Chapter 23 is that so? I see. Thank you, Horikita.
After returning, Horikita Suzune sat at her desk and opened her textbook.
Sunlight poured in through the window, bleaching the surface of the desk. She stared at the dense formulas for a few minutes, then turned a page. She looked for a few more minutes, then turned another. The pages slid across her fingertips, making a faint sound that was exceptionally clear in the quiet dormitory.
But in reality, she hadn't taken in a single word.
Her mind was still revolving around what was said this morning. Hachiman said he wanted to go back because of his sister, Komachi. Hachiman also said he wouldn't marry Karuizawa because he was definitely going to go back. Hachiman said her brother was protecting her, not that he didn't care.
She turned these words over in her mind several times, reaching the same conclusion every time—he was right.
Then she found it even harder to focus on her book.
She closed the textbook, leaned back in her chair, and stared at the ceiling.
The fluorescent light was blindingly white, but she didn't look away. After a long while, she finally stood up and took a shower. Hot water poured down from overhead, and steam filled the bathroom, blurring the reflection in the mirror into a vague shape. She stood under the showerhead with her eyes closed, letting the hot water rush over her cheeks. The temperature was just right—not too hot or too cold—but she felt the water was warmer than usual today, probably because she had too many things on her mind.
After her shower, she changed into her pajamas, sat on the edge of the bed, and dried her hair with a towel. Water droplets slid from the ends of her hair, soaking into the pajamas in dark spots. She dried for a while, draped the towel over the back of the chair, and lay down.
The pillow was soft, the quilt was light, and the dormitory was very quiet.
She stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleepiness to come.
She waited for about ten minutes, but it didn't come.
She rolled over to face the wall. There was nothing on it; it was white and clean. She rolled over again to face the window. The curtains were drawn halfway, revealing a small patch of the night sky outside, pitch black with no stars visible.
She sat up.
On the nightstand sat that blue-covered book.
It was face down, showing only the blue hard cover, which had a faint luster under the desk lamp.
She reached out, picked it up, and flipped it over to look at the title—The Insulted and Injured.
She had borrowed it from the library.
During the break, she had checked Hachiman's borrowing records. She hadn't checked secretly; the library system allowed anyone to see who borrowed what books, when they were borrowed, and when they were returned—it was all public information.
She had just... flipped through it out of curiosity. Then she discovered that Hachiman borrowed a lot of Russian literature. Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Turgenev—those massive novels with names too long to remember; he borrowed them one by one and read them one by one.
She thought at the time that this person read quite profound books.
Later, she thought that if she wanted to have common topics with him, she should probably read these books too. Because if he knew she had also read them, he would likely talk to her a bit more.
So she borrowed this one. One Hachiman hadn't borrowed yet: Dostoevsky's The Insulted and Injured. She finished reading it, reading it very slowly, flipping back and forth through certain parts multiple times. It wasn't that she didn't understand it; she wanted to figure out what the protagonist was really thinking.
Now, leaning against the headboard, she turned the book to the dog-eared page.
On it was the passage by the protagonist, Vanya—about his childhood sweetheart, whom he loved, falling for someone else, and how he helped cover for her and assisted in their elopement.
She stared at that passage for a few seconds, then closed the book.
She didn't like this protagonist. He clearly loved her, yet he didn't fight for her.
He clearly cared, yet he pretended to be magnanimous.
Watching her fall for someone else and even helping her. What was this? A saint? Or a coward?
She placed the book next to her pillow and lay down.
But what if it were her?
When this thought popped up, Horikita found herself momentarily stunned. If the person she liked didn't like her back. If that person had someone they liked more.
What would she do? Would she fight for it?
She thought about it and found she didn't seem to have any certainty.
She wasn't the type of person who would proactively fight for things. From childhood to now, she had always been the passive one.
So, if that person didn't like her, she would probably... silently step aside.
Just like Vanya.
Except she wouldn't help.
At most, she would just not interfere. She felt she could still make a different choice.
Horikita turned over and pulled the quilt up to her chin.
She stared at the tiny bit of light filtering through the gap in the curtains, and the face of Hachiman-kun appeared in her mind.
She closed her eyes.
