MTL: Dexter, Kael
FTL(Hardest Part): KayL
TLC/Editor: Alisa
Final Editors: Kakarotto (aka G-String)
Note: We are using the Chinese Official Translation and Original Japanese Raw in our translations. Our Editors and Raw Readers (Translators) have done their best to give you the best quality English translation. We hope you enjoy reading Chiramune as much we do!
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9
Silently, delicately, I closed the door behind me.
──And I ran.
I ran and ran, running with all my might.
Wait, don’t let your tears spill yet.
Just a little longer, a bit more, grit your teeth and endure, not yet, not yet, not yet────.
And so, I dashed into one of the toilet stalls and locked the door.
“─────ughh!!!”
Covering my mouth with both hands, I let out a voiceless cry.
“G-guh…..”
How naive I must have been.
“The books I have touched until now, the words… they are the ones someone desperately excavated, aiming for something that only they could create. So, in this world, there might be stories, words that only I can discover, and if I don’t find them, they’ll be buried forever.”
I recalled the words I once directed towards my father.
Yet, despite saying such things so self-righteously, I understood nothing.
The act of unearthing words, of weaving stories.
The act of delivering them to someone.
I didn’t understand how far of a journey it truly was.
I stumbled at the entrance, completely oblivious to my own stumble, and proudly stood there, clueless.
Were my hopes invested in my dreams really so shallow?
Had I learned nothing from the numerous precious books that have saved me?
Was I merely putting up a facade, stringing together eloquent phrases, only to find blank pages when flipping open the cover?
──It was completely futile.
Despite suppressing it, my voice felt as if it’s about to wither away. Tears trickled through the gaps between my fingers, and I sniffled uncontrollably.
Coughing like being lured by bait, my chest burned with a searing sensation.
Believing I could do better, deluding myself into thinking I had done well.
“Even though you’re just a high school student, you’ve accomplished something remarkable.”
I had whimsically hoped for praise like that, floating in a dreamy haze.
Although the editor-in-chief said that those who were serious and passionate were more prone to make mistakes, at the moment, it offered me no solace.
Because once, you were the embodiment of my admiration.
Because at the present, I wished that I would become the guiding light in your journey.
However, without any guidance, you intuitively grasped the essence.
You saw through my superficiality.
──It was frustrating, too infuriating!
If only I hadn’t invited you, would I have avoided such agony?
No, that’s not the case. I firmly told myself.
This pain didn’t stem from the embarrassment I faced in front of you, or the disappointment you might have felt. It wasn’t some ephemeral feeling tinted with cherry blossoms either.
It was simply because I’ve been made aware of my limitations. Because the distance between me and my dreams had been thrust upon me.
This was probably the first time I’ve experienced such a setback in something I truly loved.
I excelled in academics since I was little. I wasn’t particularly skilled in sports, but I could accept losing to someone in that field with a “Well, that’s how it goes.” And I didn’t even participate in club activities.
So, I had never experienced being crushed by my own immaturity and helplessness along the path leading to the place I wanted to reach, staking something I couldn’t compromise on.
Fear enveloped me, I hugged my own body with both arms, tightly gripping around my upper arms.
Now I understood why Father was so worried.
Chasing after dreams must be a cycle of setbacks and regrets, breaking the spirits of many halfway through the journey. He must have seen countless people who couldn’t endure and gave up.
Even if I were to become an editor,
Perhaps the book I confidently pushed wouldn’t sell at all. Or I could be removed as the editor for beloved authors due to my lacking abilities. It was also possible that I would hinder the potential talent I encountered by not guiding them correctly…
As long as I chose this path, there was no escaping it.
Creak, I heard the sound of the door opening. Soon after, a gentle knock came at the door of my stall.
“You did well not to cry in that situation. I… couldn’t have done it.”
The voice that reached me through the door was Hirayama-san’s tender voice.
“You don’t have to respond, but could you listen to me for a moment?”
I fear that if I opened my mouth even a little, it would turn into sobs.
Knock, knock. I returned the knock from the inside.
“Thank you. I truly respect you, Nishino-san.”
At those unexpected words, the tension in my arms faded away suddenly.
