I am Suzuki Yuuto.
And I don't like long-winded, cliché introductions. Who are you, who am I, what makes us special compared to the billions of others in this world...? Questions like that are, to me, a waste of time. I'd rather spend that time observing—truly observing, not just glancing over things superficially.
Today, I go to school. The same familiar road. A road so familiar that I could walk it with my eyes closed and still picture every brick, every tree root, every crack in the walls.
Walking. No, I'm not an environmentalist, nor someone who reveres nature to the point of worship. I simply enjoy walking. I like the feeling of controlling each step, each breath, each moment… before being swept into the noisy, chaotic rhythm of society.
And, of course, walking gives me an opportunity. An opportunity to see.
Look, there—a sparrow perched on a high branch. It's not just "preening its feathers." This is a whole morning ritual! Wings first, then the tail, then the belly... Every part follows a meticulous order, each action carrying its own meaning. Just like how humans groom themselves before stepping outside—brushing, dressing up, getting ready. But if you think about it, maybe that little sparrow takes its morning routine more seriously than we do. Humans often just go through the motions, doing things half-heartedly.
And that white butterfly over there—it's not just "fluttering around." No, not at all. That's a dance in the air! A dance with no audience, no music, no need for recognition. It just flies, just moves, just... exists. A pure kind of beauty. (Damn, I nearly got too poetic again. That's what happens when I observe too much and let my thoughts wander.)
Then there's the old man with a cane, walking slowly along the sidewalk. Slowly? No, that's not the right word. He's walking... leisurely. A kind of ease that young people, always rushing, always frantic, never get to experience. And honestly, I don't blame them—I feel sorry for them. They keep chasing illusions, running after empty values, forgetting how to truly live each moment. (Ugh, I'm getting philosophical again. Stop, stop, Yuuto!).
School. A box. A cage. A… (If I keep thinking, this might take all day). Noisy. Chaotic. Like a marketplace—one filled with "discounted goods" and "leftover stock."
Of course, I don't belong in this "market." I'm an outsider. A spectator.
I find my usual spot. The last row, by the window. A prime location for an observer. (At the very least, I should give myself a fancy title, right?). Far enough that no one cares about my existence, yet close enough to have a perfect view of the "stage" and all its "actors."
First period. History. (Ah, the subject of dead people and buried events.) The teacher, in his monotonous tone, drones on about some battle from some distant era. Names, numbers, dates… They slip past my ears like water on a lotus leaf.
In truth, I'm not listening. I'm just pretending to. It's a basic survival skill—one every student must master to make it through school.
Meanwhile, my eyes wander elsewhere. Outside the window. The sky is so blue today. A soothing shade of blue. But what kind of blue is it? Sky blue? Azure? Cyan? Or perhaps a shade so unique that it has yet to be named? Maybe I should buy a book on colors. Or better yet, invent my own shade of blue. "Yuuto Blue"? Sounds... not too bad. (There I go, daydreaming again…).
"Hey, Yuuto, about yesterday's homework—"
That voice… It's her again. The girl sitting in front of me. (Seems like every school story has to have a "girl in the front seat," huh?). Before she can finish her sentence, I cut in: "Oh, yeah, I forgot it at home."
A blatant lie. (But who cares?). Immediate effect: she won't bother me anymore.
"You always forget." She says, sounding a little… exasperated?
"Maybe." I shrug. A vague response, just enough to end this meaningless conversation. Whatever. I have more important things to think about.
... She turns away. Does she look… disappointed?
Wait a second. That frown… I observe carefully. No, it's not frustration. Not disappointment. It's… curiosity? (No, no, I must be imagining things. Why would anyone be curious about someone as unremarkable as me? That's just my ego talking. Snap out of it, Yuuto…).
... (The bell rings. Thank goodness. Saved!).
Lunchtime. Location: the school cafeteria. A vast ocean, filled with waves of people. Noisy. Stifling. Crowded. I don't like places like this. I hate the sea. I prefer still waters—quiet, private spaces. If only the cafeteria were more like a calm pond, that would be much better.
I find a hidden corner, far in the back. A place no one really pays attention to. Perfect.
I take out my lunchbox. My mom, truly a master of details. She never does anything half-heartedly. The seaweed today? She cut it into tiny star shapes. Little stars nestled among the white rice. Delicate, in a strangely charming way. But, really, does eating rice with star-shaped seaweed taste any different from eating it with regular seaweed? Probably not. And yet, maybe it's those small, insignificant details that make a meal… memorable. (Oh no, I'm rambling about nonsense again).
...
I'm not looking at anyone. Really. I swear.
(And yet, I see everything).
I see couples chatting, putting on their over-the-top romantic performances.
I see groups of friends laughing, showing off their "bond" (which, honestly, might just be an illusion).
I see loners, sitting quietly by themselves, trying to disappear into the background (like me, but not quite me).
...
I take out my small notebook. People might think it's a diary. No, it's not. This is… research. Field notes. (Sounds way cooler, right?).
I start writing. "Sparrow: morning ritual lasted 3 minutes 27 seconds (needs further observation over the next few days). White butterfly: flight path resembles the number 8, but with slight variations (possible correlation with weather conditions?). Girl in front seat: frowned at a 15-degree angle (sign of curiosity? or...?)."
Sounds ridiculous, meaningless, right? Maybe. To others, probably. But to me, these notes—they bring order. They bring meaning. They are… (Ugh, I'm getting philosophical again. Stop it, Yuuto!).
...
The bell rings. Lunch is over. Back to class. The same faces. The same voices. The same… (Ugh, when can I go home?).
Ah. Wait. Something's different.
On my desk. A folded piece of paper. Unfamiliar handwriting.
... (Should I open it? Or not? Probably not. The boys in class are probably playing a prank. Or maybe it's some silly question from a girl, like, "Do you like me?" How childish.)
Whatever. I crumple the paper and toss it into the trash.
(And pretend it never existed).
Last period. I can't even remember what subject it is. Not that it matters. All I remember is… feeling unbearably sleepy.
I rest my head on the desk. Close my eyes.
No, I'm not sleeping. I'm just… escaping.
Escaping this classroom. Escaping this suffocating atmosphere. Escaping… (Alright, alright, stop whining. Think positive, Yuuto!).
...
I let my mind drift. Wander.
Back to the sparrow's meticulous morning routine.
Back to the butterfly's graceful, unnoticed dance.
Back to the old man's slow, deliberate steps, savoring each moment.
Back to all the little things no one else seems to notice.
Back to the world that exists only through my eyes.
... (The bell rings. Finally. School's over!).
Leaving class. Walking. Alone. No one going the same way. Straight to home.
But today, I have somewhere else to go. Somewhere quieter, more secluded.
The library.
Perhaps there, I will find a moment of peace, a brief escape, before heading home.