Chapter 91 - Chapter 89: A Story Where There's No Way I Have Regrets
It seemed Yuko and the others had passed the test. Although they had made the painful mistake of failing to finish off an infected, the boy didn't blame them or complain about that fact itself. After returning to the academy in the minivan they'd acquired in the village, there was no sign of the boy preparing to leave.
"For now, let's call it a learner's permit."
With those final words, the boy returned to his assigned room in the dormitory, cradling his gun. It likely meant he couldn't make a judgment based on today alone. However, Yuko felt relieved that he hadn't said he was leaving immediately.
The food found in the village was meager, but the acquisition of seasonings, which had been running low, was a blessing. For dinner, for the first time in a long while, they were able to have a single second helping of rice, but Yuko and the others who had gone to the village had no appetite. Even when other female students spoke to her, Rei was miles away, and Aki had gone straight to her room to lie down without even touching her dinner.
It was only natural to lose one's appetite after seeing such a sight. Yuko told the students what the village had become and what she had seen there, but it didn't seem to feel real to those who hadn't gone.
The boy said he would continue going to that village in the future. Each time, he likely intended to take new students to show them the reality of the outside world. Whether that was right or wrong, Yuko didn't know yet. All she understood was that the world had truly changed.
Yuko sat alone in her chair in the dim staff room, gazing out the window. Snow had started falling again. Even so, it was only a light powder; it wouldn't accumulate and would likely melt away cleanly by tomorrow morning.
To save electricity, the only light in the staff room was the flame of a candle placed on Yuko's desk. The orange flame flickered, casting Yuko's shadow onto the room where the blackout curtains were tightly drawn. Nothing had been written yet in the teaching diary illuminated by the small orange light.
Suddenly, sensing a presence at the entrance of the staff room, Yuko looked up. In the dim room, the face of the boy carrying a rifle emerged like a ghost. Yuko was so startled by his sudden appearance she thought her heart might stop.
"Sensei, what are you doing in a place like this at this hour? Shouldn't you be sleeping by now?"
"You're the one... wait, you were on lookout duty, weren't you. Good work."
The short hand of the clock had long since passed twelve, but she wasn't in the mood to sleep. The boy must have been standing watch on the roof until now. His hat and the shoulders of his jumper were wet with melted snow. Ever since the attack by the wild dogs, it had been decided that one person would always stand watch on the school building's roof.
"I was trying to write in the diary, but it's not going very well..."
"A diary? Do you write in it every day?"
"Yes, always. Even after it became just us left in this academy, always."
The teaching diary, with this fiscal year's numbers drawn on the cover, already had three-quarters of its pages filled. There were only three months' worth left. However, even when next April came, a new teaching diary would likely not be distributed to Yuko.
"The teaching diary... that's the one you always had, right? The one you open for morning attendance and such..."
"That's right. Also for memos, or noting down things that happened that day."
"You've been doing that the whole time? Since March?"
Until March ended, she had used last year's teaching diary. Since entering April, she had found the one for this fiscal year in the warehouse and had been using it. On the attendance page, only the names of the ten students remaining at the academy were listed. And since March, they had been marked only with circles signifying attendance.
"Yes. You might say it's a pointless thing to do."
"Well, I suppose so. I don't intend to criticize other people's habits, though. Come to think of it, I've been curious—why are you the only adult at this academy, Sensei? Weren't there supposed to be janitors or security guards? Surely they didn't push all the responsibility onto one young teacher and everyone else just went home?"
It was natural for the boy to find it strange. No matter how much of an emergency it was or what measures were taken to send students home, someone always had to remain at the academy. There was no way such a duty would be pushed onto Yuko alone, who had just become a teacher, and a private school of this scale would certainly have security guards and janitors. Yuko answered with a smile.
"The thing is, they did go home. Everyone—the other teachers, the janitors—left me all alone."
"You mean, they ran away?"
"I don't want to put it that way, but that's what it amounts to. For a few days after the infection started spreading in Japan, there were still several janitors and security guards. There was also one other teacher, a veteran compared to me. But when I woke up one morning, everyone was gone. Not a single car that was supposed to be in the parking lot was left."
"You were left behind?"
"Yes. Those people have families too, and in a situation like this, I understand the feeling of wanting to go back to your own home and confirm the safety of your loved ones. No matter how much they're being paid, I can't tell them to keep working in this state. That's why I can't blame them. Though, having the cars taken was a struggle."
The remaining janitors and the other teacher probably hadn't called out to Yuko because they judged she would be a burden. The cars left at the academy were all the private vehicles of the teachers and janitors, and they couldn't fit all the students remaining at the academy. At that time, there were six people including Yuko, but Yuko didn't realize the other adults had left the academy until morning.
She hadn't been told such a plan existed, and if she had known, she definitely would have protested. That's why they left Yuko behind.
