I Chose the Plain Girl Instead of the Class’s Top Three Beauties, and Somehow She Became the Heroine - 52

Chapter 52: Changes in the Environment

ーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーー

《Hiroko Anno’s POV》

The day the curtain fell on the cultural festival, the sound of my world changed. Until then, it had been silent, and all I ever heard was the sound of people passing by me. As the afterglow of the applause faded, small waves began to gather around me, one after another.

With the speed at which my name changed from “Anno-san” to “Hiro-chan,” even the density of the air in the hallway felt slightly heavier. In the morning, in front of the blackboard. Yua Miura-san’s voice rolled like a bell, and An-san and Fuu-san’s pen tips rushed across the paper.

I aligned the wording, chose the colors, and put in the marks. Requests opened one after another like drawers, and before I could look for words to refuse, another drawer clicked open. I hadn’t had anyone I could call a friend. I had always been bad at talking, scared to approach people on my own, and I spent my days unable to move forward.

That was why it made me happy when Yua-san called out to me. And being helpful to someone was genuinely enjoyable. But deep in my chest, an odd discomfort followed me all day long. It was as if one side of a button had come undone and was faintly tapping against the inside of my clothes. The person I wanted to talk to most felt far away. The bench at lunchtime was swept away by another wave of tasks, and even when my feet turned toward it, I couldn’t sit down as often.

Instead, I received a paper cup in front of the vending machine and quietly pressed the rabbit keyholder. The dull feel of the metal felt like a mark telling me where “today” stood. The time I spent with Sora-kun decreased, as if the hourglass had been flipped upside down.

Every time I said “thank you,” my words scattered toward everyone else, and the words reaching him became thinner. In class, when our eyes met, we only nodded like exchanging a simple signal. That was all. Before I could reach out, another voice interrupted us. But when I had been troubled and on the verge of tears, he came to me.

“The teacher is calling for you.”

He said in a voice gentle yet firm, creating a space for me. I felt the tension in my shoulders loosen and my breathing return to its normal width. Just being near him still made me feel safe. For that one moment, I remembered the “nod and then one step” I had learned on stage. I took one step toward him. He took one step for my sake.

Until the cultural festival, the world had stayed in balance like that. But after that, his figure quickly grew distant. I had no time to look back. The next task tugged at both my sleeves. It wasn’t me who had become popular. It was all the tasks that had sprung up around me. This change should have made me feel better, but for some reason my throat went dry.

That night, my phone vibrated.

『I’ll be at the dojo after school for a while. I’ll run in the mornings.』

Just one short line. By the time I finished reading it, the wind direction inside my heart had changed. I was happy. Because they were words about moving forward. But I felt lonely too. Because it also looked like a signal that he would be even farther away.

He was trying to move forward. No. He had always walked ahead of me, taking my hand to lead me. Even now, he was walking for his own goals. I had nothing to do with it. And yet, I felt lonely.

I typed “Do your best.” and deleted it. I typed “I’m cheering for you.” and hesitated over the period. I typed “If we could have another twenty-five–minute study session in the library…” and wanted to send it, but my fingers only brushed the air.

The feelings I couldn’t send overlapped like sheets of transparent paper, making the screen’s light a little dimmer. In the end, I only sent “Do your best.” The message wasn’t read right away. The small silence inside the screen felt brighter than the lamp in my room.

The next morning, as soon as I passed through the school gate, voices calling my name flew in from every direction.

“Hiro-chan, look at this!”

“Can you proofread this?”

“Which color is better?”

My walking pace was chopped up as if measured by a ruler, and my schedule turned into little slips of paper scattered in the wind. The more I picked up, the busier my hands became, and the “one, two, three” rhythm I had once shared with him drifted farther away.

Sora-kun closed his notebook in his usual seat. He glanced out the window, listened to someone’s question, smiled, and shrugged. Like a pebble dropped onto a still surface, his movements sent quiet ripples outward. Only my own time, watching him, moved a little behind. Unable to catch up, I only brushed the ripples with my fingertips.

After school, I sat on the bench behind the school building. The evening breeze stirred my hair, and tiny specks of dust settled on my glasses. The more I wiped them, the clearer my vision became, yet the scenery inside my heart grew hazier.

The applause I heard just before the lights went out on stage still echoed faintly deep in my ears. That sound had been real. Now, even the shape of what felt real seemed blurry. I had changed. More and more people told me so. If I looked in the mirror, even the way I pinned my hair, the way I projected my voice, the speed at which I chose my words—everything was slightly different.

I wanted to be proud. But it had been Sora-kun who taught me how. The rabbit in my pocket felt a little heavier. I still didn’t really know how to bring the courage I picked up at center stage back into the corner of my everyday life.

I want to see Sora-kun.

If I could just say that, it would be enough, but my words always took the shape of tasks.

“I have something to discuss.”

“Could you check this?”

“Thank you very much.”

The one word that mattered curled up deep inside my throat.

“Sora-kun.”

I practiced calling his name alone, over and over. My small voice was absorbed by the curtains and melted into the night outside. I wanted to confirm it together again. To trace with my finger the center of all those ripples, where the very first small, quiet circle had landed.

Confusion and anxiety didn’t disappear. But beside the things that wouldn’t disappear, there was also a “like” that wouldn’t disappear. Like the soft outline I had seen just before the blackout on stage. When I closed my eyes, it felt close enough to touch. I stroked the rabbit once and took a deep breath. The next time I saw him, I would say it.

“I want to talk together, just the two of us!”

I wanted to be by his side.

ーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーー