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“What does it mean to live as a human being?”
It was the sort of aimless philosophical question Sakuma should probably have expected to receive at one point from one of his students. But the fact that it was Miyoshi who had asked it was a bit surprising. In this life, Miyoshi seemed to be the self-contained type, reading a book in one corner with a single-minded interest that bordered on arrogance. It felt as if he was only reading so he could actively ignore people. His good looks also drew attention, not all of it good, but his grades consistently stayed at the top, and he didn’t make trouble.
He has never approached Sakuma for advice before either. Sakuma was a bit unsure about how to answer.
“Let’s see…” Sakuma listed off the things he thought counted as normal, “Being part of a family unit or starting one’s own family. Searching for one’s purpose in society. Getting a job, finding a lover, raising kids…”
Miyoshi frowned a bit, which Sakuma took to mean that that wasn’t satisfactory. Sakuma looked down at the paper he was grading. He’d stopped when Miyoshi had asked him for his time, but Miyoshi hadn’t seemed interested in knowing his class’s results in advance, only looking at Sakuma himself. The attention was a little disconcerting.
“I guess it depends on how you define ‘human’ to begin with,” Sakuma concluded, hoping that answer was enough.
“For instance,” Miyoshi said, “If someone wasn’t able to find a lover. Would that person be less human? What if you cross out the other things on that list?”
“So, how much of what I said could be cut with the person still being human by the end of it?” Sakuma thought. There were always people who didn’t have any surviving family members, or who belonged to broken households. Teenagers and even older people who didn’t know what they wanted in life. People who chose not to have children… “Well, you could remove all of them, really…”
“Then they don’t actually define what it means to live as a human at all,” Miyoshi pointed out with a little impatience. Sakuma lifted a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. There were probably other people who were better equipped to answer questions like this, but Miyoshi had approached him, which meant he had to try his best.
“I think it’s very vague what we think of as ‘human traits’ to begin with, given that most of them aren’t human-exclusive traits. Since we happen to have been born human, we’re human, and the values we have change with time. I think in the end, that’s what it amounts to.”
“So for Sakuma-sensei—” There’s an echo of Sakuma-san that makes Sakuma briefly not pay attention to the present. “—It’s an accident?”
“Well…” It seemed a bit harsh, or maybe just indifferent, to think of it in such terms. But Sakuma couldn’t exactly bring fate into the conversation. He didn’t think Miyoshi liked romantic notions like that anyway, and he wanted to maintain some level of dignity as a teacher, not give Miyoshi reasons to make fun of him. “I guess you could say that.”
Miyoshi studied him for a moment. After what felt like a scripted beat, he flicked his gaze down to the paper Sakuma was in the middle of grading and made a face as if to apologize for taking him away from his work. Then Miyoshi chuckled and stood from his seat. “I’ll excuse myself then, sensei. Thank you.”
The politeness was familiar but still jarring. Instead of immediately going back to the student’s paper, Sakuma watched Miyoshi leave, and he wondered.
Just how much did he remember?
--
Before, of course, Sakuma had not had the luxury to think of life in terms of what it meant to “live as a human,” as Miyoshi had put it. In this age, it meant being able to keep a certain quality of life. Even corpses were treated with dignity. War still happened, but it was far enough away from what was now Sakuma’s daily life that everything felt like a continuing vacation. Finally, a life where he didn’t need to try too hard, where failure didn’t have to mean dead comrades or an anonymous grave in a foreign country.
He wasn’t dissatisfied, not exactly. He didn’t know about the others.
This was officially his first year of teaching as more than just a student teacher. Miyoshi and Jitsui were second years, and Kaminaga a third year. Sakuma didn’t know if this difference in age reflected their ages before, but these three are the only ones he’s met so far, and he hasn’t seen any of them interact once. Sakuma saw that as a sign that they didn’t remember anything.
Still, he didn’t try to get them to start up a friendship again. It might have been awkward even if they remembered. Hey, remember when you all tried to kill me before? Then we all went different ways, and the last I’ve heard, half of you were dead. Good times, right?
The sad thing was that it made him nostalgic. The fact that he chose this particular school was no coincidence either. He didn’t know what he was biding his time for. For Miyoshi to approach him, as Miyoshi had just done, the coward’s way of waiting excused as “watching over.” There was five, almost six years’ difference between their ages, and it bothered Sakuma in a way that he didn’t want to acknowledge.
--
“So what’s the limit they can reach before humans stop being human?”
