorry for the trouble," Mako said. There was a time when she would have welcomed any excuse to get out of work of any nature, but she realized that she would not have been able to enjoy this reprieve back then, much less now.

"There's no need to apologize," Miho said. "You and the others came through when I was absent for the second round, so you shouldn't feel guilty about today. We'll talk later to discuss how you're feeling."

Practice proceeded without Mako, and featured a new recruit, Sanada Asuna, a first-year, in the driver's position. Although Asuna was reminded that this was a temporary arrangement, Asuna was nevertheless politely enthusiastic about the opportunity, and resolved to do her best so that they would offer her more such opportunities.

"Sanada-san is quite good at this," Hana said. "She's certainly better than I was when I started out. I can drive the tank various places, but doing it in a match is still beyond my abilities."

"I agree," Miho said. "Of course, it's still not necessarily fair or practical to replace any of our others with her."

"That's true, Nishizumi-dono," Yukari said. "Reizei-dono's still our best driver."

"I know," Saori said. "There are times when Mako's just not up to doing things, though, and it's not always because of laziness or low blood pressure. In the short term, we'd better give her some time to sort through her feelings. In the long term, we'll do our best to support Mako and get her back to the girl we know."

A few days later, Emi and Myeonghwa came to visit Oarai. They wore their uniforms, both for the sake of a good appearance, and believing that they were representing the school, in a sense. Much to Myeonghwa's surprise, Emi said that some Japanese schoolchildren wore school uniforms to funerals, in addition to suits, dresses and kimonos.

When Rinkai had first been established twenty years ago, the subject of the uniform was heavily debated. Some believed that, in order to accommodate people from certain cultures, it should not have one, but others overruled them, arguing that exchange students had to conform to the home country. The school had ultimately gone with a Western blazer-style uniform with a necktie, which they believed was similar to modern business wear, making it a professional look that was easy to identify with.

The two approached the gates and saw Saro there, in her uniform.

"I'm Nakasuga Emi and this is Choe Myeonghwa," Emi said. "We're here to visit."

"I'm glad you could make it, Nakasuga-san, Choe-san," Saro said. "Right this way."

As Gomoyo took over Saro's lookout post, Saro led Myeonghwa and Emi to the tankery team's meeting room, where they had been asked to come.

In the meeting room, Mako, sitting together with the rest of her team, Shiina and Natsumi, looked around, seeing her old friends and new ones.

"Myeonghwa, Nakasuga-san," Mako said. "Thank you for coming."

"I'm so sorry to hear of your loss, Mako," Myeonghwa said. "My teammates and I wanted to extend our sympathies. Not all of us could make it, but here's a gesture from my friends, my coach and I."

Myeonghwa handed an envelope to Mako, who opened it to find a card inside.

The card was a relatively plain one for consoling those grieving the loss of a loved one. Myeonghwa purchased it in a store on the Rinkai school ship, which sold many cards tailored to various cultures, as well as culturally neutral ones.

Myeonghwa made the choice carefully. She was a practicing Catholic who attended Mass regularly, but did not want to shove her beliefs in others' faces. So on the card, she wrote a simple note; "Mako, I am sorry to hear of your loss and am praying for you-Choe Myeonghwa" without specifying which god was hearing her prayers.

Mako opened the card, and saw a variety of signatures apart from Myeonghwa's note. Nelly's name was written in the Georgian script. Hao wrote her name in Standard Chinese. Satoha used kanji for her name. Aislinn, Megan, Emi, Alexandra, and Myeonghwa's teammates wrote in cursive.

"This is quite nice of you and the others from Rinkai," Mako said. "Thank you."

"I'm glad to hear that, because some of us weren't sure what to say," Myeonghwa said. "We didn't know your grandmother, and now, we'll never get the chance."

Mako nodded in agreement, finding it a short but effective .

"I understand what you're saying," Mako said. "But maybe it's time to change that, by telling you what my grandma meant to me."

"I'll mostly just stay quiet and listen," Emi said. "Signing the card along with the rest of Myeonghwa's friends is the only thing I know how to do without risking hurting someone's feelings."

"How much did Miho tell you about me, Nakasuga-san?" Mako said. "I'm hardly one for needless sentimentality, especially not now, so if you have something to say, then say it."

"Well, only a basic description, Reizei-san," Emi said. "She said you were smart, had trouble getting up in the mornings, and in spite of that, were always there for your friends and family. She didn't say anything about how little of your family was left, a bit like how I don't just go around telling people I've just met about Myeonghwa's dad."

"I see," Mako said. "It seems not all of you are on the same page, so to speak- I've known some of you for years, but others are people I've only just met. So I'll start with the basics- my grandmother, who passed away the day of the match with Rinkai, was my last remaining relative, and for almost a decade, was the only one I had."

"Why don't you start earlier than that, Mako?" Saori said. "Why not tell us what sort of people your parents were like when they were alive?"

"Ok," Mako said. "I was born into a working-class family. Both my parents had jobs, and it wasn't always easy for them to make ends meet. I think they wanted me to get a better job than they did, perhaps more so than most parents. Of course, I didn't exactly get that at the time."

10 years ago

Mako's father sat by and supervised his daughter as she did her homework. She'd balked at doing it before, leading to some late nights, and her father had to step in to make sure that it got done.

"Mako, do you know why your mother and I are so insistent that you do your homework?" Mako's father said as he noticed that his daughter was slowing down once again.

"Because the teachers are?" Mako said.

Mako's father let off a soft sigh. Clearly, getting through to his daughter would be harder than he anticipated.

"And why do you suppose that is?" Mako's father said. "Why do they go to all the trouble of making you do this work outside of school?"

"So that we can learn this stuff?" Mako said. "Honestly, I was hoping you could tell me, Dad."

Mako's father cleared his throat to compose himself, lest he say something he would end up regretting.

"Education is quite important in our society," Mako's father said. "By the time you're done with school, you will have learned many skills- how to read and write in your native tongue and another language, how to use arithmetic, the history of our country and the world, the laws of nature, and many more skills. And once you've learned all that, will be expected to put those skills to use so that you can earn a living and contribute to society in the future."

Mako subtly rolled her eyes.

