The Melancholy Of An After-School

It is not yet late in the afternoon when the homeroom finishes. Since it is the first day of school, the students are given an early leave.

This means some have more time to prepare for their shift at work, while others—mostly the third-years—can talk with the teacher about their apprenticeship path.

“Ahhh… school is over already, huh?” Haruki says while yawning. He looks more like someone still sluggish after a long sleep than weary after a long day at school. “I kind of don’t want to go straight to work after this… what about you, Shouma?"

“I think I’m going to go to the farm. It’s spring now. Figured they could use an extra hand,” Shouma answers.

“That’s admirable of you, Shouma~” Haruki says innocuously, but somehow the remark stings Shouma regardless. “Though, are you sure you will be alright? I mean, it is great that you like to help around and all, but you do have a more important thing to focus on, right?”

“It’s alright, I’ll manage,” Shouma says, feeling the need to respond in a way that will not make him look rigid or troubled. “Besides, you yourself seem to really take things at your own pace as usual, Haruki. Sleeping through the entire class with no worries.” He continues with a smile, trying to shift the focus.

“Well, I can’t help it,” Haruki answers. “The world is changing, but the vibe somehow really makes me want just to take it slow. The windmills, the farms, and the orchards… I used to be quite anxious near the road. Or more precisely, I used to make other people anxious about it, since they said my absentmindedness would get me into a road accident as a kid—”

He stretches his hands so far back that his body arches like a cat in a similar position. “—now we can leisurely walk in the middle of the road with no worries… Though I guess sometimes we do need to mind ourselves so we don't get run over by wagons. Or some of those vehicles that run on charcoal.”

“That sure sounds like you,” Shouma comments, followed by shared giggles.

The moment lightened his feelings a little. He is never entirely sure exactly what he thinks of Haruki, nor how Haruki thinks of him. However, he likes to think—or hope—that what he sees in him is what is truly there: an easy-going and amicable person who is simply honest, with no discrepancy between what is shown on the outside and what is kept inside.

“Hey… Haruki-kuun…” Two girls suddenly walk in and approach Haruki. “You’re going straight to the workshop after this, right? Let’s go together~”

“Yeah, don’t think that you can keep slacking off, okay~” the other girl adds.

“Eh… can you two go ahead without me? I’ll catch up later..." Haruki says, slouching back on his desk.

“No can do. We’re here exactly because we know you’re going to say that.”

 “C’mon, Haruki-kun, you’ll upset the supervisor even more like this.”

“Don’t wannaaa…”

Watching Haruki naturally exchange casual words with the girls in their playful tones strengthens Shouma’s presumption of him. He blends into the conversation so effortlessly that it doesn’t seem out of the ordinary—just perfectly fitting right in and harmonizing with everyone’s rhythms like it is nothing.

“Heey… Shoumaaa… help meee…” Haruki is pleading so lazily that he looks like he is about to melt and fuse with his desk.

“I think you should probably listen to them,” Shouma says with a bit of an awkward laugh, trying to follow up on the atmosphere of their conversation. “Otherwise, won’t you be giving them a hard time as well? You’ll make other people anxious about you again, you know?”

“Yeah, tell him, Fukunaga-kun.”

“You need to be stern with this guy and whip him up, or he’ll become a real sloth~”

“You guys are so meaaannn…” Haruki responds, weakly retaliating against these perceived invaders of his idleness and peace. The girls laugh, and so does Shouma. He is glad that he managed to keep up somehow.

“Is this guy really okay at handling the needles and the sewing? You three are training and working at fabric and cloth mending and production, right?” Shouma asks.

“Yeah, curious, isn’t it? But this guy is actually really good at his job.”

“Yes, he can make some really lovely stuff with limited materials. And his lax appearance makes it seem effortless, too. Makes you somewhat jealous, doesn’t it?”

“Then I guess that’s more reason not to let this guy slack off even more, huh? It would be a shame to lose such a capable hand like him,” Shouma comments with a smile.

“Dude… why are you selling me out like that…” Haruki retorts, showing no change in his demeanor.

“C’mon, Haruki-kun… He is trying to motivate you, is all,” one of the girls says.

“Just give up, why are you fighting back so hard like this when it comes to lazing around…” the other adds.

The conversation breaks off for a while. One of the girls is pouting, putting both hands on her hips. The other makes a playful smirk, her fingers occasionally poking Haruki’s head and twirling his curly wisps, while the person in question remains slouching on the table with both hands lying outstretched to the front.

“I think I should start my way and go now,” Shouma says, breaking the silence and tapping both his knees with his hands, gesturing the timing of his leave. “I don’t want to give more reason for Haruki to keep stalling and procrastinating.” He continues jokingly and gets up briskly, holding his school bag in one hand.

“Noo… Shouma… don’t leave me alone with these slavedrivers…” Haruki comments.

Shouma answers Haruki’s pleas simply with a smile and a little laugh before nodding to him and the two girls. “Well, then… see you tomorrow.”

“See you, Shouma.” Haruki waves one of his hands. “Careful not to get yourself run over by those wagons in the road, ‘kay?”

“See you, Fukunaga-kun,” both girls say respectively.

***

Shouma has only been gone for a minute and is on his way descending the stairs when he remembers that the survey sheet for the apprenticeship’s path of interest is still behind under his desk in the classroom. He was so focused on how to excuse himself—in a quick but natural manner—from the conversation that his mind just sidetracked everything into tunnel vision.

Thankfully, he won’t have to backtrack far.

He is about four steps away from the door when he hears chuckles and chatter. Those three are quite the lively bunch, aren’t they? Shouma muses, somewhat smiling inside.

“….you’re pretty close with Fukunaga-kun, aren’t you, Haruki?”

“Buttering yourself up with the bigwigs, huh? You’re quite crafty, aren’t you?"

 “Heey… c’mon, don’t say it like that…”

He is just one step away from the doorway, and then stops.

He hears them keep talking, but he can no longer make out the words. He stands there, silent and unmoving.

He decides to turn around and let it be. The chuckles and chatter recede into the background as he moves away.

Perhaps it would be better if he goes in and confronts them—or at the very least, waits a bit longer to discover that it might just be a lapse of apprehension on his part, or something that could be regarded as casually frivolous but friendly jests between friends.

But he chooses to walk away. You spineless… He swallows the word and bites his lip hard.

If he has to curse something (but why?)—anything to lessen the bitterness and resentment that is now welling up—he doesn’t know what to blame: his inattentiveness? An inevitable result of his circumstances? Or…

He can feel the heat of anger rising in his stomach, so he lets go of the thoughts. He knows better than to let himself get even more agitated and sabotage whatever composure he has left for the day. That will not do when he intends to work in the field.

In exchange for the fire, he lets ice freeze his heart—the gloom fits him even more perfectly.

Walking through the hallways feels like navigating an obstacle course. He wants to move quickly, so he quickens his pace (it also gives him an outlet for his pent-up emotion and energy). However, with the crowds and his tunnel vision, it becomes a challenge to make sure he doesn't bump into any of the other students.

“What time do you finish work today? Want to go together to the bathhouse and the mess hall later this evening?”

“Haah… I really don’t wanna go… got a shift at the waste plant today. Heeey… how about replacing me? I’ll let you have one of the mags from my prized ‘collection’.”

“No way, dude. All of us need to take that shift in turns anyway. Though I’m interested in hearing more about that compensation…”

“Hey, do you still have some of those winged pads? Y’know, the ones from before? I’ll trade you for that facial wash—you still want it, right?”

“The water tank for the toilets in my block is still under repair. It sucks that we have to go all the way to the next block over just to do our business.”

The sounds of students passing by him are like a radio constantly getting switched over again and again, voices cut off by another voice and blending into the next. He moves like an absentminded driver cruising his way through the flow.

He walks along the side of the hallway to avoid groups of students, eyes down, when something big instantly blocks his path.

He bumps into it, and his vision is filled with the textured details of black fabric and brass-colored buttons—the gakuran of his school. He looks up, startled.

A face with a pair of sharp and seemingly vicious eyes looks down at him with a penetrating gaze. His height, which could pass 190 centimeters, his broad shoulders, and a face that could petrify someone simply by looking, give the impression of an ogre disguised as a high school boy. Shouma takes a few steps back from the towering figure. Most of the time, other people in a moment like this would feel a sense of dread or fear after being startled.

It does startle him initially, but he recognizes the face. He counters the other's gaze with his own unperturbed eyes.

