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The day after the final duel of the revues, Nana Daiba awoke before the sun rose. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness as her mind mentally went through the list of things that she needed to remember for this new cycle of her first year at Seisho Music Academy.
First, wait until her and Junna had been cast in Starlight to call Junna by her first name. Second, offer to cook with Mahiru early in the year to develop their friendship which would come in handy later when Karen’s ‘Karen-ness’ proved to be too much. Third, convince Futaba to wait a week before attempting to get her motorcycle license to prevent any accidents involving Kaoruko. Fourth, drop hints to both Claudine and Maya (separately) that they shined brighter on stage when they got along off stage. Fifth, tell…
And then she remembered.
Hikari.
Hikari was in this timeline.
And Hikari had won the duels.
The cycle was broken.
“Oh,” she whispered into the darkness, her eyes glued to the constellations born from the dorm room’s popcorn ceiling. Kaoruko once called the style gauche, but Nana liked it enough, liked looking at stars that weren’t so blinding.
Though today, Nana could only handle so much as she turned away from the ceiling. Instead, she focused on her sleeping roommate, and despite the anxiety bubbling in her chest, Nana managed to smile at how strict to form the class president was even in her sleep.
This would be the Junna she was stuck with, Nana realized. The one who she would grow with, the one she would have the chance to see grow, one with confidence and moxie, one who knew what Nana had done and still cared for her despite it all…
And the guilt Nana had suppressed as the duels raced to their conclusion made itself known once again.
How many times had she denied Junna, all her friends, herself, the chance to grow? To be more than mere puppets in Nana’s quest to recreate her perfect stage year after year?
Nana no longer had any self-imposed rules to memorize, no longer had any theories she wanted to prove during this go around, no longer had to convince herself that she was doing it all for the sake of protecting her friends. All she had to do now was live her life.
And today, would be the first new day she would live in decades.
Nana laid in bed for a few more moments, as if her veins had been injected with concrete, before she put on her warm clothes and her shoes and walked out of her room and towards the rooftop of the dorm. The heaviness still swirling within her, her steps sluggish though determined.
On the rooftop, she waited until day broke, tears streaming down her cheeks for things she couldn’t name.
She was their Banana, and they would be relying on her as they all processed what had just happened to them by participating in the giraffe’s duels.
After all Nana had done, the least she could do was be a pillar of comfort for them.
When the sun rose over the Tokyo horizon, the wind lashing at her cheeks, Nana remembered that there were other stars that were capable of being blinding.
When she returned from the rooftop, Nana found Junna waiting for her. Junna didn’t say anything as she stood from her bed and strode the necessary steps to stand in front of Nana, her fingertips coming up to ghost over the newfound puffiness on Nana’s cheeks.
Nana stood still, finding comfort in the touch, and satisfied with her inspection, Junna sighed and retreated her hand.
“If you needed time alone, that’s fine, but if you are trying to shoulder everything on your own, please let me help you instead,” Junna whispered.
Nana felt tears welling up, but she managed to suppress them. Class would be starting in an hour, and she would rather learn about the theories of stage production rather than having any sort of emotional breakdown in her dorm room.
So instead, Nana smiled, forced it to reach her eyes.
“I just needed some time away.”
Junna looked at her before nodding her head, her lips quirking just a bit.
“Okay then, but we need to start getting ready for class right this second. Otherwise, we are going to be late,” Junna said in her best class president voice before she grabbed her shower caddy and headed towards the bathroom.
Though once she reached the door, Junna turned back and gave Nana a hug, tucking her head into the crook of Nana’s neck and squeezing the right amount for Nana to feel her resolve waver.
When the door closed seconds later, Nana found herself alone in the middle of her room. With only the sound of her heartbeat to keep her company.
She glanced at the popcorn ceiling, took a deep breath, and grabbed her shower caddy before following after.
After a banal day of classes, Nana found Amemiya waiting for her in the hallway. Nana told her friends to go on ahead and that she would meet up with them later for dinner.
All she wanted to do was to slither back to her dorm room and recharge before she had to face her friends again. Though knowing what awaited her when she returned to her friends, the emotional processing of the duels, the sadness and confusion surrounding Hikari’s transfer away from Seisho, Nana welcomed the respite, nonetheless.
It seemed Amemiya was not interested in discussing preparations for this year’s Starlight like Nana assumed, but instead, wanted to gauge Nana’s interest in participating in Group B’s yearly playwriting competition for second years.
