Chapter 6: The Numbers of My World and the Echo of a Friend

Beyond my parents, the most significant person in my life was Aoyama Ren, my cherished childhood friend.

For he was, after all, the very first human being to truly enter my world, apart from my parents.

I, Watanabe Hayato, presently enjoyed a fair degree of renown and popularity within the school.

Yet, the impetus behind all my endeavors stemmed not merely from my parents’ expectations—my mother, a university lecturer; my father, a physician, surely their child ought to be exceptional—but also from a deeper, more profound motivation.

Crucially, there was one particular person who required my protection.

My father often recounted how, prior to my third birthday, I remained silent, my greatest pastime being the meticulous counting of building blocks scattered across the floor, rather than assembling them into structures.

To be frank, I find that scenario entirely comprehensible; even now, I instinctively tally the number of utility poles lining the streets, the individual tiles on a floor, or the books adorning each desk.

There was no deeper meaning to these actions; I simply followed an innate compulsion.

Then, one particular day, a being seemingly my age was gently placed by my parents onto the very carpet where I habitually performed my counts.

In stark contrast to my own quiet habits, he delighted in stacking the blocks sky-high, only to gleefully topple them, letting out excited shrieks as the pieces scattered, repeating this ritual time and again.

Unsure of its significance, I paid him no mind; even when he tugged at my hand, I remained utterly oblivious to his intentions, and it was only after several futile attempts that he finally relented.

Occasionally, his presence would even intrude upon my line of sight during mealtimes.

He would, on occasion, offer me sweets, which I invariably tucked into my pocket, only to retrieve them daily and arrange them beside my building blocks.

The count, once more, had risen.

“……”

Typically, we coexisted without any particular disturbances.

Yet, as time wore on, he would invariably approach, tugging at me, demanding that I stabilize his block towers, preventing their premature collapse.

This, I vehemently disliked.

It was an emotion that hardly surprised me; I shrieked, ordering him to depart.

In the days that followed, he vanished from my sight, and day after day, I found myself staring at the building blocks on the carpet.

Even when new toys were offered, they failed to pique my interest.

Compared to such novelties, the building blocks were what I knew, what I understood.

I counted each face, every angle, every groove, and every color countless times, unearthing a multitude of numbers within them.

However, from that day onward, an unsettling quietude seemed to descend upon my surroundings.

Tugging at my mother’s trousers, I gestured for what felt like an eternity before she finally grasped my meaning, and true enough, he returned, taking his place beside me, appearing utterly oblivious to our previous encounter.

To ensure he wouldn’t leave again, I grudgingly acquiesced to his demands, assembling the blocks into what he called castles, houses, and homes, watching animated shows, and even allowing various plush toys—dinosaurs, ladybugs, spiders, and the like—to occupy my sacred carpet.

“……”

It was utterly beyond my comprehension why anyone would favor such formless, rounded objects.

This, at the time, remained my sole perspective.

The events that followed were so utterly devoid of interest that I simply ceased to recall them.

In essence, I did not attend school until I was eight; during the days when that fellow, Aoyama Ren, went off to learn, I was left utterly alone, engaged solely in my counting.

Now, too, I comprehend that emotion: loneliness.

Yet, in those days, I was incapable of understanding myself; my world was solely comprised of the numbers represented by building blocks, and whenever that particular emotion surfaced, I would instinctively tug at my parents’ clothes.

After all, it had been the same that other time; I believed that by ceaselessly gesturing, I could compel him to return to my side.

Waking the following morning, I would find him seated upon that very carpet, reiterating those actions that held no interest for me.

Though I am loath to admit it, Aoyama Ren’s dismissal from school invariably marked a happier period for me.

Others might not have perceived it, but those particular memories still linger, etched vividly within my heart.

This unreserved gaze upon the world, and upon myself, forged the “Watanabe Hayato” who is now admired by countless individuals.

Mathematics remains my most cherished subject, followed by physics, with literature trailing in last place.

Identifying patterns, then acting upon them, and ultimately achieving success—these are the endeavors at which I particularly excel.

Aoyama Ren, that very individual, excelled in domains entirely antithetical to my own.

Incidentally, the Aoyama Ren etched in my memory was far more cheerful, more foolish, and more headstrong than the somber, black-rimmed glasses-wearing figure he presents today.

At midday, I was plagued by a nightmare, a vivid recollection of an incident that transpired at the Aoyama residence when I was merely eight years old.

To this very day, I only recall the devastating aftermath: Aoyama Ren’s father vanished, his mother perished protecting him, their home crumbled, and the family was utterly shattered.