Miyoshi posed this question without preamble when he met Sakuma returning to the faculty room, perhaps two weeks later. Sakuma blinked. Apparently, they were still doing this.
“Didn’t you accept what I said before?”
“Well, in the end, you cheated with a simplistic answer.”
“Won’t you say that’s Occam’s razor or something?” Sakuma was a little more prepared this time, and had done a bit of reading himself. He couldn’t reach Miyoshi’s level of practically inhaling books, but he didn’t think Miyoshi would have talked with him if he only wanted an intellectual answer.
“This time, I’m asking about how much you think humans can gain before they stop being human.”
The wording felt deliberate. A feeling settled in his stomach, something sad and a bit fearful. “What do you think humans will be if they stop being human?”
Miyoshi ducked his head, and enunciated clearly, “Monsters?”
Sakuma swallowed. “Monsters, huh…” I thought that before, too.
“A friend of mine,” Miyoshi started to explain with the oldest transparent lie, “studied and trained until he reached a point that was thought of as ‘crossing the threshold of what’s normal.’ From his own assessment, helped by the perspective of others, he became an existence that has stopped being human.”
So, a monster, Miyoshi added quietly. Sakuma almost reached out to clamp a hand on Miyoshi’s shoulder to stop him from continuing, but he swallowed the impulse. He had to acknowledge what this was about.
“But, you see, he died. Just like that, meaninglessly, not even getting killed by someone. And hearing about that made me think, ‘Aah, so it’s like that. What…he was human after all.’”
Sakuma could clearly imagine what it was like, dying. “Because of his mortality?”
Surprisingly, Miyoshi shook his head, and only repeated his question. “How much can humans gain before they stop being human?”
“There’s no limit,” Sakuma answered slowly. “You could be the smartest and strongest you could possibly be, but you don’t stop being human. You stop being human because of the things you lose on the way, not because of the things you gain.”
“You already said before that all the things on your list could be crossed out, but humans would still be humans. But now you’re saying they could stop being human by losing something?”
“I’m not really contradicting myself,” Sakuma said. “Human relations, emotions, identity. Those types of things that make it easier for people to empathize with each other. If people can no longer communicate with an individual because the individual’s perspective misaligned with theirs, that’s what most people see as the person no longer being human. But,” Sakuma added firmly, “that only means that they grew up very differently. To the person they term the ‘monster,’ if he’s human, then he’s human.”
Miyoshi chuckled, though Sakuma saw he’d relaxed his shoulders somewhat. “Still simplistic.”
Sakuma shrugged, then lifted the papers he was carrying along with his colorfully bookmarked textbook a few inches, just enough for Miyoshi to shift his attention to them briefly. “Why don’t you help me photocopy the handouts?”
He thought Miyoshi might sniff disdainfully at being volunteered to do labor and leave, but Miyoshi only quietly agreed and followed Sakuma to his original destination. Sakuma suddenly felt naked, with Miyoshi behind him masking his footsteps by timing them with Sakuma’s own reasonably quiet footfalls. He was probably doing it unconsciously. When Sakuma looked back, Miyoshi was plucking at the sleeve of the cardigan he wore with his school uniform. Miyoshi looked up when he became aware of the scrutiny, eyes wide exactly as if he’d been caught not paying attention.
It wasn’t an expression Miyoshi would have had even in similar circumstances; still too honest. It reassured Sakuma, partly because he’d felt, for a moment, the fear of showing a strong fighter his back. Even though Miyoshi had no reason to attack him.
Also, at least Miyoshi still retained some innocence.
Sakuma faced forward and kept walking without a word.
“Can I ask my own question?” Sakuma broached finally, only looking straight ahead. “When you had your realization,” Sakuma asked, giving the words weight and meaning, “were you disappointed?”
There’s a very soft exhalation behind him, and he heard Miyoshi’s steps falter. He understood then, that Miyoshi hadn’t counted on Sakuma remembering anything, or that Sakuma would reveal that he knew now, when he had no obligation to. Miyoshi wasn’t shocked for very long though, his voice amused but with a raw edge to it when he answered, “Yes. Very.”
“That’s good.” Before Miyoshi could misunderstand and bristle at that, Sakuma continued, “I would have been concerned if you’d accepted that sort of ending.”
To be precise, he’d felt that the Miyoshi before would have simply accepted it. There had always been a sense that Miyoshi had been an empty receptacle before D-Agency, and then he became an extension of Yuuki, the perfect tool for him. But at least now Sakuma knew he’d been more of his own person in the end.
