Yayoi Can't Keep a Secret

The spring breeze always seems to trouble me.

The wind blows the classroom curtains, guiding my gaze to the girl silently listening the lesson at her window-side seat.

I have lost count of how many times this has happened, and my heart stirs each time she tucks her black hair behind her ear.

Here I am, resting my cheek on my hand, supposedly listening to the classical literature class, but watching the school's top beauty, Kinoshita.

Suddenly, as if sensing something, Kinoshita slowly turns around.

Our eyes meet, and she looks surprised. In the next moment, she furrows her brow and glares at me.

Out of awkwardness, I look away. Kinoshita quickly turns back to the front, tucking her hair behind her ear with an even more exaggerated motion.

I catch a brief glimpse of her ear, now flushed in soft red.

Satsuki Fukase, are you paying attention?

Uh, yes!

Startled by the teacher's sudden call, I respond with a shrill voice. Laughter echoes through the classroom as I quickly look down at my notebook.

As class went on in a dreamy haze, I pretended to read the textbook, as my thoughts continued to be consumed by Kinoshita.

What was it that I wanted, exactly?

Ever since we became classmates in our second year, I have found my eyes following her, during classes and breaks alike. But there was a reason for that.

Yayoi Kinoshita might like me.

This is a secret that only I know about her.

However, despite however close we may seem, it could not be further from the truth. Knowing her secret is what bars me from getting closer and only allows my expectations to build from afar.

Today is just another day where all I can do is wait and hope that something will happen.

All I can say is that these feelings, stirring inside me, are not just a result of the spring breeze.

Kinoshita is always by herself.

This is not just because today is the first day of our second year and we are in new classes.

Ever since our first year, Kinoshita has always had top scores on every test, and her athletic skills are also top-notch.

On top of that she is taller than average and has an amazing figure. Boys often look at her with envy while girls look at her with admiration.

There is a reason why such a perfect girl, blessed with both beauty and brains, is always alone.

It is Kinoshita herself that keeps others at arm's length.

She keeps communication with others to a minimum, and eye contact even less than that. She is always stone-faced, never smiling. Even when spoken to, Kinoshita will usually just ignore people. While it can be said that she is a cool beauty, it is more accurate to call her aloof and distant.

Rumors have started circulating like "She's so beautiful, it's scary" or "You'll get shot down just by approaching her" or "She's untouchable." It has gone to the extent that people claim she radiates a "back off" aura, and as a result, no one dares to approach her.

Even now, in a classroom buzzing with the excitement of making new friends, Kinoshita sits alone, reading her book. It seems like she is trying to fade into the background. However, her striking yet secluded figure is as entrancing as a William-Adolphe Bouguereau painting, and I cannot help but be drawn to her.

Satsuki, we should head to the gym soon.

Yeah, I'll be right there.

I got up from my seat after hearing my classmate calling me.

There is a reason why Kinoshita has my attention.

During our first year, we exchanged words once.

From that moment on, I simply could not stop thinking about her.

It is due to a secret that only I was able to hear from Kinoshita.

This took place six months ago at our Otomachi High School's festival, which was my first cultural festival in high school.

Otomachi High School has a culture of thoroughly enjoying events. The school's tradition has always been to have a great time at the cultural festival, even getting graduates and faculty involved.

By the afternoon, I had snuck off alone and was wandering around, looking through the exhibits in each classroom, after having been in the gymnasium from the morning for club presentations.

There was everything from the usual haunted houses and fashion shows to a class that had set up a beach house. A plastic pool had been brought into the classroom and boys and girls in swimsuits were playing around with water guns.

Although I was tempted to get into a swimsuit and join the festivities, my mood was not exactly upbeat, so I simply walked past them.

I wanted to be alone that day, and while searching for a place to unwind, I ended up at the large open portico of the school. There, at the heart of the cultural festival, food stalls were packed tightly together.

