"Absolutely not."

Yukinoshita snapped her book shut and placed it neatly on her lap as she glared at me. The breeze slipping in through the barely open window lifted the looser strands of her hair, and for a moment the sight of her piercing stare and fluttering jet-black tresses amidst the backdrop of the waning afternoon sun seemed as though it would not look out of place in a professional photography collage. If I had a camera in my hands, I would have snapped a photo immediately, risking whatever grave consequences would befall me afterwards for taking a picture of Yukinoshita without her consent.

But this was no time to be admiring her, especially since the feeling was most definitely not mutual. "You haven't even heard what I was going to say."

"I didn't want to risk having my eardrums burst from listening to your squealing." She pushed the hair tickling her cheeks over her ear. "This is about Isshiki-san, isn't it?"

Prescient as always. "What makes you think that?"

"The fact that you excused yourself from club activities yesterday, so soon after what happened to Isshiki-san, just gave me an unwelcome premonition." Yukinoshita's eyes narrowed. "You didn't do anything to her, did you?"

"Of course not. Who do you think I am?"

"A narcissistic, self-absorbed, self-serving heap of walking human garbage. I thought I'd made this clear to you several times."

Normal service had been resumed with her, that was for sure. Then again, I shouldn't have expected any other response – I had walked right into that one. "Narcissistic, self-absorbed and self-serving are the same thing. And yes, you have made that clear many, many times past."

"Then you didn't need to ask." The corner of her lip curled upwards, though I wasn't sure if that exactly counted as a smile. "So, what did Isshiki-san want?"

"She wants an upgrade on her original request." I paused. "As do I."

"Oh?" Yukinoshita's countenance remained unchanged, though it felt as though she were beckoning for me to go on. I duly obliged.

"Before that, there is something I have to admit to you and Yuigahama first." I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to say. Maybe there was a better way to go about this, but after much thought, I had decided this would be the most straightforward thing to do. "I talked Isshiki-san into becoming student council president. She decided to go through with it because of me, and that's why I feel duty-bound to see it through with her." I pursed my lips. "I'm sorry for keeping this from you. And I know it's a lot to ask, given that you wanted to run for the position as well, but I want your help in making sure she does as good a job as she can."

I lowered my head, partly out of apology, partly out of courtesy, and partly because I didn't want to see what sort of expression she wore now. "It can't be anyone else but you," I added. "Please."

For the longest of whiles, nothing was said. Then, I heard Yukinoshita sigh.

"Why are you going so far for her?" she asked.

"That's… Like I said, it's my responsibility to-"

"It's not like you forced her to become the president," Yukinoshita interjected. "She could've refused if she really wanted to. Her accepting the role of her own free will meant that part of her already wanted to give it a try, and all you did was provide the final push. You're basically absolved of any responsibility you owe to her once the Christmas event is over, especially since you're not actually part of the student council. So, I'll ask you again. Why do you want to help her become a better student council president?"

I looked up. Yukinoshita had a strange, almost reticent look on her face, but there was no denying the candidness in her words. Clearly I was not the only one who sought the genuine, at least at this moment in time. This room, this club, could not afford any more lies or half-truths.

She wanted an honest answer. I had no choice but to give her one.

"I want to help her," I replied. "I… don't feel good about just leaving her alone like that."

"Hm. I see." Yukinoshita turned to stare out the window, watching the loose curtains as they billowed gently in the breeze, her eyelashes twinkling in the sun. She seemed almost serene, and for a moment I thought she might be inclined to acquiesce to my request.

But then, she opened her mouth, and the words that came tumbling out made my chest plummet.

"I'm disappointed," she said.

"Wha-"

"I underestimated you. I thought you would know better than to fall for her so quickly."

"Don't you have the wrong idea?" I protested. "I don't particularly have any affection for her – quite the opposite, actually. I just wanted to-"

"Just wanted to help?" Yukinoshita scowled. "Don't underestimate the subconscious, Hikigaya-kun. This isn't like you at all. And you know it."

