Yukino Yukinoshita always stands firm.

In the silence, I heard a crackling as if from a broken radio. It was the

precursor to the bell ringing. When that very synthetic-sounding melody rang

out, Yukinoshita shut her book with a snap. It was time to go home. Taking

that as her signal, Yukinoshita briskly began preparing to leave. She tucked

the paperback she'd been holding neatly in her bag and stood. Then she

glanced at me.

But she just looked at me and then left without a word. Sparing not so

much as a bye or later, she strode briskly out the door. Her demeanor was so

frigid, I didn't even have a chance to say anything to her.

And then I was left there, all alone.

What an unlucky day it'd been. I got called to the teachers' room, press-

ganged into joining some mysterious club, verbally abused by a wastefully

cute girl… I'd suffered a lot. Wasn't talking to a girl supposed to make your

heart leap? My heart'd done nothing but sink! I'd rather have talked to my

usual conversational partner, a stuffed animal, than endure all that! A stuffed

animal doesn't give you any lip. It smiles at you kindly. Why couldn't I have

been born a masochist?

And what's more, how'd I get forced into this incomprehensible

competition? I don't even think I can beat Yukinoshita.

But, like…club activities and competitions and all that stuff sounds all

right from an outsider's perspective, doesn't it? Personally, when it came to

club activities, my idea of participating was just watching some DVDs of

girls in a rock-band club. This turn of events was not going to make us

friends. More likely, Yukinoshita would just calmly tell me, Your breath

smells, so could you please not breathe for three hours?

Youth really is a lie.

Losing the sports tournament in your final year and then making it all out

to be some beautiful thing by crying… Failing your university entrance

exams and then taking a year off to try and study to take the test again the

next year, all the while fooling yourself by saying that failure is life

experience…Bragging about how you're just being considerate of your crushand letting her go so you can pretend it's not just about you being unable

express your feelings—

And one more thing. That's right. Thinking that haughty, rage-inducing

girl's a tsundere—all hard candy shell on the outside with a gooey center

that'll ultimately expose itself and lead to a rom-com? Never gonna happen.

I won't accept that my essay needs revision. Youth really is false,

fraudulent, and fictitious nonsense.

.....

I left class after homeroom to find Ms. Hiratsuka waiting for me. Her arms

were crossed, and she was drawn up to her full height, looking exactly like a

prison guard. A military uniform and a whip would suit her to a T. Well,

school is basically like a prison, so it's not really much of a leap to imagine

her wearing that.

She's like something out of Alcatraz or Cassandra. Why

couldn't a Savior of Century's End show up right about now?

"Hikigaya. It's club time," she announced, and I suddenly felt my blood

drain away. Oh, crap. She's taking me to the slammer. If she's escorting me

to the clubroom, I'm really gonna start despairing about my life at this

school.

Yukinoshita is a natural-born condescender. She doesn't just have a

sharp tongue. What she says is verbal abuse, plain and simple. She's not

tsundere. She's just an unpleasant woman.

But Ms. Hiratsuka exercised no sympathy for me as she gave me a cold,robotic smile. "Let's go," she said, trying to take my arm. When I deftly

dodged her grab, her arm shot out again, and I slipped away from that, too.

"Um, you know, on the grounds that a school education values students'

autonomy and promotes their independence, I think I really must object to

this show of force."

"Unfortunately, school is actually a place where you're trained to conform

to society. Once you go out into the world, your opinion means nothing. Get

used to compulsion now." No sooner had she said that than her fist flew at

me. It hit me in the stomach with a penetrating thud, knocking the wind out

of me.

Taking advantage of my immobility, Ms. Hiratsuka grabbed my arm.

"You know what'll happen the next time you try to run, right? Don't cause

any more trouble for my fist."

"You've already decided to punch me again?" I can't handle any more

pain.

Once we started walking, the warden opened her mouth as if just

remembering something. "Oh yeah. If you run away again, I'll declare your

competition with Yukinoshita forfeit, period, with additional punishment

tacked on for good measure. Don't fool yourself into thinking you'll be able

to graduate on time."

She's totally screwing with both my future and my mental health.

Heels clicking on the floor, Ms. Hiratsuka strode along beside me.

Looking at the two of us in a certain way, though, her hand on my arm kind

of made her look like a call girl cosplaying as a teacher as we left a club

where she'd picked me up for a date.

There were three ways in which this scenario wasn't like that. First, I

hadn't paid her. Second, she wasn't resting her hand on my arm; she was

twisting my elbow as far as it would go. Finally, I wasn't happy or in the

least bit excited. The tip of my elbow was brushing the teacher's boob, but

even that wasn't doing it for me. She was taking me to that clubroom.

"Um, I'm not gonna run away or anything, so I'm okay on my own. l mean, I'm always alone, anyway. I'm totally fine on my own. I can't relax if

I'm not on my own."

