The Insect-Loving Princess

There's an old saying: Even a one-inch insect has a zero-point five-inch soul.

At her grandfather's sudden remark, Nagi looked up from the insect terrarium.

Her grandfather, with his deeply wrinkled face, was smiling at her warmly.

Tell me, Nagi, do you know how big one inch is?

. . . ?

Nagi tilted her head in confusion.

It's about three centimeters. Look, about the size of your thumb there.

She stared at her thumb, her eyes wide in surprise.

. . . That’s big.

The old man chuckled at her candid reaction.

You're right about that. If there were an insect that size, it would undoubtedly be a fine specimen. One inch is just a figure of speech, you see. It means a little bit. So, one inch, in this case, represents just a tiny thing.

Hmm . . .

Now, Nagi. Do you know how much zero point five inches is?

Nope.

Zero point five inches is half of one inch. If one inch means a little bit, then zero point five inches is even less than that. In essence, the saying 'Even a one-inch insect has a zero-point-five-inch soul' means that even the smallest creatures have a tiny soul in them.

The old man looked at Nagi purposefully.

That said, if an insect's soul is half an inch, then the soul of a human is the same—fifty-fifty.

Nagi blinked in surprise.

Insect and human souls are the same size? Fifty-fifty?

Strange, isn't it? But, of course, insects and humans are quite different. Their forms differ, as do their lifestyles. The ancestors of insects and humans parted ways in the distant past, billions of years ago, in the ancient seas. Since separating so long ago, they have walked different paths. Over billions of years, insects and humans have drifted far apart until they became very different beings.

Nagi looked at the cricket jumping around the breeding case, then back at her grandfather's wrinkled face. Her grandfather versus a cricket. They were completely different. Totally different.

But you know,

The old man began to speak again.

Insects have always been by our side. Humans came to be just some two hundred thousand years ago, but by that time, insects were already thriving everywhere. Humans have always lived side-by-side with insects. We've had to deal with diseases spread by insects and had our crops ravaged. On the other hand, we've benefited from bees by collecting their honey and from silkworms by gathering silk threads. Sometimes we fight, sometimes they help us. That's the kind of neighbors insects have been to humans.

As he spoke, her grandfather seemed to be reliving the two hundred thousand years of history between insects and humans.

Whether you're looking at an insect or a human, the size of the soul is the same. Fifty-fifty.

The old man repeated his statement from before.

You see, no matter how different they have become, originally they were the same. No matter how much they've evolved, the size of the soul remains unchanged.

. . .

Nagi had no idea how to reply, so she just stared back at her grandfather. Meeting her gaze, he asked her a question.

Did you know that bad bugs possess people?

What?

In this town, there have always been the souls of many restless insects. Sometimes they are drawn to human souls and possess them. It's called being possessed by a bad bug.

Insect souls are drawn to . . . human souls?

Yes.

The old man nodded.

The fact such things happen in this town is proof that the souls of humans and insects are one and the same.

How?

Well, if our souls were completely different, they wouldn't be able to call to each other or possess one another, would they?

. . .

People and people are the same. Even insects and humans share the same soul. No matter how different we become, no matter how far apart we grow, people are still equals, each carrying a soul worth five parts. Just as the souls of insects and humans can call out to one another, the souls of people can call out to each other too . . .

Nagi's grandfather gently placed his hand on her head and added emphatically.

People can always come to understand each other. Right, Nagi?

Always . . . ?

Yes, always. There's always a way.

The old man spoke gently, then turned his eyes toward the outdoors beyond the sliding shoji door. The sun had already set. From the direction of the shrine on the neighboring mountain, Nagi could hear the faint sounds of flutes and taiko drums.

Ah . . . I can hear the festival musicians. Of course. Tonight is the night of the Insect-Sending Festival. Many insect souls will be sent to the afterlife . . . and those that have lost their way will remain in this town.

As he muttered to himself, Nagi's grandfather peered into her eyes.

Listen, Nagi. You have to remember all that I've told you.

Nagi silently nodded in response.

The old man smiled gently.

My vision was split into two vivid colors, as if I had only just awakened.

The lower half was a brilliant yellow, the top a deep blue. It was a field of canola flowers. With no large buildings nearby, the sky above seemed like it would tumble down if I stood on my hands.

It was the middle of spring break. I was on an errand for my grandmother, walking along a residential area next to the mountains in the neighboring town.

