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“Hey, Settsu—so have you thought more about your career plan?”
Banri’s eyebrow twitched as Azumi—Hanasaki High’s guidance counsellor—spoke to him through the door. He couldn’t believe this was seriously happening right now.
“You know, with your grades, it would be a shame if you didn’t go to university. The sky’s the limit for you. It’s always harder to get back into the swing of things if you take a year off,” Azumi rambled.
Banri groaned and covered his face with his hands in exasperation. This situation could not be more awkward. At his wit’s end, the brown-haired boy lifted a leg and kicked the stall door in front of him.
“Look, Teach—I’m tryin’ to take a shit!! Can we talk ‘bout this later?!”
“Language, Settsu,” Azumi chided, not missing a beat. “Anyway, you ran away the last time I tried talking to you, so what else was I supposed to do?”
“I dunno—not stalk me?! Ugh, whatever! I’ll hand it in—just freakin’ get out already!!”
“All right, all right. You’d better keep your word, though, Settsu!”
Banri flushed the toilet and exited the stall. Maybe that memory came back to him just now because it was the same stall he had used that time. Or maybe it was because of the conversation that he’d had with Yuki at the Night Walk the other day—about Yuki’s goals for the future and Banri’s lack thereof.
The future, huh?
For as long as Banri could remember, he’d never cared about the future. What was the point of imagining what was to come when he could barely bother with the present—the boring, super ultra easy present? Even when he had set goals for himself, he always accomplished them effortlessly, no matter how high the bar. Get an A+ on that exam? He aced it with a perfect score. Win that award? The gap between him and the runner-up was miles apart. Master that new skill he’d never tried before in his life? He did it with his eyes closed.
Each success left him hollow. Where was the sense of satisfaction when everything always went according to plan? So, he stopped planning. Stopped expecting. Instead, he just went with the flow and chased after every cheap thrill he could find, because there was no future he could even envision striving for.
But, things were different now—the present was anything but boring. Whether it was taking on a crazy gaming challenge with Itaru, or trying a new curry dish for dinner (how could so many types of curry even exist, anyway?), or pushing his body to the limit during Autumn Troupe practice, every day with the Mankai Company was new and exciting.
Then, there was the stage. Every time he stepped foot under the spotlight, his heart pounded. There was no better adrenaline rush than performing in front of a live audience. The spectators might not laugh at a joke, and they’d have to throw in an adlib; someone could flub a line, and they’d have to find a way to save the scene; even a slightly different intonation or body movement could push the play in a totally new direction. Banri revelled in that feeling of having all the tools in his hands while knowing that a wrench could be thrown in at any moment—sometimes literally.
Before he knew it, he had fallen in love with theatre and being a part of Mankai Company. He had every intention to keep acting and he knew that the logical next step was to study performing arts, especially since he could bring his newfound skills back to benefit the troupe. Yet, despite his feelings, he still found himself hesitating. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he just couldn’t bring himself to commit.
Wiping his hands dry on his handkerchief, Banri made his way over to his shoe locker, grabbing his outdoor shoes and school bag before leisurely making his way home. Still mulling over his thoughts, he eventually turned onto Veludo Way and immediately spotted two familiar figures bowing to a small audience.
“Thank you! Thank you very much!” Taichi exclaimed, waving his hands enthusiastically.
“Come check out Mankai Company—we’ll have a new show on soon,” Juza added as he straightened from his bow.
“What are you two doing?” Banri asked as he walked up to them through the dispersing crowd.
“Banny!” Taichi greeted as he looked up from counting the yen in his pencil case turned tip box. “We were trying to pick up some tips because we were short a few hundred yen!”
“A few hundred yen for what?” the taller boy asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Gettin’ some egg tarts,” Juza responded, taking the yen from Taichi and jabbing his thumb over his shoulder at a small storefront with the flaky treats on display.
“Sweets? Figures.”
“They’re for Tsumugi!” Taichi piped up. “He’s been helping Juza study for his entrance exam even though he registered last minute! So the second Juza saw those egg tarts, he wanted to pick some up as a thank you gift!”
“Entrance exam?” Banri asked incredulously. He couldn’t possibly mean the university entrance exam?
“I’m applyin’ for university theatre programs,” Juza responded, meeting Banri’s gaze defiantly.
“Seriously? You’re studying to get into university? Don’t make me laugh! You sure you even have the brains for that?”
“Shut up, Settsu,” Juza growled, shooting him a glare. “I’m serious ‘bout acting. It’s what I wanna do. You might be better at acting than me right now, but I’m gonna study hard and learn lots. Then, I’m gonna leave you in my dust.” Without another word, Juza turned around and trotted over to the pastry shop.
Banri was thunderstruck. Even Juza, of all people, had set their eyes on the future. He couldn’t believe it. Wasn’t he better than Juza in every way? If a sugar-addicted gorilla could do it—why couldn’t he ? What was stopping him from confidently declaring his goals for the future? Why did he tell Yuki he was still thinking about it?
Was it because he was… scared? After all, it had been so long since he’d allowed himself to look forward, to plan for the future—so was he scared of being disappointed again? Afraid of losing that sense of excitement for something he finally felt passionate about? The realization shook him.
“We’re home!” the three boys hollered as they stepped through the dorm entrance.
“Welcome home!” Sakuya greeted, popping out of the lounge upon hearing the door open. The other boy must have just gotten home as well, as he still wore his school uniform. Seeing Sakuya’s blazer—the same as his—Banri suddenly realized that the other boy was graduating this year as well. The Spring Troupe leader was so small and innocent that Banri sometimes forgot that they were in the same grade.
