14 You and I Have a Bit of Fame

According to Takeshi Yamamoto, he recognized me as early as the first year of middle school.

By "recognized," he didn’t mean that he was passively influenced by the swirling rumors and gossip around the school.

Like me, he didn’t care much about hearsay regarding strangers. Instead, it was during morning training that he first memorized my appearance, only to belatedly realize that I was actually in the same grade—and even a “well-known figure.”

“Back then, whenever I mentioned your name, classmates around would suddenly gather to listen,” this equally notable figure looked up at the sky and reminisced. “But even though they never talked to you, just like me at the time, they somehow knew more. It’s really strange.”

By the riverbank, we stood face to face on the lush, low grass. I clutched the volleyball in my arm, finding his words odd: “They knew more than you?”

“Yeah.”

The black-haired boy admitted candidly, unreserved. “At first, I overheard a group chatting—”

-

“...Wow, she’s unbelievably cute, like a goddess descended from the heavens.”

“Dude, you’re amazing! Where did you get her from?”

“Hehe, don’t ask.”

“I live for this moment...”

“Really lucky to be assigned to Class A, but we should also check out Class C later.”

Whispers, repressed yet impudent, hovered over the same desk. New boys pressed their heads together at the back row, endless murmurs of admiration. The students sitting on the chairs crossed their arms with smug smiles.

Suddenly, a boy named Nakajima standing at the edge stiffened.

Before he could react, a cheerful greeting sounded in his ear: “Yo, morning! What are you all looking at?”

Nakajima turned his head to see a tall classmate with black hair and brown eyes, sharp brows but friendly and bright expression. The taller boy bent his arm naturally, resting an elbow on Nakajima’s shoulder.

Oh God, it was Yamamoto.

Rumor had it he had made the baseball team’s starting lineup in his first year after tryouts, right?

He was also easy to get along with... The boy felt somewhat flattered, quickly hiding his dismissive grin from earlier and explaining, “Oh, uh... morning. We’re looking at photos.”

But no further introduction was needed. Yamamoto was good at making friends, and many there were closer to him. Someone noticed his arrival and called out enthusiastically, “Yamamoto’s here!” Then they pulled a disordered photo from the table and stretched out a hand to pass it.

Curious, Yamamoto took the photo. “What’s this?”

“Come on, Yamamoto! This is what I painstakingly collected—” The boy sitting upright, clearly the instigator, boasted loudly, “The collection of the cutest girls’ casual clothes at Bisei Junior High! Not only from our grade but even some senior girls!”

The surrounding boys praised eagerly, “So impressive!”

Nearby girls sitting in small groups all looked on with disgust.

“Boys are so gross...”

“Pathetic.”

“Can’t we report this to the teacher?”

Nakajima, on the outskirts, heard clearly.

He knew this behavior was pretty low. But as one who had seen the photos, he nervously muttered to Yamamoto, “What the hell. They’re talking about handsome guys too, so why can’t we look at pretty boys...?”

“Is she from our school too?” Yamamoto suddenly asked.

The boy was taken aback, “Huh?”

The weight on his shoulder vanished the next second. Yamamoto straightened up, holding the photo just handed to him, studying it earnestly, then turned to ask, “Who is she?”

Nakajima glanced over instinctively.

The small photo captured a girl beaming brightly while shopping with a friend.

Her brown chestnut hair fell to her shoulders, with a delicate braid on the side of her face; her so-called casual outfit was a neat plaid dress, school-style, adorned with a pale pink bow tie. She held a small Siamese cat-shaped wallet.

Spring was radiant, cherry blossoms scattered on the ground. The girl stood in front of a crepe stall, seemingly chatting with a friend about which flavor to choose.

Oh, that’s...

“Saiga,” Nakajima replied at once, “Her surname’s Saiga, first name is Tamaki. She’s in Class 1-C. At the opening ceremony, wasn’t there a top new student giving a speech? That was her.”

Yamamoto said, “I see. I was too sleepy during the principal’s speech to pay attention.”

Seeing even this famous baseball starter staring intently at the photo, Nakajima felt invigorated. He eagerly poured out his thoughts:

“No worries, just pay attention now. Yamamoto, you think she’s cute too, right? As I said, Saiga-san is the kind of utterly irresistible cuteness. Honestly, our classmate Sasagawa is just as cute, but her brother looks pretty scary—seems like you’d get beaten if you tried to approach her...”

He shuddered for two seconds, then resumed with enthusiasm and varied tone, “But Saiga seems to be an only child. Her mom’s a manager at a foreign trade company, dad’s a university professor—sounds so cool! Good family, great personality, and talented at everything. She’s practically a goddess on earth... Oh, she can play piano and violin, and is excellent at Go and oil painting too, winning many awards. A real genius!”