Above the field of beautiful, yellow canola flowers, I saw many small, white objects fluttering in the wind.

They were cabbage white butterflies. They flitted from flower to flower on pure white wings, lightly sipping nectar.

The mid-afternoon sun shone brilliantly in the cool spring air, warming the canola field before me. Its light made the yellow petals even more vivid. The scene felt almost unreal to me, like something out of a painting or a dream.

In this dream-like landscape, a girl was dancing all by herself.

That's right, it wasn't the cabbage white butterflies that captivated me.

It was the girl.

At first, I couldn't even tell that she was human.

In the midst of the cloud of cabbage white butterflies, the girl simply looked like a tremendously large one floating among them.

That was because the girl wore a pure white dress, reminiscent of the wings of a cabbage white butterfly.

It was a sleeveless dress. She looked cold with her slender, delicate arms exposed. A white ribbon adorned her straw hat, and her pigtails swayed with her movements. Her fluttering skirt evoked the image of butterfly wings. The wide brim of her straw hat obscured her face, adding to her mystique.

Perhaps she was some sort of cabbage white butterfly fairy.

Sure, it sounded like a ridiculous idea, but it wasn't unthinkable considering the unique nature of Urakami Town.

Urakami Town, nestled in the mountains of Miyagi County, Miyagi Prefecture.

It was a small town nestled between the famous scenic Matsushima Town to the south and Higashi-Matsushima City to the north, about thirty minutes by train from Sendai on the Tohoku Main Line.

To the east was the scenic Matsushima Bay with its wide sandy beach and its many islands, and to the west were mountains covered in greenery. The area between the sea and the mountains was standard countryside. It was an old-fashioned natural setting. It sounded nice on paper, but in reality it was just a countryside town with little to see and no local specialties.

And yet, even an unremarkable town like Urakami had something that could be considered a highlight.

Welcome to Urakami Town, the town of insects.

That was the message written on the sign at the town's singular unmanned train station.

The town of insects.' It wasn't that Urakami Town had more or rarer insect species compared to other rural towns.

It was because once a year, the townspeople held the "Insect-Sending Festival," and for that brief period every year, the town came alive.

I live in Shiogama City, next to Urakami Town, but I attend Urakami High School.

There is a book titled "Folktales of Urakami" in the school's library, compiled by a local folk historian. I've casually flipped through it a bit.

Surprisingly, it was filled with nothing but stories about insects.

Stories of spiders and ants, beetles engaging in conversations with and testing their wits against humans. A tale about someone who saw numerous glowing things floating in the mountains at night, which turned out to be luminous beetles. A story about a butterfly spirit taking on the appearance of a human woman . . . and so many more.

Urakami Town, the town of insects, where insects and humans have shared a mystical connection since ancient times . . .

Perhaps it was this prior knowledge that made me think the girl dancing in the canola field might be the incarnation of a cabbage white butterfly.

However, I was mistaken in thinking she was dancing. The girl was holding something rod-like. Looking closer, it was a butterfly net. She was catching cabbage white butterflies with it.

Holding the butterfly net low, moving silently through the flowers, the girl would swoop her net each time she was close enough to a perched butterfly. When she deftly flipped the net, it contained a cabbage white butterfly.

This repetition of motion and stillness seemed almost like a dance, and it looked as if the girl herself had become one with the fluttering butterflies. She was so very . . .

. . . beautiful . . .

I was utterly captivated. I stood transfixed in front of the canola field for what must have been ages. Watching the girl, I lost all sense of time.

Unaware of my presence, the girl continued to dance in her own fantasy world amidst the blue and yellow hues of the field.

Had nothing happened, I would have surely continued to be enchanted by her forever. I wished that moment would never end.

But then, a vile shouting voice shattered my dreamlike state.

Young people nowadays, always on their damn phones! Idiots!

I was jolted back to reality and quickly turned around.

Across from the canola field, there was an ordinary residential area.

In front of a concrete wall facing the sidewalk, there was a bus stop with an old, faded bench. On the bench sat an arrogant, seemingly decaying old man.

The old man looked like he was in his mid-sixties. He wore a filthy jumper with black streaks, his face similarly grimy with a slight flush of red. He was obviously drunk. As proof of this, he was clenching a can of chuhai alcohol in his right hand.

I had no clue how long this old man had been there. I had been so mesmerized by the butterfly girl that I became completely disconnected from my surroundings. It seemed the old man had come to the bench during my trance.

