Kayama Esumi: Memories of a Distant Past

The girl was dreaming.

 

A nostalgic, deeply nostalgic memory of the past. It was a scene from back when the girl was still a young man.

 

Nothing special. A memory of a past life that she now barely remembered at all.

 

The girl... no, right in front of the young man sat a middle-aged man who was finally turning fifty years old this year.

 

The setting was a slightly desolate-feeling coffee shop. A long-standing establishment with a history of thirty, or perhaps forty years since its opening.

 

Incidentally, despite calling it desolate, it seemed to remain relatively popular among seasoned members of society and older generations, and besides the young man and the middle-aged man, several other customers were present. Every single one of them was someone who had lived through twice as many years as the young man.

 

"...As always... this is a nice place. It's so quiet."

 

The man shook the cup in his hand and let out those words with a satisfied smile. In his hand was freshly brewed coffee. However, it was well-known for having the strongest bitterness among all the menu items offered at this shop.

 

He brought it to his lips with complete nonchalance.

 

Unfortunately, the young man—who had a deep-seated aversion to such intensely bitter things, whether drinks or food—held a sweet coffee heavily laden with sugar, unlike the man, and replied with a slightly weary air.

 

"Quiet, you say... Is that really true? The atmosphere is certainly dreary enough, but the music playing inside is somewhat cheerful and fast-paced, and hearing the noisy conversations of other customers doesn't seem all much different from any other coffee shop, do you think?"

 

"Haha, you're the same as ever. The high standards you set for the kind of 'silence' you seek haven't changed at all. No, if anything, it's so uniquely you that I'm genuinely relieved."

 

"What's that supposed to mean... Well, I'm just glad to see you're as well as ever, too. Are you still handling art at that school, Teacher?"

 

Teacher.

 

Called by that title with a voice filled with deep affection, the man instantly smiled happily and nodded approvingly.

 

"Of course. Even if I say so myself, I used to be a reasonably well-known artist, you know? Isn't it only natural that I take on art as my specialized subject? Naturally."

 

"No, I know you used to be an artist. Who do you think made me listen over and over to stories from your artist days, as your former student?"

 

"Ah, that's right. Though before I know it, it's been six years since you graduated... or was it seven?"

 

"It's been eight years. Ever since I graduated from under you, eight years have already passed. Before I knew it, I've stepped into an age where it wouldn't be strange to be called an 'uncle' out in society."

 

"Now, now, calling yourself an 'uncle' right in front of me, when I'm about to reach the milestone of fifty, you've got quite the nerve."

 

"Now that you mention it, I suppose so. If I'm an 'uncle', does that make you old enough to be called a 'grandfather', Teacher? Ah, or should I call you 'grandpa'? How about it, grandpa Teacher?"

 

At that, the man chuckled good-naturedly with a "Rude!! I'm still plenty young, you know?!" and drained the remaining bitter coffee. Smiling at the reaction, the young man replied, "Sorry," and proceeded to finish off his own remaining sweet coffee as well.

 

For the two of them, who had built a friendship spanning generations, this exchange was a kind of annual tradition that had continued for over ten years. The lack of reserve toward one another remained entirely intact, and at least neither of them found it unpleasant.

 

Furthermore, even after the young man left the garden of learning, they had already exchanged contact information, allowing them to chat and consult with each other via text or calls whenever necessary. In truth, both of them were exceedingly delighted to be able to converse directly like this without any hesitation.

 

The corners of the teacher's eyes softened faintly.

 

"Well, let's change the subject slightly for a moment... As you know, I'm planning to quit teaching soon."

 

He asked the clerk for a refill of his emptied coffee, shifting the topic while waiting for it to be replenished.

 

In response, the young man picked up his glass of iced water in place of the finished sweet coffee, shrugged his shoulders, and nodded exaggeratedly.

 

"So I've heard. I already heard about it from your daughter. After that, I received a direct report from you about your resignation, and though I thought it was a joke at first, you were serious."

 

"Ah, I'm serious. I'm quitting teaching after this coming spring. At the exact same time the current third-years graduate, I will graduate as well."

 

"May I ask why?"

 

Perhaps not having heard the details regarding this matter, the young man tilted his head while taking a sip of water.

 

The teacher shifted his gaze away from him, looked out at the scenery visible through the window for a moment, and began to speak with a sentimental tone.

 

"You already know the reason why I, a former artist, chose the path of teaching, don't you?"

 

"Yes, well... if I recall correctly, it was 'to provide for my family'."