"A job like yours, then?" Mako said. "That's hardly an appealing prospect."

"Actually, I do what I do so that you don't get a job like mine, Mako," Mako's father said, his tone becoming firmer.

Mako remained silent, caught off guard. She had previously thought of listening to her father's story as a way to put off doing her homework, but she actually found herself interested in what he was talking about at this point. He no longer seemed to be preaching to her, but talking about himself.

"When I was back in high school, I made some decisions I ended up regretting," Mako's father said, "and among them was not applying myself in school. I was too young to understand why I should do so, but not young enough to avoid having to live with the consequences of what I failed to learn. So I ended up not getting into college, and there were some jobs I couldn't get, all because of consistently making bad decisions over a period of years."

"What job would you have worked if you did, Dad?" Mako said, still not sold on the idea of working for a living.

"Good question, Mako," Mako's father said. "The fact is that, back then, none of the subjects seemed to catch my interest, so I couldn't really find an area that would translate well into a future career. The best I could manage once I grew up was finding a career that I was qualified for, that I could use to pay the bills, and that I could tolerate enough to go to work every day. Your mother, despite having similarly limited career options, was luckier in her first job."

"Was?" Mako said. "Mom's first job?"

Mako's father nodded, glad that his daughter was already starting to grasp the point.

"Not long after we married, we had you, and your mother's job didn't work well with raising a young daughter," Mako's father said. "So once her maternity leave ended, she had to get another job with more convenient hours, even if it's... not as good in other ways. She couldn't stop working altogether, even if she's less than satisfied with the job she has."

To Mako, something did not quite fit in her father's story. The way he said it, her birth sounded spontaneous, rather than planned, as she had been led to believe.

"And Mom was... fine with that?" Mako said.

"She thinks it's a good trade," Mako's father said. "She sacrificed much, but she was able to raise you while still helping to provide for you. In this world, you can't get anything without giving something, whether it's money, time or effort."

While aware of what the word "sacrifice" meant, as a result of her large vocabulary for her age, Mako did not know its true meaning.

"I still don't understand Mom's decision," Mako said. "Nor do I understand putting in all this effort now."

"I didn't think so," Mako's father said. "Back then, my mother said the same thing to me, and it went in one ear and out the other. It might be too much to ask you to think years into the future, but let me make things clear now. If you do not meet our expectations of you at school, then we will not allow you to do the things you enjoy at home. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Dad," Mako said.

Mako resumed doing her homework. Despite not enjoying or understanding the necessity of schoolwork any more than before, she now had an incentive to do it, and for now, that was as good a reason as any. In spite of that, she still had trouble envisioning the future, or the kind of person she would become in a decade or more.

"I think I understand why you and Mom are so strict with me, Dad," Mako thought. "I just can't imagine myself doing everything you do for me."

Present day

"Back then, I really didn't understand the idea of what it meant to make sacrifices for your family," Mako said. "Maybe nothing has changed in that regard since back then."

"Your parents sound a bit like mine, apart from the reasons behind their decisions," Shiina said.

"Maybe," Mako said. "I suppose it's natural for parents to want their kids to be better off."

Myeonghwa nodded.

"My mom is financially secure, so I'm glad we don't have to worry about that," Myeonghwa said. "But when I see her working hard, I have some idea of what it means to make sacrifices for those you care for."

"That's hardly what I call an idyllic family memory, Reizei-san," Emi said. "I thought Takebe-san convinced you to start with the more pleasant stuff."

"It shows what kind of people my parents were," Mako said, "the kind who selflessly provide for their daughter while hoping that she'll be better off in the future, which makes it a pleasant memory in hindsight. And it also shows the first time I came to learn of how you have to live with the consequences of your actions even if you don't understand them. That's one of many lessons I, for all my supposed intelligence, didn't understand until later."

"Intelligence isn't everything, Mako," Myeonghwa said. "My mom's one of the smartest people I know, and she says that there are some things only life can teach you."

"I know," Mako said. "But all the same, I wish the 'tuition fee' wasn't so steep."

Saori let off a sigh. She knew what Mako had in mind when she decided to tell her story, but decided to change the subject to something more pleasant.

"Before we get into that, Mako, didn't you meet me around this time?" Saori said.

"I did," Mako said. "Saori was my first close friend at school, and the girl I've known the longest. She and I are almost as different as night and day, but we happen to complement each other well"

10 years ago

Mako was sitting at an empty table, eating lunch by herself, when an orange-haired girl walked over, one Mako saw around the school sometimes, and knew she was in the same grade.

"Mind if I sit here?" Saori said.

"Don't see why not," Mako said. She was unenthusiastic about having company, but unwilling to ask Saori to leave.

"I do seem to recall you sitting with your friends all the time," Mako said. "Why aren't you with them?"

"Well, they're not here today," Saori said. "Oh, I'm forgetting my manners. I'm Takebe Saori."

"Reizei Mako," Mako said. "It's nice to meet you, Takebe-san."

"Same here, Reizei-san," Saori said. "Oh, and do you mind if I call you by your first name?"

"Already?" Mako said, incredulously. Mako tended to casually socialize with others, not taking the time to become very close with them. As such, she found it surprising that the girl would take a step reserved for close friends immediately after meeting her, wondering for a moment if it cheapened the meaning of such a gesture.

"Well, you don't have to if you don't want to," Saori said. "I just think of it as something friends do. You can do the same with me if you want."

Mako paused to consider Saori's offer for a moment. Saori had always struck her as somewhat ditzy, seemingly charging forward without thinking things through. But perhaps her perspective was the correct one, and there were times when things were that simple. Mako wondered if doing things with such enthusiasm would be more enjoyable, and if she might get out of her pursuits what she put into them. This idea was not enough to change her perspective, but it did encourage her to take one step in that direction.

"You certainly do take things quickly," Mako said. "But I'm no longer sure that's a bad thing, Saori."

"Great!" Saori said. "It's nice to meet you, Mako."

The two talked about school for a few minutes, until lunch ended, and they returned to the classroom with a promise to keep seeing each other for lunch. But while the two hit it off nicely, they had no idea that their friendship would last over a decade.

