Nakano Akira screams at the top of his lungs.

***
Maegahara Shosei

Now that Suzuki-san was ready to sing, it was time to focus on the rest of the preparations. The set was getting ready at a good pace, and there weren't too many scenes left to practice, but the issue with the music remained. Or I thought so, but the next day after Takagi-san's visit, Ishikawa-san declared he had found people willing to compose some music for us. I guess, If anyone had enough connections to pull that off, it would be Ishikawa-san.

We were already past the halfway point of October, and the cultural festival approached. The week leading up to the big day was intense, and I was sure we wouldn't make it in time. But, somehow, the preparations were finished just the day before the festival.

Right now, I was standing behind the curtains, feeling nervous. The play would begin soon, and I felt on edge as I waited, constantly looking at my phone to check the time. My role was minor enough, and I was confident Suzuki-san would absolutely kill it with her singing — the one I was worried about was someone else.

I shifted my gaze to the person standing the closest to the scene. His gaze constantly swam between the script and the stage, and he nervously groaned, frustrated.

"Mghm... Why does my role have so many words? What if I will forget them? Damn, whoever wrote the script really didn't think this through..."

But you were the one who wrote the script... While I mentally expressed my exasperation, he kept complaining.

"Dudes, like, I'm so nervous it's insane. Like, totally insane. Holy shit, is this what a superstar feels before every big performance and stuff? If so, I don't want to be a superstar anymore..."

"I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be as nervous as you. I mean — big celebrities must be used to it."

"Besides, you would never become a superstar anyway."

"Get real, Akira!"

The surrounding crowd retorted to his usual antics, and he laughed heartily. It was the familiar laugh of the class clown I'd heard many times before.

Nakano Akira was preparing for the performance of his lifetime. Even if I still didn't know the details of his past, I was confident in that. He laughed like usual and played his role as if nothing was amiss, but something told me his nervousness was real.

The crowd dispersed as they had to prepare for their roles. That left Nakano-san alone, and his mask quickly disappeared. He stared at his phone, slowly typing something. Whenever he finished typing, he would wait a few seconds while intensely glaring at the screen. Then, a faint sound of a received message would play, and after carefully taking in every line of text, he would begin writing a reply. There was a weight in his expression, subtle and yet unmistakably grave.

I approached him. I didn't think I could do anything, nor thought there was any point in my actions, but I still did it.

"Nakano-san." In response, he looked up from the phone and looked at me. His usual act didn't fully come back, but he still changed his expression, hiding the previous graveness away.

"Oh, what's up, Sho-Sho? Feeling nervous before the play? Don't worry, you're going to be alongside the great Nakano Akira, an up-and-coming superstar," he said, pointing his thumb to his chest. His words were no different from usual, but they lacked the energy they usually had.

"Are you going to be okay, Nakano-san?"

His reply was a faint smile and silence. He glanced at his phone and said confidently.

"My performance will speak for itself. Whether that's a good thing or not — we will see."

I nodded, leaving him alone. I and the rest of the group were ready to support him, but this was his fight. He would stand on the stage alone.

Because some battles in life have to be fought by yourself.

***
Nakano Akira

The screen flashed as I received another message. I quickly turned the phone in my hand into a more comfortable position and began typing away at the digital keyboard. Then, when I was done I pressed the send button. This sort of exchange has continued for the past 15 minutes.

Maegahara-san had long left to prepare for his role. I appreciated that. I wanted no more questions to be asked, no prying stares directed at me, and no more inciting words to be addressed to me. He somehow managed to help Yukino-san out, but there was no way to help me — it was something I had to do on my own. Maegahara-san likely knew that, so he limited his interference to just a couple of exchanges.

Had he figured out what I wanted to do? Or maybe he'd just sensed as much from my reactions. Regardless, I was grateful. There was someone I had to reach no matter what. I felt horrible for involving everyone in this messy situation — I even went as far as to make Yukino-san sing. Granted, it wasn't my idea...

Well, I knew our lead singer would shake everyone's hearts, so it made things easier for me. I was sure she would be touched by Yukino-san's singing. After that, I only have to speak what's on my mind and pray it will reach her.

Lately, I've broken my role a few too many times. The class clown might have only been an act, but one I wanted to make a reality. That's why I hoped today would bring all of that to an end.

As I watched the stage get lit up and Mitsu-san announce the beginning of the play, I prayed.

Prayed that one day I would drop the 'san' part when addressing my dear friends in my head.

