Chapter 5 The View beyond Friendship Carrot Cake #4
“The air in the gymnasium, where we were assembled, was different that day. My mind went blank. I had a hard time breathing, and I felt nauseous. As I stood on the podium, I frantically searched my brain for an answer as to what made today feel off. Then I realized it was their eyes. They were looking at me with those eyes.”
“Those eyes?” I asked.
Hozumi thought for a moment. “Do you mean…”
Seeing the expression on Hozumi’s face, Iori nodded.
“Their eyes longed to see me as the ‘person leading a tragic life.’ They were expectant eyes, curious to see the face of a person who had just lost his family, to hear what he was going to talk about.”
He set the kettle back on the stove and expelled a breath.
“I did wonder if I was being paranoid. So I cast a glance at this girl sitting in the fifth row, and guess what? She was gripping a handkerchief. She had come all prepared, ready to have a good cry. I hadn’t even started talking yet!
I got scared. I could have just ignored it.
I could have just put the usual smile on my face and delivered a good speech.
But then I realized I also wanted to control them.
Isn’t that why I’d been pretending to be the ‘cool president of the student council’?
I might as well see it through, and let the show go on. ”
“Iori…” I started.
“Before I knew it, I said, ‘Recently, my grandmother passed away.’ ”
Iori placed both hands on the kitchen worktop and looked down. His hair draped over his face.
“The atmosphere shifted. I said, ‘My grandmother was my only family. It happened so suddenly, I am still in shock. She was such a kind person.’ With every word, their eyes brightened. As for the girl in the fifth row, her eyes turned red almost immediately, and she clung to the girl next to her as she listened. They all stared at me with pity in their eyes. The air that surrounded us was a cocktail of ‘how tragic’ and ‘that feels good.’ I despised those eyes. I wanted to run away. But I couldn’t stop myself from playing the role of the tragic hero.
Before I knew it, I had finished my speech.
I don’t remember much of it, but I’m sure it was a real tearjerker. ”
I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t find the words. Hozumi and I sat in silence, waiting for him to continue.
“Before I knew it, everyone was clapping.”
The coldness in his voice sent a chill down my spine.
His lips, wearing a contemptuous grin, peered through his bangs.
“The jerks. They were all crying and applauding me. At that moment, my vision dizzied, like I had just been punched in the face. I thought, Why are you crying? Who gave you the right to cry? You’re dirty rich.
You have no idea what it’s like to get your gas supply cut off.
You get to do everything you want to do.
When you get home, you don’t have to eat dinner on your own, do you?
You don’t have a single reason to cry. Then I thought, Why wasn’t I crying?
I was supposed to be ‘suffering.’ What do I want?
What makes me sad? What makes me happy? How do I feel?
What am I? I really thought I was going to be sick, and I couldn’t move. ”
Then the tone of his voice changed. It seemed that his eyes lit up a little underneath his bangs.
“Out of nowhere, a figure appeared, and I felt a strong grip on my wrist. It was Koharu.
She pushed me aside and spoke into the mic.
She said, ‘The president has a fever of 102 degrees. But because he is so devoted, he is forcing himself to be here. We will ask him to finish things up now, out of consideration for his health. Thank you for your understanding.”
I could see a vivid image of the heroic Koharu. A dignified woman, confidently approaching the podium. An angel dressed in a white sailor outfit.
“Then Koharu dragged me outside the gymnasium. Everyone was flabbergasted. I was in such a state of shock, I didn’t even think to resist. We’d barely spoken to each other before.
She wasn’t a talkative person, and the whole school knew that she was the daughter of a prestigious family.
Everyone considered her out of their league. ”
“Did you really have a fever?”
“Not at all. I couldn’t understand why she would go through the trouble of telling a lie to pull me out of there.
She had a surprisingly strong grip for someone so small.
She took me through the school gates and didn’t let go of my hand until we reached a nearby park.
I asked her how she knew, and she said, ‘Because it was like you were a different person.’ She also said, ‘They all looked like they couldn’t wait to see the president cry. It was disgusting.’ ”
“She noticed it, too?” Hozumi asked.
“Yeah, I couldn’t believe it.” Iori smiled nostalgically.