Present day

"Saori was a breath of fresh air," Mako said. "She was energetic and cheerful where I was lethargic and gloomy. Things didn't always come easily to her, but she persisted nevertheless."

"That sounds very much like the Saori-san we know today," Miho said with a smile.

"I was slightly jealous about how Mako could get really good grades when she actually tried," Saori said, "but at the same time, I understood that getting up early was much more difficult for her than it was for me. We all have things we struggle with, and once we realize that, it becomes easier to have empathy for others."

"Of course, 'good,' is somewhat relative, Saori," Mako said. "I wasn't always top of the class, and my parents realized that I could do significantly better, even if I was doing better than you were. I'd started to understand why they wanted me to succeed, but I was less convinced how much my efforts now would translate into success later on."

Shiina nodded. By the time she had gotten the idea to get only mediocre grades to keep expectations low, her mother had already become aware of her potential, and had become strict enough that getting to near the top of the class became the path of least resistance.

"Eventually, the pressure got to be too much, and I blew up at my mother," Mako said, "not understanding that she was trying to help me or knowing it would be the last conversation we would ever have."

The argument

Mako, in her school uniform, sat at the kitchen, eating breakfast. She always found breakfast to be her least favorite meal of the day, since it always seemed like a hasty meal before the day began. When she lived on her own, Mako typically had simple fare for breakfast, such as a slice or two of toast, having little desire to prepare breakfast on top of her other morning routines.

Mako finished her breakfast before long, even going at a slightly leisurely pace, and was about to get up and leave.

"Before you go, Mako, I have one more thing to say to you," Mako's mother said. "When you're at school, you should be applying yourself wholeheartedly."

"I'm doing well enough, aren't I?" Mako said. "Isn't it enough to pass my classes?"

"No," Mako's mother said, "not when you could be doing so much better. You get out of your education what you put into it. Since you have the potential to go far, and since education determines how far you go in life, there is no reason not to try harder.

"That's easy for you to say," Mako said. "You're not the one who has to get out of bed in the morning, study hard, and worry about whether your performance is 'good enough' for certain people."

"This is for your own good, young lady!" Mako's mother said. "It's so you won't have to work a job you hate alongside your husband for a kid who doesn't care at all what sacrifices you're making for her!"

Mako's expression turned uncomfortable. Her mother had gotten her in a tough spot, and there was no counter she could make to her argument without making things worse for herself. But she still seethed with anger over everything she had heard, and so found it too difficult to make an apology. On the spur of the moment, Mako decided to make one last parting shot before running off.

"Well then, Mom," Mako said, "if it's so darn important, I'd better get going, shouldn't I?"

Without saying another word or waiting to hear another one from her mother, Mako dashed off to school, ignoring her mother calling after her. The phrase "lesser of two evils" came to mind, because as much as she disliked school, having to listen to her teachers seemed preferable to listening to her mother.

"Mom, I know you're looking out for me," Mako thought. "But I really, really wish you'd just get off my back for once."

Present day

"So there you have it," Mako said, "what I consider my greatest regret. Right now, the me back then probably comes off as quite a brat to all of you."

"Not nearly as much as I was at that age," Emi said. "You were just unlucky enough to pay a far greater price for it."

Miho let off a sigh. In elementary school, Emi had a reputation for being brutally honest and abrasive with others, and was largely disliked until she met Miho and her friends. Even after she did so, however, her attitude caused some of the group's disputes. Emi ultimately meant well, though, even if she disliked sentimentality, and Miho was unsure of how to say that.

Luckily for Miho, Saro went first.

"Though Sodoko would like to claim otherwise about herself, most of us have misbehaved or acted ungratefully toward our parents at one point," Saro said. "Sometimes it's a result of being selfish, but there are certain things that make more sense to an adult than a kid, and vice versa, leading to... disagreements, like yours. Over the years, I've butted heads with my parents over similar subjects. The only difference is that I'm somewhat luckier than you, Reizei-san."

Mako, having heard from two of the more brutally honest listeners, scanned the rest, and saw they were silent. Mako concuded that they were simply being polite, as normal, but noticed one friend who had once been more forthcoming with her opinion.

"Cat got your tongue, Saori?" Mako said. "You were more willing to chew me out for saying what I did the day it happened."

"Yeah, Mako," Saori said. "But back then, I was no more aware of what happened than you were."

"What was going to happen," Mako said, correcting Saori. "From what I heard later, my parents were alive at the time we encountered each other."

Eight years ago

As Saori joined Mako on the walk to school, not far from the school gates she noticed something off about Mako. Mako was not just listless and lethargic in the morning, but sullen and bitter. Her dispassionate expression was replaced by a glare, albeit one that Saori did not initially notice.

"Morning, Mako," Saori said.

Mako gloomily mumbled a response. Saori could not understand Mako's words, but knew from her tone alone that the morning had been worse than usual.

"Is something wrong, Mako?" Saori said. "You seem to be in a bad mood, even considering that it's the morning."

"I had a fight with my mom before I left," Mako said. "She's been going on and on about how I need to do well at school again and I lost my temper and ran off."

Saori paused, then fixed Mako with a glare, taking Mako by surprise. Saori was usually at least somewhat sympathetic to her complaints. When Mako complained about getting up early for school, Saori admitted that it was less than pleasant, even if they had no choice in the matter. But this time, she had no intention of making any concessions.

"You know what I think, Mako?" Saori said. "I think your parents were trying to help you by telling you what's best for you. Our parents may not always be right, but the least you can do is be grateful for them when they try to help you."

Mako stood, tongue-tied for a moment, not having expected or prepared for Saori saying something like this. But even apart from that, she realized that she found it difficult to argue against her without sounding selfish.

"All right, all right," Mako said. "I'll apologize to my parents."

Saori sighed. Mako had a tendency to do things merely to get people off her back, and this seemed to be no exception. But in the end, it was ultimately up to Mako to do what was best in this case, or live with the consequences.

"Ok, Mako, I hope you do," Saori said.

With the same thoughts in mind, the two let the conversation drop and proceeded to school.

