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"...And now, Class of Ikebukuro High, I grant you a blessing: to soldier on your path and strive to transform into the very best versions of yourselves. With all the ambition in the world I bid you farewell. Congratulations, graduates!"
With a deafening cheer, Jiro and his classmates throw up their caps into the bright blue sky. The sun beating down isn’t enough to stop Jiro from being the first one to jump out of his seat and sprint straight into the audience: right where his brothers are waiting for him. “Aniki! Saburo!”
“Jiro! Unf–!”
Ichiro is waiting for him with open arms, in a suit that’s too clean to be anything but a rental, more than ready to take the brunt of his little brother catapulting himself into him. Not one to be outdone, Ichiro hefts him up and spins him around with a laugh.
“Alright Puppy Jiro, calm down already.” Saburo is a bit to the side, scoffing at both his elder brother’s emotional reactions. “You graduated high school, it’s not the biggest deal in the world.”
“Whatever, kid.” Jiro pries himself off of Ichiro, maintaining his grin as he ruffles Saburo’s hair, also pulling him into a hug.
“Saburo, it is a big deal,” Ichiro says, patting them both on the back. “We should be happy for today!”
The eye roll Saburo gives is nowhere near as deriding as it normally is, so Jiro takes that as a win. It isn’t like Saburo can keep up the charade; he saw how hard this last year was on Jiro, and it truly is a feat of many things aligning just right that he’s managed to graduate.
“Do my eyes deceive me?” A voice, blaring fanfare and pomp resounds from across the school greens, “Is that truly Jiro Yamada, graduate extraordinaire, standing resplendent on the brilliant precipice of a golden summer?”
Hifumi strolls up to the brothers, looking polished as always in his ever-present suit jacket. “H-hifumi, please, not so loud.” His shadow, Doppo, trails behind him. “If you keep this up, then we’ll get stares from everyone and then the school will throw us out and then the Yamadas will hate us and then Matenro’s reputation will be ruined and Sensei’ll hate us but mostly me since it was my fault I couldn’t keep us quiet–”
Jiro puts up a hand in greeting to stop his muttering. “Yo shiny guy. Yo salaryman. Thanks for comin’ out to my graduation.”
He surprises them all with a courteous bow. Hifumi booms out laughter, charmed, his various accessories tinkling along as he graciously tilts Jiro’s posture back up. “Stand high, Jiro! For you are not a child anymore. Now, you are a man.”
“I’m a man,” Jiro echoes, eyes sparkling. “Does that mean I get to drink at your host club?”
Hifumi strikes a lavish pose. “No.”
“Hifumi, don’t discourage Jiro-kun on his graduation day…”
“Let’s not talk about drinking alcohol and attending host clubs while on high school property,” chuckles Ichiro nervously.
“Ah, I almost forgot! Here. For you, Jiro-san.”
Thankfully, Hifumi turns their attention to an envelope he pulls out of his suit jacket, handing it to Jiro. The envelope is blank save for his name. “This from you?” Jiro asks. The other brothers gawk at it, then at him when he shakes it to hear for any clues. “Is there money in here? Sweet.”
“Not at all, my friend. In fact, it is from a certain… interesting fellow,” his eyelid twitches, a rare outward sign of irritation, “who unfortunately could not make it to your graduation. So he asked me to courier his letter to you. Please, open it.”
“What is this, from the dean or president or somethin’?” Jiro opens it. He is greeted with the same flowy handwriting that is printed on the envelope. His face contorts into a grimace; he has to read boring, convoluted shit that he can’t understand to make a bunch of oldies happy on his graduation day? But the first few words of the letter have him bark a surprised laughter, and he reads on with interest:
Wassup Jiro, it’s ya boy, Yumeno Gentaro, Fling Posse’s writer and mad brick rapper. Word on the street is you graduated high school. That’s so poggers and awesomesauce and we should go get pizza with your bros lol, my treat cuz y’know I got the dough oh em gee that shit rhymed. Catch ya on the flip side and make sure to stay slaying! Girlboss dab
By the time he’s done reading, he has a giant smile stretching his cheeks. His brothers notice, their eyebrows going up; Jiro’s usually never this happy to read. “Er, what’s it say–”
“Oh my, what ever has grabbed your attention so, young Yamada?” A familiar lilting voice wafts over the two Shinjuku men – then the voice promptly shoves them apart to make way for none other than Yumeno Gentaro.
