Kono Monogatari O Kimi Ni Sasagu - Volume 1 Chapter 3.2

Shouldn’t she choose to live, to continue reading books and creating stories?

Just as Yuto was about to voice this thought, Kotoha shook her head.

“My illness is here,” she said, pointing to her left temple.

“I’ve heard the brain has different functions in different areas. Do you know what’s located here?”

“No, I don’t…”

Kotoha smiled sadly at Yuto’s response.

“The language center.” (tln : Wernicke’s area is a critical language area in the posterior superior temporal lobe connects to Broca’s area via a neural pathway. Wernicke’s area is primarily involved in the comprehension. Historically, this area has been associated with language processing, whether it is written or spoken.)

“…What?”

Yuto knew it was the area of the brain that controls language, but he couldn’t quite connect it with the word “illness” and Kotoha’s current condition.

“The surgery has an 80% survival rate. It’s scary, but if that were all, I would have taken the surgery. But there’s a 90% chance it will leave me with a language disorder. I might not be able to speak, or understand text, or read books again. If that happens, I’d never fulfill my dream of becoming an editor.”

“No way…”

Yuto muttered in disbelief.

She was saved by stories, dreamed of a future in stories, but she would have to give them up to survive?

It was too cruel.

“…But even so,” Yuto forced the words out as if spitting blood.

“If you die, it means nothing. So—”

“I might not die right away,” Kotoha interrupted.

“There was someone with the same illness who lived until their late twenties.”

“What…?”

“It’s a rare case within a rare illness, but if that’s possible, I can become an editor. I can graduate from college, pass the entrance exam for a publishing company, and become an editor.”

Even if it’s only until her late twenties, it didn’t matter.

Her words carried that determination.

It was a gamble where the risk and return didn’t match up at all.

Yet, there was no doubt Kotoha believed it to be the best choice.

“Senpai,” Kotoha said calmly,

“I won’t take the surgery. To live as myself.”

Her eyes were on the verge of tears, yet filled with resolve.

***

The sound of typing echoed in the eight-tatami room.

A week had passed since Kotoha was hospitalized.

On that day, Yuto couldn’t say a word.

Even though he wanted Kotoha to undergo surgery and live, he couldn’t bring himself to argue against her earnest determination.

“…All I can do is write.”

He muttered as if convincing himself.

In this situation, he didn’t know if writing a novel was the right thing to do.

Maybe his frustration just turned into a substitute act, fulfilling his promise to Kotoha to write a novel.

“…”

But—no, precisely because of that, Yuto realized the heavy weight of the three-year gap.

Starting to write a novel instead of a script made the changes from his days as Fuyutsuki Haruhiko evident.

Back then, stories flowed naturally, characters lived inside him, and words came endlessly—as if his typing couldn’t keep up.

But now, it was different.

Every sentence felt off.

He felt like there must be a better expression.

He doubted if the plot was right.

The characters’ actions seemed uncertain.

So he wrote a sentence, deleted it, and rewrote it.

The next day, he deleted everything he wrote the day before and started over.

He barely had ten pages of progress.

It was classic writer’s block. (tln : Writer’s block “the inability to begin or continue writing for reasons other than a lack of basic skill or commitment” )

That was the price of three years away from writing novels. Even if he mentally felt ready to write again, his fundamental skills had atrophied. He might regain them with time and effort, but,

“Damn…”

Yuto cursed, stopping his typing, and looked up.

The autumn breeze coming through the screen door was unexpectedly cool. Without him noticing, autumn had deepened. The scent of the wind, the color of the mountains, the sparkle of the river—they were all different from the summer when he created the script with Kotoha. The gradual shift from life to death heightened his anxiety.

What if he couldn’t finish the story, and Kotoha’s life ended?

Crushed by such despair, all Yuto could do was write, delete, and rewrite in a desperate cycle.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t reach his ideal.

“Not again…”

Reviewing the scenes he had written, he deleted them all at once.

At that moment, his phone, placed on the floor, vibrated.

***

“Why haven’t you come to visit?”

In the afternoon hospital room, Kotoha complained with pursed lips the moment Yuto entered.

A week had passed since Kotoha was hospitalized, and Yuto hadn’t visited even once.

“Why haven’t I…”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Kotoha pretended to cry,

“We even had a date. Was I just a fling?”

“Please stop…! The nurse is looking at me with judgmental eyes. Now I feel even more reluctant to come…”

Kotoha giggled, and Yuto sighed deeply.

“Here, peach cans.”

“Yay! You’re so thoughtful!”

“No, you asked me to bring them…”

When he was stuck at home,

‘Come visit me. Peach cans!’

That was the message Kotoha had sent.

“Oh, it’s a high-end peach can from Okayama. How did you get this?”

Kotoha happily opened the can with a can opener, divided the peaches onto two small plates she pulled out from somewhere, and handed one to Yuto.

“No, I…”

“It’s lonely eating alone. Sit down.”

With no choice, Yuto sat in the chair by the bed.

They ate the peaches in silence.

The syrup-soaked peaches were sweet, soothing Yuto’s tired mind.

After finishing the peaches, Yuto glanced at the corner of the room.

There were piles of fruit and snacks.

Noticing his gaze, Kotoha laughed, “Oh.”

“Shoko-chan, Watanabe-senpai, and the others from the drama club visited me.”

“They all came together?”

Surprised at the amount of gifts, Yuto asked, and Kotoha shook her head, “They came in small groups.”

Thankfully, there hadn’t been a large, inconsiderate group invading the hospital room.

“But all the gifts are food. No flowers at all… I wonder what image I have.”

Yuto laughed, “Who knows,” and Kotoha pouted but soon smiled softly.

“Thank you so much.”

“Kotoha?”

“Back when I was in elementary and middle school, I had long hospital stays, but no one ever visited me like this.”

Kotoha smiled quietly at the sight of the gifts.

“But this time, so many people came. Thank you. I think it’s thanks to you that I could connect with so many people.”

Yuto fell silent and shook his head.

“No, that’s not it.”

“Huh?”

“It’s because you worked hard. You pulled me out, convinced the drama club, directed the script, and promoted the cultural festival. They came because they saw your efforts.”