In the last period of the day, Mako sat, having finished her problems. Whenever she was not distracted by her work, she found her mind going back to the argument. It was clear that it was an ongoing issue, and a mere apology would not be all that was necessary to solve it.

In spite of the somewhat abundant amount of time she had to think it over, Mako could not think of any other acceptable course of action besides apologizing. Perhaps her parents would punish her even if she apologized, but perhaps she deserved it. It was difficult to accept, but she had to admit that they were in the right, and she had to be mature enough to admit it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the PA system chiming to get students' attention, which caused all students and faculty to turn to it, even if the message was only for a single individual..

"Reizei Mako-san, please come to the main office; your grandmother has a very important message for you," the PA system said, before repeating its message for clarity.

Mako was a relatively patient individual, but that patience did not apply in times in which she felt as though someone was keeping her in suspense. Why couldn't the announcer just tell her what her grandmother had to say to her, or was it something that the entire school did not need to know?

Shortly after Mako left, Saori called out a hasty excuse to the teacher, taking a few moments to think of an excuse and make it seem as though she wasn't going out to follow Mako.

A few minutes later, Mako reached the main office, with Saori following behind her.

"Thank you for coming, Mako," Hisako said, her tone oddly polite, yet solemn. Mako remembered that her grandmother had always been slightly surly, even if she was not as much so before the senseless and tragic events of this day embittered her.

"What's this about, Grandma?" Mako said. "Can't you have my parents tell me when I get home?"

"Unfortunately, no," Hisako said. "This is about your parents. At noon today, the two of them had an auto accident. Both of them are dead."

Mako paled in shock.

"No... this can't be... it isn't..." she began, before breaking down into tears. As young as Mako was, she understood the finality of death. Her maternal grandparents had died before she was born, and her paternal grandfather had died when she was a young girl. She understood that the accident that day had parted her from her parents forever, and she would never be able to speak to, apologize to or even be scolded by them again. Her mistakes had become as permanent and long-lasting as her father's had been in the past, and she was beginning to understand what he was referring to when it meant having to live with their consequences.

Saori, standing outside, heard Mako's cries and rushed in to comfort her. Despite having some idea of what was going through her friend's mind, she found that there was little that she could say that would help. She simply hoped that being there for Mako and comforting her would be enough, both for the moment and for the years to come.

Present day

Those listening to Mako had gone silent, some speechless out of surprise, while others quiet in solemn recognition of what Mako had told them.

"I suppose that's how life goes sometimes," Mako said. "You don't always get second chances or the opportunities to right your wrongs. Terrible things can happen without warning or reason. And there are times when there's nothing left to live with the consequences of what happened, as well as the knowledge that it's you're fault."

Myeonghwa nodded.

"I know," Myeonghwa said. "My father died in a plane crash. Our last conversation ended on good terms, as before he said goodbye, I wished him luck and expressed appreciation for his offer to buy me a souvenir. But in the end, he's never coming back."

The others remained in uneasy silence. Back then, Mako and Myeonghwa had no more reason to expect tragedy to befall their family than they did at this point, so they realized that they could not take their loved ones for granted.

"On further thought, the fact that I couldn't apologize to Mom was only part of a larger issue," Mako said. "The fact of the matter was that I was still in the stage of my life when I was dependent on my parents, and couldn't give anything back to them."

"I feel the same way, Mako," Myeongwha said. "As I said before, as difficult as things sometimes are for my mother, and despite being on a school ship in another country, I'm not fully independent from her yet."

"Well, you aren't quite living under her roof or doing everything she says," Mako said. "You don't need your mom to tell you to get out of bed, clean your apartment or do your homework, even if she's paying your rent, your tuition and your other bills. That's the difference between a teenager in high school and a little kid in elementary school."

Myeonghwa silently conceded the point. There were times when she did wonder if she could help her mother with her research as a professor, but she could barely understand what she read of her papers, in spite of her fluency in French, and her mother only worked with her graduate students and fellow professors. Clearly, Myeonghwa's concerns were quite minor in comparison.

"To put it bluntly," Mako said, "when my parents died, I was essentially doing nothing more than eating the food they bought while complaining about doing things that were good for me."

"You couldn't help that, Mako," Saori said. "You were just a kid, just like I was. It doesn't make it right, but it's a lot easier for adults to judge the actions of kids- including what they themselves did as kids- than it is for kids to understand adults."

"Yeah, that's right," Shiina said. "If we understood the right thing to do from the beginning, what's the point of parents raising us?"

Mako nodded.

"I guess," Mako said. "But I wanted them to look back on raising me and conclude that they did a good job. As such, whenever someone who knew my parents tells me they'd be proud of me, it's bittersweet. Maybe they succeeded, but they'll never know that they did. It's a bit like firing a tank shell without being able to see it strike your target or hear the sound of the explosion."

Hana nodded. While the sound of the cannon firing was her favorite part of being the gunner, she also took great pleasure and pride in shooting her targets, and was glad that she was a valued member of the team.

"It hardly seems productive to live your life governed by your regrets," Emi said, "to have your decisions in the present and future be influenced by what you think you should have done in the past."

"Guilt wasn't my only motivation," Mako said. "In being deprived of my parents, I learned to appreciate the family members I had left, and resolved that even if my grandmother and I often argued, we wouldn't let our relationship end on bad terms. Unfortunately, my maternal grandparents were dead, as was my paternal grandfather, and it wasn't long before I learned that Grandma's health was deteriorating."

Mako did some counting on her fingers before turning back to the others.

"I honestly can't say when it all began," Mako said. "But the first incident I heard about happened while I was in middle school- in other words, spending most of the year out at sea, away from my parents, as a natural consequence of being on a school ship."

"As some say, it's not a bug, it's a feature," Saro said. "There are children who are happier to get away from home, and parents who believe that their children benefit from getting experience living independently."

"Perhaps so, Hirose-dono," Yukari said. "But there are those who have happier family lives, and those, like me, whose families live on school ships. Some may say that I'm not getting as much experience living on my own, but I"m happy to stay with my folks."

Mako nodded in agreement, having fully understood Yukari's feelings from the moment she first met her parents.

"The missing members aside, my family was relatively happy," Mako said, "so a part of me did not want to spend most of the yea at sea. Thanks to a school break, though, I was lucky enough to be in town for my grandma's first medical related emergency."