 

"Right. Back when I was active as an artist, I had a woman I'd been seeing since my student days. She was my benefactor and an immensely precious person who supported me constantly and cheered on my dream of becoming an artist. Shortly after graduating from school, she entered society and supported my artistic activities in no small part. As luck would have it, I was blessed with artistic talent and already had patrons supporting my work, so I don't think I ever put her through much hardship when it came to our livelihood."

 

Without breaking his gaze from the window, the teacher continued speaking as if talking to himself.

 

"Then a turning point arrived. A child was born between her and me. That child you're always so friendly with, you know. An immensely precious, irreplaceable only daughter to both of us. She inherited my artistic talent and her mother's kindness and intelligence—truly a daughter to be proud of."

 

"...Well, she's also a 'stubborn one', though. Just how many times have we argued over art topics..."

 

"Haha. Think of that as part of her charm, too. Even so, you're not even romantically involved, yet you always lend an ear to her complaints and consultations. I'm truly grateful to you for always being her conversation partner in place of myself, who is too busy with work."

 

"Don't worry about it... After all, she's the precious daughter of my respected mentor."

 

The young man moved his cup with a self-conscious expression, the ice clinking inside several times.

 

"Ah, I'm getting off track. Now, returning to the past... Yes, it's about when that child was born. Back then, I was earning a decent living as an artist. But in my heart, I might have harbored some anxiety about this lifestyle where stability could never be guaranteed. Eventually, my wife had to step away from work for a while to give birth to our daughter. Back then, maternity and childcare leave weren't as widespread as they are now. Naturally, in the event of unexpected circumstances, the burden of being the primary earner would inevitably fall on me. But trying to make a living solely as an artist was, quite frankly, far too difficult for me at the time."

 

"And so you gradually reduced your art work and enrolled in university? You studied hard to obtain your teaching license, then arrived at the school I attended and became a full-time art teacher... wasn't that it?"

 

"Precisely. Having been active as an artist myself, I wanted to somehow put that experience to use, and above all, I was interested in guiding talented youth. My wife didn't oppose me at all; she always pushed me forward."

 

That being said, having initially juggled both art and teaching, he eventually struggled with the massive workload that teaching entailed, and ended up abandoning his artistic endeavors in what felt like a natural fade-out. According to stories he had heard, the teacher's wife had been deeply saddened by that.

 

The young man had entered high school as his student precisely around the time when the teacher's title had become "former artist" for a little over a decade.

 

"Even so, why suddenly quit teaching now? I'd imagine life is much more stable now compared to your artist days, and above all, if you work until retirement age, you should receive your full retirement allowance."

 

"Of course, getting more money is always better. It secures our old age and prepares us for unexpected situations. But you should have a vague idea too. The daughter we've talked about so often will finally become fully independent next year."

 

Hearing that, the young man's eyebrows twitched.

 

"...Come to think of it, your daughter is in her third year as a member of society now, isn't she?"

 

"That's right. She's no longer at an age where people call her a fresh graduate. She should have gained enough experience by now to live her life responsibly as an adult. Up until today, I've worked desperately hard so I could be her backbone, but I can safely say I'm no longer needed."

 

"In other words... you've devoted your time to your family and your daughter up until now, and from here on out, you'll use the rest of your life for yourself... is that it?"

 

The teacher's eyes narrowed slightly.

 

From that reaction alone, he knew that the words the young man had just uttered were spot on.

 

"Originally, if my daughter's independence went well, I planned to quit teaching around the age of fifty. I've always thought of myself as the type to die young, you know. I want to spend my remaining time doing what I love, at least at the very end of my life."

 

"Is that... why you're quitting teaching at fifty instead of working until retirement? But what do you intend to do after you quit?"

 

In response to the young man's question, the teacher pulled a memo from his pocket.

 

Taking it with a puzzled look, the young man cast his gaze down at the memo he had been handed. Written there was a date in the coming year and the name of a rental gallery in Tokyo.

 

"Teacher... what is this memo?"

 

"My... first 'job' after leaving the teaching profession."

 

"Job..."

 

At that moment, the strongly bitter coffee whose replenishment was finally completed arrived at the teacher's table, and thanking the clerk, he happily began to drink his coffee. In contrast, the young man watched him with a still-bewildered expression.

 

"Um, Teacher. What do you mean by job... Wait, don't tell me, I didn't know you had already decided on a new job."

 

"No, no, that's not it. Well, it might indeed be a career change of sorts. But for me, it's a career change, and in a sense, it's spending time doing what I love."

 

"What does that mean..."

 

"Don't you get it? I'm going back... to being an 'artist', you see."

 

Immediately afterward, the young man stood up with enough force to shake the table.

 

He almost spilled the freshly refilled coffee. Though, perhaps predicting the young man's action in advance, the teacher had already picked up his coffee cup beforehand, preventing a major catastrophe.

