Tada, Sore Dake de Yokattan desu Chapter 2 - Nobody else Knows.

Few are the paths for me to truly connect with you. It's not that my life itself is extraordinary, nor do I harbor peculiar notions. The simple truth is, I am exceedingly foolish. Naturally, this self-deprecation doesn't extend to you; it is solely aimed at myself.

In a secluded corner of a typical classroom, I found myself lost in thought, and thus, the day concluded. No one engaged me in conversation; it felt as though I resided in a world entirely my own, utterly isolated. The bell's chime seemed to signal my solitary existence. While others in the morning buzzed about the previous night's television, or at midday enjoyed delightful meals from the cafeteria, or in the evening planned their routes to fast-food joints on the way home, I was consistently excluded from their plans.

I am alone.

The desks, the blackboard, my pencil case, the school uniforms, the restroom facilities, the textbooks, the gym attire, the notebooks—all these items appeared to be inhabitants of a realm separate from mine.

Therefore, I implore you, please, condescend to mock me.

It is through your ridicule that I might finally achieve a sense of unity with you.

What I am about to recount is a chapter of my life I find profoundly embarrassing.

While all fourteen-year-olds possess a certain immaturity, I must admit to being the most foolish among them. Perhaps my intellect has been eroded by my own delusions, leading me to believe I suffer from an exceptional malady.

Consequently, I ask that you look down upon my romantic failures, my personal setbacks, and in doing so, cast your gaze upon me.

Observe this pathetic, unsophisticated, and foolish individual, whose sole reason for being is to find self-inflicted torment, initiating a small-scale rebellion.

My name is Taku Sugawara.

There are certain truths that only I am privy to.

For instance, the daily school curriculum becomes an exercise in profound boredom when one lacks any companions.

Consequently, I typically occupy a solitary seat by the window, bathed in sunlight, within the classroom, perpetually immersed in the contemplation of a scoundrel's thoughts.

On this particular occasion, my internal debate centered on a rather peculiar question: "Would you choose to be the most unfortunate person in the world, or the second most unfortunate?"

You must make this decision within two seconds.

It is likely that everyone would opt to be the 'most unfortunate person in the world.'

If that is the case, then it presents a curious paradox. Unexpectedly, the title of 'most unfortunate' is preferred over 'second most unfortunate' in this world? This line of reasoning seems rather peculiar. Perhaps, if one is fated for misfortune, it is best to embrace it wholeheartedly.

After all, people readily donate to support impoverished children in Africa, yet no one extends such generosity to me.

A middle school student, with subpar academic performance and athletic skills, who stands no chance of securing a girlfriend, leading a life where I speak to no one, not even acknowledging my own existence. Despite enduring such a profoundly unfortunate existence, no one seems to notice or care.

They simply perceive me as an insignificant presence.

I, who exist within the classroom as mere 'air,' am incapable of receiving affection from anyone.

Driven by this, I defiantly redirected my resentment towards those starving children in Africa.

(No, no, I understand their plight is genuine. However, they do receive compassion from others. In my case, even if I were to search the entire globe, I could not find a single soul who loves me, and that is an undeniable fact. Ah, damn it all.)

Naturally, it is inconsequential that no one comprehends my internal struggles. To put it succinctly, this is merely the nonsensical exposition of a rather dim-witted middle schooler.

Then, as October arrived, my thoughts spiraled with the unbridled intensity of a true rogue.

This was the very reason I ranked thirteenth from the bottom in the Human Power Test.

It was on that particular day that I engaged in a conversation with Kotomi Ishikawa.

That event transpired two months prior.

The Kuzegawa Second Middle School, which I attend, is renowned for its extensive use of group projects.

Every Tuesday, each class is divided into groups of four students, tasked with collaboratively answering a deceptively simple question.

Topics such as "Kuzegawa City's Brand New Tourist Attractions," "Essential Items for an Expedition to an Uninhabited Island," or "A Novel Commercial Activity to Replace Valentine's Day"—questions perhaps too mundane even for our usual idle chatter—are presented, and through a drawing of lots, teams of four are formed. This pedagogical approach is deliberately designed to encourage interaction among individuals who struggle with communication.

Yet, I found myself utterly incapable of deriving any enjoyment from this lesson time, for reasons I cannot articulate. It possibly stems from the feeling that our collaborative efforts were merely a component evaluated in the Human Power Test. We exerted considerable effort, hoping to garner favorable votes from our peers, a notion I found utterly ridiculous.