“You are frustrated, embarrassed, and feeling pathetic. Above all, you can’t forgive your own incompetence, and that’s why you can’t stop trembling, right?”
Knock. I responded with a single knock.
“The first time I was engulfed by such emotions was about a year after joining the company. Until then, there were many difficult times too. My boss at the time was incredibly strict, repeatedly rejecting the manuscripts I wrote, and I would stay up all night at the editorial department, fixing them while nearly in tears. But…”
Knock.
“To be honest, back then, I made excuses for myself. I would say things like, ‘It can’t be helped since I’m inexperienced. I’m doing my best, so why can’t they acknowledge it?’ I would drink alcohol, vent to friends, and somehow make it through each day.”
Knock.
“But, you know, there was a time when I had the opportunity to interview the bakery that I had always wanted to feature in my articles ever since I started this job. It was a small shop run by an elderly couple near my house. I loved their sauced pork cutlet buns, ham and egg buns, croquette buns, and those savory-filled rolls. Sometimes, when I dropped by after school, they would secretly give me the leftover buns. During summer vacation, my mom would ask me to buy breakfast there, and I loved it because it meant I could join in the radio exercises afterward.”
Knock.
“At the time of the interview, they had already retired, and their son took over the shop. Still, I was determined to repay their kindness by creating the best article possible. It’s quite embarrassing to admit, but maybe that was the first time since becoming an editor that I genuinely felt passionate. I poured my heart out during the interview, spending hours selecting photos and repeatedly asking the designer for revisions. I meticulously crafted every word and sentence, obsessing over every detail. I thought I had created the perfect page.”
Knock.
“After sending the confirmation data, the son of the shop owner called the editor-in-chief. Following the stern instructions from him, I headed to the shop wearing a suit I wouldn’t usually wear. There, the son, with a bright red face, unleashed his fury on me.”
Knock.
“He said, ‘Did you come here to interview my old man’s shop?’“
………..
“I was clouded by memories and sentimental attachments. I had focused only on the sauce pork cutlet buns and ham and egg buns from my memories, but for the shop, those were just extras, remnants of the past. The son had made countless efforts to appeal to the younger generation, coming up with various menu items and displays. The love I had for that bakery had indeed been passed down to the next generation in a new form, but I couldn’t see any of it.”
………..
“I broke down in tears on the spot and couldn’t say a word. The editor-in-chief apologized on my behalf, and we had to change the assigned editor and redo the interview to secure permission for publication.”
…Knock.
“Even now, sometimes I dream about it. This job has the potential to trample upon the things I love most.”
Knock.
“──But despite that regret from that day, it’s because of it that I’ve been able to persevere this far. Because I can’t let it end like this. Someday, in the most amazing way, I’ll introduce my beloved bakery once again. I’ll make sure it reaches every corner of Fukui and even beyond.”
Knock, knock.
“Regret is our nourishment. Of course, we should take pride in the pages we’re assigned, the works we create. I believe we should always give our all and face them with unwavering dedication. But behind that, there’s always the lingering thought of whether we could have done better, if only we had done this or that… The moment we lose that feeling is surely the graveyard of editors.”
“That’s why,” Hirayama-san said.
“──I respect you, Nishino-san. You, who hasn’t even graduated from high school, cry and feel regret without showing it to anyone. I can’t say irresponsible things, but you’ve reached that point ten years ahead of me. If you don’t forget the tears shed today, I’m sure you’ll become an excellent editor.”
Those words, that tenderness, eventually transformed into a warm shower of tears.
I was lucky to have Hirayama-san shared her story to a high school student like me, someone she had no connection with. She opened up about a past full of regrets that she could never forget.
The same could be said to the editor-in-chief as well, he could have easily avoided this trouble if he wanted to.
I will never forget, I placed a hand on my chest.
I wiped away the tears, suppressing my trembling voice, imprinting it in my memory,
“……Yes!”
And sending it forth to my future self.
“I’ll be waiting,” Hirayama-san’s footsteps fade away.
After confirming that I was alone, just one more time…
“AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH──”
Until my voice went hoarse, until the rain ceased, I cried.
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Plebian Translation 