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  He had already heard this from Orihara, so Kento nodded his head.

  “My sister and her husband couldn’t have children for a long time. So, about ten years into their marriage, they adopted.”

  The adopted son had been Keigo, Yuri’s older brother.

  “Did they adopt him from an orphanage? Because they needed someone to take after the hospital?”

  Miyashita laughed. “This isn’t the nineteenth century! And this isn’t some cheap soap opera. My sister and her husband just really loved children. That’s all.”

  Miyashita’s younger sister and her husband cherished Keigo and raised him with care. Then, in the year that Keigo was set to enter a prestigious middle school, it had happened.

  “By some incredible stroke of luck, she got pregnant.”

  Of course, even after Yuri was born, the two loved him and Keigo equally. Keigo himself had been adopted at three and so had no memories of his infancy. He loved his foster parents like he would his own. Although Yuri and Keigo were far apart in age, they had been very close.

  “Yuri followed Keigo around everywhere. They were almost joined at the hip.”

  Kento remembered the conversation that Yuri and his brother had over the phone and found it hard to believe that they got along.

  “Then why…”

  Miyashita took another bite of apple pie, then took a gulp of tea before continuing his story.

  “Yuri found out the truth by accident when their grandfather died.”

  At a gathering for the Buddhist Forty-Ninth Day memorial ceremony, Yuri had overheard his distant relatives talking to the mothers.

  “You’ll leave the hospital to your biological child, I presume?”

  “You gave birth to Yuri yourself, so you must feel more attached to him.”

  In this way, Yuri’s relatives had pressed his mother, and Yuri had overheard it all.

  “Keigo was already twenty-two and in medical school, so….” Although his parents had had no intentions of forcing him to take over the hospital, Keigo’s intelligence had already begun to lead him down the path of medicine.

  A change overcame Yuri after that incident. He abruptly stopped talking about becoming a doctor like the brother he respected so much, and he never spoke of it again. Instead, he began to throw himself into exercise.

  Yuri was long-limbed and nimble. His talent blossomed on the track and in the pits, in sports such as high-jumping and hurdles. His family, although perplexed by the sudden change, supported Yuri’s endeavours when he began appearing at tournaments.

  At first, neither Yuri’s parents nor Miyashita had any idea what had made Yuri change his prospects.

  “By choosing a completely different path, he planned to have the hospital pass naturally into his brother’s hands.”

  Kento remembered again how his brother had said over the phone that Yuri was acting out of guilt towards him.

  “And?”

  “When it came time to take high-school entrance exams, Yuri chose the Athletic stream, and that’s how he came to stay at my house.”

  At the time, Miyashita had just lost his wife to illness. He warmly welcomed Yuri as a distraction from his sadness.

  “But he injured his leg and couldn’t do sports anymore, right?” Kento butted in. Miyashita gave him a confused look.

  “Hmm? He did hurt his leg, but it wasn’t so bad that he had to stop sports.”

  “What?” Kento exclaimed this time. “Wasn’t he hospitalized?” He was sure Orihara had said so. Kento rifled through his memories.

  “No, the one who was hospitalized was a friend he was training with. Yuri was depressed about it, though, and said it was his fault.”

  This was totally different from the story he had heard. Miyashita continued his story, oblivious to the tense expression on Kento’s face.

  “Anyway, in his third year of high school, Yuri suddenly announced that he was aiming to get into the faculty of medicine. My sister and her husband were overjoyed, and naturally, I thought it was a good thing.”

  Yuri was intelligent enough, and after a year of furious studying he was admitted to the faculty of medicine at N. University.

  But a while after entering university, he had declared that he was not going to take over the family business and was never going to go back to his hometown.

  “His family was shocked.” That was when they had realized for the first time that Yuri knew that his older brother was adopted.

  “By then Keigo was already married and had taken over at the family hospital. When he found out that Yuri was suffering because of that, he was astonished.”

  He asked Yuri over and over to come back once he had become a doctor, and that Keigo would withdraw to make way for him.

  “But Yuri is more stubborn than he looks.” Miyashita sighed. “He’s… how do I say this? He’s prone to jumping to conclusions. I’m quite worried.”

  He then looked at Kento with renewed intrigue. “I’m glad that a cheerful boy like you has become his friend. I know there’s an age difference, but I’d really appreciate if you could continue to be his friend.”

  But he sees me as a kid, Kento said inwardly. He never told me anything that was important to him.

  If that wasn’t proof that Orihara saw him as a child, he didn’t know what was.

  “See you tomorrow,” Kento said as he stepped outside to go home. The sun was setting as the spring day came to an end, and the area was washed in a dark-blue light similar to Lake Titicaca from those faraway days.

  Feeling a warmth in the air like that of a human touch, Kento let his eyes wander up to the sky and its lingering light. In the neighboring yard was a towering cherry blossom tree, and a crescent moon hung on a branch with swelling buds.

  As he began his slow walk to the dorm’s back entrance, Kento recalled the nights he had listened to records with Orihara.