The scent of seared sauce wafted from the okonomiyaki stand, and a maid-themed crepe shop had a long line forming.

Step right up. Step right up.

This tastes amazing!

Amid the bustling lunchtime scene, I noticed a quiet stall standing alone in the corner.

It appeared to be a café, but there were no customers in sight. There was just one girl sitting inside the stall with her back to me.

Lured in by the smell of coffee, I figured this might be a good place to unwind and slowly approached.

Could I get a cup of coffee, please?

. . .

As I finished placing my order, the girl who seemed to be running the shop slammed the book she had been reading shut. Without saying a word, she began to grind the coffee beans with a hand mill.

Although the shop seemed impressively authentic, she never looked my way, not even to give me a word of acknowledgment.

I wanted solitude, but being ignored like this made me feel uneasy, and I felt the need to start a conversation.

This place is quite authentic.

. . .

Where do you get your coffee beans from?

. . .

Have you been managing the shop by yourself since this morning?

Yes . . . so what?

Her sharp retort took me by surprise, and I found myself falling silent.

She brewed the coffee with a hand drip in total silence, all the while consistently giving me the cold shoulder. I began to understand why there were not any customers.

Eventually, the rich aroma of coffee started to fill the air, and she turned around with a cup in her hand.

. . . !

I found myself doing a double take at the sight before me.

It was her, Yayoi Kinoshita.

Straight, semi-long black hair and mesmerizingly large black eyes.

She was tall and slender, her long limbs moving gracefully, like a model. Her apron hugged her waist and accentuated her stunning figure even more.

That will be 100 yen . . .

Kinoshita did not even look at me, her customer, and placed the paper cup on the table with an icy expression.

Uh . . .

I was struck speechless, awestruck by meeting Kinoshita and her commanding aura for the first time.

Even though we were in different classes, I had heard rumors about her. Her name was the first to pop up when someone mentioned a beauty, which made her quite popular despite being a first-year student.

But I remembered that there were just as many negative rumors about her as well.

Kinoshita's icy voice and frosty demeanor.

This unfriendly, standoffish attitude was precisely what the negative rumors referred to.

It was said that she practically radiated a "back off" aura, which made how she had just ignored me earlier make sense in hindsight.

My first time meeting Yayoi Kinoshita, she was exactly as the rumors described, both good and bad. I was strangely torn, unsure whether it was a positive or negative experience.

There must be a lot going on in the minds of beautiful women. A world I just could not comprehend.

Oh yeah, it's a hundred yen, right?

I was about to quickly pay and leave when Kinoshita, who had been looking down all this time, lifted her head.

The first time our eyes met, Kinoshita's gaze was drawn to my face as if pulled by a magnet. And she just stared at me, silently.

Huh? Is there something on my face? We just met, right?

Suddenly feeling uneasy, I attempted to pull out my wallet, but I must have been too nervous. I ended up dropping my money on the table.

As the hundred-yen coin clinked onto the table and rolled away, we both exclaimed out loud at the same time.

As I reached out to stop the rolling coin, my left hand overlapped Kinoshita's, who had already caught the hundred-yen coin.

Then it happened, the moment I touched the back of her ice-cold hand.

Satsuki is so cool . . .

Huh . . . ?

The words I heard were so unexpected that it felt like the world had turned upside down.

It was like Beethoven's grand symphony had begun with an impressive flourish, and I was left numb and immobile.

Me . . . ? Cool . . . ?

There was no doubt it was Kinoshita's voice.

It was not the emotionless, monotonous voice from before, but one unmistakably filled with emotion.

As I slowly lifted my head while our hands were still overlapped, Kinoshita's cheeks were flushed crimson red.

Ah! I'm sorry!

I reflexively apologized and pulled my hand away from Kinoshita.

Immediately after, she aimed a piercing glare my way.

T–thanks for the coffee!

Intimidated by Kinoshita's glare, I grabbed the coffee and made a hasty retreat.

What just happened? What was that all about?

