"Bocchi-chan, isn't it exhausting to commute for so long every day?"
The voice pulled Hitori Gotoh from her intense study of the train cart's floor.
She flinched, hyper-aware of the person who had spoken. She risked a fleeting glance at Masao before her eyes snapped back to the safety of her shoes.
'Is this… is this what being hit on feels like? Hehe, a little exciting! What's the play here? Do I act experienced, like this happens all the time? Or play hard to get, totally aloof?'
Caught between the two extremes, Hitori's social circuitry shorted out. She defaulted to her baseline: awkwardness.
"It's… a bit far," she managed to mumble to the floor. "But it's okay. I don't really have… other things going on."
Masao thought she was lucky this was Japan, with its mercifully short school days. If she were next door in Korea or China, a three-hour daily commute would be a death sentence. Even the boarders who only went home once a month didn't live that far out.
"Why pick a school so far away? Wouldn't a closer one have been easier?"
He knew the answer, of course. It was the classic strategy: a new school, a blank slate, a chance to reinvent yourself where no one knew your past. But he asked anyway, because small talk was the grease for the wheels of human interaction.
"I…" Hitori began, opting for her version of the truth. "I just… really liked this school."
Masao simply raised an eyebrow, his silent gaze a pressure she couldn't withstand.
Hitori stared down, her knuckles white where she gripped her skirt. She could feel his eyes on her. The silence stretched, unbearable. Finally, squeezing her eyes shut in surrender, she confessed.
"Alright, fine! The truth is… I wanted to go somewhere no one knew me. I wanted to start a new school life."
Masao nodded. "I know. The whole 'new school new me' thing. Shed your old skin, start fresh. Classic move. So? How'd it go?"
"How did it go…" Hitori seemed to be trying to physically disappear, her shoulders hunching as if to swallow her head. "It… was a failure."
"Didn't get popular? Didn't make a single friend?"
"...Yes."
The life force seemed to drain from her completely. She devolved from a timid rabbit to a wilted plant, on the verge of reverting to primordial ooze. All she wanted was for the universe to open a pit and swallow her whole.
Seeing her dejection, Masao offered a lifeline. "So you don't have any friends? That's not so weird, you know."
"Not weird?" The deeply dejected Hitori couldn't help but look up. "You mean…?" A fragile spark of hope lit in her eyes. 'A kindred spirit?'
"Yep," Masao confirmed with a nod. "Me too. I used to be alone all the time. No friends."
Hitori's eyes widened, the light in them growing brighter.
'We're the same! He gets it! This is amazing! Maybe this won't be so hard after all!'
Just as a wave of relief and belonging began to warm her, Masao delivered the finishing blow.
"Lately, though, I've been trying to change that. I've actually made a few friends now."
The brief flicker of hope was snuffed out, replaced by the cold, familiar wash of shame.
'Of course. He's a success story. I'm so pathetic for thinking we were the same. I'm so sorry for presuming.'
Then, Masao pulled out his phone. "Well, since we've met, want to exchange info? We can be friends."
Hitori stared at the device as if it were a holy relic. "Is… is that really okay?"
"Of course."
"Yes! Yes, please!" She fumbled for her own phone, presenting it with both hands in a gesture far too formal for the occasion. "Please, allow me the honor!"
A cheerful ping echoed her triumph. Her contact list—a lonely directory of family—now held a new name.
She clutched the phone to her chest, staring at the screen as if it held the secrets of the universe.
'That's it? That's all it takes to get a friend's contact? It was… easy. Unbelievably easy. Maybe… maybe I'm a natural at this!'
The clouds parted. The sun shone. Hitori Gotoh felt a confidence she hadn't known in years.
"Ah! That's right!" She jolted, remembering a critical social obligation, and began frantically patting down her pockets. She produced her wallet and thrust it toward him with both hands. "Here! This is all the cash I have on me. Please accept it!"
Masao looked at the wallet but didn't take it. "What's this for? Payment for saving you? If so, this isn't nearly enough."
"Ah, n-no! This is a token of gratitude for your friendship! Please don't block my number!" she pleaded, clearly flustered by the intricate web of social debt she felt she was weaving. "A-As for the life-saving thing… I have nothing of value to offer except… except… my entire future dowry. Would that be sufficient?"
"Your entire dowry, huh…" Masao rubbed his chin, appearing to give it serious thought. "Still doesn't feel like quite enough."
"Not enough?!" Hitori recoiled as if struck. "Th-then… what should I do?"
"How about…" Masao let his eyes travel over the frightened, worried girl, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "You play me a tune."
"Huh?" The request was so far out of left field it short-circuited her panic. She had been braced for a financial shakedown, not a request for a performance.
"That's right." He pointed to the guitar case leaning against her leg. "You carry that around, so you must play. Play me a song. Consider it my reward for helping you out. How's that?"
"Oh… Okay, but…" Playing guitar was no issue; it was the one thing she had confidence in. The problem was the venue—a packed, moving train. Performing in front of this many people was… unthinkable. She twisted her skirt in her hands. "Right here?"
"Why? Is that a problem?"
"But… with everyone watching… I… I can't…"
"You won't know until you try. Just once. What's the harm? What's the big deal?"
As he spoke, the train glided into Shimokitazawa Station. The doors hissed open, and two new girls stepped aboard: one with a bright golden ponytail, the other with sharp, blue-tinted hair.
The golden-haired girl was Nijika Ijichi. The blue-haired girl was Ryo Yamada.
Ryo's sharp eyes scanned the cart and immediately landed on the pair in the corner. Her eyebrow twitched upward. She nudged Nijika beside her.
"Hey. Check that out."
Nijika followed her gaze.
There, they saw a somewhat stocky boy with a teasing, almost predatory grin, leaning in toward a girl who looked utterly trapped. The girl was gripping her skirt for dear life, her face red, her entire posture screaming resistance and discomfort.
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