“Ooi… Shishio, you comin'?”

A voice shouts over, breaking both their grappling gaze and the stillness that feels like a standoff. Afterward, Shouma continues to look the boy in the eyes for a bit longer before giving a nod of acknowledgment. The other briefly replies with a nod of his own, and with it, Shouma shortly walks past him.

Along the way, his mind now seems to gather into a fixed point as the face of the boy from before continues to linger. But his face is not the only one, nor is it the real point. There’s someone else—a familiar face—a woman’s face all too familiar to him, like family.

But when he feels anger starting to rise in his stomach, he lets go of that thought.

He keeps walking—feeling both tired and tense, empty but at the same time raging—until he reaches the entrance of the school building. When he takes his loafers out of the shoe locker, he can hear Naoi-sensei’s voice booming from outside.

“Hey! If you plan to go straight to your shift or something else, make sure to change your uniform and shoes first, alright? If you’re being rough and ruining them, I’ll make sure your juniors later will know exactly whose they were, so they can start nagging you for some reparations!”

Shouma sees Naoi-sensei yelling at a group of boys in the distance as they walk away, fooling around among themselves. Those boys respond with all the smiles, laughs, and gaiety of youth in full bloom, waving their hands toward their teacher, who watches over them from behind.

Such a scene, with the backdrop of a rolling white cloud over a blue sky above them and the soft undulation of the folding fog on the horizon, frames a dream-like snapshot of youthful spirits soaring upon the air enveloped between heaven and the earth, mirroring each other’s dazzling light. Shouma watches them in silence as they get farther toward the gate on a line with the horizon. Somehow, he feels a stuffy air bloating within him. He inhales the breeze deeply to refresh.

When he exhales, Naoi-sensei, who is now a couple of steps in front of him, lets out a sigh almost simultaneously. The teacher then looks over his shoulder, noticing his presence.

“Ah, Fukunaga-kun, on your way as well?”

“Yes,” Shouma answers curtly and bows his head a little.

For a moment, the teacher keeps his eyes on him without a word. The silence tells of a mind stirring, and Shouma is not looking forward to whatever might follow.

“Listen, uh… since you and your fellow students are already in the third year, from today onward you can come and discuss things with your teacher if you want to. You know, sort some things out if you have any concerns. Some of your classmates have already come to me to discuss things.” Naoi-sensei says this while one of his hands scratches the back of his head. “You can come to me as well if there’s something you’d like to talk about.”

“Thank you for your concern, Naoi-sensei. Perhaps next time, if I may ask for your guidance,” Shouma answers, putting effort into his expression and tone. No matter what he feels, he is determined not to show too much. Especially in front of adults.

“Of course,” Naoi-sensei says with a smile. “Even if you feel it might not be as important or you’re quite conflicted about it, don’t be too reserved and feel free to come to me anytime.”

“Thank you, sensei. I will. Then, if you would perhaps excuse me.” Shouma bows to him. He doesn’t want to draw out the conversation any longer.

“All right. Be careful on your way, then,” Naoi-sensei says with a smile.

Shouma gives another short bow without offering more words and walks away, crossing rows of blossoming cherry trees, their petals strewn over the bricked road below, and heads toward the arching gateway.

***

Descending the hill, the scenery now brims with lush greenery and openings where all kinds of fruit trees and plants, both trailing on the soil and on man-made trellises, are grown and cultivated.

They offer such a bucolic charm that even after years of passing through, the atmosphere has never ceased to mesmerize him. Shouma sometimes muses on whether such a landscape would have been possible if the world hadn't changed into what it is now, for better or worse.

The abundance of nature and the harmony of the people who tend to it make you almost believe that a perfect, ideal life in the countryside is possible. This is especially true for Shouma, who used to live in an urban setting. He fancies himself as someone who never quite fit into the glamour and thrill of a fast-moving big city.

Still, he does find himself missing the convenience of the old world now and then... even down to the questionable gizmos and services that used to confound him occasionally.

Alongside him, other high schoolers make their way down. Further down the road, they are joined by students of lower divisions: middle schoolers in navy-colored gakuran and sailor uniforms with white neckerchiefs; and grade school children, with boys in pairs of navy blazers, short pants, and a cap, while the girls wear white and light blue sailor uniforms and a beret.