“Oh shit, writer-Sensei! ‘Sup? I thought you said you couldn’t make it.”
“Ah, but that was just a lie,” Gentaro lifts up his sleeve to cover his grin. “To not set aside time to attend a ceremony as momentous as your high school graduation – why, it should be grounds for excommunication.”
“You’re not Catholic,” Saburo remarks, who is the only one to speak up after ten seconds of confused silence.
“Details,” Gentaro waves it off. He ignores the glare coming from Hifumi and floats over to Jiro. “I even wore Converse for this very occasion.”
He lifts up his robes to show off the classic teenage footwear. It makes his feet look small. Jiro nods approvingly. “We’ll getcha a skateboard next.”
“That would be totes radical.” He tries to imitate the action that tall boys do to slap the leaves of a tree for no reason, but he loses his footing and trips.
Thankfully, Jiro dives just in time to catch him. “You good Sensei dude?? Be careful! Damn, your hand-eye coordination sucks. You really need to play more video games…” The two manage to get their feet under them just in time to see the center stage cleared off of teacher and faculty, and occupying one person:
“Helly-hello guys and pals of Ikebukuro High School! It’s your favorite comedian from Osaka, Sasara Nurude! That’s right, the one and only… Wait a second, no one knows who I am? Well, try this joke on for size! Knock knock, who’s there? Noah! Noah, who? Noah good high school graduation joke?...No, nobody? Aw shucks, are you guys too high an’ mighty for me already with all your new-found knowledge? No wonder it’s sweltering out here, the number of degrees is too damn high, ahahaha!”
“I told him not to use that joke, and what does he do? Not listen to me,” an exasperated voice floats over to the group. “Even laughs at his own jokes. Tch, what a lousy comedian.”
Jiro’s first instinct is to scowl at the guy whose sense of fulfillment comes from being a debbie downer. Then, after the voice registers and Jiro’s body whips around he realizes it’s–
“Sensei-sensei! Aw hell, I knew that could be no one but you!”
Rosho raises an eyebrow. His expression looks flat but Jiro knows better, locating amusement dancing behind his rimmed glasses. “‘Sensei-sensei’?”
“Uh, yeah. How else am I supposed to tell you two,” he points to him and Gentaro, “apart?”
Rosho raises the other eyebrow. “Really? Is that all I am to you? Even after I did my part in mentoring you and Jyushi-kun both?”
“Mentoring?” Hifumi butts in. “Is that what we’re calling that peculiar bout of strange gawking they were doing in Jyuto-san’s car that one time–”
“Th-that’s your lame opinion!” The speed with which Jiro claps his hands over Hifumi’s mouth is lightning fast – not fast enough to have Ichiro’s keen eyes narrow in shock, though he miraculously doesn’t push it, eyes lighting up in rare boyish noisiness as if saying ‘we’ll talk about this later.’
“A-anyway,” Jiro forces a change in subject, “what’re you doing so far away from Osaka?”
“Oh, that. Well you see, I left my stove on.”
Everyone waits for him to go on. The silence continues.
“Were we supposed to laugh?” Ouch. Once again, Saburo plucks the thought out of everyone’s minds. Rosho flinches.
“Er. I thought the delivery was funny. M-moving on.” He wipes some sweat off his forehead. “I’m here to support my partner school’s young mentee. That would be you, Jiro-kun. Surely that is not such a suspicious thing?”
“You are a very bad liar,” Gentaro giggles airily at Rosho’s sweating, which intensifies even more. “I would know, I am a stupendous liar.”
“I’m not lying, just lemme finish!” Rosho gapes at Gentaro’s brazen claim. He pushes up his glasses to regain some sense of decorum, sputtering out, “If you must know, I am also here to support my boyfriend.”
Boyfriend… A pang runs through Jiro. “You mean cop dude?”
Rosho darts a look at Jiro, surprised. Right, no one but Jiro had snooped around enough to realize those two had something going on. He quickly recovers though, clarifying, “Ah– No, actually. Not anymore. Jyuto and I separated.”
