Marine Blue Confession: Marin Hayama's Great Love and Sea Operation - The Meeting of the Sound of the Tide —Young Coral of the Ryukyu Red Coral—

The sky just after the rainy season had ended was blue beyond measure, and just a little bit dazzling. Before the lunch bell had even finished ringing, I slipped out of the classroom. Before anyone could call out to me, before I could notice anyone's gaze. I jogged down the hallway, and the soles of the aqua shoes I'd changed into at the entrance slapped against the dry concrete. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. That sound alone was on my side. Prefectural Aonada High School sits on a hill about eight minutes on foot from the sea. When you leave the school gate and head down the slope where the sea breeze tickles your nose, the edges of your vision gradually start to sparkle, and beyond where the asphalt ends, white sand and blue ocean spread out. Aonada Coast. Shiosai City's pride—a white-sand beach stretching one point eight kilometers. Three hundred meters offshore lies the Aonada Coral Reef, designated a national natural monument. I loved this place more than anywhere else in the world. The sound of the waves felt like breathing. Rolling in and pulling back—zazaa, zazaa. When I listened to that sound, the strange tension I felt in the classroom melted away into the sand, like it was dissolving from my fingertips. I sat down at the edge of the empty beach, where driftwood had washed ashore. Hugging my knees, I looked at the sea. Today the ocean was calm. Particles of light bounced off the water's surface thousands of times, and I couldn't help but squint. (Ahh, the sea really is the best.) When I murmured that in my heart, my breath naturally deepened. I'm Hayama Marin. Second year, Class A at Aonada High. I'm a hundred and fifty-seven centimeters tall—easier to count from the back of the class. My brownish-black hair, a little damaged by the sea breeze, reaches my shoulders. It was hot today, so I'd tied it up in a single bundle behind my head. My sun-tanned skin is proof that I'm a kid from this town. A white short-sleeved hoodie, navy half-pants, and a small pouch at my hip for collecting shells. Around my neck, a pendant made from a tiny shell I picked up at the beach when I was little. This is what I always look like. My best friend Shiori often tells me that the me in the classroom and the me at the sea are like completely different people. "Marin, when you're at the sea, it's like—some kind of switch flips, you know?" ...I think so too, honestly. I can name over three hundred kinds of sea creatures. My dad taught me. Fish names, shell names, coral names, seaweed names. Without even looking at a picture book, just walking along the water's edge, I can mostly tell who lives there. But when it comes to anything else, I'm hopeless. I'm bad at making eye contact. Starting a conversation myself is even worse. Even when I'm chatting with classmates, my mind goes blank and I feel like I'll say something weird, so I end up looking down and covering it with a laugh. Fake smiles are the one thing I've gotten strangely good at. That's why, during lunch break, I always escape to the sea like this. The restless atmosphere of the classroom is just too suffocating. Only the sound of the sea brings me properly back to being "me." This town, Shiosai City, has a population of forty-two thousand—a town that has lived alongside the sea. It's been a fishing town since the Edo period, and now lots of tourists come too. In summer, Aonada Coast is packed with beachgoers. And this town has an unforgettable event. In 1988, a large-scale coral bleaching occurred. Caused by rising sea temperatures and ocean pollution, about forty percent of the Aonada Coral Reef died. The town's fish population plummeted, and the fishermen took a massive hit. But the people of this town didn't give up. Two years later, the first Aonada Coral Festival began. Transplanting coral, cleaning the sea, and everyone thinking together about how precious the ocean is. Since then, the festival has continued every year on the third Saturday of July. My dad said about sixty percent of the townspeople participate in some form or another. This year's Coral Festival is in July... let's see, the third Saturday, I think. (Should I volunteer again this year?) I was vaguely thinking about that. That's when it happened. Something caught the edge of my vision. Around the middle of the beach. A little away from the water's edge, on the dry sand. A person. One person. Sitting. ...No, not sitting—hunched over. It was a male student. Wearing the Aonada High uniform. Navy blazer, gray slacks. One knee on the sand, holding one ankle with his hand. (Huh... what's wrong?) My heart beat just a little faster. (Is he... hurt?) I stood up and hesitated on the spot. (I should say something, right?) (But he's a stranger.) (Not a stranger exactly—he's from the same school, but.) (He's a stranger.) I took a step forward, stopped. Took another step, stopped. On the sand, I paced back and forth for about ten seconds. In my head, I was counting. (One, two, three...) I counted to ten, but my body still wouldn't move, so I counted again. (One, two, three, four, five...) No good. But leaving him like that would be even worse. I clenched my fists tight and breathed in. I deliberately made my footsteps on the sand loud as I approached. So he'd notice me. Because if I suddenly called out from behind, I'd startle him. I stopped about three meters away. "...A-are you okay?" My voice cracked. Even I was surprised by how small and shaky it was, the ending trailing off. The male student slowly raised his head. Black hair swayed in the sea breeze. From under his bangs, calm-colored eyes looked at me. Narrow eyes, skin paler than mine, and his features were... how should I put it—quiet. He looked at me for just a moment, then gave a small nod. "...Yeah." It was a short reply. Maybe he was enduring the pain—his voice was low and just a little hoarse. "Um, did you, like, sprain your ankle?" "...Probably." "C-can you