Five years ago

On a school break from middle school, Mako visited Saori at her home. The two girls sat in the living room, having a conversation.

"I'm glad to have you at home again, Saori," Saori's father said. "And it's good to have you over, Mako-chan; it's been a while since you came home."

"School ships are meant to promote independence, Dad," Saori said. "It'd kind of defeat the point if we were home all the time."

"Nice words, Saori," Mako thought, "but it's obvious that you want to keep your quest for a boyfriend secret from your folks."

"Well, parents do often get the empty nest feeling," Saori's father said. "And, I suppose, so do the ki..."

"Dad!" Saori said, cutting her father off. "Don't say that!"

"I'm sorry, Mako-chan," Saori's father said. "I, well... forgot about you."

"It's not a problem," Mako said. "Grandma feels the same way you do, even if she's not the type to openly admit it. It was the same when Dad went off to middle school."

Mako's cell phone then began to ring. Most of the time, she left it on, except for situations in which she would get in trouble if it rang, such as in class or at the movie theaters.

"Ah, speak of the devil," Saori's father said. "Is that your grandma, Mako-chan?"

Mako shook her head as she looked at the caller ID, not recognizing the number.

"No, I don't recognize the number," Mako said. "This had better not be a prank caller."

Mako picked up the call.

"Hello?" Mako said.

"Reizei Mako-san?" an unfamiliar voice said. "Your grandmother has collapsed and has been taken to the hospital. You were the only one listed as an emergency contact."

In hindsight, Mako would come to wonder whether the doctor had, until meeting her in person, realized that Mako was Hisako's granddaughter, and new to middle school. But

"Is Grandma alright?" Mako said.

"She fell inside her home, and was rushed to the hospital," the caller said.

Surprisingly enough, Mako managed to retain the presence of mind in order to get all the necessary information- how long ago it was, where the hospital was, and what to do once she got there. Once she obtained all that, she turned to Saori and her father, who had overheard the conversation, and filled in the details.

"My grandma's collapsed," Mako said. "They've taken her to the hospital."

"The local hospital?" Saori's father said, and Mako nodded. "Then we don't have any time to waste; let's get going!"

The three quickly piled into the Takebe family car and drove to the hospital as quickly as they could legally and safely go. While Mako already had a bad reputation for chronic tardiness, albeit not enough tardies that she was at risk of being held back, this was one time when she desperately wanted to reach her destination as quickly as possible.

At the hospital

Some time later, after a meeting with the doctor, Mako returned to the waiting room. Saori and her father, who were busying themselves reading news magazines that were a few weeks old, put down their reading materials, stood up and turned to her.

"So how's your grandma, Mako?" Saori said.

"Her condition is stable, and the doctors said she will recover... this time," Mako said.

"That's a relief," Saori said.

"Yes, but both of us were lucky this time," Mako said. "I happened to be at shore, and the incident wasn't too severe for Grandma. But what if it got worse?"

"Well, you can't necessarily put your life on hold all the time for your grandma," Saori said, "especially not when you're still a student. I may not be as smart as you, but I've got my hands full just keeping up with school."

"Then I'll have to do something about that, shall I?" Mako said. "Perhaps once I finish my education, I may be able to get a job closer to Grandma."

Mako realized that her options were limited. Skipping grades was something that almost never happened. Her parents had expected her to go on to higher education, so whatever her future plans were, she would need to go to college. But even with the road as long as it is, Mako vowed to make steady progress, and one day become a woman who could take care of her grandmother.

Present day

"I've made my share of bad decisions over the years," Mako said, "but after unexpectedly losing my parents, I'm not foolish enough to ignore the warning signs of the same possibly happening to my grandmother, even if I hoped it wouldn't end this way."

"That's more commonly known as 'learning the hard way,' Reizei-san," Saro said. "There are two kinds of people responsible for teaching children- those who believe that letting children learn the hard way is the only way to teach them a lesson, and those who teach so that they will never have to learn that way."

"Of course, there was a more immediate obstacle to caring for her, and that was waking up on time," Mako said. "My sleep pattern was never the most compatible with school schedules, much to my parents' dismay. It only got worse when worrying about Grandma kept me awake until I conked out from exhaustion. And even then, I often dreamed about waking up to a voicemail message with bad news."

"So then what happened?" Emi said.

"It got to the point at which I had racked up enough tardies that I would have been held back unless they were somehow cleared," Mako said. "As luck would have it, the tankery team was offering to excuse up to 200 tardies of those who participated in and did well in tankery, as they were trying to save the school from closing by winning the tournament. To put a long story short, I succeeded, and now stand before you a third-year."

The others eyed Mako with sympathetic expressions, save for Saro, who was busy thinking through a logical flaw in Mako's ideals.

"To be honest, Reizei-san, how did you expect to be available for your grandmother at all hours of the day if you couldn't regularly get to the same place, at the same time, on an almost daily basis?" Saro said.

Saro's comment drew a look of disapproval from Saori. Miho, Hana and Myeongwha's expressions indicated their efforts to find a polite way to object. Shiina sighed, not liking Saro's argument but having trouble thinking of a rebuttal. But Mako glanced at them and shook her head before turning back to Saro.

"Good question, Saro," Mako said. "I might make an excuse about not being good in the mornings, and about having low blood pressure, but the fact is that I was going the extra mile, and had to do the small things before I could do the big ones. And who's more obsessed with the small things than your esteemed colleague Sodoko is?"

"Hardly anyone," Saro said. "Her Quixotic crusade to uphold the school's morals inspired me to start taking my job seriously, but I imagine that it'd get on most people's nerves."

"I have to agree," Saori said. "She got on my case for helping Mako get here in the morning. Granted, she didn't do much more than mark me late and say 'don't make it a habit', but I found it somewhat irksome."

Mako nodded in agreement.

Two years ago

About a week after the start of the school year, Mako sleepily walked onto campus, when she saw a blue-haired girl.

"You're late again, Reizei-san," Sodoko said.

"Do I know you?" Mako said, wondering who knew her without her having to introduce herself.