***

"Renji was a normal boy, born in completely normal circumstances. The only thing that made him different from the others was that he lacked a father. But that didn't discourage him. Renji grew up to be a kind person, always extending a helping hand to those in need. Beloved by his peers and adults, he became famous around the neighborhood for his compassion and empathy."

It was a story about Renji, who — despite his difficult family situation — was a great person adored by others. He was someone I could never become — someone I aspired to be. 

Being kind is hard, and it isn't even about putting others above yourself. Doing that is just self-sacrifice. Respecting others and yourself is what it takes to be kind — that's what I think. Shoving your self-sacrificial ideals up others' throats isn't kindness — and neither is ignoring everyone's wishes because of your values and views.

Being kind is difficult. You can't respect others when you can't even respect yourself. And since you know yourself the best, you see everything down to the worst parts. Being kind means accepting people, good and bad parts of them alike. If the only reason you are ready to put others above yourself is that you disregard yourself, you're not kind. You might be selfless, but not valuing yourself is not the same as respecting others.

That's what I thought it meant to be kind. Or rather, that's the ideal I pushed onto the word I valued so much. Like a broken record, I kept repeating it throughout my life, wondering why I was so obsessed with it. There wasn't a special reason for that. Or, I guess you could say there was. What she said that day kept repeating in my head, dictating my behavior. It was a simple word, but it persisted over me like a curse.

It was a curse, but not because I found it restraining or hateable. Wondering what it meant to be kind, I searched for its meaning repeatedly. I watched, I asked, and I thought. And I fell in love with the word.

But I didn't truly want to be kind. I just wanted to get closer to something I found beautiful — to approach my ideal, embrace my perfect self, and bask in the satisfaction of accomplishing that.

And that was something about myself that I found disgusting. I valued that dream highly — so why couldn't I sincerely pursue it? I just wanted the desire for it to be genuine. Not one born from a lack of self-worth. I valued the pretty ideal because I thought if I achieved it, I would finally be able to love myself. 'Kind' became the word I used to rid myself of this horrible feeling of worthlessness.

But I failed. Because the only thing I couldn't do was to rid the word of its meaning. I couldn't allow it to become an empty fake, so I thought deeply, and achieved a terrifying conclusion. 

Being kind is difficult. I didn't have enough wisdom to be kind.

And so — even my pathetic attempts to plaster an ideal on top of myself failed. I couldn't be wise enough — instead, I made myself stupider, put on a mask, and became a clown. That was my pathetic attempt at kindness. A compromise I couldn't forgive but still committed to.

"Please, Renji, be kind to others. If you lend them a hand, they will surely lend you one back. Be kind, and you will never be left alone."

Renji's mother, Akari, spoke to her boy kindly. Yukino-san was playing the role, and her voice beautifully reverberated through the space, reaching the audience.

Her words still spoke to me, resonating deeply in my heart. Many will say that being kind means not expecting anything in return, and, in the past, I agreed with them. Still, convinced that her words weren't a mistake, I desperately searched for an explanation. Giving without expecting to be given anything in return is beautiful, but is that just? People might say that kindness has nothing to do with justice, but I disagree.

Is shallow kindness — the kind that's entirely selfless and disregards the one being kind the correct answer? That wasn't what I sought. I aspired to an emotion — no, a talent, that reached people. It wasn't about seeking something in return but rather about teaching that kindness to others. The real deal resonates with people's hearts and brings positivity into their lives — that's what I believe.

Many would say that if you expect to be given back, that's just a calculated decision, not sincere kindness, but for me, it was different. Kindness wasn't a superficial, one-sided emotion, helpless to reach others' hearts — it was something that could change the world. What you're given in response isn't a calculated return — it's the kindness itself, the proof that you've impacted your surroundings.

Or, at least, that was the ideal I projected on it.

***

Renji tries to convince her that there is no need to push herself. He can help her and alleviate some of her burdens.

"Oh, Renji... You've always been such a kind kid — but don't worry. You don't have to force yourself. I want you to enjoy your youth while it lasts. There is no need to lie just to help your worthless mother," Akari replied with a warm gaze.

Desperately hoping for his words to reach Akari, Renji asked his friends to help him. Together, they tried everything — from composing poems and songs to giving her handmade gifts. Nothing helped, and nothing could reach her. She kept lamenting her uselessness and apologizing to Renji.