I quickly escaped the bustling food stall area and hurried along the corridor, oblivious to the students I passed by.

I found myself beside the school gate, in a place where no one else was around trying to calm down, but my heart was still racing wildly.

Does Yayoi Kinoshita . . . have feelings for me?

As I stared at my left hand, I found myself voicing the reason for my excitement.

The words that I heard when I touched Kinoshita's hand were not spoken aloud.

They were the thoughts in Kinoshita's mind, heard directly inside my head.

─Psychometry.

The power to read the residual thoughts left on objects.

I, Satsuki Fukase, can hear what people are thinking when I touch them with my left hand.

While it might seem nice to have the power to understand people's feelings, the thoughts that come from the heart are usually filled with negativity. Uncovering someone's secrets without their permission never leads to anything good.

I typically try my best to avoid using this power . . .

Yet, I ended up using psychometry on Kinoshita of all people.

Satsuki is so cool . . .

Kinoshita's voice, emanating from her cold hand that I had accidentally touched, kept replaying in my head like a broken record.

How did she know me?

What did she mean by cool?

Could it be possible that she likes me?

I could not figure out how to rein in my imagination, which was racing ahead at lightning speed. It was the first time I had heard positive feelings towards me through psychometry, so I was overly excited.

And to top it all off, this came from the most beautiful girl in school, Yayoi Kinoshita . . .

It had been half a year since that unexpected encounter with Kinoshita.

We have become second-year students now, and today is the opening ceremony for the start of the semester.

Otomachi High School is a public high school in Hiroshima Prefecture, and is known for its outstanding academic achievements.

It is located right in the heart of Hiroshima City, making it easily accessible. With Hiroshima Castle right next to the school and a river nearby, it is surrounded by nature. Apparently, a soccer stadium is even set to be built close by in a few years.

The four-story school building is quite unique in its design. The classrooms are arranged in a square shape, and the center of the building from the first floor to the roof is open. There are even escalators, which are a rarity for a public high school. Light pours in from the glass roof and fills the entire school. The sense of openness, where you can see the color of the sky and feel the wind at any time, is something I really like.

At the opening ceremony in the gym, the vice principal is in the middle of his speech.

As new second-year students, I hope you all recognize that you are now upperclassmen and strive towards your goals . . .

While pretending to listen to the vice principal's enlightening speech, I find myself absentmindedly looking at the girl a few rows in front of me.

The model-like girl is a head taller than others around her, even when we are lined up in order of student number. Her beautiful black hair seems to sparkle like a halo.

Starting today, Yayoi Kinoshita and I will be in the same class.

She stands out even in this gym filled with hundreds of people, and as I watch her, I am reminded of the cultural festival last year.

Satsuki is so cool . . .

Ever since the day I unintentionally heard her inner thoughts with my psychometry, those words have never left my mind.

Yayoi Kinoshita might like me.

I spent sleepless nights wondering why she would ever have feelings for someone like me, and it sure did fuel my fantasies.

I considered trying to get closer to her, but I knew it was a far-fetched dream. We were in different classes during our first year, and Kinoshita always had an aura that kept people at a distance.

But now, we're in the same class for our second year, I would be lying if I said I didn't have any hope.

Even now, I am zoning out during the Vice Principal's speech and daydreaming about the sweet high school life that could be in store for me.

Maybe she will secretly make me a lunchbox? Maybe I will find a letter in my shoe locker? Maybe she will tell me to meet her behind the gym, and then . . .

Satsuki, I . . .

Yayoi, I also . . .

They exchanged glances as they said each other's names, their hands intertwined . . .

I am thoroughly daydreaming like this during the opening ceremony, grinning like a fool at my creepy fantasies.

Hey, Satsuki.

Suddenly slapped on the back, my shoulders jerk in surprise.

What is it . . . ?

Doing my best to hide the fact I was daydreaming nonsense this early in the morning, I keep a straight face and slightly turn my head to look at him.