stand...?" "...I don't know." The conversation didn't continue. But his attitude wasn't cold. He just didn't talk more than necessary. It didn't feel unpleasant. I mustered my courage and took one more step closer. "Um... would you let me see your foot? I know at least a little about treating injuries from the sea..." He hesitated for a moment, then slowly turned the ankle he'd been holding toward me. I crouched down to check. His right ankle was slightly swollen. Reddened. Warm to the touch. "...It doesn't look too bad. I don't think it's broken. We should cool it—let's go over to those rocks. There's shade, and we can cool it with water from a tide pool." When it came to the sea, when it came to injuries, my voice came out properly, strangely enough. He looked at me, his eyes widening just a little. "...Got it." I lent him my shoulder, and we walked slowly across the beach. He was taller than I'd expected—my head came to about his shoulder. Maybe a hundred and seventy-five centimeters. When he leaned his weight on me, my feet got caught in the sand and I nearly fell over too. "...Am I heavy?" "I-I'm fine! Totally! This much is nothing!" It was a lie. He was pretty heavy. But I couldn't say that. We reached the rocks, and I had him sit on a flat one. I wet the towel I'd brought with water from a tide pool and pressed it against his ankle. The cold seawater cooled his swollen skin. "This should ease the pain after a while." "...You saved me." He relaxed his mouth just a tiny bit. Not enough to call it a smile. But his expression softened. I suddenly felt embarrassed and looked down. That's when something slipped out of the pouch at my hip. With a soft thud, my sketchbook fell onto the sand. "Ah!" I tried to pick it up, but he was faster. His long fingers picked up the sketchbook. The open pages flipped in the wind. "...Did you draw these?" "Y-yes..." My voice went small again. The sketchbook was packed with all the sea creatures I'd drawn so far. Shells, coral, sea urchins, starfish, seaweed. As precise as a field guide, but from my own perspective. Showing it to people is embarrassing. But he flipped through the pages without a single look of distaste. "...This is amazing." "Huh?" "...You're good. They look real." My heart jumped. I'm not used to being praised. "Th-thank you..." His finger stopped on a certain page. There was a sketch of coral I'd drawn last autumn. A tiny, tiny baby coral. A few centimeters of life, clinging to a gap in the rocks. He stared at that drawing for a while, then murmured. "...This is a juvenile Ryukyu red coral, right?" Time stopped. The sound of the waves seemed far away. "...Huh?" "Am I wrong?" "N-no, you're not! You're right! You're right!" My voice got louder. Even I could tell—my excitement shot up all at once. "You can tell!? This juvenile coral! I found it last autumn on the rocks after the bleaching event, and for a Ryukyu red coral the color was pale, but the shape was so distinctive, at first I thought it was a different species, so I looked it up in a field guide, but it really was a juvenile Ryukyu red coral, and—oh, do you know what a juvenile coral is? It's a baby coral, but it looks completely different from an adult, the polyps are still small, and the number of tentacles is still at the stage where they'll increase from here—" I rattled it all off in one breath. I forgot to breathe. He watched my face with his eyes slightly wide. "...You're something else." "Ah, oh, I'm sorry! When it comes to the sea, I just talk too fast..." "...You don't need to apologize." He flipped another page of the sketchbook. "...This shell is a Shirasunagai, right? You can find them a lot on the beaches around here." "Yes! Shirasunagai! They're small, but each one has a different pattern, and collecting them is so fun. Oh, and the one on this page is a Beniwasuregai. It's a bit rare, and I was so happy that day..." "...And next to it, a sea hare." "Yes! A sea hare! Even though it's called a rabbit, it's actually a shell, and the shape is cute, but the shell is thin and breaks easily, so you have to hold it gently when you pick it up..." I couldn't stop. I was so happy, so excited, the words kept pouring out. Among the three hundred–plus sea creatures I'd memorized, I'd finally met someone who could identify even the maniac-level stuff—down to the juvenile coral stage. Someone like this existed in this town. Even though he wore the same school uniform, I'd never known until now. He didn't cut off my fast talking. Sometimes he'd give a short response, listening quietly. "...These sketches—they have color, too. What did you use to draw them?" "Colored pencils. I remember the colors I saw in the sea and draw them when I get home. But the colors underwater change in an instant, so I can never quite keep up. This juvenile coral's color, too—it's actually more, like, transparent..." "...I get it. Depending on the light, it looks completely different." "Exactly! Especially coral—the color changes with the angle of the sun, so in the morning, noon, and evening, it's like a completely different creature..." Before I knew it, I was sitting beside him. At some point, the distance between us had shrunk. The cold towel was still pressed against his ankle. The sound of the waves filled the gaps in our conversation. "...Hey." "Yes?" "...What's your name?" Oh. Right—I hadn't asked his name yet either. "I'm Hayama Marin. The 'Ha' in 'leaf,' 'yama' for mountain, 'ma' for dance, 'rin' for bell—it's written with those characters, and it's read Marin." "...Marin. Huh." "I-is it weird?" "...No. It's a good name. It suits the sea." Suits the sea. No one had ever said that to me before. "...Thank you. Um, and you...?" "Sahara Kaito." "Sahara... Kaito-kun?" "...Just Kaito is fine." "...Kaito-kun." When I said it out loud, it felt kind of ticklish. "...My ankle's gotten pretty cold. I think I c

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Episode 1

Name: Marine Blue Confession: Marin Hayama's Great Love and Sea Operation
Author: Novelia

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