  “Kento, let’s practice your English. You know this phrase, ‘C Moon’? Do you know what it is?” Orihara smiled as he pointed at the cover.

  “C Moon? No idea.”

  “It means crescent moon.”

  Kento looked up at Orihara from where he was lying on his stomach on the sofa with his cheek propped up in one hand.

  “Oh, because it looks like the letter C!” he said in realization, and stared at Yuri in amazement. “So, is a half-moon a D moon?”

  Orihara laughed as he shook his head. “No, that’s just called a half-moon. Obvious, though, right?”

  Doctor. Kento felt a tear roll down his cheek. It was a tear of frustration, he thought. He was frustrated that he was still a boy. Yes ? today, he had been slapped in the face with the fact that he was still a child.

  Orihara had not told him a single important thing. But even if he had, Kento would probably not have been able to help him.

  Kento’s original plan had been to visit Orihara at the hospital where he worked once spring break started. He had planned to convince the man that he really loved him. But in doing so, he would only be a kid causing trouble for Orihara.

  Orihara had said that it was his fault that people were unhappy. “Everyone” probably meant his older brother, Keigo, and his injured friend. That was why Orihara had left his home behind and stopped running.

  Right at that moment, everything clicked. Kento bit his lip. His mother had said it once: that your time for leaving the nest came when you found someone more important than your family.

  Right now, Kento did have someone who was more important than anyone, someone whom he wanted to protect more than anyone else. But he did not have the strength to do so. The wings on his back were still small, barely strong enough to support his own weight.

  He had wished every day to grow up faster ? ever since the day Orihara had left him. He had felt like if he wished hard enough, it would happen instantly. But of course, that was impossible. Kento realized for the first time that there were some things he could simply never have, no matter how hard he wished.

  Becoming
an adult meant being able to protect your loved one. Kento wanted to be by Orihara’s side and to protect him. He wanted to make Orihara happy.

  But even if he went to Orihara now, he would be able to do nothing. And Orihara would never acknowledge him as an adult. Kento stopped in his tracks and looked up at the crescent moon.

  “It’s called a C Moon.”

  He remembered Orihara’s smiling face.

  “I’ll keep moving forward on my own,” Kento murmured. “Watch me, Doctor.”

  Right now, all he could do was to learn how to walk on his own, without anyone’s help. To do that, he needed to heal his leg, study, and go to school. It seemed like an awfully roundabout path, but there was nothing he could do. There was no shortcut.

  Orihara was someone whom he needed in his life, someone who meant more than anything else. That was all the more reason why he needed to become independent, in a place far away from him. That was the only thing he could do right now.

  Once more, Kento looked up at the moon. Perhaps Orihara was out there looking at it, too.

  “Wait for me,” he said to it, “I’ll get there someday.”

  Chapter 9

  Kento went on to senior high school. The curriculums branched off widely at this level, and each of the General, Athletic, and Performing Arts streams had unique class content.

  Not all students in Performing Arts aspired to be celebrity personalities; many students aimed to get into music school after graduating.

  The Athletics stream benefited from the school’s location in the suburbs, with two fields exclusively for the use of the department. Shonan Private School was full of talented students who had been scouted from all over the country to be on the track-and-field and baseball teams. The object was, of course, garnering N. University’s preferred admission spots.

  N. University’s baseball team was part of the Eastern Metropolitan Varsity League, and N. University’s track team had also competed for the past few years in the Hakone Ekiden marathon.

  Kento was interested in the track team that Orihara had been a part of, and so went to visit the grounds to watch them practice.

  “So this is where he used to run, huh.” Kento sat perched atop a slightly raised dirt slope for spectators, watching the team members in shorts running around the track. He remembered that night, and those long and slender limbs which had wound around him, and gave himself a stern knock on the head for his naughty thoughts.

  “Me and my dirty mind,” he muttered to himself in exasperation.

  The coach began to notice Kento after he kept showing up several times to watch them practice. The coach was now in his fifties, but in his younger days he had also run the Hakone Ekiden marathon. Over the years, however, he had developed a considerable gut. His bearded face and hairy arms was reminiscent of a rambunctious bear.

  At first he mistakenly thought Kento was watching because he wanted to join the track team. He extended an invitation, but when Kento showed him the support on his knee, he looked disappointed.

  “It’s a shame. You’ve got the physique for it. And you look good. You’d be the perfect star on the track.”

  When Kento told him that he was part of the Performing Arts department and that he was signed with a talent agency, the coach didn’t seem surprised.

  “I could see that, with your looks,” he remarked. “You’re pretty much a star already.”

  Kento and the coach got along well. One day, on a whim, Kento decided to ask him something.

  “Do you still have members’ lists from past years?”

  “Yeah, they’re in the club room,” the coach said.

  “My friend used to be a member of this team. Can I have a look at it, for memories’ sake?” Kento asked.

  Club rooms were located on the second floor of the equipment storage building behind the gym. The coach invited Kento to come with him.