"Sono Midoriko, second-year and member of the disciplinary committee," Sodoko said. "So far, you're one of the few students who has shown up late every single day."

"So...do...ko..." Maho mumbled, the other syllables in Sodoko's name coming out unintelligibly.

"That's Sono-senpai to you, Reizei-san!" Sodoko said. She was adamant that she be called by her proper name, since her surname was short and easy to pronounce and she believed there were no excuses for not using her proper name. She could reluctantly accept being called by her last name without honorifics, but using a nickname was something else entirely.

"Whatever, Sodoko..." Mako said as she walked off.

At the time, Sodoko, in Mako's eyes, represented everything she had disliked about her parents, without the good parts. Sodoko was a stickler for the rules, but Mako did not believe that it was out of concern for her as much as it was out of some desire to appear superior to others and uphold her code. What more was there to Sodoko than the obsessive desire to conform to others' expectations? Mako had no inkling of the answer, nor any reason to suspect that there was any personal reason for Sodoko to do what she did.

Present day

"Essentially, Sodoko was the only one who took her position as seriously as she believed it should be taken," Mako said."If I were less kind, I'd have assumed that she was nitpicking about the rules in order to cover up her insecurities."

"And you're not entirely wrong," Saro said. "Sodoko actually confided in me that she believes that working hard and following the rules are the only things she's good at."

"She doesn't think she's good at even enforcing the rules?" Mako said.

Saro chuckled.

"You really think she would say otherwise when, among other things, a few people go around in dress code-defying historical costumes?" Saro said. "I may be her friend, but even I can't say with a straight face that people take Sodoko anywhere as seriously as she wishes."

"How much of that's because she set her expectations too high, and how much is it because she's hard on herself?" Mako said.

Saro shrugged.

"My uncle would say that it's because Sodoko had unrealistic expectations of what being a disciplinary committee member means," Saro said. "But Sodoko is a relatively humble individual, who's fully aware of her shortcomings. She's aware that she doesn't have the power to force students to follow the rules all the time, or even obey her. She also knows that she's not especially good at tankery, being a relative newcomer even among Oarai's team."

Mako nodded.

"When Sodoko joined the team, she needed my help," Mako said. "She was willing to ask for it, albeit honest enough to admit that she didn't like it. One might say that she desperately wanted to outdo me, but she really did see the entire thing as a matter of duty to the team."

"You're mostly correct, Reizei-san," Saro said, "except for the part where you believed Sodoko could surpass you. From the semifinals to the finals, she was desperately playing catch-up, trying to do well enough to not be a burden to our more experienced colleagues, and defeat our even more experienced opponents. I actually feel the same way, since I'm still behind most of you in terms of skill, much less people like Nishizumi-san or my cousin."

"You're actually doing well, Hirose-san," Miho said. "Your crew managing to stay in the game, combined with Mako-san's driving, were a large part of the reason why we defeated Rinkai."

"Thank you, Nishizumi-san," Saro said. "I think of it as what I owe my team and my school. So if Reizei-san doesn't mind, I'd like to share why Sodoko decided to delete Reizei-san's tardies."

"Go right ahead," Mako said.

Last year, after the finals

A few days after the finals, when all the victory celebrations had ended, Sodoko met with Gomoyo, Pazomi and Saro inside the disciplinary committee office. The office, located near the student council office, was fairly small, although it had a meeting room that enabled the higher-ranking members of the club to meet. This time, however, only four people were there, so they gathered around Sodoko's desk to discuss the finals.

"Is it true, Sodoko?" Saro said. "Did you really absolve Reizei-san of her tardies?"

"I can confirm it, Saro," Gomoyo said. "I was there when Sodoko cleared Reizei-san's record, and Reizei-san hu-"

"Gomoyo!" Sodoko said, blushing. "Well, she wasn't the only beneficiary. A few others benefited from the tardiness passes, even if they weren't up to the point at which they were in serious trouble. Nishizumi-san had a few tardies to her name, so they were naturally wiped away when she helped us win the tournament."

"That may be so," Gomoyo said. "But you also cleared all of Reizei-san's tardies and unexcused absences, not just the 200 she was promised."

Sodoko nodded, knowing that she could not contest Gomoyo's evidence or reasoning.

"To put it simply, she has helped us in our hour of need, and it's only appropriate that she be given a fitting reward," Sodoko said. "Since she helped us remain open, she can be forgiven for her previous tardiness, and if she keeps up a good rate of attendance, she can graduate on time, and proudly call herself an alumna of Oarai. It's a matter of doing the right thing, rather than obligations or debts. It's that simple."

The others nodded in agreement, expectantly waiting for Sodoko to get to the point.

"Anyway, that's not the main reason I wanted to see you," Sodoko said. "All of you know that I'm graduating at the end of the year, and I need a replacement, both as head of the disciplinary committee and as commander of Mallard Team."

"But isn't Nishizumi-san responsible for appointing commanders?" Pazomi said.

"She's willing to let teams sort it out as long as we're able to handle things," Sodoko said. "And I think it's best if we have a volunteer."

"I see," Pazomi said. "I was just asking."

Gomoyo sighed.

"I was hoping you'd volunteer, Pazomi," Gomoyo said. "As far as tankery goes, I felt as though I could hardly keep up as a driver, much less command. And I don't think I'm confident enough to be the leader."

"I understand, Gomoyo," Sodoko said. "I'm honestly not asking too much of you, though, since I was no more competent in my command role than you were as a driver. Of course, I'm not forcing anyone to apply, since I have dozens of possible candidates, even discounting the third-years. But I will say that back when I was a second-year, I volunteered to become head of the disciplinary committee out of a desire to serve, and joined the team to protect Oarai's good name and, later, its very existence. If you would like to become a candidate for leadership, do so because it's right, not because someone else is telling you to do so."

Saro paused and took a moment to consider what Sodoko had just said. At the moment, the expectations of her parents were far from her mind. Oarai's disciplinary committee needed a new leader for the next year, the first of its new lease on life.