"Don't say such lonely things. I want to go with you." She gave a sudden

—verging on kind—smile. It was completely different from her usual leering

smirk, and this abrupt departure from the norm set my heart beating a little faster. "I'd rather escort you, no matter how much you hate it, than end up

grinding my teeth because you got away. It's less psychological stress for me

this way."

"What a terrible reason!"

"What are you talking about? If you don't want to go, there's nothing I

can do about that, but I'm taking you to this club right now for your sake. So

you can be corrected. This is the beautiful love between a teacher and her

student."

"This is love? If this is love, I don't need it."

"Despite that sad excuse you used to try to get away, you really are

twisted. Maybe you're so twisted up, it reversed all your meridians. Don't go

building a Holy Emperor Cross Mausoleum or something."

You like your manga just a little too much, don't you?

"You'd be cuter if you were a little less contrary. It can't be very much

fun, having such a backward view of the world."

"Life isn't just about fun. If it were, there wouldn't be any sad Hollywood

movies. There is such a thing as finding pleasure in tragedy, you know."

"Classic Hikigaya. Many young people have a distorted worldview, but

you take it to a pathological level. It's like that special affliction kids get after

their first year of high school… You have a full-blown case of second-year

head swell." Beaming, Ms. Hiratsuka diagnosed my condition.

"Wow, that's kind of mean, treating me like I'm diseased. And what the

heck is 'second-year head swell' even supposed to mean?"

"You like manga and anime, right?" Ms. Hiratsuka changed the subject,

ignoring my request for an explanation.

"I guess I don't hate them."

"Why do you like them?"

"Well…they're part of Japanese culture and recognized as a form of pop

culture we can take pride in on a global level, so it would be unnatural to not

acknowledge their relevance. The market for it has expanded, too, so they're

also important from an economic perspective."

"Mm-hmm. So what about regular arts and literature? Do you like Keigo

Higashino or Koutarou Isaka?"

"I read them, but frankly, I prefer their work from before they got

popular."

"What light novel imprints do you like?"

"Gagaga and Kodansha BOX. Well, I don't know if the latter counts as an

imprint or not. What's with the interrogation?"

"Mm-hmm… It's just as I expected—and I mean that in a bad way.

You've got a serious case of second-year HS." My would-be diagnostician

regarded me with dismay.

"Like I said, what the heck is that?"

"Second-year head swell is just what it sounds like. It's a frame of mind

common among high school students. They think that being twisted is cool

and have a tendency to parrot ideas popularized on the Internet, like 'Get a

job and you lose!' and the like. They claim they were fans of popular authors

'before they got famous.' They disparage things everyone else loves and

applaud the obscure. What's more, they look down on their fellow nerds.

They wield twisted logic while simultaneously projecting an aura of having

achieved a bizarre sort of enlightenment. In a word, they're dicks."

"I'm a dick…? Damn it! It's basically all true! I can't even argue!"

"Oh, that was a compliment, though. Students these days are really good

at separating themselves from reality. As a teacher, I can't manage it all. I

feel like I'm working in a factory."

"Students these days, huh?" A sarcastic smile slipped out of me. Here

come the clichés. I considered casually overturning her argument out of

boredom.

Ms. Hiratsuka looked me right in the eye and shrugged. "You look like

you have something to say about that, but that kind of behavior is exactly

what indicates you have the disease."

"Is that right?"

"Don't get the wrong idea here. This is all sincere praise. I like you. You

haven't given up on thinking. Even if it is twisted thinking."

Hearing the words I like you got me a little choked up, putting me at a loss

for words. I struggled to come up with a retort to that unfamiliar phrase.

"So from your twisted perspective, how do you see Yukino Yukinoshita?"

"She's a jerk," I replied instantly. I believed so strongly that she was a

jerk that it was as if she'd told me, I think you should give up on "Concrete

Road."

"I see." Ms. Hiratsuka smiled wryly. "She's an incredibly gifted student,

though… I suppose the elites of the world must have their own problems to

deal with, too. But she's a very nice girl."

In what universe?! I mentally clicked my tongue.

"I'm sure she's ill in some way, too. She's kind and generally in the right.

But the world is unkind and full of wrongs. It must be hard for her to live in

it."

"Aside from the part where she's kind and in the right, I'm mostly in

agreement with you about the world," I said, and my teacher gave me a look

hat said, I know, right?.

"You…you kids really are twisted after all. There are parts of you that I

don't think will conform well to society, and that worries me. That's why I

want to gather all of you in one place."

"That club is an isolation ward?!"

"You could say that. I like watching you students; you entertain me. So

perhaps I just want to keep you close at hand."

Smiling merrily, she twisted my arm, which was becoming habitual.

Maybe she'd gotten that MMA-esque move from some manga. My elbow

occasionally touched her voluptuous bust while emitting a horrible creaking

noise.

Phew… With my arm twisted so far, even I'd have had trouble slipping

away from her. It was frustrating, but I had no choice but to placate myself

with the sensation for a little while longer.

Yes, indeed. It really was too bad.

It occurred to me that boobs came in pairs, so shouldn't bust be a plural,

like busts?

.......