At Night, I Become a Monster

by Yoru Sumino

  I pulled at my hair as Kasai went to spread the tale around to the other factions of our class, only coming back to my senses when Takao let out a loud “I can’t believe this!”

  Initially, I assumed he was responding to the story about Motoda, but something about his reaction seemed a bit different.

  I found out that Takao had ridden his bike here in the morning on Friday but left it at the school because it was raining so hard, having gotten a ride home from his parents instead. But apparently someone had stolen his bike over the weekend.

  If it disappeared on Saturday, the thief was probably someone from one of the sports clubs. However, saying something like that in a class with a fair number of members in said clubs would make things awkward, which was probably why he had elected to shout and let everyone know at once—both out of a conscientious effort not to ruin our class’s sense of unity and out of fear of making enemies.

  I remembered a time in our second year when Yano made a fuss about someone having stolen her pencil box only for it to turn out that she had forgotten it at home.

  “Acchi, Acchi!”

  “Hm?”

  There came a sudden shout from beside me—Kudou. As I turned to look at her, I realized that there was some sort of liquid dripping onto my pants.

  “Ah!”

  A nosebleed. I quickly dug through my pockets, but I hadn’t brought a tissue or handkerchief.

  “I’ll go get a tissue from Noto,” I said, hurrying from the room with my hand pressed to my mouth. I didn’t want to cause any bother to the people sitting around me. I heard a loud laugh come from behind me. Kasai was probably telling some funny story. My heart was pounding fast, but I ignored it as always. Why would I get a nosebleed all of a sudden? Were the consequences of turning into a monster finally catching up with me?

  I pushed the door to the nurse’s office open with my non-bloodied hand, tasting iron in my mouth. Inside, I saw Noto and an unexpected guest. It was Midorikawa.

  “Knock first, Adachi,” Noto admonished me.

  “Could I have a tissue?”

  As I made my terse request, offering neither apology nor greeting, Noto handed me a tissue box. I took several out, wiped my hand and mouth, and stopped up my nose.

  “Take this, too,” she instructed.

  I took the offered wet wipe and peered into a small mirror on the wall, cleaning up my face. In the corner of the reflection, I saw Midorikawa looking at me.

  “Thank you so much,” I said. “And sorry for not knocking.”

  “Boys aren’t the only ones who come here, you know. You have to be more careful.”

  “I’m sorry. Apologies, Midorikawa,” I said.

  “Mm,” she replied.

  Just as I gripped the doorknob, with an “I’ll be off, then” sort of wave and started to leave, Noto asked me, “How did you get that nosebleed?” A fair question.

  “It just started all of a sudden. I wasn’t even doing anything,” I told her.

  “I see. I said so before, but don’t push yourself too hard. If you ever need it, come here and rest.”

  I said nothing. Just what was it she knew that would make her say that?

  She knew nothing about me, or our class, or Yano, and yet she was telling me not to push myself. It was utterly useless advice, just as much as me telling Iguchi “not to worry about it” that past Friday.

  Could it be that Midorikawa had been telling Noto about what was going on in our class? I wondered, but it was weird enough for my classmate to be talking at all. Surely no teacher would simply let things go if they knew of our class’s situation—even though, logically, there must have been teachers who suspected.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” I said.

  This time I successfully left the room, though I did wonder why Midorikawa was there. Was something wrong with her physically? Or was she just doing as Noto had suggested and taking a break after pushing herself too hard? Whichever it was, I presumed, she seemed like a fragile person and was probably easily damaged, both mentally and physically.

  I suddenly wondered: What about Midorikawa?

  How did she feel about Yano’s bullying? At first, she might have thought that it served her right, angry that Yano had destroyed something so important to her. But how did she feel now? She couldn’t possibly still be angry at this point, after so many months had passed.

  Of course…if she didn’t feel that anymore, then what would she feel?

  I couldn’t dwell on things like that. Nor should I have felt obligated to do something about what might happen with Motoda and Yano at night. Nor should I have been concerning myself with Iguchi. At this rate, I would be ostracized by the class, too. I couldn’t let that happen.

  On the staircase along the way to the classroom, I spotted Yano ahead of me, climbing the stairs, her small body swaying. I swerved past her as quickly as I could. I heard a “Good…morning,” from behind, but I successfully ignored it. It would be fine. I was fine.

  As I calmed down and returned to the classroom, I was greeted by laughter from Kasai.

  “Thinking dirty thoughts, huh?” he asked.

  “I was not,” I replied, returning to my seat after the lighthearted exchange.

  Kudou, who had been the first to notice my nosebleed, gave me a worried look. “What happened?”

  “It was nothing.”

  Everything was fine. I was just like everyone else. Just when I was about to offer some kind of situationally appropriate reply, like, “Guess I shouldn’t have been eating chocolate first thing in the morning,” Yano entered the room.

  “Good…morning.”

  Her greeting went ignored. Yano was smiling that self-satisfied smile, as always.

  Normally, Yano would notice some change in one of our classmates and try to strike up a one-sided conversation about it and then head for her seat as someone clicked their tongue at her.

  Normally.

  Today was different.

  This time, Yano strode up to Iguchi.