He picked up the glass server jug filled with coffee.
“Then she looked straight at me and said, ‘I’m sorry if I am mistaken.’ I told her that she wasn’t. That I hadn’t wanted to say the things I said in front of everyone. I was honest with her. I also told her that I tend to do the opposite of what I want to do.”
Iori poured fresh cups of coffee for everyone and brought them to the table. The café filled with the aroma, gradually mixing with the damp smell of rain.
“For a while we just sat on the park bench without saying anything. Then Koharu said quietly, ‘President, there’s something I’ve always thought about you.
You try too hard to meet the needs of others.
Your family just passed away, so of course you haven’t been able to process your emotions yet.
Just because your emotions are in a mess, it doesn’t mean you need to put them back in order. ”
There’s no need to put your emotions back in order.
It felt as if her words were tearing through my heart.
It was true. She was so right.
Not everything needs to be in order. There’s no need to define everything.
Yet we try to comfort ourselves by giving a name to everything.
We tend to think that labeling our emotions is better than having to carry undecipherable, unclear feelings.
When our emotions are in a mess, instead of just leaving them that way, we try to process them and kick them out of our hearts, because it feels like that is the “correct” thing to do.
“When she said that, I suddenly found myself welling up. I couldn’t stop the tears.
I didn’t know if I was sad or if I was suffering.
I didn’t know why the hell I was crying.
But somehow, I felt really safe. I bawled my eyes out in front of her.
And Koharu—she didn’t do anything. She just sat by me.
She didn’t hold my hand or stroke my head.
She didn’t try to embrace me. She was just there.
For the first time in my life, I experienced what it was like to have someone who would just be with me without expecting anything from me. ”
How many kids had asked the question, “Why don’t you have a dad?” to the young Iori?
Iori Amamiya, your emotions are yours and only yours.
He had kept his emotions locked away inside his heart. The first person to tell him that he could keep them there, that he could leave his emotions in a mess, was Koharu.
—
“What? You didn’t ask her out? You’re not serious!”
The cookie in my hand snapped and fell on the table. In my shock, I had reflexively tightened my grip on the ginger cookie I had served with the coffee.
But who cared about the cookie? To my disbelief, Iori had just told us that he finished high school without ever telling Koharu how he felt about her. How could that be? Iori being Iori, I was so sure that they became high school sweethearts.
“It couldn’t be helped. Koharu was in love with someone else,” Iori said a little awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.
“Is he Shizuku’s father?” Hozumi asked.
“Good guess.” Iori sighed. “You’re right.
He went to the same school as us. He and Koharu had been friends since they were small.
Taiyo Okada was his name. Taiyo, as in the sun.
It was the perfect name for him, because he was the warmest, sunniest guy I knew.
I thought, This is what a true hero looks like.
He was so genuine and pure. Koharu always said that she wanted to be like him. ”
Iori narrowed his eyes as he explained the next part.
“Koharu had loved him ever since she was little, so she had zero interest in other guys. From time to time, she would bring carrot cake to the student council meetings, mumbling something about how she baked it with her mom.”
“C-carrot cake? A home-baked carrot cake?” I marveled.
Such classy girls really do exist, after all.
Iori chuckled at my response.
“Although she said she baked it with her mom, she kept asking things like, How was it? Was it good? Are the spices too much? She would take in everyone’s feedback and improve her recipe.
I had this gut feeling that she was making it for someone she liked.
I subtly put the question to her, and she confessed that it was Taiyo’s favorite food.
That was when it hit me: She’d been getting me to taste-test something she was making for the guy she loved. It broke my heart.”
Iori rested his cheeks on his hands and looked outside. It was as though he was seeing his past on the rainy window.
“Whenever Koharu brought the cake, I would know as soon as I stepped inside the student council room. The smell of carrots and spices wafted over everything.”
Iori’s gaze drifted toward the kitchen. Every time I mixed the spices for my chicken curry, did it make him think of Koharu?
I ventured, “If it were me, I would probably give her fake feedback to ruin the recipe. I’d tell her to put more spices in it or something.”
Such an evil thought.
“I always told her it was delicious,” Iori said with a wry grin. “How could I say anything else? I was in love with her.”