Sleepiness finally arrived, rising slowly like a tide, submerging her completely.
In her dream, she arrived at that dormitory again.
The exact same dormitory as last time. A single bed, a desk, a potted plant on the windowsill. The light was on, the fluorescent light white and bright, illuminating every corner of the room clearly. Hachiman sat at the desk, his back to her, writing something.
Horikita stood at the door, watching his back.
She knew clearly that she was dreaming.
This feeling was strange—knowing clearly that this wasn't real, yet everything before her was too authentic. The green-covered diary on his desk, the tiny fuzz on the leaves of the plant on the windowsill, the faint scent of laundry detergent in the air—every detail was as clear as if she were awake.
But she also knew she couldn't control this dream. She could only watch, only listen, only passively follow "herself in the dream."
Sure enough.
She heard herself speak.
"Even after coming back here, you're still so nostalgic."
The voice was lower and softer than her current one, carrying an ease she wasn't very familiar with, the kind only used when speaking to someone very close.
Hachiman turned his head.
That face was about the same as in her memory.
Short black hair, slightly messy, with an ahoge (cowlick) sticking up on his forehead. But he wasn't wearing glasses, and those eyes weren't half-lidded, but looking at her quite energetically, with even a trace of a smile at the corners of his mouth.
"I'm used to it," he said. "Keeping a diary isn't a bad thing."
"Herself" in the dream walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. The movement was very natural, as if it had been done many times. She didn't sit on the chair but sat directly on the bed, even leaning back, resting against his pillow.
Hachiman glanced at her, didn't say anything, and lowered his head to continue writing.
"What are you looking at?" she asked in the dream.
"The diary," Hachiman said without looking up.
A diary...
She didn't know he would do such a thing, but why was he reading it?
However, Horikita knew she seemed to be dreaming, and, in the dream, she couldn't control herself.
She could only passively watch "herself in the dream" take the initiative to greet Hachiman.
.
.
.
On the other side.
Hachiman closed Crime and Punishment and placed it on the headboard.
The light from the desk lamp made the pages look yellowed; he stared at the cover for a few seconds, then placed it next to the pillow. Dostoevsky's books were always like this; after reading them, your mind would spin for a long time. It wasn't that the plot was complex; it was those reflections on humanity, sin, and redemption that made one unable to stop thinking.
In the book, Raskolnikov's ending wasn't great, but it wasn't bad either. With Sonya's companionship, he found a kind of peace in a sense. But that peace was a compromise, a giving up, a relief after accepting that "he was just an ordinary person."
Hachiman leaned against the headboard, staring at the ceiling.
He didn't want to compromise.
He wanted to go back. He wanted to see Komachi.
This was something he had to do as an older brother.
But what if he couldn't go back?
Horikita had asked him this question this morning. He had said "I don't know" at the time. It wasn't a perfunctory answer; he really didn't know. He had never seriously thought about the possibility of "what if I can't go back." He always felt he would go back, that one day he would
return. Just like Raskolnikov always felt he wasn't an ordinary person and would one day prove it.
But what if?
What if he couldn't go back?
Would he marry Karuizawa?
After all, he hoped that dating was a process and marriage was the purpose. Of course, the ultimate goal was to have the other half support him.
However, he thought for a moment and reached the same conclusion as this morning—no. It wasn't because he didn't like Karuizawa, but because he and Karuizawa had agreed from the very beginning. She said, "Anyway, you're definitely going to leave in the end," and he said, "Then let's try it." They had a default premise between them—this relationship had an expiration date. When the deadline came, it would end.
Thinking of this, it was time to go to sleep.
So.
He turned off the desk lamp.
Darkness welled up, wrapping him completely.
However, just as his sleepiness became heavy and his consciousness began to blur, the scene around him suddenly swayed.
It felt as if someone had gently shaken the entire world and then put it back. Hachiman opened his eyes abruptly.
The ceiling was gone.
The curtains were gone.
The moonlight was gone.
Replacing it was a familiar dormitory. A single bed, a desk, that potted plant on the windowsill. The light was on, the fluorescent light white and bright. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands empty.
'Here again.'