“Hey, Sakuya—can I ask you somethin’?” Banri said as Juza and Taichi shuffled past them to head to their rooms.
“Sure, what is it?” Sakuya asked, cocking his head to one side.
“What are you plannin’ to do after graduation?”
“Ummm...” Sakuya’s eyes flickered away from Banri’s for a moment as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll be joining the workforce.”
“Seriously? I woulda thought you’d go to university to study performing arts or somethin’.”
“Well, if I’m being honest, I thought about going to university for a theatre program—like the one that Tsumugi and Tasuku went to—but tuition would be kind of tough right now,” Sakuya replied with a sheepish smile. “My relatives have already paid to put me through a top-tier private high school, so I can’t ask them to help me out any more than they already have.”
“Ah. Right… My bad.” Banri wanted to kick himself—how could he forget that Sakuya was an orphan. He hadn’t even thought about tuition, since he knew his parents would cover it without any questions.
“Oh no, don’t feel sorry! I mean—it’s not like it’s a bad thing!” Sakuya continued. “Izumi, Tsumugi, and Tasuku already told me that they’d help me find work with other troupes on Veludo Way. So, I’ll be getting lots of hands-on experience instead. And I know that Hisoka and Misumi have found interesting part-time jobs that help with their acting as well! So, even if I won’t have formal training, I’m confident that I’ll find other ways to improve my acting!”
“Huh. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve got it all figured out,” Banri murmured. He was always impressed by the other leader’s can-do attitude.
“Well, I don’t know about that! I just love acting and I never want to stop—so I’m doing what I can with what I’ve got!” Sakuya responded with a bright smile. “But, I’m sure you’ll get into whichever theatre program you want and then you can show me what you learn—we can even trade tips! Oh, actually, which university did you apply for? Veludo Arts? Or maybe Yosei?”
“Huh? How’d you know that I would be applyin’ for a theatre program?” Banri asked, astonished at the other boy’s assumption.
Sakuya’s laugh tinkled out like bells. “Well, it’s so obvious—you love acting too, after all! And you’re definitely smart enough to get into any university you want!”
For the second time that day, Banri was rendered speechless.
“Sakuya! Could you lend me a hand with this?” Omi called from the kitchen.
“Oh! Be right there!” Sakuya shouted back into the lounge. “Sorry—I’ll talk to you later, Banri!”
“Later,” Banri replied dazedly as Sakuya retreated into the other room.
As soon as the other boy disappeared, a frown crossed Banri’s face. It had been a while since he’d felt so lame. Sakuya was so passionate and devoted to theatre, but he couldn’t even pursue his ideal path. Instead, he had to find another way to reach his goal, to fight to continue chasing his dream. Even Juza, who had rocks for brains, was cracking his head open to do something he was terrible at in order to walk forward towards the future.
And here he was—with all the smarts and the privilege to do exactly what they both wanted—with his feet frozen to the ground.
What the hell am I hesitatin’ for, dammit?! Screw this overthinkin’ bullshit! I know what I want—I want to act.
With the resolve to finally rip his feet free and charge forward, Banri pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened his LIME app. Scrolling down until he found Kazunari’s contact, he began typing out a message.
“Nice coffee they have here, huh?”
Banri couldn’t believe that this old man followed him all the way to the cafe.
“Is that even coffee anymore?” Banri retorted, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he watched Azumi pour in a second container of milk into his drink. It might as well be coffee-flavoured milk at this point.
“My stomach isn’t as strong as it used to be. If I drink coffee straight, it gives me the runs,” Azumi replied with a chuckle.
“Ugh! Nasty! Keep that to yourself, old man!”
“By the way, it’s been a week since you told me you’d hand in your career plan, but I still don’t have it.”
“Look, there just isn’t anythin’ I wanna do,” the boy answered with a sigh.
“Well, even more reason for you to consider higher education, then,” Azumi stated, sipping his abomination of a drink with a contented sigh. “For someone who doesn’t know what they want, I think university will help broaden your horizons.”
“I guess.”
“How about this? For now, I’ll just put down on your career plan that you’re pursuing post-secondary education and sign you up for the standard entrance exam,” Azumi suggested. “In the meantime, think things over. Once you figure out what you really want to do, come find me.”
“Fine. But, I’m warnin’ ya, Teach—don’t get your hopes up.”
Taking a deep breath, Banri knocked on the door to the faculty office. A moment later, one of the younger teachers opened the door.
“Is Mr. Azumi here?” Banri asked, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible.
“Mr. Azumi—Settsu’s here to see you,” the young teacher called over his shoulder before stepping away from the door.
“Ehhhh?! Settsu is here to see me ?!” Azumi yelled exaggeratedly from his desk in the corner.
Banri couldn’t help clicking his tongue. For a second, he considered turning around and leaving, but the piece of paper in his hand burned against his fingers.
“How can I help you, Settsu?” Azumi asked, now standing in front of Banri with an obnoxious grin on his face.
“Here.” Banri held out the piece of paper to him, purposely looking at a spot behind Azumi’s head. He didn’t want to see whatever smug smirk the teacher would make once he saw what was on the page.
“Is this what I think it is?” Azumi gasped in surprise, his eyes quickly skimming the document.
“It’s not too late, right? To change my mind?” Banri replied, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“Hmm… the registration period might be over... but, I know a guy—I can twist his arm into letting me squeeze in your registration,” Azumi replied. “Wait... you’ve only got your first-choice university down. Do you have a back-up?”
“Tch—who do you think I am?” Banri scoffed, rolling his eyes. There was no way he wouldn't get into his top choice. After all, there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do.