Prologue | The Glorious Memories of Shinji Makishima’s Childhood

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No matter how strong and sticky an obsession may be, it always starts as a faint yearning.

I just wanted to touch it.

I wanted that person to look at me.

That was my only wish.

The spring of my third year in high school.

I—Shinji Makishima—gaze up at the clear sky from the school rooftop.

The sticky breeze from the warming Hyuga-nada Sea is, frankly, quite annoying.

Just the return of that same season makes me realize how utterly ridiculous I am.

It’s an inconsequential memory.

When I was young, my much older brother would often bring his high school friends to our house.

There was always a woman who laughed so cheerfully.

Her heart was moved by trivial conversations.

She was pained by minor incidents.

And she was drawn to unremarkable men.

For some reason, I was utterly captivated by this utterly ordinary woman.

Whenever my brother brought his friends over, Mom would always serve snacks.

As a young kid, I’d wail as if my treasure was being stolen.

“Mom! I’ll carry it! I’ll do it!”

“Alright, alright. Don’t spill the juice, okay?”

I’d carefully carry the large tray.

That day, too, the usual five people, including my brother, were in the guest room.

The bright and friendly guy who was always the center of the group—Shiiba Yatarou.

The pretentious, intellectual-looking guy with glasses who got on my nerves—Inuzuka Hibari.

My brother, who hid some outrageous fetishes behind his gentle demeanor—Makishima Hidekazu.

The gloomy girl who was always clicking her tongue in the corner—Natsume Sakura.

And the girl with a smile as bright as the sun, gently illuminating everyone—Enomoto Kureha.

I didn’t understand it at the time, but they were apparently members of the same club.

The drama club didn’t mean much to me. When they explained that they performed plays like on TV, I kind of got it but didn’t really.

Anyway, I was relieved to see the usual group… or rather, relieved that Kureha-san was there, and I offered the snacks.

“Um, uh…”

Even the words “Mom told me to bring these” got stuck in my throat.

I was nervous.

Not out of fear of someone older.

Ever since I was little, I’d admired Kureha-san.

Though we were childhood friends, in reality, Kureha-san and I were distant.

With a ten-year age gap, it was practically adult and child—equal footing was impossible.

Apparently, when my brother and Kureha-san were young, they used to visit each other’s houses, but by high school, they led separate lives.

My brother, being the type to obsess over 2D worlds and show little interest in real-life girls, made it even more pronounced.

But starting in the spring of his second year of high school, their connection through the drama club brought them back to hang out.

Even though I insisted on bringing the snacks myself, I was too nervous to speak properly, and it was always Kureha-san’s role to gently talk to me.

She’d smile brightly, take the tray, and gently pat my head.

“Shinji-kun, thank you as always~ You’re such a good boy~”

“…!”

I tensed up for an entirely different reason.

In that moment, I instinctively wished it could last forever.

The one who always threw in unnecessary teasing was, without fail, Yatarou-san.

“Oho, look at him blushing.”

And the one to immediately scold him was Sakura-san.

“Don’t tease a kid like that. You’re so good at reading the room in class, but you’ve got zero tact in moments like this.”

My brother would flash a thin smile, trying to smooth things over.

“Now, now. I’m glad you’re sticking up for Shinji, but let’s not fight…”

That was the routine.

I was thrilled to have a chance to talk to Kureha-san—but at the same time, my heart was unsettled by the troublesome baggage that came with her.

That was Hibari-san.

He’d adjust his glasses and let out a dramatic sigh.

“More importantly, can we move on with the agenda? Time isn’t a resource to be wasted.”

He dismissed my faint crush as “something like that.”

Those little jabs in his words always irritated me.

His know-it-all attitude and condescending behavior got on my nerves.

Even as a kid, I thought, This guy probably isn’t popular with girls.

And the one who’d pout and cling to Hibari-san was Kureha-san.

“Ugh~! Shinji-kun isn’t your errand robot~! Hibari-kun, you need to say thank you properly~!”

“Ugh, you’re annoying! Let go of me!”

“I won’t let go until you apologize~!”

And then she’d add:

“Shinji-kun is my friend, so don’t be mean to him!”

…Though, ironically, the one treating me the most like a kid was Kureha-san herself.

While watching their playful bickering, Yatarou-san and Sakura-san exchanged words.

“Isn’t this just a reward for Hibari?”

“Shh. If you say that, we’ll never get anywhere, so shut up.”

From there, the atmosphere became one I couldn’t intrude upon.

In the end, in the story of these five, I was nothing more than a minor side character.

…After the four of them left, having finished their drama club practice, I once asked my brother:

“Aniki!”

“Shinji? What’s up?”

As a young kid, I did my best to put my feelings into words.

“How do you kiss a girl you like!?”

“Huh…?”

My brother looked a bit stunned, as if trying to gauge the meaning behind my words.

To young me, love = kissing was about the extent of it. That’s how a grade-schooler’s view of romance works.

My brother put a hand to his chin, muttering, “Kissing, huh…” with a serious expression.

Then, raising a finger, he imparted a revelation to me.

“Listen, Shinji. Love is, in a way, like clearing routes.”

“Routes… clearing?”

“Exactly. There’s no such thing as a guide for love. If you want to reach a happy ending with the girl you like, you have to go after every girl you meet, one by one. That way, you’ll eventually end up on the route for your target.”

“…”

To my brother’s profound revelation, I—

“Got it!”

I didn’t get it.

It took me quite a while to realize that his advice was missing the prefix “In gal games”…

Such is my trivial dark history.

Even after more than ten years, it still haunts my heart and won’t let go.

And now.

As I rest my chin on my hand on the school rooftop, Natsu says to me with a hint of concern:

“We’re friends, right?”

I scoff at those words.

“The day I let someone like you call me a friend is the day I’m done for.”

Spring is so fleeting, yet it refuses to let me forget these precious memories.

This is a fragment of my silly dark history.