Hachiman looked down at his hands, then looked around. The exact same scene as last time. Not a dream, not a hallucination, but that "online dreaming" so real that every detail was terrifyingly clear. It had appeared once during summer vacation, and he had met the future Horikita. Now it had appeared again.
He stood up and walked to the desk.
On the desk was a diary with a green cover, a pen beside it. He picked up the diary and opened it.
The handwriting was his. A bit sloppy, but every stroke was recognizable.
He flipped to the first page.
[August 8th, today is my birthday. I didn't expect so many people would pay attention.]
Hachiman's fingers paused on the paper.
Birthday. August 8th.
He continued reading.
[Karuizawa sent a necklace. Silver, the pendant is a tiny sailboat. She said she hoped I could find my direction. I don't know what direction she meant, but the necklace is nice.]
[Matsushita sent a pair of glasses. Black thin frames, exactly the same as the pair I'm wearing now. She said, "Seeing you wear the pair Chiyabashira-sensei gave you looks good, so I bought the same model." I didn't know what to say, could only say thank you.]
[Kamuro sent a fountain pen. Black, with my name engraved on the barrel. She said, "Aren't you going to be a househusband? Practice your writing first." I don't know if this counts as a blessing, but the pen writes quite well.]
[Sakayanagi didn't see me directly. She had Kamuro bring a small cake. Chocolate flavored, with a candle stuck on top. I didn't light it because I didn't know what to wish for.]
[This diary was sent by Kushida. She said, "Aren't you going to keep a diary? This should be enough for you to write for three years." I don't know why she thinks I would write for three years, but the notebook is indeed quite good.]
Hachiman finished reading these segments and was silent for a few seconds.
Karuizawa sent a necklace. Matsushita sent glasses. Kamuro sent a pen. Sakayanagi sent a cake. Kushida sent a diary. He was writing a diary here, recording these things.
He continued reading.
[I don't want to waste things. Since someone sent a diary, I'll write in it. Anyway, I'm not someone who won't persist in anything.]
The corners of Hachiman's mouth twitched slightly. This really sounded like something he would say. Not because he liked keeping a diary, but because he didn't want to waste others' intentions. Since it was given, he would use it.
Since he used it, he would write in it seriously.
He was just about to turn the page—the diary was thick, and what he had just read was only the first page; there should be other content behind it—but at this moment, a voice came from behind him.
"Even after coming back here, you're still so nostalgic," the other party said.
Hachiman turned around.
He found Horikita Suzune standing at the door.
But it wasn't the Horikita Suzune he knew. That face was much softer than the one he was familiar with, the sharp edges smoothed out, and the corners of her mouth carried a faint smile.
It could be said that even if he told Horikita Manabu that his sister was smiling, Manabu would be surprised, but the current Horikita Suzune was in just such a state.
Her long black hair hung over her shoulders, and she was wearing light-colored loungewear, standing there as if she had walked back from somewhere very far away.
For this Horikita, Hachiman had already secretly given her a nickname: Big Horikita.
Exactly the same as in his dream during the summer break.
Hachiman looked at her, was silent for a second, then spoke, "When did you come from?"
Big Horikita walked into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. The movement was very natural, as if she had been in this dormitory many times.
"Three years later," she said.
Hachiman's fingers tapped lightly on the cover of the diary. Three years later. In other words, the Horikita he was seeing now was the Horikita from three years in the future. Three years older than him, more mature, calmer, and more composed than the Horikita he knew.
"So," he began, his voice a bit dry, "I'm still here in three years?"
Big Horikita looked at him, her wine-red eyes containing a trace of emotion he couldn't quite understand.
"Yeah," she said. "You're still here."
Hachiman leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. He needed this action to keep himself steady, because his mind was already in chaos.
He was still here in three years.
This meant he hadn't gone back. Or, he had gone back and come again.
"..." Hachiman felt clueless, but didn't there happen to be a Horikita Suzune from three years in the future here now?
So.
"Have you seen Komachi?" he asked.
Big Horikita nodded. "Just saw her this morning."
Hachiman's breathing stalled slightly.
Komachi. Horikita Suzune had seen Komachi, and... had just seen her this morning.
Putting these words together, it only pointed to one thing—Komachi was also in this world.