Consequently, I would invariably refrain from contributing to discussions when the other three members of my group were debating topics like 'the latest offerings from a popular hamburger chain.' Even if the conversation was directed towards me, my responses would be limited to curt phrases like "Consider the times we live in," or "Context is key." Truly, I am a deplorable individual.

Kanda Setogura, an academically gifted student, initially offered me polite smiles, attempting to elicit my input. However, he ultimately resigned himself to ignoring me. Ayaka Tsuda, who possessed a distinct aura of rebelliousness, already considered herself unfortunate to be grouped with me, her words laced with spite, and at times, she would cast furious glances my way.

"Hey, Sugawara. Please, say something."

Finally, Setogura looked at me blankly and said that.

"I have a feeling that my remaining Middle School life will end without me ever talking to you, Sugawara."

At the very least, I managed to utter, "Sorry...". If I apologize, perhaps this could be smoothed over.

As expected, Tsuda immediately told Setogura, "Enough already, Kanda. Ignore this bastard." With Tsuda’s pressure, Setogura reluctantly shifted to the next topic.

Sorry. This time, I secretly thought in my heart. Apologies for worrying about this scumbag.

And so, our group settled on a 'bashimi burger'. Naturally, Setogura was the one to present it.

The group led by Masaya elicited the most excitement from the class, deciding on a 'Waffle burger' with fruits and cream sandwiched between waffles. Ninomiya gleefully mocked him, asking, "Isn't that not a hamburger?" Masaya responded with a nonchalant, "Is there a rule that forbids using the side menu?" Ninomiya played with his long bangs, making exaggerated gestures that sent the entire class into laughter. Even Tsuda and the girls in the class were captivated by their dispute. It was the usual group work dynamic.

I watched Masaya, cursed him silently in my heart, and then left the classroom.

It was after school, once our group work had concluded, that I spoke with Ishikawa.

The location was the school library, a place I frequented for borrowing light novels. At 14 years old, I still passed over all the Japanese literary classics, opting for easier reads. I am the type to loudly declare, "My hobby is reading," and then quietly add, "But only light novels."

The library at my current middle school offered a decent selection of light novels, serving as the perfect companion for a middle schooler short on cash. Moreover, there were two shelves dedicated to them. I ceased overthinking and began from the rightmost end of the neatly arranged paperbacks, pulling them from the shelf sequentially. If the illustrated girl on the cover wasn't cute, I'd put it back. This was my method for selecting entertainment at home.

It was after school, and while many students were around me, it didn't matter. Everyone else besides me was merely background scenery. Therefore, I was truly taken aback when someone called my name.

One could say it was headline news for someone to call my name, except during group work sessions.

"Do you come to the library often, Sugawara?"

A girl's voice spoke.

Turning around, I saw my classmate, Kotomi Ishikawa, standing behind me.

She is a lively girl with medium-to-long black hair. My memory of her was that she always wore an elegant smile in class. Here she stood before me, resembling a child who discovered a treasure, and offered an innocent smile.

"Eh, ah, what?"

I stammered terribly as I asked. What an embarrassing voice!

However, Ishikawa didn't laugh at me. Instead, she spoke with seriousness.

"You worked hard on that group project. I think the bashimi burger is fine, but the class response wasn't very enthusiastic. It’s a bit disappointing, isn't it?"

Then, she began to chat as if we were already friends.

What was going on?

It was true that in our group, there was me, Setogura, Tsuda, and also Ishikawa. I recalled her suggesting rather unrealistic ideas like 'how about adding miso to the bread', or 'I think adding matcha sauce would be a refreshing idea'.

Towards my classmates Setogura and Tsuda, who were in my group, never intended to discuss, and Ishikawa, who had been proposing strange ideas the entire time, I felt I had no right to criticize, but my sympathies were with them.

"Well... I think they have bashimi burgers in Kumamoto."

Since she had initiated a conversation, I couldn't just ignore her, so I mumbled in response.

Ishikawa's eyes widened. "We overlooked that," she commented. She then glanced at the paperback I held, asking, "Ah, that's a light novel, isn't it... do you have any recommendations, Sugawara?"

"..."

My thumbs were pressing with such force, they seemed on the verge of tearing the book, changing its color. It wasn't because I disliked light novels, but rather I reacted instinctively without thinking. I couldn't fathom her intentions. Why would she, who always chattered excitedly about bands and artists, continue to converse with a gloomy person like me?

