I had forgotten that the person who'd been closest to me was the most dangerous.
The classroom after school. Outside the window, it was already getting dark. The sun had started setting a lot earlier. As I was getting ready to leave, Yuna came and stood in front of my desk.
The childhood friend who had sneered at me for three years as cringe, switched to Shota, and dumped me. That same Yuna, whom I no longer even talked to.
"Hey, Ren."
Hearing my name from her for the first time in a while, I braced myself.
"Are you still writing your novels?"
My heart jumped.
I tried hard to look calm.
"...Why?"
"It's all over the internet, isn't it? That anonymous author, Fuyuno Yui. The internet sleuths are saying all kinds of stuff."
Yuna showed me her phone screen.
On it, posts hunting for the author's identity were lined up in rows. That the update times matched a student's daily rhythm, that the regional bookstore rollout was skewed toward a particular area. And—an analysis of the writing style.
Freakishly gritty, total-affirmation stuff, like "live, even if you have to crawl through the mud."
Yuna's finger had stopped on that line.
"When I read this, it suddenly came back to me."
Her eyes looked hard at me.
"The stories you used to make me read. I was like, those were kind of like this too, weren't they."
I remember. Back in middle school, I worked up the courage and had Yuna read the first story I ever wrote. I'd wanted a comment. Just one person was enough, I'd wanted it to reach someone.
What came back was a single line: "It's kind of dark." Even so, I didn't stop writing. I couldn't stop.
That oldest reader was now in front of me, trying to guess who I really was. It was an ironic thing.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Yuna was the one who'd watched my three years from closest up. What kind of stories I wrote, when I updated—she had a vague idea.
The style of those stories she'd cut down as cringe—ironically, Yuna remembered it.
Come to think of it, I remembered something. Yuna had once peered at my laptop screen. What's that, it's so dark, she'd snorted, and that had been the end of it. But it seemed she hadn't forgotten that one moment when she'd looked.
The memories of the person who was closest to you become the sharpest blades later on.
"I mean, there's no way, but..."
Yuna lowered her voice, just a little.
"There's no way that bottom-tier Ren is Fuyuno Yui, the one who's blowing up right now... right?"
Her tone still had a ring of half-belief, half-doubt. Thinking it's impossible, but suspecting still. The scales were still swaying.
If I showed even the slightest hint of being shaken here—
The scales would tip all at once.
"...You're giving me way too much credit."
I took my coat from the back of the chair, slung my bag over my shoulder, and stood up.
"There's no way I've got that kind of talent. I'm the guy who went nowhere for three years. You know that."
Saying it myself, something stung deep in my chest. It wasn't a lie. But using it now to hide the truth, it sounded pretty pathetic.
The fact that I'd gone nowhere for three years. Once, those had been words that stabbed me. Now I was using them as a shield. What I wanted to protect wasn't fame. It was those quiet nights, and the faces of the people who'd written just three comments.
Yuna eased off, just slightly. "...Yeah, I guess so."
But deep in her eyes, a spark that wouldn't go out still remained.
When I left the entrance hall, my breath came out white. For the first time this year.
That night, at the tower condo, I told Koyomi about Yuna.
Once again, the warmth vanished from Koyomi's face.
"Yuna, is it."
The other name that had cut down the work as cringe. A name Koyomi had never once forgotten.
"She's starting to catch on. ...It might be a matter of time."
When I said that, Koyomi quietly took out her phone.
And she showed me a post from a certain account.
It was Yuna's social media.
We'd only just parted, and she'd already posted.
So my childhood friend might be a viral author. I've got way too many hunches and I'm shaking.
I stared at the screen.
She hadn't given a name yet. She wasn't sure, either.
But—the footsteps had already come right up close.
Koyomi quietly turned off the screen.
"...Something may happen tomorrow."
Her voice was as quiet as ice.