In a sense, the people who left probably realized the severity of the situation better than Yuko and the others. Unlike Yuko and the students who optimistically thought things would work out, they understood that the world had already changed. Salaries wouldn't be paid from here on, and they couldn't confirm their families' safety. If so, it was only natural to try to go see their families, even if it meant leaving the students behind.
"But, to tell the truth, I wanted them to take me with them too. I mean, I'm only in my second year as a teacher, you know? To be told to take charge of ten students' lives... there's no way I can do that. I'm doing everything I can just to manage myself; I can't look after other children too."
"Do you... regret it?"
"If I'm being honest, yes. But I couldn't just run away. If even I disappeared, the students would have no one left to rely on. That's why I'm still continuing to be a teacher at this academy, even now."
Of course, she had never spoken of this to the students until now. Although the students were initially anxious about the other adults disappearing, they were able to calm down because Yuko remained. The students all believed that Yuko had stayed here of her own will to protect them.
"Even though that's not really the case. If it's someone else's life versus my own, of course I'd prioritize myself. But they don't know. They think I'm a wonderful teacher. They think I'm a teacher who devotes herself to her students without regard for her own life or family. Even though I really wanted to run away. I wanted to go back to my parents' house and escape to somewhere safe with my family."
"I don't think prioritizing your own life is wrong," the boy said.
"I suppose. But if I said that, the students would become even more anxious. That's why I have to keep playing the 'good teacher.' That's also why I keep this diary. Just in case the worst happens and all the students die, it's proof of my excuse that I made an effort to protect everyone."
Of course, this was also a secret from the students. It had been nine months since she had poured out her true feelings like this.
Since the other adults disappeared, Yuko had to live while hiding her true self. She was caught between the students who looked at her with eyes of respect and her own true feelings. The reason she could speak her mind honestly like this was probably because the boy in front of her wasn't her student. She thought that he, who had survived the harsh outside world and continued to witness the ugly parts of humanity, might understand her feelings.
"If I had left the academy back then, maybe I wouldn't have had to carry these feelings. Maybe I could have lived without deceiving myself. I regret it. You're the same, aren't you? There must be many things you think about, like 'if only I had done that back then'..."
"There's no way I have regrets. If I had made the wrong choice, I should be dead. But the fact that I'm still living like this means everything I've done was the right choice. You staying at the academy, Sensei, was also a right choice. Even if you'd gone outside, there's no guarantee you'd meet your family; in fact, the possibility of even reaching your family alive is low. That's why you staying here was a right choice, and you shouldn't regret it. The proof is that you've managed to survive like this."
"Do you... have nothing you regret?"
The boy nodded, but Yuko instinctively felt it was a lie. There is no human who does not regret their choices.
As the boy said, staying at the academy might have been the right thing. The academy had food stockpiles and power generation equipment, and thanks to being isolated from the outside, they had never been attacked by the infected. However, even if one makes the right choice, there are still various thoughts like this. The boy said everything he had done was right, but Yuko still noticed he was lying.
Like the fox who convinced himself the unreachable grapes were sour to justify giving up on them, he too was holding up his survival as a grand justification, trying to rationalize everything. There is no human who does not make mistakes in their choices.
But to survive, he had no choice but to rationalize everything. Because if he didn't, his heart would break. Because to survive, he had to throw away many precious things. And among those discarded things, ethics and taboos were likely included.
To avoid being crushed by that weight, the boy was trying to justify even cruel decisions as the right ones.
And the boy, too, was having his heart disturbed by the word 'regret.'
The highest priority goal now was self-survival. To achieve that, any means were justified. Stealing things, hurting people, even killing defenseless opponents became the right choice.
However, he hadn't thought he should act that way from the beginning. Long ago, even the boy had a sense of justice and ethics like an average person... no, for him who admired heroes, more than an average person. It was just that to live, he had no choice but to throw those away.
He didn't regret that. But if he let his guard down, he would think about it. Whether what he had done, what he was doing now, and what he was about to do were truly the right things.
Each time, the boy thought: As long as I am alive, everything I have done is right. What waits at the end of a wrong choice is death, and many people died as a result of making wrong choices. Therefore, everything I, who am alive, have done is right.
The boy turned his eyes toward the window. Beyond the window blocked by curtains, powder snow was likely dancing even now. And on the night when everything ended, powder snow had been dancing just like now.
Regret—memories that should have been tucked away in the depths of his heart suddenly peeked out. Come to think of it, the first choice thrust upon him was also on that night. The boy's thoughts left his body, tracing his memories back to that night nine months ago when everything ended, and everything began.
I'm waiting for your opinions and impressions.
Also, from next time, the protagonist's flashback will begin for a while, and during that time, it is planned to return to the protagonist's first-person perspective.