It was Mayama, who has been in the same class as me since our first year. Our student numbers are consecutive, so just like last year, he is seated right behind me. Reality is not nearly as fresh, dreamy, or sweet as one might wish.

The vice principal sure does drone on, huh?

Mayama scowls, his face twisted in irritation.

The vice principal's speeches are always lengthy. Plus, they are generally the same.

Just be quiet and listen.

I admonish Mayama's chattering while ignoring my own daydreaming.

Mayama can get along with anyone and he is fairly cool until he opens his mouth. When he does, he tends to be a nuisance.

You're hardly one to talk.

Fed up with the vice principal's speech, Mayama pokes at my left hand, which I am keeping in my pocket.

It's a habit.

I keep my hand in my pocket to avoid activating my psychometry by touching someone. My psychometry triggers without my intention, and crowded situations like this school assembly are particularly risky.

Trying to act cool, huh.

With that, Mayama unexpectedly tickles my side.

Eep!

I yelp involuntarily and jump.

My shout echoes throughout the gymnasium louder than I had anticipated, drawing the attention of all the students towards me.

Of course, I immediately feel myself in danger.

Fukase!

My homeroom teacher's voice echoes from behind. I remove my hand from my pocket, turn forward, and stand upright. Cold sweat trickles down my back as Mayama behind me struggles to contain his laughter.

I'm in trouble.

On top of that, she is taller than average and has an amazing figure. Boys often look at her with envy while girls look at her with admiration.

I still felt like a dead man walking when the opening ceremony concluded. My homeroom teacher lightly scolded me, but let me go right away.

Why am I the only one in trouble? This was all your fault!

You're hardly innocent yourself.

It's entirely your fault!

As we trudge back to the classroom from the gym, Mayama and I squabble over who is at fault.

I'm on the teacher's bad side on the first day of second year. This is the worst.

Don't let it bother you. How awesome is it to be in the same class as Yayoi Kinoshita.

Unconcerned about my problems, Mayama cheerfully changes the topic and gestures down the hallway.

My shoulders jerk hearing that name.

A little way ahead of us, Kinoshita is silently walking with an immaculate posture.

Uh huh . . .

I keep a poker face, feigning disinterest.

I know where Kinoshita is without Mayama having to tell me. In fact, I was looking for her all morning until the middle of the opening ceremony. Even now, while talking with Mayama, I steal glances of her.

Wanna try talking to her?

Mayama suddenly proposes with a smirk playing on his lips.

Don't. She'll just ignore us.

Taken aback by his sudden idea, I try to calmly stop Mayama from approaching her.

After all, a strong "back off" vibe still emanates from Kinoshita.

Aren't you interested in her too? You've been staring at her this whole time.

I–I wasn't!

I abruptly stop looking at Kinoshita and force my gaze toward the window.

First impressions are important in these situations.

Still . . .

Knowing Kinoshita's feelings, I'm a lot more hesitant than Mayama. I'm scared of upsetting her and being disliked.

How pathetic am I, expecting something to happen, yet being unable to make a move myself.

While wallowing in self-pity, I try to find a way to stop Mayama's approach.

Whoa!

I feel a sudden jolt from behind.

By the time I realize I've been shoved in the back, it is too late.

With my hands stuck in my pockets, I clumsily fall face-first.

Oh, sorry about that!

The guy who bumped into me quickly apologizes and bolts.

Hey, watch where you're going!

Mayama raises his voice on my behalf.

You okay, Satsuki?

Looking down at me, even the usually carefree Mayama seems worried.

Yeah, I think so . . .

All the talk about speaking with Kinoshita is swept under the rug now, but it seems like I twisted my right wrist when I fell.

As I try to stand while guarding my hand, someone quietly approaches.

Are you okay?

The faintest of voices barely reaches my ears.

Then, a slender, pale left hand extends out to me.

Oh, I'm okay . . .

Appreciating the kindess, I grab the offered hand without thinking.