The old man was shouting incoherent abuses into the empty air, in a direction where no one was present.

Back in my day, it was different! The young fools of today don't know anything! Idiots!

Listening more closely, the old man's rants were about society, politics, and his criticisms of modern youth.

Things weren't so lenient when I was younger.

He was bragging about how much tougher things were in his youth.

I've lived through tough times, you know.

That’s what he seems to want to claim.

He spewed out words at no one in particular, and yet they were not meant to be unheard. It was as if he was shouting because the girl and I were present.

He was the scum of society, like snot in human form.

As the old man ranted, the girl in the flower field continued catching butterflies as if she couldn't hear him at all.

In fact, she might not have heard him. She was so engrossed in chasing butterflies that she seemed oblivious to everything else.

Regardless, the nasty old man's unpleasant shouting had completely shattered my fantasy.

I decided to leave as quickly as I could, avoiding eye contact with the old man.

This was partly because he seemed unpredictable and potentially dangerous, but that wasn’t the only reason.

Being around this type of old man made me feel unbearably uncomfortable.

It was a glimpse into my future. My endpoint. What I could become.

That thought troubled me.

Hey!

Suddenly, the old man called out. Previously, his words were aimed at nothingness, but this time, it was clearly directed at someone.

Hey you! You, over there! Are you listening? Hey!

He wasn’t yelling at me. It was the girl amidst the canola flowers.

She seemed oblivious, continuing to dance among the blossoms.

Hey!

The old man stood up from the bench, visibly irritated.

Perhaps he thought he was being ignored. He was obviously extremely self-centered.

With that, he staggered into the beautiful flower field, his filthy body ruining its sanctity.

Startled by the sudden intruder, countless butterflies burst into flight.

The girl finally noticed the old man, her body freezing in terror.

Spit flying from his mouth with every word, the old man trampled the flowers as he closed in on the girl.

He was shouting loudly, but his words were so slurred they were unintelligible.

The girl stood frozen, unable to flee. From a distance, it was clear her delicate shoulders were shaking. The ethereal aura that had surrounded her was gone.

I felt pity for her, and anger at seeing such a delicate fantasy so crudely shattered. But that was it. I had no intention of helping. How could I?

I was scared. The old man was clearly unhinged. Intervening could mean trouble; just watching made me tremble with fear.

I began to walk away as if fleeing the scene.

As I was leaving, I glanced back at the canola field once more. My heart skipped a beat.

Beyond the old man, the girl was looking at me. Her eyes, shadowed by the brim of her straw hat, were full with tears. She was obviously pleading to me for help.

She stood there, a lovely, elegant, fairy-like girl in a field of flowers. A beautiful, dreamlike maiden, now visibly shaken and on the verge of tears, was being approached by a villain. I began to doubt my decision to flee.

And yet, despite this, I did not move to help her.

I was small for a boy my age. My body was small, and so was my mind. I avoid anything that seems like it might be trouble. It was too much for me. When confronted with a situation like this, my body and mind instinctively want to flee.

So, I was sorry.

I couldn't help you. I turned a blind eye and run.

I was sorry. I was sorry . . .

I apologized repeatedly in my mind as I struggled to tear myself away and turn my back on the girl.

Just as I was about to turn away, I heard a sound.

. . . buzzzz . . . buzzzz . . . buzzzz . . .

It was a buzzing sound. Was it the buzzing of insects?

I couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from. If I had to say, it seemed like it was coming from inside my head.

Hey, old man!

Someone shouted. But who? Was there anyone else here besides us?

The old man turned towards the voice. He was looking at . . . me?

Was I the one who just shouted? Could it really have been me?

Hey, old man. What are you doing?

This time, I was fully aware that the words came from my own mouth.

She’s clearly distressed. You’re an adult, aren’t you?

The voice was uncharacteristically confident and assertive, to the point I could hardly believe it was my own.

As I faced the violent old man, my mind was strangely clear. I wasn't afraid at all.

What's going on? What's happening to me? Why have I become so heroic? This isn't like me at all. What's going on?

The old man's grimy face turned bright red with fury. He turned his back to the girl and advanced toward me aggressively. I shouted at him once more as he came up close to me.

You can drink all you want, but don't cause trouble for others!

The next moment, something cold splashed across my face.

There was a clear stench of alcohol. The old man had doused me with his can of chuhai.