“The selected scripts would be performed during the beginning of our third year, and I think you have a good shot of being selected. You have a natural talent that takes most writers years to develop.”
Nana recalled the competition from previous time loops, but since the year would restart before the competition began, Nana never gave her entry much thought.
Though now, she didn’t really have an excuse not to enter. Despite everything that happened, her desires were still the same. She loved performing on the stage and working behind the scenes. She loved writing. That didn’t go away with each repetition.
Perhaps, the competition would be a good distraction from the emotional turbulence swirling inside of her.
“I would love to,” Nana answered.
She gave her trademark Banana-grin, and it was hard for the usually stoic Amemiya not to return it in kind.
Though Nana didn’t force the smile to reach her eyes this time. Amemiya wouldn’t be able to tell either way.
As Nana walked to the cafeteria to meet with the others, the spring air as fragrant as the day before, as the cycles before, she thought that the competition should be an easy enough task to accomplish.
After years and years of ideas flowing through her brain with no conceivable and permanent output until now, surely there was one idea that she could capture and mold into something worthy of being recreated on stage.
Perhaps, she could construct her own blinding stage. Sans any giraffes.
And for the first time since the duels ended, Nana felt a glimmer of excitement bloom in her chest.
As Nana sat at her desk, her lamp fighting against the encroaching darkness of the setting sun, she found her mind empty.
Her journal sat open before her, and her pen rested between her fingertips. The dorm was quiet, and there were no distractions in the form of her friends asking for sweets or for massages.
All in all, the ideal writing space.
But Nana had nothing to offer the page, and so she spent her evening not writing at all.
Each time a potential idea sprouted in her mind she would instantaneously weed it out. They were too wonky, too underdeveloped. Too nonsensical for the stage, too ambitious, too meek.
They reminded Nana too much of those other timelines, of those other versions of her friends.
There was an idea she had in the nineteenth or maybe twenty-ninth cycle, when she caught a glimpse of Maya riding with Futaba on the shorter girl’s motorcycle. Nana had envisioned writing a comedic play where the two of them would play friends who traveled all over Japan on a motorcycle, trying to find the best type of sweets to woo their love interests with. Somehow, the duo would be roped into all sorts of mischief along the way that would always lead to them eating the sweets they had procured, much to their love interests’ chagrin.
Nana never thought too much of how the play ended, because she was never good at endings, but she knew it would end happily.
And she considered that to be enough back then.
But as Nana thought about writing it as her entry, all she could think was that she never learned what transpired that year to cause Futaba and Maya to develop such a close friendship. It was never replicated in any other of the cycles before or since.
The thing about the timelines, Nana still grappled with, was that even though she could control the outcome of the duels, she could never foresee how the things she unknowingly and knowingly did would have a ripple effect throughout the year.
Sometimes, she would be irked by the situation. Most times, she would revel in it.
How ironic. In the one medium she had the utmost control, she had nothing she wanted to control.
And so, her page remained blank as she got up to turn on the door light for when Junna returned later that evening and turned off her own lamp and settled into bed.
In the cycles before, anytime Nana had felt she had wasted time, she felt no ounce of guilt. She would shrug her shoulders and try to rectify it in the next cycle. But there was no redo, no way to better her performance of this evening. Hours wasted. Her hours. Her life.
When Nana finally managed to fall asleep, she dreamt of the sand they used for the Starlight play, pink with a hint of glitter, as it fell on her revue uniform covered body, speck by speck.
She awoke before she could be covered whole.
Mahiru suggested that they all go to a picnic that weekend to cheer up Karen who still struggled with Hikari’s absence. Nana agreed eagerly, whipping up a feast that would put most chefs to shame, partly out of love, mostly out of guilt.
Her journal remained empty even as the deadline neared, but Nana figured this afternoon with her friends would provide a much-needed mental reprieve from the perpetual ache of wanting to write but not being able to. Perhaps, the escape would stir some inspiration that would allow her to breeze through the writing of her play and give her more than enough time to edit.
That had been the plan until she heard Maya laugh. Genuinely laugh.
Kaoruko had accidently eaten Mahiru’s spicy noodles and proceeded to give the whiniest and most pathetic attempt at stopping the burning of her mouth, looking like the antithesis of the refinement and elegance she liked to exude. Especially as she chugged down Karen’s milk tea without asking, the liquid drippling from her lips as it mixed with her tears.