It is then I notice how cold the hand is.

I'm glad Satsuki's in the same class.

Huh . . . ?

Glad we're in the same class . . . ?

Bewildered by what my sudden psychometry has heard, I slowly lift my head.

There is Kinoshita, who was just ahead of me moments ago, gripping my hand tightly and fluttering her eyes.

Kinoshita? Why . . . ?

K–Kino . . .

In my confusion, I swallowed the name I was about to utter.

Sa . . .

Kinoshita also starts to say something, but does not seem to finish.

We remain holding hands with our eyes locked, as if we are under some spell.

Just like that day, Kinoshita is flushed red from her cheeks all the way to her ears.

The voice I heard from her heart and the cold sensation in my palm brings back memories from six months ago.

Could it be that Kinoshita really does like me?

I can feel my head nearly boil over with sweet hopes and fantasies on the verge of becoming reality. Then her inner voice echoes in my head again.

My left hand triggers my psychometry once again.

It was Satsuki?! I helped him without thinking, but I have to hurry along to my agent work . . .

H–How long are you going to hold my hand?!

Her words drown out her voice in my head.

She roughly shakes off my hand as I am trying to get up, causing me to stumble backward and land on my butt.

Huh? Kinoshita?

I look up at Kinoshita's face again to find that her expression has completely changed.

Her eyebrows are furrowed, chin jutting out, and she is glaring at me fiercely. It is just like when we first met six months ago.

Could you not address me so casually?

Huh? What . . . ?

Not only am I being glared at, but now I am also being yelled at.

I only tried to move you because you were blocking the way. I don’t know who you are or where you're from, but don't get the wrong impression.

Kinoshita swirls her skirt and leaves after delivering an unexpected string of rebukes to the person she just helped.

Wrong impression? W–who or where . . . ?

You know me, don't you? Did you not just refer to me by my name in your thoughts?

It is like enjoying sweet vanilla ice cream, only to have hot sauce thrust up my nose and wasabi smeared in my eyes. Utter chaos.

Classic Yayoi Kinoshita. Helping someone only to treat them like that.

She's more terrifying than cool.

Even in our second year, she hasn't changed a bit.

Those are the comments made by the other students who just witnessed the bizarre sequence of events. Just hearing her words, she perfectly fits the unflattering rumors about her.

I am the only one who knows that her words do not reflect her genuine feelings.

As proof, Kinoshita's ears are bright red as she walks away.

So that's the 'back off' vibe. I'm glad I didn't try to strike up a conversation . . .

Those are the comments made by the other students who just witnessed the bizarre sequence of events. Just hearing Kinoshita's words, she perfectly fits the unflattering rumors about her.

Whatever happened to the confidence you had just a moment ago?

What . . . what just happened . . . ?

I'm still dumbfounded by what occurred.

Things turned out worse than if we had just tried to talk to her normally.

And then there is the voice I heard during that second psychometry . . .

Agent work?

What does she mean by 'agent'? Is she like a spy, or an assassin, or something like that?

Kinoshita is . . . an agent?

I had hoped for something to happen now that we are in the same class, but this revelation changed my high school life dramatically.

All because I uncovered Yayoi Kinoshita's new secret . . .

A–a–a . . . agent, agent . . .

After my first day of my second year in high school, I am home looking up the meaning of that word in a dictionary.

One who undertakes espionage activities. Intelligence agent. Spy. Secret Informant. Operative.

As expected, there is an array of alarming words. I slowly shut the dictionary on the list of solid and snaky terms far removed from normal daily life.

Kinoshita thinks I'm cool, she's happy we are in the same class, and she is an agent . . .

Could my psychometry be malfunctioning and attempting to deceive me? Could this be some kind of conspiracy?

I stare at my left hand, contemplating the possibility, when I hear a knock at my door.

Satsuki, can I talk to you for a sec?

What . . . ?

As I responded tersely, the door creaks open and a beaming face peeks in.