Yamamoto still looked at the photo. “Really? You know a lot.”

---

Nakajima grew more excited: “Because I’m kind of a newly recruited member of Tamaki’s fan club. By the way, I heard someone went to the library to borrow a book and found the last copy taken; they were upset, but then Saiga lent it to him right away! So jealous—! That means when it’s time to return the book, you can talk to Saiga again, right? Also, in the first few days of school, someone confessed to Saiga. She politely declined, but being rejected still leaves you wanting more, doesn’t it?!”

Yamamoto: “You can think like that?”

Nakajima: “Of course! Oh, and you probably don’t know yet—Saiga joined the volleyball team. She’s already a starter and can compete in the junior high league this year... Wow, I want to see the goddess in volleyball gear! That’d be the best! Speaking of which, Yamamoto, if you’re interested, want to come watch us practice at the second gym sometime?”

With this passionate invitation, the black-haired boy finally fixed his gaze on Nakajima. The latter was so fired up, as if determined to make a new friend, his enthusiasm blazing—

Yet at the moment their eyes met, he inexplicably felt a tightening at the back of his neck, a wave of embarrassment.

The fiery blaze in his heart dimmed somewhat; he felt awkward for no reason. But looking closely at Yamamoto’s expression, there seemed to be nothing wrong...

“What to see?” Yamamoto seemed simply not to understand.

Nakajima snapped back to reality and hastily said, “Uh, just, uh, watching the girls’ volleyball practice.”

“Hm—that’s probably not possible. The baseball team trains too; I can’t get away.”

“Oh, right, that’s true.”

A very sincere refusal.

Nakajima thought to himself, as expected, a guy of this caliber wouldn’t be interested in pretty girls like an ordinary student. Soon, Yamamoto’s clear voice rang out again, undiminished in volume:

“Besides, that’s not really right, is it? Doesn’t it bother others? I don’t like being disturbed when I train. And taking photos, at least get permission first.”

He was stunned for a moment, then looked up.

The boys gathered around the table gradually quieted.

Someone first noticed the awkwardness, glancing nervously at the tallest and most influential Yamamoto; the others looked at each other, hesitation plain on their faces.

The classroom’s only noisy corner fell into a winding, awkward silence. Even the students in front turned back in surprise, frequently looking behind.

“Um, Yamamoto...” someone stammered, “What did you say?”

The baseball star, under the spotlight, seemed completely unfazed by the strange atmosphere.

He smiled faintly as always, but his brow furrowed sharply and coldly. Nakajima took a step back, timidly withdrawing, watching this guy openly voice his disapproval of the inappropriate behavior.

“Didn’t catch that? I said,” Yamamoto’s words landed firmly, “this kind of behavior only causes trouble. That’s enough, stop doing it from now on.”

-

“...That’s how, by accident, I found out you were just two doors down!” Yamamoto, clad in deep blue sportswear, looked up thoughtfully at the sky.

After dawn, as time passed, the sky gradually brightened with a clear, awakening light.

Occasionally, passersby on bicycles rode along the riverside boardwalk. The early morning breeze drifted lazily, swaying reeds, rippling the quiet river.

I stood in the wind, listening quietly to him.

I remembered that incident too.

Among the friends I had made at the start of school, there was inevitably a classic gossip type. She quickly heard the news outside—that some boys were secretly taking photos of girls and ranking them—and rushed back to tell me, one of those involved.

“Super awful, so disgusting!” The gossip’s face twisted with disgust, indignantly saying, “But luckily, some senior girls found out and are planning to report it to the disciplinary teacher. They want to punish them! I heard someone from Class A tried to stop them, but the ringleader refused to apologize and almost caused a fight. Such rotten people.”

The matter didn’t escalate much further.

Those boys who had conspired sparked outrage, got beaten by the strict disciplinary committee, had their cameras and backups destroyed, and behaved themselves after that. Officially they were suspended for reflection for half a month, but in reality, they were hospitalized lying flat on their backs.

The photos were returned to each girl. A few days later, no one talked about it anymore.

After all, Bisei Junior High wasn’t famous but was a gathering of talent: today, the boxing and kendo clubs clashed; tomorrow, the disciplinary committee would send fifty people to the infirmary; one class’s lazy students set a record low in PE, and a mysterious explosion occurred behind the teaching building.

Such mischief was neither trivial nor major.

Only the girls used as gossip fodder truly felt the harm caused. Even now, thinking back, I still feel deeply uncomfortable.