Someone had to do it, not unlike how Sodoko and the others had volunteered to fill an empty tank and ensure that Oarai put its best foot forward in the tankery tournament. For Saro, her membership in the disciplinary committee had once been something she had done because her parents had done it, but she had grown to appreciate what they were doing. Because it was worth doing, she wanted to continue. And because she cared enough to help, she would be the leader it needed.

"I'm interested," Saro said.

Sodoko nodded approvingly.

"Excellent," Sodoko said. "I'll ask around to see if anyone else wants to apply, but you're officially one of the candidates."

As the girls went their separate ways, Saro remembered, for the first time since the subject came up, how her parents had expected her to apply for the position of head of the disciplinary committee when it became open. She was pursuing the position because she wanted it, not because of her parents expected her to do so. Rather than anticipating her parents' praise or fearing the consequences of failure, she was planning for the future, coming up with how best to serve the disciplinary committee as its leader or as a rank-and-file member.

Present day

"That conversation we had says a great deal about why Sodoko does what she does," Saro said. "For better or worse, she doesn't need any motivation to uphold her own moral code."

Mako silently reminisced about all the run-ins she had with Sodoko. In Mako's first and second years of high school, she had encountered most of the disciplinary committee that had been on morning duty at least once, but Sodoko was the one she had seen most often.

"Yeah, I suppose Sodoko's a bit like my parents," Mako said. "She got on my nerves at times, but I owe her a debt, and I do actually miss her now that she's gone, even if I might see her again someday."

Saro nodded approvingly, also hoping to see Sodoko again soon.

"You certainly have the... interesting lot on the disciplinary committee," Emi said, "especially the part in which you all look alike. In ours, you're lucky to see two that look very much alike, apart from this uniform."

"Interesting," Saro said. "I'd like to hear a little about your school's disciplinary committee."

"The process of getting on is somewhat strict," Myeonghwa said. "You must have good grades and a clean disciplinary record. Until a few years ago, you had to have attended the school for an entire year to qualify- but they waived that when the exchange students complained that some of them would never qualify. You need to be interviewed by the committee's faculty advisor and student head, and they have to like what they hear. You also need to pass a test on cultural sensitivity and other job-related problems, although they do give you a book to study beforehand."

"Wow, that sounds onerous," Mako said.

"Yeah, it is," Emi said. "But at the same time, it's a difficult and often thankless job. They need to be able to deal with students who find them overly strict, and deal with other potentially delicate situations."

Mako paused to consider what Emi was saying about their job. She started to appreciate what Sodoko was doing somewhat more, and wondered if perhaps Sodoko's overzealous enforcement of the rules might be normal in another school, while said school might be less tolerant of their behavior. Whatever the case may be, she was glad that she was at Oarai.

"But let's get back to my life," Mako said. "As you just heard from Saro, my tardies were well over the acceptable level, and I needed to erase nearly all of them in order to graduate. As luck would have it our student council was desperate enough to save our school by winning the tournament that they gave out certain incentives for participation, among them tardiness passes."

"If I recall correctly though, Reizei-san," Saro said, "you not only had to participate, but also do well."

"Correct again," Mako said. "But I found that once I was able to drag myself out of bed in the mornings and get there, the practice and matches went surprisingly easily. Of course, the tankery matches were a twice-removed means to an end- I did it so that I could erase my tardies so that I could graduate on time so that I could care for my grandmother. The latter goal was most difficult, and the least under my direct control."

The rest of Anglerfish Team nodded their heads in comprehension. Even those who did not know Mako as well understood what she was getting at, since they had learned more about Mako in one conversation than most learned in the entire time they knew her.

"In the last tournament, after the first round, Grandma collapsed again, and that's when the rest of my crewmates found out about my family life, such as it is," Mako said. "I'm not going to say too much, but some of my teammates found that my experience helped them get perspective on their own."

"Yes, Mako-san," Hana said. "You were correct that I could not afford to waste time reconciling with my mother, despite- as well as because- of how it would not be a short or easy process."

"Grandma was out of the hospital in time for the finals," Mako said, "and it was good to see her in high spirits over my victory. In spite of that, I knew that it would only be a matter of time before she passed away... but even so, I wasn't prepared for it so soon. I had thought I had prepared myself for how cruel reality can be and how suddenly death can come, but I never expected our phone conversation on the morning of the semifinals to be our last."

"No one is truly 'ready' for the loss of a loved one, Mako," Myeonghwa said. "Mom told me once that she would have given almost anything for as little as five more minutes with Dad. She said that she might have made some excuse about wanting to say goodbye to him, to say something to or hear something from him, or plan for the future, but she simply wanted him around, even for a little longer. I felt the same way."'

Mako nodded in agreement.

"I do want some more time with Grandma around," Mako said. "But more than anything, I do feel a little lost after Grandma's death. I'm not sure if it's because of grief, but to some degree, I feel as though I lost the goal that I've been striving toward, as if Miho told me to stop driving toward my destination."

"Perhaps, to use a metaphor, you could keep going on your current course," Saro said.

"What do you mean, Saro?" Mako said.

"Your goal was to graduate and become a responsible adult so you could care for your grandmother?" Saro said. "Perhaps you could keep striving for the former, even if your grandmother's no longer waiting for you to reach that point."

"I'll try," Mako said noncommittally. "But is it really an easy thing to do something for an entirely different reason than you started doing it?"

Miho shook her head sympathetically. She knew that finding her own way of tankery was not an easy process, not when her mother had worked to discourage her from doing so. But she remained silent and glanced at Saro, knowing it was her question to answer.

"My parents put pressure on me to get involved in the disciplinary committee," Saro said. "They considered it a nice and respectful extracurricular activity. I, however, wasn't interested at first. In that regard, I'm more like you than Sodoko. But my position did grow on me over time, and while I never quite took things as seriously as Sodoko did, due to being somewhat more cynical at heart I found her passion for the job inspiring in some ways. At some point, I decided to do it for my own rasons, regardless of whether my parents wanted me to."

"I see," Mako said, "but I can't necessarily do everything your way."

"I don't think so either, Reizei-san," Saro said, "even it it does defeat my hope of you joining the disciplinary committee. But take a look around you. I may not know these girls well, but I can tell that what these girls do is because they want to do it, rather than the fact that their parents made them."

Sodoko reached into her bag.