Looking back, that scent of alcohol might have been the beginning.

The beginning of the strange ordeal that befell me—the start of the supernatural incident involving a series of insect possessions.

It marked the beginning of an unusual and mystifying tale of insects and humans in Urakami Town.

♦♦♦

It was the first day of the new school year after spring break. Starting today, I was a sophomore.

Just outside the window, cherry trees were gently scattering their petals in the spring breeze.

After the assembly in the gym, which included new students, I returned to my unfamiliar new classroom. I spent the brief break before homeroom was to start sitting at my new desk aimlessly.

I idly superimposed the image of the girl I had seen a few days ago onto the petals dancing outside the window.

That girl, with her white dress fluttering in a field of canola flowers . . . She was like a real-life fairy.

Even days later, the vision of that fairy-like girl, was still vivid behind my eyes. It often revisited me, leaving me in a dreamlike state.

However, this fantasy was quickly shattered by the unpleasant memories it conjured, and I soon felt nauseous.

Before I knew it, I found myself making noises.

Tch.

Pfft.

I clicked my tongue and fidgeted restlessly.

Amidst this, a remarkably carefree voice called out to me.

Hey, what's up?

When I turned around, I saw the familiar face of a fellow male student.

His name was Akihito Miyoshi. We were classmates during our first year, and we ended up in the same class this year, as well.

His face was square, with thin, drooping eyes, a hawk nose, and a ridiculously large mouth. He looked strikingly like the character "Vampire Elite" from "GeGeGe no Kitaro."

However, even if I say "vampire elite," there aren't many people who know about it, so I'd like to ask someone.

He looks similar, right?

Most people don't know what I'm talking about.

Starting the new school year in a bad mood, huh? What's up, Ant Guy?

"Ant Guy."

That's my nickname. My real name is Haneta Ariyoshi. I'm in my second year of high school.

My last name is Ariyoshi. The "ari" part sounds just like the Japanese word for ant.

So, they call me "Ant Guy."

It's quite straightforward, really.

But really? Ariyoshi? If just having that surname is enough to have a nickname like that, then my whole family should be called "Ant Guy" too, Right? People with names like Arita and Arikawa and Ari Arakawa would end up with the same nickname.

No, they didn't give me the nickname "Ant Guy" just because my last name is Ariyoshi.

To put it simply, it's because I'm short.

I'm 145 centimeters tall. Smaller than the girls. Tiny, like an ant. So, Ant Guy.

Well, that's not the only reason, but . . .

What? Do I look upset? It's that obvious?

Yeah, anyone could tell. Something happen?

No . . . I was just thinking about something unpleasant.

What? What happened? Was it today?

No, about a week ago.

That's forever ago!

I guess.

I tend to hold grudges. Well, not just grudges, but once I experience something unpleasant, I can't forget it for at least half a year, or sometimes even years. Every time I'm reminded of something bad, it keeps building up inside me.

I met this trashy old guy over spring break.

Trashy?

You know the type. Those who have failed at life, so they shout a bunch of nonsense at no one in particular at stations or parks. That kind of trashy old guy.

Ah. Yeah, I've seen those types.

Well, one of them was harassing this girl.

Oh man, that sucks.

Right? So, I went to help her, and the guy splashed his booze on me.

What?!

Akihito's narrow eyes widened in surprise.

Wait, who helped her? You did?

It seemed he was surprised by the part about helping her, not the fact he dumped his drink on me.

I helped her.

You? Am I speaking to Ant Guy?

Yeah.

No way! You didn't want to help her, you just got dragged into it, right?

Akihito was still skeptical. It was kind of irritating, but I understood why.

Saving a girl from trouble—that was something the usual me would never do. Knowing my usual cowardice and callous nature, it's no wonder Akihito was shocked.

No joke. I really did go over and help her.

Seriously? You never do stuff like that!

Akihito was too blunt about it, but he was right. I really didn't do that sort of thing.

I know, it's out of character. I did something I usually wouldn't and ended up cold in my wet clothes, plus I had to listen to that old man ranting and raving. I was shaking so much, wondering if he was going to hit me, and my stomach was in knots.

But still, at least you did something good for once, right? You helped that girl, didn’t you?

Well, yeah, but before I knew it, she had disappeared. She must have slipped away when that trashy guy started targeting me.

Really? That’s pretty cold of her. But she must have been scared. Of course she would want to run away.

