As I Know Anything About You, I'll Be The One To Your Girlfriend, Aren't I? - Volume 1 Chapter 5.5

What Red Means to You 5

It really happened so suddenly that I think no one could fully grasp the reality of it.

Two years had passed since Kuuya gave me that painting. I was in the fourth grade of elementary school, and Kuuya was in the fifth.

It was a hot summer that made you wonder if something had gone wrong, the kind that made you tilt your head in confusion.

Since that day two years ago, I had devoted my entire being to training, feeling myself grow day by day. Therefore, I believed it wouldn’t be long before I could truly protect Kuuya.

“…Dad, is that… really true?”

Even though I knew he wasn’t someone who would lie, I had to ask again. The fact that my parents called me to tell me was just too much to bear.

“But… how can that be?”

“…Suika, it’s true. It’s incredibly, incredibly sad.”

My mother was the one who said it. Contrary to her words, her voice seemed to carry more strong anger than sadness, at least to me.

“Yeah, it’s true, Suika. That’s why your father is going to visit Kuuya’s dad as much as possible for a while.”

The sadness seemed more apparent in my father than in my mother.

“Abandoning Masataka… and leaving Kuuya behind. I can’t believe it, not even a little.”

My father murmured softly.

Kuuya’s mother had vanished, leaving behind her husband and son—essentially, her family—for another man.

The details weren’t shared with me, but the undeniable fact was that she had left for another man.

The person who had passionately and vibrantly painted her love for her husband had, one day, suddenly acted as if everything up to then had been a lie.

My first concern was, unavoidably, for Kuuya.

From that day on, my father frequently visited Kuuya’s father—Uncle Masataka, and I always went with him.

“Hey, Masataka! Have you eaten yet? Got some great fish, criminally good.”

“Daisuke, you’re here again? …Fish, sounds good. Let’s be criminals together.”

“Alright, partners in crime it is!”

Though their casual banter seemed light-hearted, I distinctly felt a profound sadness. I easily understood why my father frequently visited his friend.

The man who had been betrayed in the worst way by his beloved wife seemed to have become much frailer. Not just physically, but in more ways than that.

Originally delicate and not very strong, he often joked, but surely meant it seriously, that “I live supported by the energy of my contrasting wife.”

“Dad, I’ll help out. I’m joining the criminal gang too…!”

“Is that so? Alright, then.”

── Kuuya always laughed brightly. He faced forward with determination, standing straight and tall.

It was hard to believe that he had lost his mother in such a manner.

Was Kuuya okay? I once foolishly asked him, and he answered, “Because I have to support Dad.”

What could I do? What could I possibly do?

I wanted to be of help. I had gained strength. But the skills I honed in daily training seemed utterly useless now.

How could I… What should I do…

Without knowing, yet the days kept passing.

Autumn left, winter came, and then it was spring.

Just as the snow that barely held on through spring finally succumbs to the natural order and melts away, it seemed there was no other conclusion but the one we reached.

In a building where everyone wore black, I believe my father was probably the person who had most prepared for this ending.

And yet, he cried louder than anyone else. It was the first time I saw my father cry.

Much later, Kuuya said it made him “very happy.” “Because I couldn’t cry,” he added.

On that day, Kuuya indeed hadn’t cried.

More than not crying, he seemed empty.

I understood that something very important had vanished from Kuuya. In the end, I couldn’t protect it.

── Uncle Masataka, one morning, didn’t wake up even when Kuuya tried to rouse him. It was as if all the warmth that kept him alive had vanished, leaving him cold but with a peaceful expression.

Kuuya was taken to live with his grandparents in a distant region, reachable only by boat or plane.

I called him every single day. I truly wanted to visit him every day (I did try once but was caught midway).

I was terrified. I feared that Kuuya, like Uncle Masataka, might one day choose not to wake up, to stop living.

That fear was so strong because Kuuya, after losing Uncle Masataka, seemed so fragile that he might vanish if I looked away.

At first, Kuuya would answer the phone but wouldn’t even offer a grunt of acknowledgment. The faint sound of his breathing was the only lifeline I felt connected us.

I kept talking every day.

About the funny things that happened yesterday, the fun experiences of today, the interesting things that might happen tomorrow.

I had to convey that the world still had bright places and that it was worth it for Kuuya to wake up in the morning.

I wasn’t much of a talker and was shy, but what did that matter? I traveled to various places, talked to many people, and gathered all the wonderful things in the world to tell Kuuya.

I learned that bright places attract bright stories. So, I became a brighter me.

If needed, I would do anything. Become anyone.

And Kuuya, who had mostly just listened to me, gradually began to respond with acknowledgments.

He started to ask back, dig deeper, and gave me more words bit by bit. He became interested in the world again.

Apparently, where he was taken, he met someone who painted beautiful paintings. A significant reason for Kuuya’s recovery was probably those paintings. My stories might not have had much effect.

But that’s okay. If my efforts had even the slightest impact, it was all worth it.

And I heard about it from him towards the end of summer.

“…I started ‘seeing’ colors. The colors of people’s… emotions, I think. The feelings someone has for the person in front of them become visible in colors… Sorry, it’s a weird story, isn’t it?”

“Not weird at all. …How do they appear to you?”

“Like a mist, I guess. With colors. Friends are green, people they dislike seem blue… And then…”