But that was a year ago.

So rather than dwelling on this unpleasant old story, what mattered more was a sentence from that gossip.

I spoke: “At that time...”

Hearing this, Yamamoto, who had been gazing into the distance, immediately looked down at me. I hesitated, then continued, “Did you fight that person?”

“Huh,” he said surprised, tugging his backpack strap, “You know that?”

It really was him.

To step up and stop it was already very brave; I didn’t expect he would actually get physical.

I looked at him a little longer, surprised. Before I could speak, this troublesome yet genuinely kind classmate explained proactively.

“But not really. I don’t quite remember. Basically, he stood up to grab my collar...”

Yamamoto must be carefree, forgetting quickly. He frowned, showing effort to recall, “Then he asked if I wanted to fight. I didn’t understand why, since I had no intention. But I wasn’t afraid, so I said I’d accept. If he lost, he had to promise to delete the photos and apologize to you all.”

“So in the end, no fight?” I caught the implied meaning.

He nodded. “Yeah. He wanted to start but later said to let me go, no fight, and hid the photos.”

Just as expected. I hummed softly inside.

What a blustering coward, both stupid and bad, willing to do but not to take responsibility.

Yamamoto laughed, “Haha, right?”

Yeah. Hm?

Wait a sec. My heart stopped for a moment, and then, unable to hide my seriousness, I silently raised a hand to cover my mouth.

Did I just say what I thought? No way.

No, it seems I really said it out loud.

...My head hurts.

This kind of angry complaint should stay buried inside, absolutely not be heard. And why is it always, always, always this Yamamoto?

Talking to him never goes smoothly. But hearing the guy who took secret photos get a taste of his own medicine actually made me happy. My personality is awful—I mean, it’s been so long... Ah! Nothing good ever happens when I talk to Yamamoto!

I watched him warily. He still smiled, but when he noticed my stare, he blinked, a small question mark seeming to pop over his head.

“What’s wrong, Saiga?” His expression showed a bit of tolerant curiosity. “Any other questions? Feel free to ask.”

“...”

I lowered my hand from my mouth, hugged the volleyball tighter, slung my backpack securely, and started walking.

I briskly walked onto the riverside path, but a shadow always followed close behind.

“Nothing to ask? Then it’s my turn. Still unhappy? Are you sure you won’t practice anymore?” the tail nagged. “I really didn’t mean to bother you, forgive me once more. Please, please.”

I stepped faster: “I didn’t forgive you last time.”

The tail was shocked: “Really? Then forgive me this time?”

Just past six in the morning, only breakfast shops were open, and the streets were nearly empty. I suddenly stopped, turned, and looked seriously at the boy behind me:

“This time I’m not angry. It was my own carelessness. Besides, I’m grateful you were brave enough to stand up back then... That’s something most people can’t do. But I was clear last time, Yamamoto, please pretend nothing happened and don’t talk to me anymore.”

Yamamoto also stopped.

As the ambiguous dawn light broke through the clouds, pouring golden rays, I saw him standing a short distance away, his face briefly showing surprise.

At that moment, I instinctively hugged the volleyball tighter.

I had spoken too harshly; I shouldn’t have. He meant well.

“...Sorry.” I couldn’t help but soften my expression, easing the tone, “And about our chance meeting today, I hope you won’t...”

“Saiga,” Yamamoto suddenly said, “You seem to be apologizing all the time, but you don’t have to. Didn’t things go pretty well just now?”

I didn’t follow. “What?”

What went well? Me bossing him around, not wanting to talk, or me rudely reiterating not to contact me... None of that could be described as “pretty well.”

But he didn’t answer my question.

On the deserted street, even the orderly buildings seemed to be in a light slumber. Yamamoto looked at me calmly. The morning light painted his eyes a deep golden hue.

Then the boy smiled brightly again.

“It’s nothing. I was just thinking,” he said cheerfully, “You say don’t come to you, but your expression says otherwise.”

“...”

Yamamoto continued sincerely, “Sometimes you speak the truth, sometimes what you say seems a little strange. Saiga, you really are an interesting person. But rest assured, everything I say is true, including that I never regret meeting you.”

I looked at him, silent.

He didn’t mind my observant quiet. He seemed to think of something, his gaze drifting toward the sky, then scratching the back of his head before fixing his eyes on me again.

Though the faint dawn light tinged his ears pink, the boy’s squinting smile was like sunshine.

“Since discovering you’re a strong and fascinating person, I’ve looked forward to school more every day, just like I look forward to playing baseball after class.” He said with a hint of frustration, “So you telling me not to talk to you—I thought about it a lot, but I still can’t do that.”