 

A smile was plastered across the teacher's face.

 

"T-Teacher... does that mean, um... is that it?"

 

"Ah, that's right. Happily, I was able to get back in touch with my former patron over there. They're going to lend me their strength once again for my artistic activities. My daughter and wife also strongly pushed me forward, telling me, 'At least at the very end, spend your time doing what I love.' I even used a little bit of the savings I kept for my family to fund my fresh restart as an artist."

 

"Then, then you mean!! Does the information written on this memo mean your 'solo exhibition', held for the first time in decades?! No, wait, it definitely is, right?!"

 

Placing his hands on the table and leaning forward with an excited expression, the young man interrogated him.

 

Initially, he had complained about this coffee shop's atmosphere not being "quiet," but right now, his own behavior was the epitome of noise. However, none of the customers or staff in the shop seemed displeased in the slightest; rather, they watched the scene with amused expressions.

 

"Of course. Lately, I've managed to spare a little time for creation, too. It's not just my old works. I'll be unveiling new works alongside them—a somewhat large-scale solo exhibition celebrating the restart of my artistic activities."

 

"No way!! To think I can actually see the teacher's art with my own eyes, and at a solo exhibition at that! ...I'm going. I'll definitely go to that solo exhibition!! I'll crawl there if I have to!!"

 

"Now, now, calm down. You'll bother the other customers. I appreciate the sentiment, but save that release of emotion until next year."

 

"Understood!!"

 

Having finally regained his composure, the young man sat back down quietly and chugged his iced water as if trying to cool down the heat of his excitement. Of course, chugging water wouldn't actually cool him down, but he didn't care and even asked for a refill.

 

Meanwhile, the teacher smiled with satisfaction at the reaction and dropped yet another bombshell statement upon him.

 

"Now, in conjunction with the solo exhibition next year, there's actually one more thing I want to tell you beforehand."

 

"To me? I'm already stuffed just hearing about your return to art and your solo exhibition..."

 

"Well, don't say that and listen. I'm literally quitting teaching as of this coming spring, but actually, if you're willing, I'd like you to become my 'disciple' starting around that time."

 

"...Eh, disciple?"

 

"That's right. Disciple."

 

"Um... Me, become the teacher's... disciple? Not in the sense of a former student?"

 

"That was back when I was a teacher. Not that. How about spending time together for the sake of art as the primary disciple of an artist? Well, you have your work so it doesn't have to be your top priority, but I intend to train you so you can eventually debut as an artist."

 

"......"

 

At this, the young man suddenly lost his composure, picked up his already empty cup with an absent-minded look, darted his eyes around in various directions, and began tracing the rim of the cup with his thumb. Quite an incomprehensible action.

 

Still, to the teacher, this was one of his few familiar habits. It was the action he often took when happiness piled up and caused him to panic. In other words, he was currently overjoyed beyond measure at the teacher's invitation.

 

That being the case, there was no need to wait for his answer. If he prompted him for a reply, words of affirmation would undoubtedly come back without hesitation.

 

However, the teacher purposely told him to reserve his answer and continued as follows.

 

"I want you to tell me your answer directly on the day of that solo exhibition. Until then, think slowly about what you want to do... Consult with someone if you like. Immerse yourself in your own time, think carefully and deeply about your future. This is an important choice that will sway your life from here on out. Don't decide carelessly... Now, don't worry. You have plenty of time. I look forward to hearing your well-thought-out answer on the day of the exhibition."

 

Taking a sip of his coffee, looking completely unbothered by the strong bitterness, the teacher cheerfully made a peace sign with one hand.

 

The young man smiled, nodded heavily and vertically, and let out a small breath.

 

(The artistic comeback of the teacher I've always respected... and a solo exhibition held for the first time in decades... to top it all off, a master-disciple relationship as an artist... To think such good fortune would visit me... This isn't a dream. This is reality.)

 

Wanting to become an artist.

 

This was a childhood dream the young man had cherished all along, even serving as a kind of goal in life.

 

However, he lacked any particular artistic talent, and moreover, he utterly lacked the effort and time to dedicate to it. Because of that, rather than living as the artist he once dreamed of, he was spending his life as an ordinary member of society.

 

The reason he held such adoration for the teacher, built a friendly relationship with him up to the present day, and never missed keeping in touch, was none other than because the respect and jealousy he felt toward the teacher—who had actually managed to become an artist once—had transformed into a sense of attachment that took root in his heart.

 

That life might finally change.

 

And not by anyone else's hand. Through the guidance of the teacher he deeply respected, he could take the first step toward becoming the artist he had dreamed of for years.

