We Hate Each Other, But It Started With a One-Night Stand - Chapter 9.2

“The one you chose was watercolor.”

“…Yes.”

Confirming this, Shinomiya gazed at the paintings as if drowning in Rokai’s sea of works.

“My sister has always been indulgent with me. ‘If it’s watercolor, I can teach you. If it’s watercolor, we can do it together.’ Even when I tried to break my brush, she gave up her time facing her own works to encourage me.”

For Rokai, she must have been that precious younger sister.

But love isn’t a magical power that makes everything possible.

“I also wanted to become a painter like my sister at first. But the gap kept widening, never closing, and the surrounding gazes and expectations gradually shifted back to Rokai. The words thrown at me were ‘Try hard like your older sister.’ Most second and third person references were ‘Rokai’s younger sister.’ My studio just piled up with trash. At some point, my father proposed this to me.”

Finishing the first exhibition room, they walked toward the corridor leading to the second.

Suddenly stopping, she turned and looked at Hatano.

Seeing her face, Hatano unconsciously forgot to breathe and opened his eyes. How should he describe it—she had seeped into her nearly tearful smile a blend of anger, helplessness, powerless frustration, pain, resignation, and all those emotions mashed together.

“‘Why not try under a different name?'”

Hatano unconsciously stopped, wanting to say he couldn’t believe it while staring intently at her.

Certainly, from an external perspective, results are everything. Most creative endeavors without results are self-indulgent, and surely the Shinomiya lineage didn’t recognize self-indulgent art. But that’s the role of society and the world. What about when even your own family denies your efforts and disparages you?

Shinomiya, letting out a dry laugh, started walking forward.

“Sisters born into the Shinomiya lineage. One made a name with rare talent, the other only tarnished the name and left nothing. For the Shinomiya lineage, I was a shackle staining Rokai’s name. Even among others in the Shinomiya lineage, many artists failed to leave a mark, but I am an exception. Beside a gem like Rokai, coal must be annoying.”

The second exhibition room displayed works she painted last year.

Considering that Rokai was Shindo’s former classmate, she would be the same age as Hatano. Meaning, these were works she painted at twenty. Hatano viewed the collection with that in mind.

“—When my sister learned the words my father spat at me, she was furious and destroyed a masterpiece everyone had been eagerly awaiting completion. She broke her brush and threatened that if he didn’t retract his statement, she would never paint again. After that, I stopped hearing anything from relatives, and even denial vanished from my paintings.”

In creations devoid of affirmation, denial, empathy, or rejection, what truly remains?

Pursuing, protected by an admired figure seen by others as shackles, and if art sheltered that way bears no fruit, then for what does she hold her brush? If someone who craves more than anyone the wish ‘to be recognized by others,’ which ordinary people living everyday lives routinely fulfill, possessed an easy means to achieve it.

Wouldn’t fleeing from that be reasonable?

“You said before, ‘There are parts I can understand’ about my way of life, right?”

“…I did say that.”

The day he invited her to his room for the second time.

Before that, he remembered the words she said to him—’Isn’t it painful? Not being recognized by anyone.’ And then he said, ‘Of course it’s painful. That’s why I write to make them recognize me.’ Recalling this, Hatano understood the fundamental difference between her and himself.

Shinomiya turned with a tearful smile and spat out in a trembling, weak voice.

“I don’t want to say such cliché words… but you can’t understand my feelings, senpai. Someone who can persevere even without anyone’s recognition can’t understand me.”

That’s right. Having no words to retort, Hatano closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“Leaving results isn’t the only talent. Making a name in the world isn’t the only talent. Persisting in effort without breaking also requires talent. I didn’t have such wonderful grit. Please don’t try to gauge the feelings of a weak person like roadside weeds. Please don’t look down on me while hugging your knees. Not everyone can grit their teeth and move forward. Please don’t understand for self-indulgence. Look down from above and crush me if I’m a hindrance. Isn’t that the kind of world it is?”

Shinomiya, somehow keeping her voice calm despite nearly becoming emotional, yet spilling words driven by emotion. After saying everything, she breathed slightly heavily, her face full of self-loathing, and murmured painfully.

“I ran away from painting. I couldn’t keep facing it alone.”

Only then did Hatano realize that her many emotional words were spilled to sort out her own heart. She probably hadn’t told anyone until now. For the first time, she hurled at someone the things she had held inside her heart, suffering all along.

So surely, Hatano’s role now wasn’t to encourage or admonish, not such righteous acts. Just to keep listening to her words.

“…Running away, abandoning painting. That’s when I first realized I had nothing but painting. I couldn’t do anything, had nothing to boast about, no place to run to. But when a popular boy in class, someone I had no connection with, confessed to me, I realized. When I received jealous feelings from girls, I understood.”

