Chapter 64

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The nerves started when the graduation ceremony was approaching its conclusion.

Youko thought, "I"m done for." Although her face didn"t show it, her heart was pounding. Then, becoming aware of her palpitations, she felt more and more agitated.

Why couldn"t G.o.d let her feel like this was just another rehearsal, right through to the end?

She wasn"t at all worried about the "Formal Reply" that she would have to read aloud. She was used to that sort of thing. Thinking back to the middle-school entrance ceremony, when she"d given the freshman representative"s speech to an auditorium full of complete strangers, this was nothing.

So, if asked what it was that was causing Youko"s nerves, it was the barrier that had to be overcome immediately before her "Formal Reply," the "Farewell Address." The farewell address was given by a member of the non-graduating student body, and her pet.i.t soeur, Ogasawara Sachiko, had been chosen to make this speech that would send off the graduating students.

Having said that, Youko wasn"t foolishly fretting about whether or not Sachiko was going to slip up. She wasn"t going to falter. In that sense, it wouldn"t be wrong to say that she had more poise than her grande soeur, Youko.

What was worrying Youko was her own mental state.

Would she be able to remain calm while Sachiko made the farewell speech? Surely the tears wouldn"t come flooding out, like a dam bursting?

(Maybe it was a bad idea to have a pair of soeurs give the farewell address and formal reply after all&h.e.l.lip;?)

She blamed the teachers that had chosen them. Naturally, they hadn"t been chosen as a matched set of soeurs, but their relationship would have been known. The teachers should have put more thought into who they nominated.

Youko glanced over at her homeroom teacher, who looked to be crying recklessly.

(While I"m doing all I can to suppress my emotions.)

Something she couldn"t accept.

(If I broke down in tears, and couldn"t read the formal reply, would it be alright?)

The teachers probably wouldn"t mind such a display of heartfelt emotion. It wouldn"t be what they were expecting, but if they started doubting how she acted in a crisis, then everything would look suspicious.

At any rate. Anger relieved the tension slightly.

By the time the hymn ended, Youko had more or less calmed down again. Or, rather, she"d accepted defeat.

Committing a major faux pas during the graduation ceremony right at the end of her time in high-school could be interesting too. There was no particular significance in maintaining her honor student image right until the very end.

"The farewell address."

The vice-princ.i.p.al"s voice rang out.

"Student representative. Second-year pine cla.s.s, Ogasawara Sachiko."

Sachiko said, "Here," as she rose from her chair in the students" seating area.

She walked to the front with her head held high.

A darling pet.i.t soeur.

An imposing, beautiful, young lady with a heart as clean and pure as gla.s.s.

Sachiko adjusted the mic, which had been setup right in front of the graduating students, then unfurled the white paper roll that contained her farewell address.

She lifted her head, silently gazed across the sea of graduates, then started to speak.

"To our onee-samas who are about to leave the nest of Lillian"s Girls Academy High-school."

It was at this point that Youko thought, "Ah." As in, "Ah, this isn"t good."

"Congratulations on your graduation."

(Not good. Not good at all.)

The introduction of the farewell address. Overflow had come incredibly quickly, even before the word "graduation" was fully spoken. Overflow of what? The promised tears, of course.

(Wh-wh-wh)

The words wouldn"t come. In this way, she was the same as Yumi-chan.

Even if she could have formed the thought, "What should I do?" there was nothing she could do. Given the number of tears she was shedding, they weren"t about to stick to her eyelids or eyelashes, and gravity wasn"t about to reverse, so the only possible outcome was that they streamed down her cheeks.

Like a waterfall.

Like a flood.

"Ulp."

The sound of a voice heaving with sobs came echoing through the microphone.

The hall suddenly fell silent.

The tears had been dammed up by Sachiko.

"Ulp."

This was the first time that Youko had seen this side of Sachiko. No words came out as she looked down, her shoulders convulsing as she desperately fought the tears.

Even though she was such a strong-hearted girl. Even though she was such an obstinate contrarian, who hated people seeing her weak points.

Seeing Sachiko sob like that may have been contagious, for the sound of people sobbing convulsively came leaking out from all parts of the auditorium.

Youko thought, "I want to be by her side."