"You know, Yukinon…" For the first time in what had seemed like an eternity, Yuigahama spoke up. She had been sitting there, listening, waiting for the right moment to say something. As usual, she was the counterbalance to the burdensome weight of the heavy atmosphere between Yukinoshita and me, the opposite reaction to the initial action. She might be slow, but she was definitely not ignorant. "I like Iroha-chan very much as a friend. I don't see why Hikki can't feel the same. We've spent a fair amount of time together, so-"

"Yuigahama-san, you like her for what you think she is, and I don't blame you at all for that. Hikigaya-kun knows better." Yukinoshita abruptly stood and reached for her bag, casting one last dismayed glance at me. "Or at least, I thought he did."

She marched out of the room, slamming the sliding door shut behind her, leaving the sound to echo in our ears long after her footsteps had vanished down the corridor.

Yuigahama and I looked at each other.

"Sorry," I said as I awkwardly averted my gaze. "For hiding it from you and Yukinoshita. I… should have told the two of you sooner."

Yuigahama shook her head. "There wasn't really ever gonna be a good time to tell us. I don't really mind – I'm not sure if I would've had the resolve to carry on through the entire process, so in hindsight you saved me a lot of trouble. But Yukinon… she was looking forward to it." She chuckled nervously. "You know how she is."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess." I smiled, though it came out as more of a grimace. "Thanks, Yuigahama. I'll have to apologize to Yukinoshita."

"That'd be good. Though," Yuigahama added somewhat cryptically, "you have to know what you're apologizing for."

I frowned. "What I'm apologizing for?"

"If you apologize for the wrong thing, Yukinon won't accept it. Rather, it might only make things worse. Right?"

"Right, but what do you actually mean by that?" I asked, puzzled by Yuigahama's advice. "I'm apologizing for not being completely truthful about pushing Isshiki-san to become the president. That's it, isn't it?"

An unusually regretful expression – almost to the point of pity – grew on Yuigahama's features. It was a familiar look, but on an unfamiliar face. For once, she seemed to know something I didn't.

"If you don't understand," she replied quietly, "then maybe it'd be best if you just leave her be for a while."


"Brrr. It's cold." Komachi slipped into the kotatsu, stretching her legs out and inadvertently placing them on top of mine.

Evenings in our household were usually quiet affairs, without the barely tangible tinge of pressure and expectation that having parents around could bring. One's soul normally felt much lighter without a higher authority watching their every move. We could laze around, lie on the floor, and otherwise engage in the sort of lethargy and slothful hedonism that would typically be disapproved of.

"You're heavy," I grumbled without getting up from my supine position on the floorboards.

"No one told you to put your feet there, Onii-chan," Komachi retorted.

"Kotatsus are a shared space. People have to respect each other and afford other kotatsu-enjoyers the requisite room to relax. And I was here first, so I get first dibs on leg space."

"The air above your legs isn't occupied, so that's Komachi's to take." I couldn't see her grin from my vantage point under the table, but I could certainly hear it. "What do you want for dinner?"

"Don't know. Maybe something simple."

"Hm." Komachi lifted her legs off my own and peered around the corner of the kotatsu table. "Is something wrong?"

"Is there?"

"You usually pick something you wanna eat, Onii-chan. Even if you're not hungry."

"Do I?" I hadn't noticed. "I can't really think of anything right now, though. You decide."

"Fine, fine." A pause. "If there's something on your mind, you can talk to Komachi about it, you know."

The thought had occurred to me to share my worries with her, but I had momentarily forgotten it. Komachi was, to me, in a category of her own in human terms, so it was sometimes easy to fail to recognize that she was also a girl. Even so, I had my own sense of pride to think about – I wasn't the most reliable of older brothers, but I could at least prevent my burdens from becoming hers to bear.

Though in certain cases, an unshared burden could still end up being burdensome to others.

"I have a question," I said.

"Hm?"