So then there I was, left alone to deal with the old man's rambling. I was getting fed up, too. Finally, I reached my limit, so I told him off.

What did you say?

Life's about more than just you, you idiot!

. . . and after that?

Then, I bolted. I called that trashy guy an idiot and left him stewing. He must have been seething for days. Serves him right.

Serves him right? Well, I guess . . .

I mean, he's trash, right? And sure, I’m kind of trash, too, just a little bit. But at least I’m aware of it. So, compared to some oblivious guy causing trouble, I’m better, right? That’s why I left him with some mental scars. That's a win, right? I won. Right?

Haha!

I had a proud smirk on my face.

But what I saw on Akihito's face was a deep look of exasperation.

You're really petty. That nickname sure suits you.

He said this with a look of pity on his face. I knew what that meant.

That look was reserved for the one everyone called Ant Guy, indeed . . .

But I won, right?

I kept trying to make Akihito agree with me. Finally, he said:

Um, sure. You won. Let's call it a win.

After that, Akihito quickly moved away from my seat.

I don't get it. What made you try to help some girl?

As he left, Akihito wondered aloud. He sounded serious.

It was certainly strange. Even thinking back, I'm not sure why I did it.

When that butterfly girl looked at me pleadingly for help, I felt her gaze lock onto me. Then, I heard the buzzing of insect wings, and before I knew it, I was confronting the old man.

It was almost an unconscious act. And yet, I was definitely acting on my own volition.

What was that about?

While I sat thinking about this, Akihito had moved away from my seat.

Akihito knew how to keep the right distance. If our conversations go on too long, it gets uncomfortable, so he wisely cuts them short and goes back to his friends.

Akihito is a nice person. Even though we're not exactly friends, he still makes the effort to talk to me, an outsider.

Yeah, Akihito isn't exactly my friend.

For proof, last winter break, he went on a trip to the hot springs in Yamagata with a bunch of friends. I wasn't invited at all. To him, I'm just someone to chat with in class, not someone to travel with.

With Akihito gone, I was left without anyone to talk to.

I took another look around my new classroom.

With the new school year, my class had changed, and of course, so had my classmates. About a third were familiar faces. The other two-thirds were people I had seen before, but still strangers.

The ones in clubs were hanging out with each other.

Hey, we're in the same class again. That's good.

The atmosphere was friendly and lively, but as someone who heads straight home after school, I didn't know anyone except people like Akihito, who were in my class last year.

Well, there was one other person.

I sat at the very back by the window and stole a glance at one girl. She was deeply engrossed in the book she was reading.

There were quite a few cute girls around. The criteria for 'cute' is surprisingly broad, after all. Even if their features aren't perfect, a charming personality, mannerisms, or voice can earn them the label.

However, really pretty girls were rare. To be considered pretty, a girl needed a nice face, but it wasn't just about the face. Body shape was important, too. Such people were hard to find.

Among those rare pretty girls was the girl I had just glanced at.

Her name was Yukie Segawa.

Her long black hair fluttered in the spring breeze blowing through the open window. Within her delicate features, her slightly almond-shaped eyes had a dignified look. Her skin was so pale and finely textured it seemed translucent. Her neck was long like a swan's, and her limbs were slender and long as well.

This girl, Yukie Segawa, who was as beautiful as the moon . . . Somehow, believe it or not, she was my childhood friend.

We lived nearby and grew up together feeling the sea breeze at Shiogama Port.

Though we call each other childhood friends, Yukie and I don't really interact much.

We used to play together during kindergarten and elementary school, but as we grew older, we drifted apart. The reason for that was the stark difference in our abilities, which became apparent as we got older.

Yukie grew up to be beautiful and incredibly smart, with excellent athletic abilities. I, on the other hand, turned out to be small, petty, and foolish.

Since we're on completely different levels, Yukie doesn't bother with someone like me. In fact, she almost seems to despise me; we only spoke two or three times in middle school. Being around someone sculpted by the gods like Yukie gives me an inferiority complex, so I try to avoid her altogether.

Since starting high school, I haven't spoken to her once. Fortunately, we were in different classes last year, so there was neither the chance nor the need for us to see each other.

Typically, those who are too beautiful tend to be shunned by others, so they end up lonely.

But though Yukie, with her exquisite features and clear, refined aura, seems like she would be placed on that unreachable pedestal, she avoids it.

One girl had already approached Yukie's seat.

Yukie, what book are you reading?