It was a song of regret, mourning, and repentance. Akari felt her life was nothing but a string of failures. Her marriage was a mistake as her husband left her. She didn't get a decent education because she spent all her youth trying to become a singer, and now she was poor and couldn't even guarantee her kid a decent living.

This was her repentance, an act of self-flagellation caused by endless guilt. Her life was ruined, and nothing scared her more than her son's life being ruined the same way — no, it was not the same. She brought everything upon herself, but he did nothing wrong.

She pitied her son. No way a boy in his circumstances could be happy. It wasn't just about their present situation — if this kept up, he would have to work instead of studying. Undoubtedly, simply working part-time wouldn't be enough, and Renji would stop his education at the school level — maybe even drop out of school entirely. And even if he kept studying, his grades already weren't good. If he had to labor on top of that, they would immediately plummet even lower.

And so, she sang, expressing her regret. She would sacrifice herself if that was what it took for her child to have a chance at a happy future.

It was a song of regret, mourning, and repentance. It began long ago and will continue for years to come. As long as she was still alive, she would repent for everything with her very existence.

Because, aside from repentance, she had nothing else left.

***

Yukino-san's performance captivated the audience. Her singing reached everyone's hearts, but I didn't care about everyone. There was only one person I wanted this song to move. I shifted my gaze to her. I kept stealing glances at her from the beginning of the play, so I knew where she was seated.

My mother remained unmoving. She stared at Yukino-san intently, biting her lower lip and clenching her hand. But her gestures contrasted against her expression. Her face was calm, almost serene. As if, even though her body reacted, her mind had long ago made peace with her misery. I loathed that expression of hers.

The play was approaching its climax. After Renji's friends realized their means weren't working, they decided to act alone. Without telling Renji anything, they gathered all the people indebted to him and had them help with their final plan. They made a video of Renji's happy life at school and outside of it. The kids tried to communicate their friend's joy and satisfaction to Akari. After seeing the video, she reeled back in shock.

"I see... So there was no need to worry about him. He's such a strong boy... much stronger than me."

Everyone gathered there reacted happily to Akari's words. Finally, they managed to get to her — she will now accept her child's happiness and let go of her guilt.

They didn't understand anything. Not. A. Single. Thing.

Why did Akari deny Renji's happiness so vehemently? What did she cling to so desperately? Her preconceptions? Her parental duty? Her narrow-mindedness?

No, it was merely a desire to feel a sense of purpose. Akari wanted a reason to throw away everything she had and sacrifice it for something worthy. If she could be the price for Renji's happiness, her failure of a life would finally become valuable.

Her answer wasn't just understanding or agreement. It wasn't a sign of a happy ending or a satisfying conclusion. Akari was shown evidence that her sacrifice was useless. There was no worth left in her life — nothing that could be her meaning. Because her son she so desperately tried to protect didn't need her. He was way stronger than she was, and no matter what happened, he would be fine on his own.

She didn't have a place in building Renji's happiness. He had already constructed it himself.

And so, she smiled in resignation, surrendering her chance to build someone else's future — to achieve happiness through gifting it to someone else. And that left her with nothing but regret. And I wasn't talking about Akari. I was talking about her, sitting with a serene expression, ready to let go of everything.

And so, her heart sang.

It was a song of regret, mourning, and no longer reachable repentance — no longer reachable happiness.

And with that, the story came to an en—

"Mother!"

Renji's voice shook the room. Everyone expected the story to be over with that, but he appeared from behind the curtain, shaking up the stage. The audience, including my mother, was surprised by this turn of events. 

They thought it was a satisfying ending that communicated everything it needed to. Akari would give up, Renji would move forward, helping his mother, and the other kids would celebrate their success —

What a disgusting ending. As if I would ever allow that.

Renji, panting and out of breath, arrived at the scene. He was sweating buckets and looked like he would fall over any second. After catching wind of what was happening, he sprinted to school, praying to make it in time. Now, he stood before the crowd and looked straight at Akari.

"Mother... I am... right now, I am happy!"

His scream was so loud that it felt as if the stage shook.

"I'm not the miserable kid you think I am! I have made many friends, helped dozens of people, and am enjoying every day of my life!"

The misery she imagined didn't exist. Akari's son was happy where he was. Renji took a deep breath before making his loudest shout yet.

"I don't need your saving!"

His roar reverberated through the room, shaking the audience. She also reeled back, that same resigned smile on her face.

"I don't need your self-sacrifice, guilt, or that stupid image you so desperately project on me! I'm not miserable! I'm not pathetic! I'm not weak enough to need any of that!"