He points up at the stage. “Sasara is my boyfriend now.”
A roll of congratulations ripples across the small group. Rosho shyly basks in the attention, puffing out his chest in his own reserved way. It’s an impressive feat, managing to stave off Hifumi’s endless questions of budding romance while also cringing at Sasara’s awful jokes with an exasperation only an old married couple can achieve.
But Jiro stays silent. There goes that pang again. He recalls the conversation he and Jyuto had, at sundown in the basketball court, when Jyuto shared his deepest desires. It had confused Jiro – but this…
Sasara yammers on in the background. Rosho gazes at him with such potent fondness it’s a wonder he was ever in a relationship with Jyuto for as long as he was.
“Is he… is he doin’ okay?”
Jiro can’t stop the dejection from leaking into his words. A strange disappointment befalls him; it’s been looming ever since the guests had filed in on the school grounds and taken their reserved seats. He’s got his bros, sure, and the rest of the division members he’s crafted a strange as hell bond with. But Jyuto…
Rosho notices. His eyes turn soft, and he places a comforting hand on Jiro's shoulder. It immediately fills him with his empathy; it's hard to hide his feelings from a teacher experienced in gently digging out his student's problems.
"Jiro,” he nods his head behind him. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
"...Huh?" Jiro doesn't know how to respond. Confused, he steps forward to demand answers – but, the happy shine in Rosho’s eyes has him silently comply. And when he does…
“Hello, Jiro.”
It's Jyuto. He stands out in his formal police uniform, gold tassels pinned artfully across his chest. Its bold colors accentuate his perfect posture, topped off with an immaculately kept police hat. And that smile…
“Uncle Iruma," Jiro steps forward, haltingly. “You came.”
Jyuto chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”
Because he’s the epitome of everything Jiro is not. Because he's still fucking clueless as to why he's invested so much time into him, a teenager who likes the simple things in life like soccer and pizza instead of his miracle worker brother and genius little brother. Like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Jyuto to realize that maybe he's played his cards wrong.
But he’s here, isn’t he?
"Told ya he was here," says Rosho, approaching the two. "You know better than to doubt your Sensei. That’s why I’m your Sensei-sensei."
"Truly, his entrance was foretold to be GOAT'ed," says Gentaro. He clears his throat audibly. "Pardon me, I still have to work on incorporating the slang of the youths into my normal speech."
"Yeah! What he said, or whatever!" Hifumi bounds up to throw an arm around Jiro's shoulders, a big beaming smile rivaling the midday sun's rays. "Jyucchi's super reliable and picks out the best suits! Speaking of suits, Doppochin's chasing me around to put mine back on. I gotta run so he gets his daily thousand steps in! Weeheeeee!"
He skips off with a bubbling laugh. Doppo stumbles after him five seconds later, wheezing and sweating buckets. Gentaro glides away after slipping a ten thousand yen bill in Jiro's pocket. Rosho gets dragged away by Sasara to meet adoring fans, of which there is nothing for him to be jealous about; it's not like anyone else gets to be on the receiving end of their reignited love.
"You guys…" Jiro whispers, long after they've left the two to their own devices. He wipes at his face, not knowing when it started to get wet.
"Ichiro-kun, may I talk to the graduate in private?"
Something mature passes in between their gaze, and Ichiro nods his acquiescence. Jyuto leads Jiro away from the crowd and off to the side.
It's quieter here, and Jiro can clear his mind. "So," he starts awkwardly, "I, uh, heard Tsutsujimori-sensei's with the comedian now." It's not like Rosho was a bad lover. Their wants… their needs were just different. Jiro realized that, in the basketball court, far earlier than Jyuto did.
Jyuto hums neutrally. The wind grazes past his cheek.
"I'm assumin' things worked out… And you're with the rest of Mad Trigger Crew?"
Another hum.
"Guess they didn't show…"
Here Jyuto makes a noise of disagreement. He points in the direction of a small grassy hill. It's two blocks down the road, but Jiro can swear he can see specks of some people…
"Are they fuckin' all the way over there???" Jiro exclaims. "When did- How long- No, just, tell those weirdos to come down and celebrate with us already!"