"I also have a message from Sodoko," Saro said. "After hearing your entire story, I thought that I'd share it with you."

Saro gave Mako an envelope, which Mako tore open, not bothering with a letter opener. The note was a printout, and Mako immediately noticed the formal salutation and signature.

Dear Reizei-san,

I heard about your grandmother's death and express my deepest condolences. In my time on the disciplinary committee, I've heard of many people- other students, my colleagues and my teachers- report losing loved ones. I, too, know what it feels like to experience a death in the family.

While your grandmother's death is certainly hard on you, someday soon, you're going to have to get back to work. Your teammates are, to various degrees, counting on you, like I did last year. Perhaps you can't help your grandmother any longer, but you can help people now, and that might be what she would have wanted. In any case, you never hid behind excuses, so I don't think that you would start now, even considering the circumstances.

So don't disappoint me, Reizei-san. My erasing your tardies was a reward for your service, and recognizing your potential as a student. You might not always be able to get up on time in the morning, but once you're at school, you're an exceptional student and tanker. This is why I believed you deserved to go up a year and graduate with your age group. And this is why I believe that you'll be able to recover from this loss.

Sincerely,

Sono Midoriko

Between the "Sincerely," and Sodoko's full name in Kanji, the letter bore Sodoko's signature.

Mako softly chuckled.

"Sodoko hasn't changed," she said. "But she is right."

Mako turned to look at the others.

"Grandma did say, a few times in the past, and as the last thing she ever said to me, that I didn't need someone watching me to be able to do well," Mako said. "Perhaps it's easier said than done, but from now on, I'll strive to do things because they're worth doing, rather than as a way of atoning for the past."

"That's a good mindset, Reizei-san," Saro said. "Before you go about doing something, you have to know why you want to do it."

Miho nodded. Mako's resolve to find her own way of living reminded her of her own quest to find a way of tankery that she could call her own. It had been a long and difficult pocess, but it was one that she had to undergo to keep doing tankery. To allow Miho the freedom to make this choice, Maho had sacrificed her own. And because of that, Miho believed that was what Hisako would have wanted.

"It may not be easy to come to an understanding of exactly what goal you want to accomplish or why," Miho said. "But I ultimately think that it's something that only you can come up with."

"I know," Mako said, tearing up a moment. "But... at the same time, I still miss Grandma."

"You most likely always will, Mako," Myeonghwa said, "because she was someone important to you. Moving on does not mean forgetting her."

Mako smiled and nodded, wiping her tars away.

"Thank you all for listening and for your advice," Mako said. "So I hope that you're willing to listen a bit longer, and receive some advice."

"Go on," Saro said.

"Some of you may have unresolved issues with your family," Mako said. "I won't ask what they are, but I will give you a pice of advice. Don't let your problems go unresolved; you don't know when it'll be too late any more than I did."

The others nodded in agreement. But as they departed, Mako motioned for Miho to stay behind. Miho stopped, and after seeing the others file out, turned to Mako.

"Would you like to talk to me about something, Mako-san?" Miho said.

"I do, Miho," Mako said, "and it's a bit of advice particular to you."

"I'm listening," Miho said.

"I meant what said about not letting your problems go unresolved," Mako said. "But I'd like you to know, Miho, that I understand that your problems are more complicated than most people's, and won't be solved immediately."

"I know," Miho said. "I'm going to visit home when we go into port next weekend, and I'll let you know what happens while I'm there."

"I see," Mako said. "Well, I hope things go well, in that case. I'd go with you, but I have some business to take care of, and it doesn't seem to be the most.. hospitable."

Miho nodded. Even after she made friends when she was younger, she had almost never had them come over. She realized that her friends had not met her mother, but were forming unfavorable preconceptions about her. Miho found that unfortunate, as while she realized her mother was far from an ideal parent in their eyes, and not a very easy person to get along with, she still had a certain degree of love for Shiho as her mother. Perhaps Miho's hope for all of those she valued to get along with each other was unrealistic in this situation, but she hoped her friends would understand her view on her family.

A part of Mako envied Miho, not for her family still being alive in spite of her father's accident, but for her ability to recognize and appreciate her family. Even though Miho's mother's standards went past what were reasonable expectations for one's child, Miho still regarded her as her mother.

Mako could not help but wonder. What would have happened if she had been born in the Nishizumi family? What would have happened if Miho had been born in the Reizei family? How would their lives have differed? How would they have turned out in the end?

Mako soon put those thoughts out of her head. She had learned long ago that it did little good to dwell on what might have been. What was done was done, and rather than spend the life regretting her mistakes, she would learn from them so that she could do what was right in the future.

Her advice to her friends was her first decision in that line, and she hoped that they would be able to resolve their own problems.

Author's Notes

Somewhat similar to Interlude 8, this is a case in which a character tells about her past to come to an understanding about her present.

I tried to avoid having too much overlap with my Mako-centric fic, "At My Own Pace: The Autobiography of Reizei Mako," (essentially telling Mako's backstory and actions in the anime from her perspective) even if some of the events were similar, as a result of being inspired by my interpretation of Mako's past.

Character Analysis: Mako Reizei

There are two things that can drive a lazy individual like Mako to work hard and excel. The first is the threat of punishment. The second is a higher purpose. Mako's grandmother provided a great deal of both, as Mako feared her temper, but also loved her, and wanted to become an adult who could care for her.

But now Mako's grandmother is dead, and, for a time, Mako is left wondering how and why she should proceed, partly due to grief and partly due to a loss of direction. It was finding this direction that helped her find her way after her parents direction, but where will she go now?

Over the years, Mako, has made quite a few friends in spite of being antisocial, some of whom share her experiences, and some of whom do not. She may no longer be able to help her grandmother, but she can help her friends, and they have one last tournament match together while in high school.

The wounds on Mako's heart caused by the loss of her family may never fully heal, but as long as Mako keeps the lessons she's learned in mind, they will not prevent her from doing what she knows she must, or accomplishing what she wants to. And while she will always be tempted to hit the snooze button in the morning, the knowledge that there are things worth trying hard for, and the belief that what she is doing is worthwhile will ultimately get her out of bed on time.