At the time, I grasped none of the true gravity of the situation; my sole fear was that Aoyama Ren would no longer be there to make noise beside me. For this singular, selfish reason, I seized a moment of distraction and dashed into the perilous ruins.

I called out Aoyama Ren’s name, but received no reply. Swiftly, the adults discovered me, rushing past the cordon to pull me out, yet in that precise moment, I pointed towards the debris in the corner, claiming to have heard a sound emanating from it.

There was no logical basis for my claim; it felt like a desperate, all-or-nothing gamble, or perhaps even a mischievous attempt to fool the adults. Yet, fate, in its peculiar way, revealed Aoyama Ren truly was trapped beneath that immense slab of concrete.

I awoke from my nap with a stiff neck, a persistent ache plaguing me, and my mood, inexplicably heavy from the lingering dream. Though I had initially intended to visit Aoyama Ren’s classroom that afternoon, the constant throng of new classmates surrounding me left me utterly overwhelmed.

Just as now, an upperclassman named Kato Eri walked beside me; she was this year’s student council president, meaning that from this year forward, the person I, as vice president, would assist was no longer Mutsuki-senpai, but this very girl, whose image graced the Shinonome High School recruitment posters.

“Mutsuki-senpai… she actually wanted you to become the student council president.”

“Hayato, you’re incredibly popular at school, and everyone on the student council acknowledges your capabilities. But why didn’t you run for election last year?”

As we exited the school building, Kato-senpai abruptly posed the question.

“Truthfully, Kato-senpai, you already know I’m someone who dreads trouble, so a position like student council president is utterly unsuited for me.”

I replied thus, for I was far more accustomed to the quiet work of organizing and coordinating from behind the scenes than to the overt task of winning hearts and minds.

“Perhaps it is precisely because of this disposition that you are able to devise such ingenious solutions for many issues,”

Kato-senpai quickened her steps, drawing level with me. “Take the last cultural festival, for instance; if Hayato hadn’t taken the initiative to contact and organize all the clubs, and then completely revised the schedule, we would undoubtedly have faced significant problems.”

“However, if Eri-senpai hadn’t been there to console everyone, reignite their spirits, and liaise with the principal and teachers, my plans would have been nothing more than futile abstractions, wouldn’t they?”

I stated indifferently.

Far more crucial than mere theoretical planning, it is the ability to galvanize morale that truly matters; as a leader, this is an invaluable talent.

While numerical viability is undoubtedly significant, true progress is only made when people are inspired to act; otherwise, even the most meticulously crafted plans remain nothing more than castles in the air.

“Ah… indeed.”

Kato-senpai lowered her gaze, fixating on the pavement.

Beneath the cherry blossom tree by the school gate that April, I spotted my current best friend, Aoyama Ren; for some inexplicable reason, he stood noticeably straighter than before, his hair seemed slightly amiss, and he appeared to be muttering to himself.

Upon noticing my presence, Aoyama Ren raised a hand and waved to me.

“My apologies, Kato-senpai, but I have some urgent family matters today, so I’ll be heading home now.”

Offering a quick farewell to the seemingly lost-in-thought senpai, I accelerated my steps.

Though she appeared to have something she wished to convey, the upcoming days promised numerous student council affairs, meaning frequent opportunities to meet, so there was no immediate urgency.

“Ah! See you tomorrow, Hayato.”

As was her custom, Kato-senpai seemed slightly disoriented, and it was precisely this endearing lack of composure that compelled everyone to instinctively seek her opinions.

“See you tomorrow, Kato-senpai.”

I bid her farewell once more, and this time, the hint of regret in her eyes was undeniably more pronounced.

Kato-senpai’s lips parted ever so slightly, before settling back into her customary, gentle smile.

I found myself somewhat perplexed.

Upon the distant slope, the tangerine-hued twilight descended, casting a glow so warm it was almost palpable.

As classmates cycled past, they would offer greetings, and I, in turn, would raise a hand in acknowledgment.

“At noon today, I had a dream.”

As we walked along the path home, I chose this particular way to broach the subject with Ren.

Ren’s expression betrayed a flicker of unease, yet he listened intently as I recounted the details of my dream, and then, upon hearing about my stiff neck, his face clouded with concern.

Numbers, it seemed, still couldn’t entirely quantify the intricacies of the human heart.

I turned to glance at my best friend, who was even more subdued than usual, a phrase lingering on my tongue, but I held it back, much like with Kato-senpai.

Gazing into the distance, the spring sun dipped below the horizon, where earth met sky.

Though I remained uncertain of what steps to take, I distinctly recalled that during that period, Ren had never once pressured me to change; he had simply remained by my side, a boisterous, constant presence.