We Hate Each Other, But It Started With a One-Night Stand - Chapter 11

Night had fallen. Inside the dark room, even turning on the lights felt like too much effort.

Hatano rested her chin in her hand, staring at her laptop screen.

Her gaze was fixed dully on the blinking cursor at the end of the text. Pushing thoughts of Shinomiya and Rokai to the back of her mind, she faced the novel she was writing for the open submission.

The ‘protagonist’ was a forward on a women’s soccer team, lacking in natural talent.

For a brief time, she and her childhood friend—a genius striker she’d known since elementary school—had shone as the team’s two pillars. But as the years passed, the gap in their abilities became glaringly obvious. Even on days her ‘childhood friend’ rested, the protagonist pushed herself to the point of vomiting blood, immersing herself in physical training and research. Yet the gap only widened.

Now, no one expected anything from her. Her efforts went unrewarded. Tormented by feelings of inferiority, the ‘protagonist’ continued to play soccer. Playing the same forward position, the number of goals she scored compared to her ‘childhood friend’ was like heaven and earth. Called nothing more than a support player, a foil, she repeated various setbacks and conflicts. The end she arrived at was—

Deleting the plotline that read like a foolish dream—’efforts rewarded with a happy ending’—Hatano pondered the developments to come.

With a sigh, she threw her weight back against the chair. Creak. The chair rocked.

The message she wanted to convey remained unchanged. It was ‘the meaning of effort.’

The ending also had to be one where the protagonist was rewarded. It wasn’t because ‘that was the right way’ or ‘it was better.’ It was simply born from the thought that, in a place where one could look away from a reality overflowing with absurdly bitter endings, a happy conclusion might be allowed to visit.

Therefore, here, she needed to focus on how the ‘protagonist who continued unrewarded efforts’ would be rewarded. And in focusing on that point, what elements should Hatano delve into? Operating the touchpad, Hatano opened a notepad and began typing.

‘What was the protagonist seeking?’ After typing that, she stared at the sentence that succinctly summarized her tangled thoughts. Then, after a line break, she added, ‘She could persevere because she had something to seek. If the protagonist is to be rewarded, it would only be when that is achieved.’

She saw her thoughts, like scattered threads being woven together, coalescing on the screen.

Gradually, her thoughts solidified, and Hatano leaned forward, typing intently.

Then, there was a sense that the image of the protagonist making unrewarded efforts was taking concrete form within the words. Hazily, a fog seemed to settle over her mind, dulling her perception of the real world. Instead, she felt her consciousness drifting into the world behind the words—and there, in the shadow of the ‘childhood friend’ scoring a brilliant goal and being surrounded by teammates, she saw the ‘protagonist,’ who could only manage an assist.

And it was right after she glimpsed the shadow of a certain acquaintance there.

—Bzz, bzz. An irritating vibration sound rang out, shattering her concentration. With the unpleasant sensation of slamming on the brakes or being jolted awake by an alarm, Hatano looked at the smartphone on her desk. She thought it might be Rokai, with whom she had exchanged contact info the other day, but the caller ID displayed a name unfamiliar on her own phone, yet one she knew well.

“…Shindo?”

It was quite rare for him to contact her. Hatano replaced the irritation of her disrupted concentration with surprise and interest at the call from this unusual person, turning on a light as she answered.

“Hello—”

“Shinomiya-san, are you drinking—?”

The name was Iida or Iizuka, something like that, she was pretty sure. Recalling the name from the face of the person speaking to her, Shinomiya formed a smile and nodded. “Yes.”

In a corner of the bustling izakaya, the members of the literary club were having their usual drinking party as always. Some exchanged complaints and laughter, others enjoyed the drinks and food. Among those spending time as they pleased, there were also those making approaches to the person they fancied.

For some reason, Shinomiya couldn’t immerse herself in this atmosphere, instead gazing absently at the surface of her cocktail. Few noticed this anomaly. The young men targeting her kept trying to get her attention, while the female members watched the scene with apparent distaste.

There was a time when she herself had craved this very scene, but now, Shinomiya felt an unfulfilled emptiness within. And simultaneously—she understood that until now, she had only felt like it filled her heart, that it had merely been her own delusion.