Like a cornered hare, I became wary. However, Ishikawa seemed oblivious to my apprehension and tilted her head in confusion.

I was trapped between her and the shelf that towered over me, in the gloomiest corner of the library. For some reason, we remained in silence, simply gazing at each other.

"...I just want to talk with you." Ishikawa was the first to break the quiet, stating, "I want you to take me as your disciple, Sugawara."

"Huh?"

"Please accept me as your disciple."

I couldn't quite grasp her sudden intensity, and while still uncertain, Ishikawa bowed her head deeply, revealing the graceful curve of her neck. What was this? Was this some new trend among girls? I was completely bewildered!

"P-please, could you lift your head?"

I worried that anyone witnessing this might misunderstand and cause trouble for me. After my earnest plea, Ishikawa seemed amused by my awkwardness, chuckling as she rose.

I could honestly say, without any exaggeration, that I let out the most profound sigh of the year, muttering,

"What is going on...?"

It was then that Ishikawa realized she hadn't provided a proper explanation. "Ah," she exclaimed, then said,

"It's because you're an amazing person, Sugawara."

"Amazing?"

"Yes. Just now, during that group activity. You have this cool, analytical perspective, observing everything from a distance, right? You don't seem to care about what others might think. Is it that you won't just go along with the crowd easily?"

"No... that's not quite it..."

"Not quite it?"

"I just don't have any friends..."

I voiced the words, but they sounded like a tragic confession.

Yet, it was the truth, and I couldn't change that. If I were considered truly amazing, then Ishikawa must be an unprecedented prodigy.

Ishikawa shook her head.

"Ah, no, you might not have many friends, but that's beside the point. Actually, it feels like you don't even want to make friends. I'd say you don't actively try to win anyone's favor. You disregard their opinions; or something along those lines. Anyway, I find that incredibly cool. I truly admire it."

She could compliment me however she pleased, but even I wouldn't interpret it that way.

It was rare for me to receive even a single compliment in a year. Yay. I felt a quiet surge of delight. But in truth--

"Actually, I do care about what others think of me," I replied.

"For example?" Ishikawa inquired.

"Honestly, I'm happy to be praised as 'cool.'"

After I pointed this out, Ishikawa let out a chuckle. She then playfully tapped my chest with her fist, causing me to stumble slightly, and said,

"You're not the type to get conceited from praise. But this is different, isn't it? It's like dropping a 500 yen coin while walking down the street, isn't it? That's different from me, from us. So... I'm envious of you, Sugawara."

This metaphor, which I didn't fully grasp, carried an undertone of self-deprecation. Despite this, her tone didn't become entirely somber; she sounded as if she were joking.

As I considered pursuing this further, I heard the voices of a few girls behind the bookshelves. "Kotomi, where are you?" "Did she get lost again?" It seemed Ishikawa had arrived with some friends, and she turned around, glancing towards the voices with a look of surprise. Had she come to meet me without telling them? It appeared she was quite lost.

I raised my hand slightly and said, "They're calling for you. Bye-bye."

"I'll ask you about the disciple matter again next time," Ishikawa waved her hand. "We'll talk again soon, my soon-to-be master."

What was with that title? I thought, and my own feelings started to become muddled.

For some reason, after bidding farewell to Ishikawa, I felt a strange sense of longing, or perhaps more accurately, a desire to sigh. After conversing with someone familiar, a wave of fatigue washed over me. It was a truly complex emotion.

Just as she was about to leave, Ishikawa uttered something peculiar to me,

"Sugawara."

"...Yes?"

"If I let you touch my breasts, can you vote for me in the next Human Power Test as repayment?"

"Huh!?"

Did I mishear that?

Naturally, being asked something so sudden, I was unable to respond.

After a moment of silence, Ishikawa flashed a mischievous grin and said, "Just kidding," before vanishing behind the bookshelf.

Back in elementary school, I once asked a classmate, whose name I've long forgotten, "Let's go home together."

His response was, "I don't want to be involved with you."

Therefore, Ishikawa must have completely misunderstood. It felt utterly foolish.

She shouldn't be envious of someone like me.

It's true that I don't concern myself with others' opinions. I only possess a sliver of interest in such matters. Just a minuscule amount. In other words, that's it.

But she was unaware of the reason I became this way.

She had no idea about my ranking in the Human Power Test.