Ryota was out of the classroom. The counselor's words had hurt him, but not as much as that editor's had. Ryota was made aware of the harsh reality – making a living as a writer was hard.
The trio had planned to meet outside the main building, then they would head home, and he was on his way until his eyes fell on the garden maintained by the Gardening Club.
As a writer, he had always liked to work in peace and in a nice environment. Coffee shops were expensive sometimes, and his room was the worst option. But he preferred dead gardens whenever he wanted to write horror. He would sit around withered trees and dying flowers and hum on his own.
Whenever he had writer's block, a long walk near a river or in the woods surrounded by birds would help solve it – or at least give him some inspiration to work on his project.
He was not as good as other Japanese writers and he was aware of it. He knew most of his story ideas were inspired by other stories. And he knew he would have to improve his writing if he wanted to make a living from it.
Some ten thousand yen was not enough, he needed something big, and for that big – he would have to DO something big.
'That will be a risk.' The counselor's words echoed in his mind. Of course, Sengoku would support him, but that was the reality. It will be a huge risk.
He wanted to be a writer, heck, he was a writer. But what would he answer when someone asks him what the counselor had asked him, 'How do you plan on getting published? Do you have anything published?'
'Yes, I have published twelve short stories and one novella is under consideration.' He had a hunch his novella was coming back to him in that same brown envelope, probably with at least a rejection slip.
He wanted to share something big, a novel perhaps. But he needed a novel-like idea. What about the dream he had the night before yesterday? Was it worth the shot?
'Some monsters were killing some humans. The whole town was on fire. What story can I even create from this?' He sat in the garden, thinking about a way to develop his dream into a story.
Too bad he had forgotten his notepad, and he could not bring the typewriter either. He wanted to develop the idea by writing it down. 'The chosen one. His long-lived villain, and then his victory. That same old story without any spice…'
He raised his eyes. 'Spice. Wait.' He jumped off the bench, glanced around, then ran out of the garden.
Most of his ideas were derived from two or three other books or movies. Although they had been published, they could not boost his confidence or inspire him anymore. He needed spice in his life. Some magic in his writing style. And some seasoning in the story plot.
He had this low confidence feeling with every idea he had worked on. The idea felt new and probably the best – an original idea no one had even thought about – but as he worked on it, it turned dull just like the story.
He had lost the spice. His writing style was exhausted from using magic. And the seasoning was missing since the start.
This idea was different. He had a 'never felt like this before,' feel. And for the first time, he was confident enough to talk about it instead of writing it.
Although he had awareness of his weak storytelling skill and since he was a story writer, not a teller, he would have trouble conveying the unfleshed plot to them. But he knew Sengoku would get the gist of the idea and add some of his own suggestions.
Under a half-dying Cherry Blossom tree, Hito and Sengoku sat as they stared at the entrance. Ryota came from the right side, straight from the Japanese Garden.
He slowed down as he reached them. Hito pulled his arm away from the armrest and looked at Ryota, may be confused at why Ryota came from that side – Ryota could tell from the frown on Hito's face.
Sengoku jumped off the bench in surprise. "Yo. How was it?"
Ryota glanced at him from Hito, then said, "They asked me what I want to be… and that it would be impossible with my grades."
Hito pulled his knees close, creating space for Ryota to sit. Sengoku sat on the corner, leaving Ryota in the middle.
"I swear if they ask again, I will say, 'I am going to be a writer.'"
From one side to the other of the bench, Hito and Sengoku exchanged glances. Nothing could stop them from communicating through eye contact. Something, Ryota guessed, that went along the lines: 'No, no, no!'
"And not just a writer, but a novelist."
Hito coughed. Ryota glanced at him, thinking, 'Was that a fake cough?'
Sengoku handled that part by saying, "Are you working on something new?"
He tightened the corner of his lips and turned that shy smile into a confident one. "I have the ending. And hopefully, the premise."
Hito could not keep eye contact. "If you are confident enough to tell Sen about the story instead of handing him the manuscript, I think it will be worth hearing."
"You can say that I am confident about this." Ryota fell into thought. How his life would be if he remained a struggling writer forever? He would have to write for magazines and newspapers to keep up his writing career. And what if he failed after committing to working on a novel?
Despite all the challenges he would face, Ryota would spend his life doing what he LOVED.
Ryota had a strong belief that monsters in the horror media did not exist – which lead to his strong resistance to fear. No matter how gruesome the ghost was in that movie, or if he had to enter a dark alley alone, he would do it without any fear.
"My first novel will be a horror mystery, set on an isolated island." Ryota was sure that sounded good, but would it read well?