As if searching for a certain woman who had always been on the periphery of her awareness until recently, she scanned the interior, but of course, the girl who had quit the club was nowhere to be seen. Every time she remembered the fun aquarium outing—the kind of thing that would have moistened her parched heart—boredom and emptiness welled up.

Amidst this, Sasaki, the girl who had argued with Shinomiya before, dressed in clothes that exaggerated her chest, leaned in close to Shijima’s face as she spoke.

“Shijima-kun, I heard your publishing project is going well? I heard from Shindo-kun, congratulations!”

“Hm? Ah, yeah. Thanks—but, it’s still early. If making publication or winning awards becomes the goal, you just stop there. I’m still aiming further ahead.”

Shijima, who had been addressed, smiled amiably. Sasaki, seeming pleased with his reaction, glanced at Shinomiya. Then, she smiled triumphantly at Shinomiya’s gloomy expression.

Noticing Sasaki’s gaze, Shijima also looked at Shinomiya, noticed her distracted state, and made a concerned face. Shijima was about to speak to her, but just as he opened his mouth, Iizuka cut in.

“Shinomiya-san! We’re thinking about a second party today. Wanna come?”

With base desire plain on his face, making no attempt to hide it, Iizuka invited Shinomiya.

His tone clearly anticipated ‘what would come after.’ There probably wasn’t a single person who didn’t notice his true intentions. Under several gazes of astonishment and contempt, what suddenly surfaced in Shinomiya’s mind was the completely unrelated Hatano.

‘I won’t ask if you don’t want to say, but if there’s something you can get off your chest to feel better, I’ll listen.’ Remembering her words, spoken with eyes that peered not just at surface appearances but into her inner self, Shinomiya’s chest tightened painfully.

Shinomiya forced a stiff smile, as if to kill her anguish, and placed a hand on her chest.

But even so. As she had told her the other day, nothing had changed.

Nothing had changed. Shinomiya, the dropout, could only fill her heart this way. Because she knew no other way to live, she lived like this. Telling herself this, she formed a gentle smile and directed it at Iizuka as well. Though, just accepting his desire would be a bit boring. It would surely feel better to involve more people—like Shijima and Shindo—and draw the jealousy of a larger crowd.

Telling herself this, as a first step, Shinomiya looked at Shindo sitting next to her, intending to invite him.

At that moment, Shindo’s gaze, as if seeing right through her, pierced Shinomiya.

“Are you feeling unwell?”

His words, spoken while holding a highball and looking at her, pressed down heavily on her chest.

Shinomiya’s smile stiffened slightly.

She had optimistically assumed no one had noticed, but it seemed her anomaly had been spotted. She wasn’t feeling sick, but there were words that wouldn’t leave her head and a person who wouldn’t leave her heart. But if she nodded here, the plans Iizuka brought up would surely fall apart, and this emptiness in her heart would remain unfilled.

—Wrong. Her reason and instinct spoke in unison, rejecting the facade.

It was wrong, wasn’t it? She knew. In a place wrapped in such base passions and ill feelings, her heart shouldn’t be filled in the slightest. Emotions steeped in such desire were no good. The truth was—deep in her heart, she wanted to go out with her again, chatting and laughing without any pretense.

But acknowledging that would surely mean denying everything she had built up and walked until now. So Shinomiya tried to avert her eyes from the truth.

Even so, her parched heart honestly sought ‘water.’

“Just a little.”

Unintentionally, Shinomiya uttered words to escape from all this vexation.

Belatedly realizing the honest feeling she had let slip, Shinomiya almost covered her mouth.

Hearing this, Shindo, despite being the one who asked, showed an expression of surprise that Shinomiya had admitted it so frankly. Iizuka, who had been listening to their exchange, leaned forward. “Y-you okay? Should I walk you home?” But Shindo, sighing, pushed Iizuka back past Shinomiya’s figure and pulled his smartphone from his pocket.

“I’ll call a taxi for you, just go home today. Iizuka, give it up already.”

When Shindo looked at him as if driving in a nail, Iizuka shrank back, cowed. “O-okay.” Watching this scene, Shijima smiled contentedly and looked away, as if leaving the rest to them.