And though all seven of them attempted to help in their own ways, it was difficult not to laugh at Kaoruko’s pitiful state, and through that collective laughter, that’s when Nana heard it. Maya’s laugh. A belly rumbling laugh with a snort at the end.
Nana stilled.
In the decades worth of cycles, Nana had heard the sound less than a handful of times, and knowing she might not hear it again in this lifetime, she attempted to imprint the moment into memory, for once forgoing her camera to do so.
But later in the afternoon, Maya’s laughter rang out once again as she accidentally coated Claudine’s cheek with frosting in her attempt to feed the blonde cake. Claudine yelled at her with her typical French flourishes, but the anger was mitigated as the frosting still lingered on her cheek, causing Maya and everyone else to erupt in laughter.
Except Nana, who instead, offered the group a strained smile as she began to internally reel.
This was the growth she had been preventing with her repetitions. She was trying to protect them from losing their brilliance, but they never truly got to be better, never got closer to reaching their goals. They were suspended in those timelines, forever in the dark, with Nana as their director, their puppeteer. Watching them perform and letting them believe it was living.
As she watched Maya wipe Claudine’s cheek with a napkin as a tender look passed between the two, Nana felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to find the concerned eyes of Junna staring at her over the rim of her glasses.
“What’s the matter, Nana?” Junna whispered.
In all the cycles before, regardless of anything romantically transpiring between Maya and Claudine or not, regardless of how chummy Maya became with the rest of them, the thoroughbred never allowed herself to be this relaxed. To laugh twice in one afternoon…
“I’ve never seen her so happy,” Nana said, her voice hoarser than she expected as she nodded towards Maya.
Junna glanced in Maya and Claudine’s direction, and then, her eyes widen with realization. She turned to Nana and began to stroke the taller girl’s back as she softly said, “We can leave if you want.”
“I would like to stay,” Nana responded as she cleared her throat, managing to suppress her emotions. “The weather is lovely today.”
Junna looked unsure, but Nana smiled. And though the smile wavered, Junna refrained from airing her concern, and for the rest of the afternoon, Junna never stopped stroking Nana’s back.
If anybody noticed, nothing was said.
In the evening, Nana forwent her ritual of staring at her blank journal, and instead, prepared for bed.
How was she supposed to craft stories of living if she was barely learning how to do so without the safety net of the duels? Of the timelines? How things would just restart after Nana made the final cut and her opponent’s red jacket would float to the ground like petals, decomposing for this new cycle of rebirth.
Nana walked to the edge of Junna’s bed and waited for Junna to look up from her book, feeling her heart begin to race.
When Junna took notice of Nana’s appearance, she smiled fondly as she closed her book and put away her glasses. After turning off her bed light, she reached over and tugged at Nana’s hand.
“Let’s go to bed, Nana.”
Nana let out a relieved breath before she smiled and crawled into bed next to Junna, who took the big spoon role without complaints.
When Junna fell asleep, Nana apologized into her collar bone, softly as not to disturb her friend.
“I shouldn’t have done what I did, but I didn’t know how to stop it. I know you’ve already forgiven me, but I haven’t forgiven myself.”
Junna didn’t stir at the confession, her quiet snores still filling the air, but Nana felt a slight squeeze, so minuscule that she thought she might have imagined it, but it felt like forgiveness, nonetheless.
The popcorn constellations above them, the only witness.
Even though Nana promised herself that she would be a pillar of comfort for her friends, she found herself finding excuses not to be in their presence when she could, and most of those excuses were related to her playwrighting.
When her friends asked what the script was about since it dominated her attention so much as of late, Nana would tell them it was a surprise. It was true, since Nana still had not settled on an idea, and whatever she managed to settle on would be a surprise to her. Though that did not dissuade the feelings of guilt she felt as she repeated those lines, those tidbits of dishonesty.
Her friends accepted these responses, though her more perspective friends did so out of kindness rather than an actual belief in Nana’s words. The duels had affected them all, and perhaps, they considered this as Nana’s version of processing.
And it was in a way. Though most days Nana felt like she was grieving something that never even existed to begin with rather than something she was moving on from.
She still smiled widely when she could, still cooked them grand meals. Would still offer massages and listen to their troubles so no one ventured to ask if there was anything bothering her besides the script.
Except Junna, of course, but Nana would tell her she just needed space, and Junna would accept this response, even though it seemed like her patience was wearing thin.
But Nana knew she could get through this period of melancholy if she just put her mind to it hard enough, even if she had to fake it until graduation and then some.