"Did Komachi also travel through time?" His voice was a bit tight.
Big Horikita looked at him, was silent for a second, then shook her head gently.
"Some things I can't tell you," she said. "But you don't need to worry about her. She's doing well."
Hachiman stared at her for a few seconds. Those wine-red eyes were quite calm.
It meant she was telling the truth.
This made Hachiman take a deep breath. "Then can you tell me one thing?"
Big Horikita looked at him. "What is it?"
"What is our... relationship right now?" he asked, pointing to himself, then to her.
Big Horikita's eyelashes fluttered lightly.
Hachiman noticed the action.
Because he was quite familiar with Horikita Suzune, even if he didn't know what every subtle expression change meant, the flutter of her eyelashes meant she was hesitating. It meant she was thinking about how to answer. It meant the answer wasn't "colleague," wasn't "friend," wasn't "partner."
"Remember the question I asked you during the sports festival?" Big Horikita didn't answer directly, changing the subject instead.
Hachiman was stunned for a moment. "Which question?"
"If you couldn't go back, would you marry Karuizawa?"
Hachiman nodded. "I remember."
"You said you wouldn't," Big Horikita stated.
"Yeah," Hachiman nodded.
Big Horikita looked at him, the arc of the corners of her mouth deepening a little.
"You were right," she said. "You didn't marry Karuizawa."
Hachiman waited for her to continue.
"However, you got married in this world," she said. "Graduated high school and got married."
Hachiman's pupils contracted slightly.
'Graduated high school.'
In other words, the year he graduated from high school, he got married. He was eighteen then.
"To whom?" His voice was a bit dry.
Big Horikita looked at him, her wine-red eyes reflecting his shadow.
But she didn't answer.
"Guess," she said.
Hachiman stared at her for two seconds.
Then he suddenly understood something.
It wasn't that he couldn't guess. It was that he didn't dare guess.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but the light around him began to sway. Just like last time, white light surged from all directions, swallowing Big Horikita's figure bit by bit. He reached out to grab something, but his fingers passed through the white light, touching nothing.
"Wait—" he said, "You haven't told me—"
Big Horikita's figure became more and more blurred in the white light. But the look in her eyes as she watched him had never changed.
"Take your time," her voice came from afar. "No need to rush. There is still a lot of time."
The white light swallowed everything completely.
Hachiman opened his eyes abruptly.
Ceiling. Curtains. The moonlight through the gap in the curtains.
He lay on his bed, his heart beating fast, so fast he could hear the sound of blood flowing in his ears. He stared at the ceiling for several seconds, then sat up and leaned against the headboard.
'Married after graduating high school.'
To whom?
Big Horikita's face appeared in his mind. The tone of her voice when she spoke, the look in her eyes when she watched him, that arc at the corners of her mouth.
He didn't dare to continue thinking.
Just then, he heard a vague voice. It didn't come from the room, didn't come from the hallway, but from much further away, as if it had come through many layers of walls.
"Still not working. The time for intervention is too short."
Hachiman froze.
The voice was very soft, carrying a hint of regret, and a hint of exhaustion. It wasn't Big Horikita's voice; it was another girl's voice. He had never heard this voice, but he felt that the emotion in it seemed to be a bit of unwillingness.
'The time for intervention is too short.'
This meant... in other words, his "meeting" with the person from the future wasn't natural, but someone was intervening. Someone was helping him, or rather, helping him establish contact with Big Horikita. Who was that person? Why did they do that?
He leaned against the headboard, staring at the ceiling.
Moonlight squeezed through the gap in the curtains, casting a thin white line on the ceiling. He looked at that white line, his mind filled with the images from just a moment ago.
When Big Horikita said "Guess," there was a smile at the corners of her mouth.
When Big Horikita said "Take your time," her eyes were very gentle.
When Big Horikita said "No need to rush, there is still a lot of time," it was as if everything had been calculated long ago.
He closed his eyes.
But for him right now...
'Married after graduating high school.'
To whom? Could it be that Yukinoshita had also traveled through time? Or, was it not Yukinoshita?
'Ah.'
Hachiman felt like he might not be able to sleep tonight.
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