Those weren't the things Renji desired. It was so completely off the mark that it wasn't even funny.

"What I want... What I've always wanted—"

The one unachievable thing that Renji so desperately wanted, that I so desperately wanted.

"—is your happiness!"

The audience shook. She gasped, lost for words.

"I want you to smile! I want you to not give up on your life! I don't want you to mourn yesterday's mistake or bury your tomorrow — I want you to enjoy today with me!"

Renji wanted to share his happiness with the person dearest to him. Meanwhile — what I wanted...

"Your life isn't over yet! You never sang in front of me, but I still heard you. You can still pursue your dream! You can still go out there and explore the world! You can still find your happiness! So, please, take my hand, and let's search for it together!"

Renji pleaded and extended his hand to Akari. Crying, she hesitated. Biting her lip and tightly clenching her hands, she stared at Renji. He wore a confident smile on his face. Slowly, she extended her hand back. Affirming the warmth in her hand, she smiled. This time, it wasn't a resigned smile of mourning. It was a beautiful smile that took the audience's breath away.

Smiling at each other, the mother and child, first time in a while, faced tomorrow together.

And with that, the story finally came to an end.

Applause erupted. Cheering filled the space as the cast, embarrassed smiles on their faces, bowed to the spectators.

"That was the finale of our play — thank you for watching!" Mitsu-san's cheerful voice announced the end of the performance.

I took a phone out of my pocket, staring at the screen.

Akari and Renji's story was over, but the same wasn't the case for Nakano Akira. There was still something I needed to do.

***

I raced down the stairs, hoping to make it in time. It reminded me of the climax I'd just seen, and that thought made me chuckle. My steps sped up as I thought about what I needed to say.

She was the first one to leave the class. As soon as Mitsu-san's voice spoke, she left without looking behind. I immediately hurried after her. The entrance was in sight, and I opened the door without slowing down.

"Mother!" I screamed the same way Renji did.

She turned around, her expression nothing like Akari's. It was the same resigned smile that I so despised. Of course, it was — she knew me too well. So there was no way —

no way such poor performance could ever trick her.

I wasn't Renji, and she knew that better than anyone else. No amount of acting and surface-level attempts at persuasion would change that. Renji was kind while I was far away from that. I lacked the understanding, wisdom, and intelligence that were needed. I was only a horrible twisted parody of Renji — the person I aspired to be.

But, still... If I could reach at least one person — if I could reach her —

"Mother! I'm so much weaker than Renji! I'm a weakling aspiring to be someone greater, a pitiful fake — nothing but a compromise!"

"But, still, if there's anything I share with him — it's... It's a desire to make my mother happy!"

That was the one thing Renji inherited from me — one part of myself I proudly placed into my ideal in its unchanged, natural form.

"I'm not strong enough, so happiness is still far away. I can't imagine what the future holds and don't have any confidence in tomorrow. But I still want to walk into the future alongside you! Don't give up on your dream, don't give up on your life — don't give up on this selfish, one-sided desire of mine to make you happy!"

I took a deep breath, gathering all the power in my lungs for one final scream.

"Let's find happiness together!"

A silence descended. The only thing interrupting it was the sound of my breathing, still ragged from running all the way here. I looked at her, hopeful and scared. And her reaction was —

There exited another massive difference between the play and reality. I was way weaker than Renji, but she — she was also way stronger than Akari. Her determination was the real deal. She understood her regrets and her son's situation, and the only thing she could do was sacrifice herself. All because I was so weak.

That's why I was afraid. How would she react? What would she say? Have my words reached her? I can't beat her with logic, can't beat her with wisdom, can't beat her with moving emotions — because she's so much stronger than I will ever be in those aspects. That's why I bet on the only thing I had over her — selfishness. 

It didn't make any sense, was by no means a rational decision, and had absolutely no grounding, but I still prayed for it to work.

— her reaction was a smile. It wasn't the breathtaking smile Akari showed, but it was neither the resigned smile of sacrifice. It was a faint smile, fragile and barely noticeable.

But I found it truly beautiful.

After all, it was a sign that my words reached her.

***
Furukawa Itsuki

And with that, the eventful cultural festival came to an end. I shifted my gaze away from the window and sighed with relief. I could do nothing but watch the entire thing play out. It was a total success for Shosei, and I was happy for him.

Or I wanted to. But solving others' compromises is not the same as solving your own.

And so, I would keep on watching for just a bit longer.