In every timeline before Hikari’s appearance, Nana was the top stage girl after all.
Not Maya. Not Claudine.
But her.
Daiba Nana.
Nana.
Banana.
Their Banana.
She would get through this and not let her friends down once again.
And wasn’t that bananice?
Days before the competition deadline, Nana left the dorms before Junna awoke. For a Saturday morning, this was almost sacrilegious.
Though it had not been by Nana’s design. She had awoken before the alarm, and instead of being able to fall back asleep, the guilt of the cycles began gnawing away at her, almost to a suffocating degree, and for once the popcorn ceiling could not soothe her nerves.
So, she simply left.
She still had a play to write after all.
Thankfully, the school library was deserted at this time, and Nana found her favorite nook at the back unoccupied.
She sat her satchel down at the desk and pulled out her journal and her writing utensils and got everything ready to write the best play that a second year was capable of…only to find herself staring at a blank page for the better part of an hour.
All she could think was that currently what she was doing was technically living and couldn’t quite put her finger on what she was doing before Hikari and Karen ended the cycles.
Nana did not find it surprising when Junna appeared from behind a shelf of books moments later.
“There you are,” Junna huffed, as if she had just run over from the dorms.
Nana smiled, the sight of her friend relieving some of the tension in her chest.
“Junna-chan,” Nana greeted. “I’m just working on my script. Would you care to join me?”
Junna gave Nana a befuddled sort of scowl, that crinkle between her brows almost a canyon.
“You’re avoiding us.” Junna thinned her lips. “You’re avoiding me.”
“Junna-chan…”
Junna raised her hand in a halting fashion.
“Please don’t. You can tell me what’s troubling you or not, but I won’t have you putting on a façade that you are just stressed about your play. Even Karen isn’t believing that line anymore.”
Nana did not frown at Junna’s use of Karen’s first name, the first harbinger that Nana’s domination of the duels would cease. Though of course, she did not know it at the time. As arrogant in her abilities as she was.
Instead, Nana deflated in her seat, knowing she didn’t need to keep up any pretenses, and motioned for Junna to take the seat across from her.
Even Nana knew she was reaching her limits.
“So, what’s the matter?” Junna whispered, taking on a softer approach.
Nana bit her lip before she confessed, “I’ve never lived this month before.”
Junna fiddled with her glasses as she thought over Nana’s words. She was wearing the blue pair, Nana noticed, the ones she wore when she needed an extra boost of confidence.
“Because of the timelines?” Junna speculated as she leaned against her chair. “This is the first time you are living past the duels, isn’t it?”
“Sharp as always Madame President.” Nana half-heartedly teased before she took on a more somber tone. “I don’t know how to handle it.”
Junna reached over and took Nana’s hand in hers, squeezing gently. “And you retained your memories of those cycles, right?”
Nana nodded her head.
“Nana, that is a very traumatic thing to have experienced. You’ve retained all those memories, years and years worth, but your body never matured enough to be able to handle it, though I doubt even a fully grown adult would be able to handle what you went through.”
“But I’m the one who caused it,” Nana agonized. “And I feel selfish burdening you all with my problems when you have your own problems, ones that I caused. I chose this for myself, didn’t I? I would still be choosing it if it weren’t for Karen-chan and Hikari-chan.”
Nana began to cry then, all her guilt coming to the forefront. She shielded her face, hoping Junna would let her be, but Junna was always too stubborn, and before she realized it, Nana felt Junna’s arms wrap around her frame, squeezing the right amount, whispering those sweet words of comfort.
Nana felt so undeserving, but this Junna was strong, this Junna could shoulder it if she wanted to.
Nana didn’t know how long she cried, but when she pulled away, Junna smiled softly at her as she began to wipe Nana’s face for her. Nana recalled how Junna once called her a big baby and hated how apt the assessment was at the moment, though Junna looked at her with nothing but love and tenderness. As if Nana’s emotional outburst was in some way adorable and not a burden.
“Are you feeling better?” Junna asked, her hand never letting go of Nana’s.
Nana nodded her head, a tiny smile forming on her lips.
“Good,” Junna smiled. “Look, we’re still technically children, and I think it’s unfair to shoulder all that guilt, especially since it was all orchestrated by that damn giraffe. You were trying to protect us, and perhaps, not in the ideal way, but you held out long enough for not only the cycle to be broken but also for us to retain our love of the stage, and there’s no way I can fault you for that.”