It is my younger sister, Sanae.

Can I play the piano?

Sanae, now in her third year of middle school, gives me a bright smile in her mid-length twintails, trying to gauge my mood.

Sanae is so spirited and lively that it is hard to believe she is my sister. She has been spoiled since she was little, but recently she has developed a cunning and cheeky side. She is the epitome of a little sister.

Did you hear about the street piano they set up at Pareo's underground mall? We're planning to go play it soon, so I want to practice!

Street pianos. A piano placed in public spaces like towns and stations for anyone to play freely. I am surprised to hear one has finally found its way to Hiroshima, but of course the trendy Sanae will want to play it.

You don't need to ask me every time. If you want to play, just play.

But you get mad when I play without asking!

Sanae puffs out her cheeks like a blowfish.

I won't get mad. Go ahead and do what you want.

The piano Sanae is referring to is the digital piano in the traditional Japanese-style room downstairs.

Our mother is a piano teacher, so we have been around music since we were young. As a result, both my sister and I took up playing the piano as a hobby.

Okay I will!

Oh! Wait a sec, Sanae!

I call out to Sanae just as she starts to close the door.

What is it?

With a puzzled expression, Sanae peeks back into the room.

You have something on the back of your uniform.

Really? Where?

I get up from my bed and approach Sanae, who is attempting to reach her back.

Turn around. I'll get it . . . By the way, what do you think of my piano skills?

I nonchalantly ask a question while brushing off Sanae's back, which is actually completely clean.

I have an ulterior motive . . .

Why ask all of a sudden? I guess you're pretty good.

Despite her look of displeasure, Sanae answers sincerely. But that is not what I am looking for.

He's good, but I hate how full of himself he gets while playing.

Behind Sanae's flattery, I hear the harsh words of her inner voice.

I casually touched Sanae with my left hand to test my psychometry.

Did you get whatever was on my back?

Oh . . . yeah . . .

Sanae's thoughts stung quite a bit.

Sure, I might show my emotions when I play, but is it not a bit harsh to say 'hate'?

It really isn't a good idea to use psychometry so casually.

By the way, you haven't been playing recently, have you?

I feel a slight jab from Sanae's words, delivered with such innocent eyes.

I've been busy. Also, don't disturb the neighbors. Play with headphones.

Sure, sure!

Leaving with a peace sign in the gap of the door, Sanae finally starts loudly descending the stairs.

After a bit, I start to hear an upbeat piano tune coming from the first floor. She seems to be playing a song by the popular band, Northern Brand.

I told her to use headphones.

As I listen to the energetic 8-beat rhythm, I gaze at my left hand.

There is no doubt that those were Sanae's true feelings. It seems my psychometry is working properly. I am reading the voices of people's hearts, for better or worse.

If that is the case, then Kinoshita is actually working as an agent.

Didn't our high school ban part-time jobs? Her hourly wage must be quite high, though.

What even is an agent, anyway? What exactly is Kinoshita?

One question leads to another, and once again, I find myself with a headache.

It has been a week since I started my second year of high school.

Morning!

Hey! You're early today.

As classmates start to pour in, the classroom begins to be filled with morning chatter.

Social groups have started forming in the class, and as I start to remember the other classmates names, I find myself fitting in. I think my second year is starting well.

I take my seat, greeting the other stundets I make eye-contact with.

As I place my textbooks in my desk, I check on Kinoshita by the window, as has become my morning routine.

Even after a week, Kinoshita hasn't made any friends and keeps to herself. Her solitary appearance, unchanged as always, has already blended into Class 2-7's scenery.

Maybe it is her 'back off' aura, but no one approaches her and she does not initiate conversation either. She eats lunch alone and spends her breaks reading by herself.

She does not seem to care. It is almost as if she deliberately chooses to be alone, completely disregarding the social importance of the start of a new school term.

Other than the time she yelled at me when I fell in the hall last week, we have not exchanged a single word.