  Her manner reminded me of an incident that had happened one day a while back, when the communal dynamic of our class had shifted, just a little. Well, no, it hadn’t changed; it was always the way it was now, I was just late to realize it.

  It was something about the way she walked that reminded me of that day.

  Just as Midorikawa had back then, Iguchi raised her head silently, staring at Yano, who was standing right before her. Perhaps she was thinking, What does she want? Or maybe it was, Don’t mess with me. I was sitting behind Iguchi, so all I could see was the queasy expression on Yano’s face.

  The scene unfolded in the edges of my vision. After giving me a wink, Kudou turned to focus on the pair, as though she had just then noticed what was going on.

  I barely had time to wonder what Yano was planning, except perhaps to realize that Iguchi’s face was angled the exact perfect degree to match up with short little Yano.

  Yano suddenly slapped her across the face.

  The sound of the slap—the unimaginable sound of one girl striking another—the “Eek!” that came from Iguchi just before it, the sound of someone standing up just after, and the “Hey!” that slipped unbidden from my mouth—all of them seemed to ring out at once.

  Chaos erupted.

  Yano cried out in pain as Nakagawa, one of the girls who had previously been shunning Iguchi, grabbed Yano by the hair. She tried to stop Yano from seizing Iguchi’s bag, demanding to know what she was doing. Despite that, Yano smacked the bag feebly into Iguchi, as Motoda, just back from morning practice, asked curiously what was going on. The homeroom teacher stormed in, and his angry shout echoed over the sound of the ringing bell. Everyone was pulled aside and questioned, but Yano refused to answer. Instead, the other girls around explained that Yano had attacked Iguchi without warning—which was true. No one else offered any differing testimony, and Yano had no excuse to give. On the contrary, she was smiling—smugly, as always.

  I saw that look, and a chill r
an down my spine.

  As the teacher took Yano by the hand and exited the room, the classroom—though we had been ordered to remain silent—erupted in a cacophony.

  “The hell is with her?!”

  “You see that?!”

  “Igu-chan, you okay?”

  “I’m gonna kill her!”

  Amidst the din sat Iguchi, looking around herself and timidly taking in the room.

  I was equally frenzied. What had just happened?

  Though of course no one but Yano herself would know the truth, our classmates began to formulate some theories about what had fueled her behavior.

  The most popular girls in the class confessed that Iguchi had been the one to vandalize Yano’s notebook but also that they had been involved themselves. Perhaps, they speculated, it had been the straw that broke the camel’s back, and Yano had decided to enact revenge on sweet and gentle Iguchi, something that she would normally be unable to do.

  I doubt that I could have said anything if I had any alternative theories to offer, but the fact was that I didn’t. In fact, I felt responsible. I’d been the one who informed Yano of Iguchi’s involvement the night before. No matter how guilty she may have felt, Iguchi should have apologized to Yano herself, so one could not expect Yano’s anger to clear up as simply as that. Perhaps she had taken such out-of-character revenge this time, despite saying that she wouldn’t, simply because it was Iguchi.

  Iguchi was a nice girl.

  Why had I taken Yano’s words at face value when she said them? It was Yano, after all. And yet I had wholeheartedly accepted what she’d said.

  The class was indignant.

  “It’s ridiculous to get violent towards Igu-chan just for writing on her stuff,” said Kudou.

  “Y-yeah, seriously,” I replied, hesitantly nodding. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly why I thought Kudou’s statement didn’t quite hit the mark, when I thought about it after.

  Just like Kudou, the general sentiment in the rest of our class was that Yano’s little act of revenge was way out of line—and violence totally over the top. I could agree with that much. But it was hard to accept the group assertion that defacing or destroying someone’s belongings was somehow a lesser sin than violence.

  Would she have escaped similar denouncement if she had merely ripped up Iguchi’s beloved Totoro key chain? Obviously not—it was for the crime of destroying a beloved item that she faced this bullying in the first place.

  I happened to look at Iguchi’s bag then, hanging from her desk. Huh? I thought. The little Totoro, who was always so steadfastly fastened to her bag, was missing.

  Just then, a single silhouette entered through the door at the front of the classroom. It was not our homeroom teacher, nor Yano, but Noto instead.

  “Now then, class, it’s time for greetings.”

  A murmur spread throughout the room at the customary signal, which Noto gave without skipping a beat. Apparently, she was to be our substitute for the day.

  “Well, look who’s here,” Kasai teased, receiving a chilling glare in return.

  Though the class didn’t truly settle down, we managed to move through our daily greetings, after which Noto opened her notepad and gave the morning announcements. For the first time, it occurred to me that the school nurse would participate in the morning faculty meeting as well. After a brief rundown of the administrative notes, she said: “Now, please keep it down until first period begins. Iguchi-san, would you come with me a moment?” Just like that, she led Iguchi away.

  A strange atmosphere, even quieter than before, fell over the classroom, the sort of tense air that could only serve to increase one’s frustrations.

  For one thing, the fact that no one was worried about Yano’s long-standing mistreatment being reported to the homeroom teacher only made the atmosphere feel more tense and weird.