"Let's say I have a friend who…" I could hear a quiet snort of disbelief as I spoke those words. "Someone I know tried to help someone they recently became friends with to achieve something, but their original friends also wanted to achieve that same something, and ended up falling short. Yet that someone I know didn't tell their original friends about it, and now their original friends are angry at them for withholding the truth. What should they do in a situation like that?"

"So… it's like a race where the winner was helped by the friends of the runners-up without the runners-up knowing?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

"Huh. And how close are that 'someone you know' and their new friend?"

That was a tangent of inquiry I hadn't expected. "Why does that matter?"

"Relationships aren't just about interactions between two people, Onii-chan. They're also about how you interact with people outside the relationship as well. If Komachi had a boyfriend, and she saw her boyfriend being friendly with other girls, she would feel jealous. That's how it works."

"True enough. Also – just checking, but you don't actually have a boyfriend, do you?"

"Didn't Komachi already tell you yesterday, Onii-chan?" She sighed heavily, as though letting out the frustrations of a thousand unfulfilled desires. "Anyway, you need to learn to cherish your existing relationships more. You can't just go around making new friends while abandoning your old ones. Especially if they're girls."

"I said it was someone I know, not me."

"Right. Yeah. If you say so." Komachi got to her feet and looked down at me. "What do you think about curry?"

"Sounds good."

Komachi trotted off to the kitchen to begin her preparations for the night ahead. I continued to lay there, staring up at the ceiling, taking in every crease, every protrusion from the stark white surface casting small bumpy shadows against the waning sunlight.

In a way, people were like stipples on a rugged ceiling, insignificant when viewed from afar, but individually having the power to prevent the light from reaching those who dwelled behind them. Like droplets in an ocean or petals in a large cherry blossom tree, none of us would ever amount to much, but if we all thought that way, there would be no ocean or no tree to speak of. After all, what was an ocean if not a multitude of droplets?

Maybe we mattered more than we invariably thought we did. I liked thinking that I was nothing, a mover behind the scenes, and that I could be the one people around me needed without being the one they wanted. But recent events had brought me into a spotlight with whose illumination I was totally unfamiliar. My stumbles were made all the more pronounced, and my flaws were cast into sharp relief. For the first time, people regularly saw me as who I was, and not the person they thought they were seeing.

And the same was also happening to me. I was always good at reading people, stemming from years of solitary practice and lonely observation, but nowadays it seemed as though I was being forced to understand why people were how they were, instead of approaching it in the manner of a hobby or idle interest. The books of people's souls were being opened before me, and my eyes were inexorably drawn to their pages.

Perhaps that was what it meant to interact with people, to be in a properly meaningful and genuine relationship with them. Perhaps that was what it meant to have friends.

Isshiki's smiling features suddenly surfaced in my thoughts. Most people her age wore a single mask, one that protected their vulnerable selves from most of the world's myriad ills and malevolent influences. Isshiki, on the other hand, wore three: that of the clumsy, innocent, pure-hearted underclassman; that of the manipulative, calculating, almost Machiavellian puppeteer; and that of the sincere, inquisitive, and unabashedly normal high-school girl. It was hard to tell which was the real Isshiki, simply because she switched between her disguises with such ease and disarming frequency.

That was, I surmised, why she sought something genuine. Because she herself was not so.

"Onii-chan," called Komachi, "we're running low on rice. Could you go buy some?"

I was loath to leave the warm and comfortable embrace of the kotatsu, but I could hardly refuse a request from my cute little sister. Besides, it would give me some time to clear my head. Grunting, I lifted myself off the ground and trudged towards the front door.

Yukinoshita was wrong, I told myself. I had not fallen for Isshiki – I knew that from the bottom of my heart. As twisted as my ideas on love were, I was still cognizant enough of my emotions to know that I felt nothing of the sort. Yet one couldn't deny that she was fascinating, morbidly so, especially for someone – like me – who had appeared squarely in her crosshairs, her finger itching to pull the trigger.

The hunt was on. And I was determined to survive at any cost.