Shinomiya started walking forward and continued in a light tone.

“Apparently, I’m a cute person. If I give a little glance, various people turn to me, and there are people who envy or resent me. When I was first poked by a girl and a boy who saw the scene protected me, I learned the comfort of being recognized by someone. I can’t go back anymore. I can’t change anymore.”

Suddenly stopping, Shinomiya looked up at a blue painting. ‘Ultramarine’—the work Rokai’s patron called magnificent, like ‘Battlefire,’ depicted the blue hour time. But unlike the previous work, what it depicted was ‘loneliness.’ Without anywhere stating it, he could understand its theme because the painting, focusing on a town with falling fog, a blurry traffic signal, closely resembled a scene of walking alone in the city center.

“…Winning in a contest, is it similar to when someone desires me or someone envies me? Being recognized by someone is the same, but what difference is there between those two? I don’t know, but while receiving that, I can feel that I’m living here. That I’m allowed to be here.”

If her words were true, she should surely be fulfilled.

But to Hatano’s eyes, she looked very lonely and empty. And he understood through this short interaction that it wasn’t an illusion. In the university literary club, among boys stirred by lust and girls driven by jealousy. Hatano thought such a place should disappear, but surely for her, such a place was comfortable.

Thinking such things, Shinomiya suddenly looked at Hatano and widened her eyes in surprise. Then, she smiled as if amazed and murmured in a somewhat happy tone.

“Why are you looking like you’re about to cry, senpai?”

“—Huh?” He frowned, not understanding what she was saying, but simultaneously, something hot welled at the corners of his eyes. Hastily wiping it with his finger, it was unmistakably tears, and Hatano spat out “Damn it” resentfully while shaking his head to shift his focus.

Shinomiya, watching such a scene, opened her mouth with an expression as if touching something unbearably dear.

“I think you’re a good person, senpai. I’m grateful for today too, and for the first time, I spent enjoyable time unrelated to painting, romance, or lust.”

“But,” she continued. Just a little, her expression seemed lonely.

“Ultimately, I haven’t changed at all, and from now on, I think I’ll continue living that way to fill my own heart. So, if you’re expecting any change in me, please give up and discard me. You’re someone who can live alone, aren’t you?”

Her expression as she declared this against the backdrop of ‘Ultramarine’ was very lonely.

Hatano remained silent, not knowing what words to return. He wanted to deny her words. If she wanted to change, he’d help as much as possible, let’s change together. But since she didn’t wish for that, he didn’t know what to do.

Not only not knowing what to do, he didn’t really know what he wanted either. Did he want to change her way of life? Did he want to remain her friend? Originally, having impulsively called her out today, Hatano understood he needed to face his own heart anew.

Having seen all Rokai’s works and leaving the museum around 23:00, when the last train was nearly gone.

At the last possible moment, Shinomiya passed through the ticket gate and descended to the platform, Hatano watching her go. She looked back many times waving, and he made a gesture like brushing her off, saying don’t look back, hurry before you fall, and she ran off puffing her cheeks in sulkiness.

Even though he himself had little margin for the last train, hands in pockets in the chilly station building, Hatano kept staring in the direction she left. He hadn’t much liked the frivolous woman named Shinomiya. But on the day he crossed a line drunk, he became slightly interested in her. Each time he learned about her through chance encounters, he grew gradually concerned, and before he knew it, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

He didn’t intend to say this was love or anything flowery, but he harbored no small amount of friendship and affection. Amid that, learning her past and circumstances, Hatano didn’t know what he should do or what he wanted to do.

Letting out a sigh as if expelling accumulated pus, scratching the back of his head, then extending his steps toward his own ticket gate before the last train disappeared.

Then, an unknown voice called out to stop him.

“Good evening. First time meeting you, ‘Hatano’-san.”

An unknown voice, but clearly calling him, Hatano stopped and looked toward the voice.

And, his voice choked, he widened his eyes in surprise.

Black hair extending to about shoulder length, black eyes reminiscent of the junior he knew.

Exactly resembling the girl he had just sent off, the person shown alongside the famous painting in the news article Shindo showed him days ago. Perhaps sensitive to cold, the young woman wearing a scarf and trench coat in late autumn smiled faintly at Hatano.

Why did she know his name? What was her purpose? Various questions swirled, but more than such trivial questions, he should be surprised this person was here now.

“—Rokai.”

Calling her name dismissively, she showed no sign of offense, peering into his eyes as if probing his character, then broached her business.

“My younger sister has been indebted to you. I know the last train is approaching and you’re in a hurry… but I’ll pay for your taxi fare, may I have a little of your time?”