Even if that simply meant that Miyoshi had had a contradictory desire, and hadn’t known what to do about it.
To become human again.
To continue being a monster.
They passed by a pair of students who seemed to be leaving from club activities. They loudly said their goodbyes to Sakuma, and Sakuma reminded them half-jokingly not to run in the hallway.
“For Sakuma…-sensei,” Miyoshi said when they were alone again, “what was it like?”
Sakuma exhaled deeply, giving himself some time to remember, and not even feeling a bit of sorrow at the scene. “Noisy,” Sakuma said, offhand. “Cold and wet. Long.”
Sakuma had found out that if you were dying, even if you were surrounded by a dozen other people all dying with you, it still felt strangely private. And then Miyoshi had appeared, ducking in the tent and stepping around one of the medics, Miyoshi in his out-of-place suit and with his hat in his hand. They had a civil conversation, which with Miyoshi meant he still got a few insults in. Sakuma thought they must have been insults anyway. Later, Sakuma might have deliriously agreed to a night in town, and he remembered reaching for Miyoshi’s hand when the other had offered it, the surprisingly solid connection when everything around him was swimming in and out of focus.
He could confirm now if it had really happened, if Miyoshi also remembered it. But if Miyoshi didn’t, would that singular moment even lose any of its value for Sakuma, who had thought he would die just like that, alone? Sakuma shook his head at himself and smiled.
“I didn’t really expect anything better.”
He heard Miyoshi’s steps falling out of sync with his briefly, as Miyoshi lengthened his strides until he was walking beside Sakuma instead of following after him. Miyoshi didn’t say anything for a respectful moment. He looked as young as his age, his face more childishly soft, though overall his features tended more towards sharpness. He was going to grow up and have any number of girls falling for him.
And then Sakuma realized that Miyoshi was looking back. Sakuma winced, and hoped he hadn’t looked too sour. He fished for something else to bring up. “Have you guys started talking about what you want to do for the cultural festival?”
“A bazaar or an exhibit,” Miyoshi answered promptly, somehow allowing him that escape. Sakuma couldn’t imagine himself being as gracious if their positions had been reversed. “Most of my classmates want something simple. Somebody brought up a planetarium. Nothing’s been decided though.”
“Which camp are you on?”
Miyoshi actually seemed to stop and think about it. He momentarily had a dead-eyed expression that Sakuma only realized must have been wistful because of Miyoshi’s tone when he said, “Maybe the planetarium.”
Planetarium, huh. Sakuma didn’t see the appeal himself, though he could identify more than half of the constellations he saw in the sky. He wondered if Miyoshi was being honest about it.
“Sensei, since I’m going to be helping…” There’s a strange quality to Miyoshi’s voice. A little uncertain underneath the sly amusement, further cementing how young he was. “Will I get something in return?”
Sakuma shook his head in mock exasperation at the audacity of kids these days. “I got it. How about nikuman?”
“Stingy,” Miyoshi complained, butting Sakuma’s upper arm with his shoulder.
“How much do you think I’m making?” A teacher’s salary was neither high nor low, but he’d just moved into a new apartment and had little by way of savings. He wouldn’t have brought it up with any other student, but none of them had needed to be persuaded not to get Sakuma to buy them anything. He also didn’t want to read any deeper into Miyoshi’s question and lose focus.
Miyoshi seemed unimpressed by the attempt. “Surely you can afford a nice dinner now and then.”
“What, to celebrate stapling handouts?”
The way Miyoshi’s expression shifted made Sakuma instantly wary. He was expecting anything from blackmail to an orchestrated event where Sakuma has to return penguins to an aquarium or apologize to the principal for something expensive and missing. Sakuma was already thinking of how to plausibly deny his involvement.
Instead, Miyoshi sharply turned to step in front of Sakuma, forcing Sakuma to stop mid-step before they could collide. Sure of his attention now, Miyoshi gave a cheeky grin. His cheeks were even a bit flushed, which Sakuma’s brain helpfully and loudly told him meant it had to be acting. It was a profoundly alarming sight. “Wouldn’t this count as a homecoming?”
Sakuma swallowed a range of emotions; a betraying gladness, annoyance (he really couldn’t win), that unnamable feeling when they’d met again before the end.
Sakuma allowed himself to smile, and he didn’t think his smile was anything special, but it still made Miyoshi blink as if he hadn’t expected it. “All right. What do you want?”