 

If this isn't called good fortune, what is?

 

The young man resolved himself. No matter what happened. Even if a cataclysm occurred, he would keep burning this emotion deep within his heart, precious and fierce, and on the day of the upcoming exhibition, he would hurl these feelings directly at the teacher.

 

Though, knowing him, he would almost certainly accept these feelings without missing a beat. The bond forged between them was strong and deep. The other side should have a pretty good hunch, nine out of ten times, about what words the young man would spill on the day of the exhibition.

 

But that wouldn't do. His future. The setbacks and hardships that would surely assault him. The strength of heart to endure them. He needed to show that person that he would surely overcome every single one of them.

 

That was precisely why the teacher purposely made him withhold his answer.

 

To witness firsthand just how strong the young man's heart and dream truly were.

 

Feelings will never weather away. If you keep holding onto a dream without giving up, a chance will eventually arrive, and there will surely be a moment when you seize it.

 

The young man could truly say that that very chance had arrived for him right now.

 

"Understood... Then Teacher, my answer will be kept on hold for a while... Let's meet directly next time at that solo exhibition."

 

"A fine proposal. How you, right here before me, will grow and what kind of expression you'll wear when you meet me... Haha, I'm very much looking forward to it."

 

The teacher extended his hand.

 

A middle-aged man's large hand, bearing the slight signs of age and wrinkles. Yet upon closer inspection, bits of paint that hadn't been completely washed away by detergent clung here and there.

 

It was oil paint.

 

He must have painted recently. It was a familiar, everyday sort of stain recognizable to anyone who created art.

 

Therefore, seeing that stain, the young man suddenly felt a deep, intense wave of joy.

 

Ah, the teacher had truly started painting again, just for him.

 

"Yes, Teacher. This is a promise we must both strictly keep... Of course, I'll definitely keep it."

 

He clasped the teacher's hand and shook it firmly and tightly.

 

The teacher's hand, felt after so long, was as sturdy and solid as ever.

 

Time passed by a little bit. Some time after the teacher retired from his job as a teacher, just as they had discussed at the coffee shop, the solo exhibition celebrating his return to artistic activities was finally held.

 

The duration was quite short, only two or three days, yet numerous patrons who knew well of his former artist days and curious visitors flocked to the venue, making the solo exhibition an overwhelming success.

 

Meanwhile, the young man, who was exceptionally busy at his workplace, managed with great difficulty to secure just a single day off, but unluckily, the period when the solo exhibition was being held coincided with the rainy season.

 

Moreover, the day he intended to head out was facing a torrential downpour rarely seen in recent years; while a special heavy rain warning wasn't issued, it was dangerous weather where unnecessary outings would normally be discouraged.

 

Yet he went. Above all, to keep the promise he had made with the teacher.

 

Perhaps his fighting spirit was fired up by the thought that during this crucial moment—when a childhood dream might finally be fulfilled—he wouldn't let bad weather cause him to easily give up.

 

As a result, he rushed out. And headed toward his respected teacher.

 

Toward his mentor, whom he might finally be able to call master from the bottom of his heart starting today.

 

However, the young man never reached the teacher's side.

 

1-2

 

"...What a terrible dream..."

 

The words that slipped from her mouth carried an unexpectedly dry ring.

 

It felt as though she had been sleeping without taking in a single drop of water... No, she actually had been sleeping for a long time, so naturally that was the case.

 

While her consciousness threatened to drift toward her dry lips, the girl swept her gaze across her surroundings.

 

(...Is this... a hospital room... Gehenna? Or some other hospital?)

 

An unfamiliar ceiling. A room with nothing in it except the bed she was lying on and some art supplies.

 

Whether a private room was specially prepared for her, since this was her first hospitalization experience she couldn't really gauge it, but she was seemingly being treated with considerable care by those around her.

 

(...Is anyone outside? ...These footsteps sound like someone circling the corridor over and over... Security? Or is someone watching me?)

 

Whatever the case, no one was entering the room, but there were definitely a few people outside.

 

Fighting against a body devoid of any strength, the girl forced herself to sit up, putting her utmost effort into it. At that moment, the intravenous drips and electrocardiograph equipment hooked up to her body caught her eye, making her realize that her condition was far more critical than she had initially imagined.

 

(...Well... I took a direct hit from a bomb, was riddled with bullets, and ended up buried under a mountain of rubble, so of course it is.)

 

If anything, she should be grateful just to be alive with all her limbs intact.

 

The girl exhaled softly, confirmed that she could breathe deeply without issue, shifted her gaze from right to left, and let out another—this time heavy—sigh.