  But what did we have to worry about? Even if Yano were to speak the truth, the rest of the class merely had to vehemently rebuke her, making it altogether a sort of moral lesson, and that would be the end of that. On top of that, no direct violence had ever been done to her, so she had no proof. Surely everyone knew as much.

  There was no point in criticizing or getting angry with anyone if they refused to believe that they were in the wrong.

  Things can only get worse for you when you’re in the wrong. The bullying can grow more insidious, less conspicuous. The most dangerous enemy is an unseen one.

  Our first period on Mondays was an extended homeroom. About two minutes after the bell, our teacher returned with a self-satisfied Yano and a bewildered-looking Iguchi in tow.

  The lesson plan for first period was devoted entirely to calming down the unsettled class. Our teacher explained that what happened this morning was a conflict strictly between the two girls, they’d already apologized to each other, and though the problem that arose was one merely between them, we should please remember that we were all comrades on the road to graduation and not let this affect your exam preparations, and various other platitudes.

  The remainder of the period was devoted to self-directed study. The time was meant to be occupied by lesson prep and completing homework that we had forgotten to bring, but the room was awash with whispers, as though no one at all was concentrating on this task. Midorikawa passed the time reading a book.

  Anyone could probably guess what happened after that. When the period ended, a crowd gathered around Iguchi. Everyone expressed their worries and sympathies, and the other girls offered overexaggerated apologies.

  No one bothered to approach Yano and ask “What’s your problem?!” or anything like that. She merely had her desk kicked away at break time, was struck with countless spitballs during lessons, and had her shoes soaked with water at the end of cleanup.

  And yet the strange, addled Yano grinned throughout it all.

  As I watched her on the way home, pitching forward as someone stomped on her heel, I again realized how little I understood her.

  Monday

  Night

  WHEN I STEPPED OUTSIDE, I spied the moon peeking out from the clouds. I ran beneath the moonlight. I was not thrilled with the task ahead of me, but I knew that I needed to say something. Maybe I felt some twisted sense of obligation, since I was probably the only one who could get some honest answers about this.

  In short, I was headed for the school.

  “What was that all about?” was the first thing I said to Yano-san upon entering the classroom. She was sitting at her desk, apparently playing a game on her phone, before she looked up at me. “Oh…you came.”

  “This morning. What was that?” I continued, moving towards the more spacious rear of the classroom and shifting my body to my usual size.

  “This…morning?”

  “With Iguchi.”

  When I tried to press her, she gave her typical, tiresome reply. “No talking…about the daytime.”

  “You do not get to pull that right now.”

  “You’re so…annoying, Acchi…kun.”

  “I could say the same about you.”

  “It’s not like…you did anything…about it.”

  She had a point. Now that she mentioned it, I hadn’t. When I mulled it over again, wondering just why I felt so viscerally moved by this, I soon realized.

  “So what happened to not wanting to hurt nice people?” I asked.

  “I don’t…want to.”

  “So then why?” I demanded again.

  Yano-san pursed her lips. The look on her face resembled the faces of adults I remembered seeing as a small child, as though she were looking annoyedly at a toddler making some selfish demand. She heaved a theatrical sigh and opened those pursed lips to speak.

  “No one’s… ignoring Igu-chan anymore…are they?”

  With an air that strongly suggested that she had been forced to say something that she did not want to, Yano-san once again returned to her game.

  Though I had been the one to raise the question, I hadn’t prepared myself for
the reply. I felt eviscerated by her words. It felt as though the earth had just moved beneath my feet, though it hadn’t.

  “Daytime talk…is over now.”

  “Wha?”

  “It’s cloudy…but the rain stopped. Let’s…do something.”

  With a sound effect that sounded very much like a Game Over, Yano-san slipped her phone back into her pocket and looked out the window. I followed her gaze and was startled to see something moving in the building across the field. But when I looked closely, I realized it was just the shifting moonlight playing tricks on my eyes.

  I was still flustered by Yano-san’s words, by the reason for her actions.

  Still, it was a bit strange.

  “Iguchi-san was the one who wrote on your notebook, though.”

  “So I heard. You keep…saying…the same things.”

  “That’s because you keep ignoring them.”

  I couldn’t understand her. Iguchi-san was most certainly a nice girl. However, that was only as far as I, living on the inside of our class’s united front, was concerned. Iguchi-san had actively ignored Yano-san for months, and Yano-san had to have known how shaken Iguchi-san was in the moment that she’d picked up that eraser. She would never had picked it up if she hadn’t been caught off guard.

  So, was Yano-san really saying that she made herself a scapegoat for the sake of even that amount of kindness?

  “I don’t understand you.”

  “You keep…repeating yourself, Acchi-kun. Did you forget…what you said yourself?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That mysteries…are only mysteries…when they’re mysterious.”

  “Iguchi-san was the one who said that.”

  The black droplets across my body trembled but not out of irritation or malice. This was an uneasy feeling that my heart did not know how to handle, like the sensation of seeing a shape or a color I had never seen before.

  “S-so you’re fine with that?”

  “With…what?” she asked.

  “I mean…”

  With the fact that things were going to become even worse for her than they ever were before, I wanted to say, but could not find the words to do so.