"They attended the ceremony, don't worry," Jyuto finally speaks. "Riou isn't good with crowds, and Samatoki, well, you've seen how swimmingly he gets along with everybody."
He holds back a chuckle. He may be hiding his simpering smile behind a gloved hand, but there's a mirth twinkling his eyes that wasn't there before. It makes him look complete and genuine.
"Those two understand that I wanted to spend a little more time with you. They'll wait for me. They always have.”
Jyuto steps forward. There’s nothing breaking his even stride, decorated medals jingling finely. “But you can be a silly one sometimes. Thinking I wouldn't show."
Jiro averts his gaze, ashamed. "I am… Maybe I'm not cut out for this growin' up shit…"
"Bullshit." Jyuto smiles, in the pleasant way someone perpetually benevolent is close to cracking. "That is, quite frankly, bullshit. If there's anything the past few months have shown me, it's that out of a lineup of self-proclaimed well-adjusted individuals of society, I'd reliably choose you every time. Jiro. You're more of an adult than the pissbabies I have to work with or arrest or meet at the fucking supermarket. And I'm not just saying that because the bar is that low."
He quakes a little, passion seeping through his vocal cords. "You're an amazing young man. Your compassion is fiery and pure. Your eloquence is blunt and effective. Your wisdom is straightforward and sound. Your boundless energy and enthusiasm turns impossible situations into ones with hope. You're sensitive to others, and have the resolve to protect them."
There’s admiration. Pride. Quiet appreciation, for the man Jiro’s become under Jyuto’s firm guidance glinting behind his glasses. He's learned something not just from Jyuto, but from all of his weird as fuck friends.
Jiro lip quivers. A hiccup that sounds like a sob comes out. “You think so?”
Jyuto bows his head. He nods. Breaks into a wide, unfiltered smile. Are his eyes shining for the same reason Jiro's are? “I know so,” and there’s no denying the conviction in his words – nor the surprised wheeze he gives when Jiro hurtles into a hug.
"I like your graduation speech better," Jiro mumbles into Jyuto's suit, when his face finally dries and he can speak without that ecstatic lump in his throat. Jyuto doesn't even look annoyed when they pull away and that's fucking unheard of.
Then, he hands him a familiar set of keys.
"Huh?" Jiro catches it, though he's understandably surprised. "Where are we goin'?"
"We?" Jyuto feigns surprise. "We aren't going anywhere. But oh, young Jyushi-kun is touring in the next town over. His concert will wrap up soon. Wouldn’t it look amazing when he sees his potential boyfriend picking him up for dinner in his moderately priced vehicle?”
The scenario he paints doesn't make sense to Jiro – until he puts the pieces together. And his mouth goes from a confused pout to a grin. Then wider, and wider, and wider. "You serious?" He has to whisper.
Jyuto nods again. Hands in his pockets make him unable to cover his own matching grin. "Yes. So. Don't you have somewhere to be?"
This time Jyuto is prepared for the hug. "Ah wait, wait, wait," he beckons, just barely wiggling away in time to pull something else. It's Jiro's snapback. “The graduation cap looks good on you, yes, but this… this fits you better. I just feel it.”
He’s more sheepish now, averting his gaze while holding it out. Jiro sees his chance.
In a whirlwind borne of new-found confidence he throws off his graduation cap and takes up his snapback to place it on Jyuto. Jiro crowns himself with the police hat instead.
Jyuto blinks, stunned. He can’t find it in himself to care how badly it clashes with his perfect uniform when Jiro bounds off, lighting his path with his laughter and the undying determination he’s had all this time.
It’s only now that Jyuto realizes he hasn’t done a damn thing besides stay by his side and encourage him, in his own nasty cop way. And that’s okay. It’s not about him, Jyuto reflects. Jiro has what he needs to face the new world, and he’s off to rejoin his friends, his mentors, his family, the ones who care for him–“Whoa!”
As Jyuto is dragged into the fray he feels that same energy course through him, laughter joining Jiro’s. The boyish charm infects him and, before the hill passes from his sight, he gives it one last two-fingered salute; MTC will have their own private celebration later. Best to enjoy the time now, before life says it’s time to soldier on. After all...
There’s always more milestones to reach. And Jyuto’s looking forward to it.