Oblivious to her surroundings, Yukie was deeply engrossed in her book when the girl spoke to her.

Looking up from the pages, Yukie turned her face towards the girl. Her startled expression seemed oddly innocent and charming, ill-suited to her well-composed features.

Yukie showed the girl the cover of the book. It read, "Riemann and Number Theory".

What book is that? Looks kind of tough.

It's a math book. It's not too difficult.

Yukie replied in a somewhat husky voice, her tone distinctly masculine. That part of her was unchanged since elementary school.

Ahhh, I’ve heard of that. You really love math, don’t you, Yukie?

Not just math. I love prime numbers.

What’s a prime number again?

The girl tilted her head slightly.

Numbers that can only be divided by one and themselves.

Ah, right, that’s what it was. Wait, is that a book about prime numbers?

Prime numbers? Well, sort of. It’s about the Riemann Hypothesis.

Riemann? Oh, I've heard of that. Like the Riemann Shock, right?

It's unrelated to that. It’s about a conjecture on prime number distribution proposed by the German mathematician Bernhard Riemann. It’s been around for about 150 years without a proof. Recently, there was talk that the British mathematician Michael Atiyah had finally proved it, but I have my doubts about his proof. I'd like to verify it myself to see if there are any errors.

As Yukie rambled on, the girl was left utterly speechless.

She really hadn’t changed at all.

Her father, who was a math tutor at a cram school and an amateur mathematician, seemed to have had a big influence on her.

Due to his influence, Yukie had become an extreme lover of math, or as she put it, of prime numbers.

Back in elementary school, she once handed me a list of prime numbers and told me she wanted to see how many she could say.

I want to see how far I get with prime numbers.

I humored her, but she just kept going on and on without a single mistake.

Two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen . . . ninety-seven, one hundred and one . . .

It was fine up until around a hundred, but after that, it seemed like it would never end. The way she emotionlessly muttered prime numbers was almost terrifying.

Enough already. Stop it. You're scaring me.

I remember begging her to stop, almost in tears.

Normally, someone obsessed with prime numbers like this would be considered weird by others, but not in Yukie’s case.

She's strange.

You might think so, but in Segawa's case, that's not the case. The girl, who had been looking blank, started to giggle.

That’s so funny. Yukie, are you spaced out?

She had a pretty face, so she got away with being called a spaced out.

Yukie, not understanding why she was being called spaced out, tilted her head slightly.

As the girl continued to laugh at her confusion, Yukie looked even more puzzled.

Oh, right! Yukie, is it true you can break down any number instantly?

Hmm? You mean prime factorization? It’s difficult with very large numbers, but yeah, I can do it.

Really? Then . . . um . . . what about one thousand six hundred and seventy-seven?

The girl threw out a random number.

Three times thirteen times fourty-three.

Yukie responded immediately.

The girl tried it on her smartphone calculator. Her eyes widened in surprise.

Wow! That's right. Then . . . what about six thousand two hundred and ninety-three?

Seven times twenty-nine times thirty-one.

Wow, that's correct! That's unbelievable! How do you know that?

Why? I'm not sure why. I just kind of understand it.

No way! You're a genius! What about three thousand one hundred and twenty-one?

That's a prime number. It can't be broken down.

Really? How do you know it's a prime?

There are several methods to determine primes, but for larger numbers, it's mostly memorization.

Memorization, huh? Yukie, have you memorized all the primes?

Of course not. That would be impossible. It's been proven since ancient Greece that there are infinitely many prime numbers. Currently, humanity has calculated about 10 to the 17th power primes. The number of primes I can recite is far less than that. At most about three thousand.

Three thousand? That's crazy! Why did you decide to memorize them?

Why? Now that you mention it, I'm not sure. Maybe because it's fun? No, not quite. If I had to say . . .

Yukie paused to think.

Maybe because I love prime numbers?

At this response, the girl burst out laughing.

Yukie seemed puzzled as to why the girl was laughing, but eventually smiled and looked out the window.

This year, we are seventeen. Seventeen . . . the third Fermat prime. Plus, we're sophomores; second-year students. Two is also a prime—the only even prime. It's a special year. Plus, there are thirty-one students in this class. A prime number. And it's a Mersenne prime of two to the fifth power minus one. It's going to be a good class.

The girl burst into a fit of laughter at Yukie's incomprehensible words.

Yukie, you're so funny! I'm Yukari Kudo. Nice to meet you!