Miyoshi pulled away, studying him. It was like watching a cat that had rubbed against you give you a suspicious glare the instant you move closer to pet it.
Apparently deciding Sakuma had conceded defeat, Miyoshi relaxed. He straightened his posture with an unthinking poise that Sakuma found himself admiring before he caught himself. Miyoshi asked, “Can sensei cook?”
“Stop,” Sakuma said, before Miyoshi could invite himself over to Sakuma’s apartment. “You’re going too fast.” He started walking again, thankful when he could close his hand on the faculty office’s door and pull it open. Unfortunately, the room appeared to be empty. The relaxed atmosphere of the school somehow shamefully extended to the teachers, but Sakuma had expected at least one of them to still be present.
Miyoshi sighed and crossed his arms, giving Sakuma a look after catching up with him. But Miyoshi dutifully went to the photocopying machine, lifting the lid and waiting for Sakuma to give him the handouts so they could make the copies for everyone in class.
Sakuma thought of his options. “What about one of those themed cafés?” he prompted, handing Miyoshi the papers and putting down the textbook on his desk.
Miyoshi glanced at the desk, probably noting how a small box of odd items in one corner of the desk clashed with its overall neatness. Technically, as a teacher, Sakuma shouldn’t accept anything from students, but some had still given Sakuma things he didn’t have the heart to refuse: a ball from a homerun, someone’s lucky pen, a strange yarn animal from a boy he’d talked into being more confident about liking such things.
“An owl café or something,” Sakuma tried adding casually, hoping Miyoshi would pick up the thread of conversation again. His scrutiny of the desk was making Sakuma uncomfortable, even as Miyoshi seemed to find it amusing.
Miyoshi finally looked up. “A surprisingly modern choice,” Miyoshi remarked. Whatever mental image that called up must be funny, because Miyoshi started chuckling, bringing a closed fist to his mouth.
“But wouldn’t Sakuma-sensei be in trouble if you’re seen taking a student to a café?” Miyoshi asked, still sounding amused. “We’d be outside on a date.”
“You can always be consulting me about something.” Sakuma brushed the concern aside. Really, it was more of a concern to have Miyoshi somewhere he could move freely without other people to deter his actions. “And if you’re worried, you don’t have to meet me in your uniform.”
“So, a weekend date,” Miyoshi decided. Sakuma tensed this time when Miyoshi used the word “date” again, but he didn’t correct it.
“If you want.”
“Well then.” Miyoshi moved closer, and then leaned some of his weight on Sakuma’s desk. He had an almost fond look on his face, except his features were just sharp enough that it looked more self-satisfied than anything. “And maybe teach me? What it means to be human for you.”
“Heh.” Sakuma reached up and not at all gently ruffled Miyoshi’s hair. Miyoshi closed one eye against it, but otherwise stayed still. His hair was really soft, which made it an effort of will to stop before it turned into petting. Still, Sakuma knew enough to brush Miyoshi’s hair back before Miyoshi could murder him.
“You’re doing okay,” Sakuma reassured him. “At being human, I mean. You don’t have to use me as a measuring tool.”
At that, Miyoshi batted his hand away, looking a bit cross as he stepped back. He probably disliked having any part of him out in the open, as if admitting to anything made him vulnerable. But Miyoshi glanced back at the box of students’ gifts and seemed to soften, expression changing to something less guarded.
“I might appreciate the reminder,” Miyoshi confessed, lips twisting in a wry smile.
“Just don’t think that’s the reason you have to…” Embarrassed, Sakuma trailed off, not ready to name whatever it was between them. At least Miyoshi only nodded, plucking at his own sleeves again before crossing his arms in a deliberately casual gesture.
“Two years,” Miyoshi promised, his expression neutral.
Two years, and he might have whatever answer he was looking for. And in the meantime, they had a teacher and student relationship, and maybe the ‘dates’ Miyoshi could wrangle from him. Those would have to be few. Sakuma reminded himself not to take advantage. There was no taking advantage of Miyoshi, of course, and if Sakuma did something Miyoshi didn’t like, Sakuma would be painfully made aware of it. Which was reassuring in its own way.
A homecoming, Miyoshi had called this. With time to think about it, Sakuma felt warm and even a bit flattered. Miyoshi might mean to reunite later with D-Agency, too, when he was ready to face them again. Or he might not even approach them. Perhaps even Miyoshi thought they deserved this new peace. Sakuma wasn’t sure how Miyoshi felt about it, and promised himself to ask later. Meanwhile, he had the weekend to prepare for.