Shinomiya was about to slump her shoulders at the fact that the event of tangled base passions and ill feelings she herself had craved until just recently had vanished. But no matter how she tried to deceive herself, the emotion welling up in her heart was relief, so Shinomiya desperately averted her eyes from her own heart.

“Ah, hello. It’s me—need a bit of a pickup.”

Perhaps he knew a taxi driver. Watching Shindo make the call in a rather familiar tone out of the corner of her eye, Shinomiya sipped the last of her cocktail.

Within less than thirty minutes, Shindo’s phone vibrated. Reading the message that arrived, Shindo laughed cheerfully. “That was fast.” He cast his gaze toward Shinomiya.

“Shinomiya, your ride’s here. Get home safe.”

“Ah, y-yes!”

If the taxi had arrived, she couldn’t very well keep it waiting in front of the izakaya. Shinomiya gathered her belongings. Turning her back on the regretful gazes of the young men, she simply added a “Thank you” to Shindo, who had been considerate, handed over her share of the bill, and left her seat.

With slightly lighter steps, she hurried toward the exit.

What should she do after this? She’d had a bit to drink, but wasn’t drunk. Even if she went home, there was nothing to do. Maybe kill time somewhere—in a corner of her mind thinking such things was the burning image of someone she yearned for, and Shinomiya suddenly felt like reaching into her pocket and calling her number.

But she was afraid of her own changing feelings every time she spent time with her, afraid of wanting to deny her past self. Shinomiya stopped herself just before taking out her phone.

She’d go home and sleep today. And sort out her feelings.

Thinking this, she opened the izakaya door, and the scent of late autumn wafted in.

Shinomiya took a deep breath of the pleasantly chilly air filling her lungs and looked for the taxi Shindo had supposedly called. However, a quick glance around revealed no such vehicle parked nearby. “Huh?” she murmured softly, stepping outside, closing the door, and peering around.

Then, a voice she knew struck her eardrums unexpectedly.

“…What’s this, you don’t look so great.”

Instantly, she felt her heart lurch violently.

Shinomiya’s eyes widened as she looked toward the voice—at the person standing beside the izakaya door. Black hair illuminated by the orange light spilling from the izakaya’s frosted glass, and deep black eyes that seemed to see into her heart. Perhaps she had come in a hurry, her breathing was just slightly ragged.

The fact that the person Shindo had called as a taxi was her, why he had called her—setting aside such various questions, the first thing she felt was a tightening pain in her chest.

“Se… senpai.”

Standing frozen in place, she stared with wide eyes at the person she had yearned for.

Three days since they last went to the art museum together. The feelings that had swollen during the time they hadn’t met were eating away at Shinomiya’s heart. Hugging her aching heart, she placed a hand on her chest, cooling her flushed cheeks with the nearing-early-winter chill.

Hatano glared in the direction of Shindo, who was probably still inside.

“That jerk said you looked really sick and to come pick you up. —Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine! Totally, um… I’m fine.”

In complete contrast to before, she answered honestly, following her emotions and thoughts.

Hearing that reply, Hatano showed a relieved expression, then a slightly puzzled one. If she was really fine, then why had she come out alone, why had Shindo called for a pickup? Such questions might have surfaced, but seeing Shinomiya’s awkward expression, she stopped pursuing it.

Then, she smiled faintly, as if to say ‘oh well.’

“I’m worried, so let me see you home. The train’s fine, right?”

Various emotions tangled complexly, and the reply she tried to spin wouldn’t come out.

Joy that she had come, and the honest desire deep in her heart to absolutely have her accompany her. The dismissive, slightly mocking words that would follow her previous cold behavior toward her. So many things she wanted to say overflowed; if she carelessly opened her mouth now, she’d probably say something strange.

After thinking for a moment, Shinomiya silently reached out and linked her arm with Hatano’s, holding onto it.

Receiving Hatano’s surprised gaze, Shinomiya blushed to the tips of her ears and looked down.

Hatano watched Shinomiya like that for a while, then relaxed her cheeks slightly and murmured, as if explaining her action to no one in particular, “It’s dark, and cold.” It was quite chilly today. And it was dark underfoot. But like this, leaning against each other, it would surely be warm and reassuring.

On the way to the station, the two walked arm in arm, just like lovers.