Many students in grey coveralls and work boots can also be seen tending the orchards as part of their training and shift, or as part of projects each year, class, or school division embarks on, both as a learning process and a way to participate in the community.

Traveling down the hill, you can see a variety of cultivated plants, with the older students handling the more laborious, larger trees, followed by several greenhouses of various sizes, and finally, simpler horticulture done by the younger students.

Nearing the base of the hill, Shouma makes a turn to go around instead of going further to cross a stone bridge spanning over a shallow creek with a rushing stream that would take him into the neighborhood.

The farm he is heading to is on the left side of the school complex hill, and he decides to take a more scenic route instead of going through the many buildings and the crowded streets.

He is strolling through meadows, low pastures with sheep grazing about, and into the groves with a glade where, at some distance, a rapid from the upper level is halted before flowing over a weir to generate power. A building housing the controls stands beside the weir. Some people in orange coveralls can be seen around it, acting as overseers.

Power lines run in many directions: toward the school complex where he came from, in the direction he is heading, and down into the town.

After crossing another bridge over the river, the noises of some heavy-duty machinery can be heard drifting through. The power line trails beside him, and not far away, the sawmill is visible, with stacks of logs and people in tobi workwear hauling, transporting, sizing, and cutting them. Shouts of instructions and chatter blend with the noise of their tools, creating a hubbub of a manufacturing site.

He is walking on the hard-pressed dirt road when he stops at the intersection to let a wagon pulled by an ox carrying lumber pass through, along with two workers accompanying it. A thin sheet of sawdust covered some part of their jackets and pants. Down the road, several kilns were erected to produce charcoal. Their chimneys puffed up, billowing smoke into the sky.

Just beyond the ridgeline of the hill he is now traversing, the view opens out to vast swaths of land that are utilized for the cultivation of grains and root vegetables in extensive rows of terraced farming stretching down in stages until they reach the more level ground. Silos and barns line the fringes of the farming areas.

Shouma stands on top of the ridge, gazing at the panoramic view. Looking at such an expansive and sweeping area brings him comfort and rejuvenation. Not yet sown, the fields are brown dirt as they are still being tilled.

He spots a building in the mid-level of the terrace and begins his descent down the slope. As he closes in, he sees groups of people near the entrance and inside the building. Some adults and elderly people rest. Bits of dirt and straw stuck to their clothes, and the soles of their rubber boots are caked in mud.

Other high school and middle school students, who also come to help around the field, are there too. He changes into a tracksuit from his school bag, puts on boots and gloves, and secures his belongings in a locker before heading out.

After meeting with the supervisor, he and the other students are assigned to various parts of the farm—some helping with tilling, maintaining the irrigation ditches and bunds. Others tend to other crops such as potatoes, onions, and carrots. He is sent to the plastic greenhouse, where they cultivate the rice seeds before transplanting them later on into the fields.

In solemn temper, the work becomes a refuge for a noisy mind. Time moves faster, and the strong light of dusk now casts everything in a bright, painful orange. The sunset's melody marks the end of the day.

Students began to leave to put down their tools and change. Shouma stays. The only student now, along with a few adults, in a quiet greenhouse. He keeps working until the supervisor calls him to stop. He heads back to his locker and finds the adults gathering for a break after work.

He changes back into his uniform. At the entrance, Shouma is putting on his shoes when an elderly woman calls out to him.

“Ah, Fukunaga-kun, finally about to head home? You often go home later than other students; you really are a hardworking boy.”

“Yes. Thank you for your hard work.” Shouma replies while bowing his head.

“It is good that you work hard, but I hope you are also taking care of yourself. It’s not good if you get sick nowadays.”

“Thank you for your concern.” Shouma smiles and bows his head again a little.

“My little granddaughter is catching a cold, and it really worries me. It reminds me of when I was still very young. Back then, a cold was such a horrible thing, especially for a kid. I took her to Dr. Fukunaga, and thank the gods, she said it’s gonna be alright. I was really grateful. Can you tell her once again that I am really thankful when you get home?”

“I will. I hope your granddaughter will get better soon. Then, if you will excuse me.”

Shouma bows for the third time before walking away. He tries to keep his composure, but the mention agitates him still. He knows it is a promise he will not keep.