 

(...Just how long have I been asleep... There's no calendar anywhere in this hospital room, only a clock...)

 

Had they not anticipated her waking up on her own? The starkly inorganic nature of the hospital room almost made her mistakenly think this was how hospital rooms were supposed to look.

 

And if a doctor told her that she had actually been asleep for a year or two, or even nine years, she wouldn't even know how to react. Of course, if time had advanced that far, she wouldn't have to worry about getting dragged into the main Blue Archive story, but instead she would only harbor anxiety about her future life.

 

(...I should probably press the nurse call button to let them know I'm awake, but I need to grasp the situation as much as possible before things get noisy...)

 

Twisting her body, she directed her gaze once more toward the items and equipment near the bed to take stock of her situation.

 

That was when she noticed her school uniform placed away from the bed. It appeared to be her Trinity uniform. It wasn't the clothes she had been wearing before losing consciousness—that is, the clothes she wore when visiting Gehenna.

 

Perhaps her previous clothes had to be disposed of due to bullet holes, explosives, or rubble. It was unfortunate, but couldn't be helped. Since she was wearing patient clothing now, having a change of clothes nearby was helpful.

 

(...As for other things... That's my gun. Did it get caught under the rubble? It's heavily damaged, I'll have to get it repaired later. There also seem to be a few belongings I brought to Gehenna, but the art supplies gifted to me at that hotel aren't there... Too bad.)

 

Displaying a pessimistic sigh at the pitiful state of her beloved gun, and feeling more than a little shock over the loss of the precious art supplies she had received in Gehenna, the girl couldn't hide her disappointment. Furthermore, her smartphone screen was shattered and completely broken, meaning the data inside was almost certainly toast. She honestly didn't know if data recovery was possible.

 

Even so, lamenting over lost items wouldn't bring them back to life now.

 

Telling herself that this was all her own fault for getting attacked by Joumae Saori of the Arius Branch back then and ultimately burying herself under a mountain of rubble to save her, the girl finally felt her grasp on the situation was complete and reached out toward the nurse call button placed beside the bed.

 

"...Ah."

 

And then she saw it.

 

Neatly wrapped in bandages, her thoroughly treated dominant hand. An existence she could call her second life, having overworked it since childhood to become an artist, carrying pain as the price.

 

It went without saying, but the precious knife given to her by Kirifou Nagisa was not stuck into it. When she looked around earlier, she hadn't been able to find that knife anywhere aside from her damaged gun.

 

She must have lost it back there. She vaguely remembered it still being wedged in when she somehow crawled out from the rubble, so it probably slipped out by some chance.

 

(...It was such a precious thing Nagisa gave me... I did a terrible thing...)

 

Thinking back, why had she thrust her right hand right in front of the knife swung down by Saori at that moment?

 

To protect her own heart? No, if that were the case, she wouldn't have used this dominant hand—to which she had sworn to dedicate her entire life as an artist—as a shield. If possible, sacrificing her left hand would have been better.

 

Besides, at the very moment that knife came swinging down, she had been thinking absentmindedly. What on earth was she thinking?

 

Had she thought that rather than letting her life end like that, her artistic self should scatter its life at the same time? It sounded laughable, but she even felt like she had boldly flashed a smile at Saori, who was shocked by her unexpected action.

 

Unfortunately, her memories were muddy, and she couldn't recall her state of mind at the time.

 

The only certain thing for now was that even after being pierced by a sharp knife, she could still move her dominant hand freely. Should she celebrate the miracle that her nerves weren't completely shredded, or was this some kind of punishment directed at herself for attempting to foolishly throw away her life?

 

Honestly, this wasn't something to ponder with a body that had just woken from slumber. Her muscles seemed to have atrophied more than expected, making it hard to move, and above all, she lacked energy. Even to get her brain working at full throttle, she needed a proper meal first.

 

To that end, it would be wise to use the nurse call to see a doctor and ask about the current situation.

 

Using her dominant hand, the girl pressed the nurse call button beside the bed without hesitation this time. Doctors and nurses should come rushing over any moment now.

 

"...Hmm, huh?"

 

However, the moment she pressed the nurse call button, the girl frowned.

 

It felt like out of all the gears starting to turn, just one was rotating sluggishly, giving her a sense of crisis that if it kept turning this way, it would eventually break.

 

"............"

 

The girl checked. She checked it over and over.

 

Surely it was some kind of mistake, just her imagination.

 

Yet, with cruel clarity, reality indicated that it was indeed a fact.

 

Kayama Esumi stared. At her own... right hand, which should have been her dominant hand.

 

"... I… can’t…  the sensation in my right hand...?"