It seemed like Yukie had quickly made a friend in her new class.

Several girls from the previous year's class gathered around Yukie's desk, surrounding her and starting to chat.

Despite being an oddball prime number enthusiast who didn't make much effort to socialize, Yukie naturally became popular in the class. Why? Because she was beautiful, and despite her appearance, she was also caring and responsible. In addition, her oddball love for prime number made her easily approachable, making her a beloved member of any group.

Compared to that, where did I stand? Now that Akihito had left, I had no one to talk to.

I have no friends to speak of. I'm sure I won't make any in this new class, either.

I'm just Ant Guy, after all.

I knew why. Not only was I short, I had a small soul.

I was a small guy. A man with a small heart, little courage, limited prospects, and a small soul. All in all, I was a person of minimal capacity. Just an ant guy.

Ant Guy is just a tiny, unnoticed insect. Being unnoticed is a good thing. It's a convenient way for me to remain inconspicuous in class.

In my freshman year, I made a few blunders. Like an ant lured by a sweet scent, I inadvertently joined a group having fun chatting and made a few careless remarks.

Perhaps, at that time, I misunderstood it as a good opportunity to make friends.

I know that one. That scene was so ridiculous. I couldn't help but laugh.

I tried saying that.

Suddenly, the other students' faces went dark.

It was like they were annoyed I had suddenly started talking to them.

That was the vibe I got. Then, hesitantly, one of them spoke to me.

I mean . . . I didn't really think it was funny.

Or something like that.

I slunk away, tormented by regret and embarrassment. Even now, I still cringe at the memory.

My mistake in that situation was trying to join in my classmates' conversation, despite being just Ant Guy. Adding to that, my abrupt entrance without reading the room was another blunder. And above all, it was mu comment.

That scene was so ridiculous.

I should never have made fun of the content of the comic. It seemed to have made everyone in the group uncomfortable.

Even casual remarks, when I'm the one making them, seem to ruin the mood.

I should just stay silent. If I'm just an ant guy, I should quietly keep to myself.

In reality, I am terribly self-deprecating. I hate my tiny body, my far from handsome face, my weak body and lack of athletic ability, and my stupidity that keeps me from doing well in school and talking properly with others. Even more than that, I hate my own self-hatred.

And yet, this self-hatred is another unpleasant trait that must be hidden from others.

I just can't manage to hide it. My words and my demeanor always seem to exude self-hatred.

Sometimes, I end up saying things I shouldn't.

I’m just a total mess, you know.

It always ruins the mood.

That guy is seriously tiny. Just a little ant guy.

That's how they all see me.

For the past few years, I have lived like an undesirable insect that wandered into human dwellings.

However!

I have made a decision.

This school year is different! The grade has changed. The class has changed.

I want to make a comeback as the person I am! That is to say . . .

. . . this school year, I aim to blend in unnoticed, without bothering anyone, conceal my pettiness, and upgrade from a nuisance insect to just being part of the background!

With such grand ambitions in mind, I sat in my seat with a resolve to keep a low profile this year. Since just sitting would be strange, I was reading a book to look natural.

Perfect. I'm going to stick to this for a year . . . No, until I graduate.

Suddenly, I felt like I was being watched.

That was a bad sign. Being watched meant I was still far from just being part of the background.

Who is it? Who's looking at me? Why? Is it unnatural to be silently reading a book by myself? Do my actions betray my inner timidity? Is that it?

Then, I felt the gaze intensify.

I looked over. The person who had been watching me quickly turned away. It was a girl. She was sitting at a window seat about four desks from mine, right in the middle of the classroom.

She was short. About as short as me.

Despite already being short, her back was hunched, and she was looking down. Her hair, which was long enough to touch her shoulders, was left down, visibly frizzy and unkempt.

She looked kind of plain, or rather, kind of gloomy.

Was she even in our grade?

We'd been in the same building for a year, so it wouldn't be strange if I had seen her somewhere, but I didn't recall ever seeing this girl.

That showed how little presence this girl had. As someone who was always trying to erase his own presence, I couldn't help but envy her. I wished I could take a leaf out of her book.

Then, she looked at me again.

Our eyes met, and then she quickly looked away. It was a strangely abrupt gesture.

What's with her? Why does she keep looking at me? What about me is so intriguing to her? Are we, the friendless, somehow feeling a strange kinship? It doesn't feel like that, though . . .