Hito's eyes widened as he leaned back in his seat, soon followed by Sengoku. They exchanged glances, then Sengoku gulped.
Ryota snapped out of his dream world and looked at Sengoku. As he had thought, was the idea too much? Was he going overboard with the premise? It was hard to tell from Sengoku's blank, yet slightly surprised, expression.
He turned to Hito for a hint, but he had the same surprised expression, with his eyes wide, staring at Sengoku past Ryota. That was unusual for the normal 'I do not care what the hell you do' Hito to act so horrifiedly.
"Is… is the idea that bad?" Ryota's voice came like that of a little bird's.
Sengoku shook his head first, followed by Hito. Sengoku said, "As long as you are confident and like the idea, I am sure you will come up with something worthy of being your first novel."
Hito closed his mouth, then licked his lips. "You just need to execute it perfectly. You know, build the suspense, scare the readers, and keep your writing style consistent."
"Yes. And for that," Ryota grabbed the bench's seat, "I have decided to leave the city." With that announcement, Ryota jumped off the bench, staring at the girls and boys leaving the building.
Sengoku gasped, and Hito sighed. "Leaving the city?" Sengoku asked, pushing himself to the edge of his seat. "What does that mean now?"
"I will go someplace quiet, Sen. Like Okinawa."
"And what the hell will you do on that island? For how long?" Hito asked, pushing his hair back as he rested his elbow on the armrest.
"I will spend a year writing my novel. A perfect novel."
The corner of Sengoku's mouth dropped. "Money? See, I can not provide—"
Ryota scoffed, "I would not need it this time, Sen." He turned around to look at his two friends. Then stayed silent as his focus centered on Sen, clearly sad by the sudden decision.
Hito must have predicted the awkward silence. "When will you let Sen read your work then?"
"When it has gone through two drafts and I have a full-proof plotline."
Sengoku said in a low, sad voice, "I will be in the Academy by then. W-when do you want to leave?"
"I have nothing planned. But I will leave as soon as possible."
"What about Sakura, man?" Hito looked at him, not pleased with the selfish decision. "Shiba Inus get aggressive without their humans."
To answer that, Ryota said to Sengoku, "Thanks for reminding me of that. I will book a ship that allows pets to travel."
Sengoku dropped his head. And for the first time, Ryota could not guess what he was thinking. Even the first time he had met Sengoku, he could tell what he was thinking: 'Now that is a guy of the culture.'
With a jolt, Sengoku lifted his head. "Hope you would least attend the graduation ceremony before leaving."
Ryota put on a smile. "See me off. I will tell you when at the ceremony."
That was goodbye. Just like that, their three years were over. Ryota would get serious about his career and leave the city. Hito would probably stay in the city and get a bachelor's in science or something. And Sengoku, his plan was set even before he started High School.
The three would go in three different directions without any guarantee of meeting again. They would continue to cherish those three lost years of High School.
'But why so early?' Ryota dropped his head, on the verge of crying. 'Why did this happen so quickly? Feels like I just met Sen yesterday at the library, and now we are saying goodbye.'
Ryota sniffed. "I got to go, guys. I will keep my bag ready. See you tomorrow." Without glancing at either of them, Ryota left the school premises.
***
The ones left were on the bench. As if the meeting with the counselor had never happened, they had something deep to worry about. Sengoku had never felt this wrecked, weak, and helpless since the incident of Dark Night.
Hito sighed as he leaned forward, then jumped off the bench. "I take my words back. That sounded like an original idea."
As if that was not enough, Hito's words made Sengoku realize that Ryota's story had finally given him a hint. A hint that was too subtle, but important.
"If that is an original idea," Sengoku said with his head still hung down. He just went silent.
Staring at a girl as slim as a stick walking out of the main building, Hito dug his hands into the pocket of the school pants. "I am listening."
"If that is an original idea, then why did the setting and theme sound so familiar?"
Without Sengoku knowing, Hito glanced down at him with his eyebrows pulled together. Then he looked back at the slim girl. She had noticed him staring at her, so she smiled – probably out of friendliness.
Hito stood with that grave look on his face. His eyes reflect the horror and the closed body language described his fear of the unknown. The skinny girl got uncomfortable, maybe creped out by Hito's indifference towards her although he was the one staring at her. She ran away with her head held low.
He said to Sengoku, "Hm. I know what you mean. Just like that wandering hag's prophecy had stated, 'A Hayashi… will come back.'"
A girl with a huge rack walked out of the building, and Hito stared at her. Just when she would smile, Hito widened his eyes. The girl walked away without looking back.