But it wasn"t possible for someone on the receiving end of the farewell address to rebuke the speaker with, "Pull yourself together," or to put an arm around their shoulder and say, "You"ll be fine."

Besides, if she was saved by her grande souer, then Sachiko might lose the self-confidence required to lead the student council. To be viewed as a "Rosa Chinensis who can"t do anything without her onee-sama" would be too humiliating for the proud Sachiko.

(Ahh. Fight back, somehow.)

She couldn"t watch any more. Just as Youko was at her wits" end.

A figure burst forth from the second-year seating area.

That person lodged themselves right up against Sachiko and spoke briskly into the microphone.

"As a representative of all the students of this academy, let me offer you our heartfelt congratulations."

It was Rei.

As though it were entirely proper, Rei continued to read the farewell address that Sachiko held in her hand. What a superb friendship.

Forgetting her grat.i.tude to Rei for aiding her pet.i.t soeur during her crisis, Youko felt a twinge of jealousy.

Sachiko finally recovered halfway through the farewell address, and resumed reading it aloud together with Rei.

"Now that we"ve reached the end, we pray for your health and success, as we farewell you into the world."

With that last word, this time it was Rei"s voice that shook like she"d been overcome with emotion, probably out of love and respect.

"Student representative, Ogasawara Sachiko."

Sachiko continued with, "And." Rei sounded embarra.s.sed as she said, "Hasekura Rei."

One moment the auditorium was silent, as though everyone was holding their breath, the next moment it was echoing with applause, like the last song of a concert had just finished.

A thunderous roar.

(Do farewell addresses usually get this sort of reception &h.e.l.lip; ?)

She"d attended the high-school graduation last year and the year before, but she had no memory of such a raucous reaction.

The noise of the crowd drowned out the sound of the mic. It took a couple of minutes until silence once again reigned. Probably long enough to make some cup noodles.

"The formal reply."

The vice-princ.i.p.al said, after coughing to clear their throat.

"Graduating student"s representative. Third-year camellia cla.s.s, Mizuno Youko."

"Here."

As she rose from her folding chair, Youko thought, "Well now, this is going to be tough."

As she walked, she thought.

After what had just happened, there was no way she could break down into tears during the reading of the formal reply. But that wasn"t likely to happen even if she wanted it to, since, thanks to Sachiko, her tension and deep feelings had been completely blown away. She had to be the honors student, and re-instill discipline into the graduation ceremony.

But, what if?

Youko thought.

What if Youko found herself in the same situation as Sachiko? Would her two dear friends come to her aid as Rei had?

What if?

Sei and Eriko"s faces came to mind, and Youko quickly discarded that hypothesis.

Those two.

There was no way they"d leap up, they"d be leaning back in their chairs, pointing and laughing.

As expected of Rei.

There was no confusion in her eyes, Eriko proudly acknowledged.

Rei came across as a normal, gentle girl when she wasn"t wielding her shinai, but it was plain to see why she was voted this year"s Mister Lillian. When something had to be done, she did it. It was kind of cool.

The formal reply had begun.

As expected of Youko, her voice didn"t waver. She spoke with an irritating calmness. Right up until the very end, she remained the perfect honors student.

"Thinking back, these three years of high-school have - "

Eriko closed her eyes while listening to Youko"s speech. Not to go to sleep. She wanted Youko"s voice carved deep into her heart.

Lots of things had happened during their three years of high-school. Eriko had known Youko for six years, and Sei for getting on fourteen years now.

Fourteen years.

That was to say, for as long as Eriko had been attending Lillian"s.

She could have stayed at Lillian"s for another four years, but it felt like the right time to be heading outside.

Why, after all these years? - She"d often been asked this after she joined the ranks of students taking entrance exams to other universities.

Especially by the friends she"d known since kindergarten, they wanted to know why Lillian"s University was no good.

Why, after all these years? Even when she was asked this, she couldn"t easily come up with a clear answer.

Lillian"s was a good academy. She had no complaints.

So then, why?

Eriko thought, vaguely, that it was probably because she was satisfied. Because she was content with her school life at Lillian"s, and had no regrets, she could start her journey into a new world.

When they didn"t stop asking, she decided to answer the usual way, with, "Lillian"s doesn"t offer the degree I want to do." Which wasn"t wrong, but it wasn"t completely true either.