  The forty-square-metre room was occupied by a large desk, a few collapsible chairs, and two filing cabinets. Many trophies sat atop them. The coach hauled out thick binders with black covers that looked like accounting books.

  “How many years ago are we looking at?”

  “Um...”

  When Kento told him, the coach flipped through the pages as he talked.

  “I hadn’t joined yet that year. I guess that’d be about three generations ago. That’s a pretty old friend you’ve got,” he commented. When he found the page, Kento studied it intently.

  “All newly-joined members should be in Japanese alphabetical order.”

  Kento glanced up near the top of the page, and scanned the names in order.

  “There he is!” There it was. Yuri Orihara. Kento felt choked up as he continued to stare at the name. “Doctor…”

  He felt like he had gone back in time to meet a high-school Orihara. If only he had a time machine, he could go back to Orihara in those days and support him when he was hurt. Perhaps it would be hard to be lovers, but at least he would be able to support him as a friend of the same age.

  He remembered the sadness etched in Orihara’s face, and felt a stinging in the back of his nose.

  “Kid?” the coach asked uncertainly. Kento had been staring at the same spot on the page for so long that the man had gotten concerned.

  “Oh, uh, it’s nothing. Thank you for everything!” Kento said brightly, bowing his head in thanks. “Would you mind if I visited again?”

  “Not at all. Come anytime.”

  Kento left the room and headed for the woods near the back gates. Here was where he had seen Orihara two days after receiving news of his knee condition. The coloured leaves had been falling then, but now they were replaced by vivid new greenery.

  He felt like it had happened years ago, but it had only been two months since they parted ways. But I still feel so lonely. Even seeing his name makes me want to cry. I can’t be like this. I have to be stronger, Kento scolded himself.

  Yes. Remember that line: “I want to give myself a word of praise.” They were the famous words of a marathon medalist. Until he could say those same words proudly, he had to keep trying. Or else, there was no way he could protect the person he loved.

  Far away, he could see a club member diligently running around the track alone. The sight of the runner all alone reminded Kento of Orihara, who shut out those around him to keep the hurt inside himself. Kento watched him carefully.

  The runner’s head was prone to drooping, but he had a powerful pace, and once in a while his spikes kicked up the dust around him. But Kento was too far away to hear his breathing or his footsteps.

  Silence lay thick between them, it didn’t feel at all like they were living in the same moment. Kento was overcome with a mysterious sense that he was looking at Orihara as a high-schooler running around the track through a wall of time that divided them.

  As he stood stock-still, suddenly a burst of cheering from the baseball field reached his ears on the warm breeze. Kento was brought back to the present. And then, on sure footing he headed for the dormitory. Although he could see Orihara close to him, he could not reach out to touch him ? just like those track runners practicing on the field. But that was only for the present time; some day in the future, he would tear down that wall dividing them with the sheer strength of his resolve.

  Kento vowed that until that dream was fulfilled, he would never look back again.

  The start of the new academic year brought new students into the dorms as well as into the classrooms. However, Kento and Tomoya still occupied the same room as before. Tomoya, of course, had gone into the same Performing Arts stream as Kento did.

  An advantage of being in Performing Arts was being able to count work activities as credits towards the overall program. The only required classwork was a report. Tomoya used the system to his best advantage and poured his energies into his work.

  Chronos remained active on the music scene after their first show during the winter holidays, releasing three consecutive singles. The band was kept bu
sy, and even Kento did not see much of Tomoya anymore, despite being roommates with him.

  But Kento was no longer in a panic over the future. Right now, his primary goal was not to debut or to dance, but to become independent.

  Kento’s enrolment into the Performing Arts stream meant he was permitted to use the soundproofed practice rooms on school property. Kento got permission from Miyashita to take home the guitar that he had gotten from Orihara. He faithfully attended class, and used his spare time to practice singing and guitar, and to read books.

  Kento was also given more elective courses this year. He decided to take a few courses on music composition and lyric-writing. Writing a song for Orihara that conveyed his feelings became an enjoyable activity.

  Someday, he wanted to accompany this song with his guitar, and get it across to Orihara somehow ? yes, like John and Paul did.

  It was still April, but Chronos and Tomoya were busy preparing for the nationwide tour kicking off during the summer holidays. Tomoya seemed to be at the agency on every day off. But whenever they did bump into each other, Tomoya still gave him tapes of their new songs and taught him new dance moves.

  “Kento, make sure you keep practicing,” Tomoya always said.

  Many of Chronos’ songs fell under the category of Eurobeats and electronic dance music ? energetic and energizing. One day, Tomoya presented him with a demo tape of Chronos’ new song. This was to be their fourth single. For once this weekend, Tomoya was free of engagements, so he and Kento decided to flop down on the bed and listen to the new song together.

  “I wish I could dance to this song,” Kento said. Tomoya’s face lit up.

  “I wish I could see you dance again,” he said.

  Kento pulled out his guitar and played along with the song a little. He strummed his way along with the pick for a while, but gave up and took the strap off.

  “I can’t play it. It would have to be a ballad or something.”