Work Text:
The ceremony is coming to its end. Students of every year have been sitting in the auditorium for hours now, waiting for the closure of the academic year to be announced - the beginning of spring break. Teachers and seniors were, anyway, the true protagonists of the day; graduation day did come, after all, once in a lifetime for the kids, while teachers and professors did accompany each homeroom to the very final chapter of their school year, with eyes filled of pride, as well as bits of joy. She did not sit among them, with her classmates: as valedictorian, she was patiently waiting for her turn, to get on that elevated stage, to talk to the public; she was standing now behind the curtains that divided said stage and seats from a sort of backstage. Despite not having been with the others all the time, she could bet anything she had the chairs wouldn’t have all been occupied - mainly because of the strange, debilitating and dangerous illness that had been going around town for a while.
Mitsuru had been idly playing with the cloth of the heavy curtains blue as the night in color, waiting for her turn to arrive and to enter the scene. On her free, still hand rested a bunch of notes for her discourse. She wasn’t agitated, no. She had talked to many more students, way countless times before. That would have been a piece of cake ! Her last day as an high school student; after her speech, the graduation ceremony would have reached its final thanks, its final moments. A sense of confusion had accompanied her, throughout the last few days. Or was it melancholy ? Ah, what would Mitsuru have been nostalgic of, though ?
——-Next, a word from the valedictorian… from Class D, Mitsuru Kirijo.
Hearing of her name did “ wake her up ”, making the girl thank the headmaster and finally step further, to the discourse desk and the microphone. Now she could see everyone. The silence was almost oppressing, the only sound filling the air now was the clicking of her heels on the wooden floor, under her feet. Respect, gladly enough, had always been a constant in that academy. Ignoring the incredible number of eyes now pointed, focused on her own figure, she arrived at her destination, placing her piece of paper on the podium and, at last, raised her own gaze, ready.
« Thank you. This last year, I accepted an important responsibility as Student Council president. »
She found her mouth to be incredibly dry. After a brief pause, and a swift glance at her notes again, to keep track of the schedule and all the people she had to thank, Mitsuru’s hands both reached for the podium. The echo of her words, amplified by a lot, had still not stopped sounding and resounding, insistent, in the vast space. The first things that got her attention are the first rows of seats; many familiar faces were there, as well as some strangers too and one of her dormmate, and old classmate; Sanada Akihiko was there too. She didn’t give him too much attention though: a single distraction and she would have paid the ultimate price, by embrassing herself. No, not on her last day of school ! The speech continued, just as planned.
« When I firstly addressed you, from this very podium, I spoke to all of you about seizing opportunities while you still had the chance… »
How ironic of her, to say such things ! Seizing opportunities of one genre did preclude access to many, many others of way differents kinds – she had learnt it the hard, merciless and painful way, that last year. It didn’t almost feel just. Maybe it was that same thought that had been taunting her psyche in the recent past ! Her gaze didn’t falter, now – it returned upward, to the crowd. To the younger ones. The sunlight from outside was almost enough strong and bright to blind her.
« Well, it must be Fate itself that intervened and gave me an important reminder of that. As many of you might already know, my father… »
The solemn silence all around them did not stop. It did put her off, somehow - no matter how relaxing she would have found quiet to be. She had expected murmurs, by that point; voices, sounds, noises – anything at all ! Yet nothing came. And the lack of such sources of sounds made her stop, reflect and regret of having brought the argoument in her speech. Her fingers started playing with one edge of the paper sheet, torturing it.
« – my father unexpectedly passed away due to illness. »
Finally, the eye contact broke and the girl lowered the head, sighing away from the microphone; it did happen often, that sense of tiredness. Plus, the matter she was discussing wasn’t the easiest one to have on graduation day. Death had taken him way too soon, way too suddenly and brough Mitsuru in a reality of pure uncertainty. What would have been of her, or the family legacy remained obscure, unknown and surely not the best; attending university, now alone, wouldn’t have been easy – she might have as well renounced to that dream of hers. Not to mention the old members of the Group would have never let such a young woman, alone, have full control of the corporation.
« To tell you the truth, after losing my father, I also lost so much of my self-confidence. You see, I had overestimated my ability to handle everything alone. Few people can be that strong. There are times we cannot stand without the support of others; after my father’s death, though, I received kind words from many people. You all taught me the value of allowing yourself to be cared for, to be protected. I would continue to go forward, with the support of those around me. For us graduates, it was truly an honor to share the last three years with all of you. And– »
All according to plan. As a perfectly memorized theatre script, Mitsuru had said everything she had prepared with great anticipation, for a while; those words had come out of her mouth following a precise, careful order – every comma, every pause could be also noted on the paper she had kept with herself till that very moment. Yet, at the very last phrase, something had changed, inside of her; it would have been quite hard to explain it by mere words, but the clear sensation of tears reaching to her eyes and the burning warmth they brought couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. Her vision did slightly blur, but never ceased to scrutinize as many students and faces it could – she saw members of the council, first-years, other dormmates she had never had the courage or the will, too, to spoke with, to know better. Would her words then be considered pure hypocrisy ? Her voiced cracked. It scarily did - and it made her, although for a second, lose control of her own mind and trail of thoughts. But to stop now would have been pointless. There was nothing more to be said, nothing more to be remembered. She could only hope the presence of such strong emotions would have spared her from the spread of the so-called Apathy Syndrome. She had never been overwelmed by crying fits during her speech before !
« Thank you s-so much… for those wonderful years… ! »
Eyelids closed, and her shaking right hand grabbed the note, crumpling it up in the strongest grip she could manage; then, Mitsuru took a single step back, bowed her head to the public in a form of respect and returned in the backstage, hidden once again by the curtains. Only in that moment, she could clearly hear students starting to talking to themselves; at the same time, finally, the first tear left her eye sockets, trailing quickly down her cheek.
Fate and Death. A very important reminder – she had mentioned that just a moment ago. Had it, perhaps, felt incomplete ? Was she weeping for her lost family or for something else entirely ?
« Stupid… ! Don’t cry… »
When her right hand, still tight and closed in a fist, made its way to her pale visage, her wet cheek, she let out another cracking sigh – more similar to a silent hiccup than anything else. Now, new, happier voices came from the other side of the auditorium; it was time. She had to make herself appear presentable again, and fast ! Those were her last minutes as valedictorian of the school, they had to be memorable, not sad. Well spent too ! In the growing noisiness of hundreds and hundreds of students, the girl barely noticed nor heard her metallic white pin, the one all seniors in Gekkoukan wore as well, drop from the blouse to the dusty wooden floorboards on the ground.