The truth was that she hadn"t found what she wanted to study, so she was going to university to look for it. So if she followed that through to its logical conclusion, she"d probably be just as happy studying literature or home economics at Lillian"s Women"s University.

In herself, she didn"t fully understand her own mind. So, as a stopgap, she fell back on the easily understood reason.

Youko"s formal reply would soon be over.

Now, as she was right on the brink of leaving Lillian"s, all sorts of memories came flooding back.

Foremost among them were the things she"d done with the Yamayurikai. And, through it, the pet.i.t soeur and friends she"d found. They were irreplaceable treasures.

(Ah, no good. I"m getting all sentimental.)

Even though she was going off in search of even more interesting things. What"s the point of being sad? Eriko gave herself a little pep talk.

Still.

She could overlook the small teardrops that had gathered in the corner of her eyes.

For today it was alright to cry. n.o.body would blame her.

She could hear the intro to the traditional graduation song, "Aogeba Toutoshi."

The beginning was boring, but the ending was wonderfully amusing. - That was how Sei would remember the graduation ceremony.

At least nothing had happened to make her nod off. Her mouth wasn"t dry either. So she obviously hadn"t been drooling.

Sachiko"s face, sloppy with tears, was worthy of her respect, and the way it let Rei enter the scene like an action hero from a children"s TV show was also satisfactory. It would have been better if Youko smiled more, but if she let her emotions out who knows where it would have ended.

It was hard to make allowances for those sort of things. While the audience had been deeply moved by Sachiko, if Youko had then burst into tears it would have almost certainly been boring. Besides, Sei was never going to jump in and read the formal reply alongside a crying Youko. The same undoubtedly went for Eriko.

That didn"t mean they were uncaring. Youko, Eriko, Sei. Unexpectedly, the three of them got along well together. When it came to dealing with other humans, everyone was different. Every group had its own way of getting along.

In Sei"s case, a hands-off relationship seemed to work well. Shimako seemed to be the same way. Nothing more needed to be said about the failure of Sei"s overly-close relationship with Shiori.

When both parties understood the unspoken rule of not delving too far into the other"s territory, they were able to get along well together. With Youko, sometimes she"d enter in too far, and then they"d argue. But it was because she was always thinking of what was best for the other person, and they"d built their relationship with this understanding, so their friendship didn"t collapse.

(When you find something precious, take a step back from yourself.)

The words that her onee-sama had spoken on this day one year ago came back to her. Sei looked up at the ceiling.

Back then, she"d been nervous about the year that lay ahead of her.

But the year had gone by in the blink of an eye.

In the blink of an eye, but still an incredibly fun time.

She could hear the intro to the traditional graduation song, "Aogeba Toutoshi."

Sei couldn"t really identify with the lyrics.

Maybe some day, decades later, she"d be able to see the teachers" efforts as a "great struggle." But at this moment, she didn"t see it as something she should be "deeply indebted" for.

(And all this "hold your head high, make your name, strive.")

Since the song had been written during the Meiji era, the lyrics were bound to contain some anachronisms. But wouldn"t it be better if it just said to live a happy, healthy life, without all that career stuff? It was just begging to be mocked.

But this time was a little bit different. Because of Yumi-chan"s extraordinary kindness, Sei decided to sing "swiftly" as "sweetly."

So she did, and, hmm, that was strange.

Even including the teachers she hadn"t liked and the painful memories, the entire lot could all be bundled together and described as sweet.

Lots of things had happened, but in general, she had good memories.

As she thought this, she felt she could sing.

(Now is the time to say farewell with an eternally grateful heart.)

Even with those words of farewell on her lips, she wasn"t overcome with emotion. Yesterday, she"d informed her cla.s.sroom of her departure. She looked out through the windows of her cla.s.sroom at the budding trees, and then through their branches to the sky.

If she could carve into her mind that she had been there, then that was enough for Sei.

There were no people she needed to inform about her departure.

She wouldn"t say, "Farewell," to the people she held dear. If they felt the same way about her, then Sei thought that they would surely meet again one day, even without any specific plans.

After the final bars of "Aogeba Toutoshi" died down, the music teacher started playing the opening to the school song.

The very familiar Lillian"s school song was more suited to a Sei-ntly place than a gymnasium.

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