“But…”
“Nana, this won’t be solved in one conversation, and this won’t be something that will go away easily for you. You will have to live with this experience for the rest of your life, but with time and work and support, it’ll be easier to manage. And you know I’ll be here by your side until the very end. Even if you tend to isolate yourself to deal with your problems. I’ll find you no matter what, and that’s the class president guarantee.”
Junna raised her pointer finger in the air to punctuate her point.
Nana laughed, and she could not recall the last time she had done so genuinely, and judging by the relief in Junna’s eyes, Junna noticed it too.
“Thank you, Junna-chan. I really needed to hear all of that. You’re right. It doesn’t fix anything, but I’ll try not to hold it all in and to let you in.”
“Good.”
They shared a look before Nana looked down at their hands.
“I can’t protect all of you anymore,” Nana whispered. “Whatever happens from here on out is permanent.”
“Nana, no one would fault you for that because that’s just how life is. Or as Saijou-san would say, c’est la vie.”
Nana hummed as she thought over the words, and though she felt like she was still swimming through murk, she could see the beginning traces of light.
Before the silence stretched on too long, Junna nodded towards Nana’s journal.
“How’s the script going?”
Nana frowned as she showed Junna her blank pages. “Not well. I’ve had all these ideas throughout the years, but nothing feels right.”
“Why don’t you just scrap those old ideas and do something new? Something to commemorate this new life of yours.”
Nana tilted her head as she regarded Junna, a fond smile tugging at her lips, finally finding that inspiration that had been eluding her
“Can I write with you in mind?”
Junna opened and closed her mouth as a blush settled on her cheeks. She fiddled with her glasses as she managed to say, “Wouldn’t you rather write something with Tendou-san or Saijou-san in mind?”
“No,” Nana smiled cheekily, feeling a bit like her old self. “I want to write about you.”
Junna looked away, refusing to make eye contact. She coughed once into her fist, clearing her throat before she returned Nana’s gaze. “If that will help you, then sure.”
“Perfect,” Nana said before she scribbled something down and closed her journal and began putting away her things.
Junna gave her a confused look. “Don’t you need to work on the script some more?”
“I won’t be able to write anything more this morning. Besides, I want to let the idea marinate a bit before I start writing.” Nana finished with a wink.
They left the library soon after, and as they strolled through the pathway littered with blossoming greenery, Nana confessed that she had never seen the flowers look so beautiful before.
“You can cut all the flowers, but you cannot keep Spring from coming,” Junna remarked, and when Nana turned to her, Junna followed up with, “Pablo Neruda.”
A balm washed over Nana then, wondering how Junna could always manage to find the right quote. This spring was always meant to be experienced. Regardless of Nana’s repeated performances and how her choices diverted the timeline from a forward progression, these flowers were patiently waiting for their time to bloom. This was their stage, and regardless of the duels and the repercussions that would come from them cycle after cycle, this spring was always meant to exist as it did now.
It didn’t absolve her of anything, Nana thought, but the notion brought some comfort, and the guilt that lingered on her like a second skin, abated just a bit.
Before Nana could comment on her musings to Junna, she saw Junna smile from the corner of her eye before the class president reached over and laced her fingers with Nana’s fingers. Nana’s cheeks reddened as the newfound warmth seeped into her skin. Though Nana made no comment on this new development, instead squeezing back gently, feeling a flutter in her stomach at Junna’s contented sigh.
In all those past cycles, Nana had never known Junna to be this brazen, but this was growth, wasn’t it? The growth that had eluded her, all her friends, and yet, she saw it the bloom of it right now before her eyes.
And this was what living was about, wasn’t it? Bravely going headfirst into the unknown, and what better way to tackle the unknown than with Junna right beside her.
For once, Nana didn’t feel remorse, didn’t feel terrified at the prospect. Instead, she felt excited. That she would finally be able to see what was after her repeat performance.
The petals from the cherry blossoms continued to rain down upon the pathway, like bits of sand that had no intention of swallowing anyone whole as spring marched towards its final hurrah. The sky both serene and blue, the perfected backdrop of the blinding sun, that continued to emit radiance day after day without qualms.
As they walked the familiar path back to the dorms, chatting amongst themselves, Nana thought more of the line she had written down when she studied how Junna’s eyes crinkled as she laughed, how their hands were still interlocked:
Once, there was a knight that rescued a girl trapped in the labyrinth of her own heart. Not by violence or by shrewdness but by the gentle act of offering her hand.