ALL NOVEL chapter 5
5 Gentle Parting
When I became able to run with a springy movement, Anna came to report something with a happy expression.
“Anna is going to ‘youchisha’ soon!”
Youchisha.
The infant and toddler monitoring facility where I am entrusted belongs to a certain huge academy.
In this huge academy, there are various facilities according to age.
Nursery (from six months old to four years old)
Kindergarten (from four to six years old)
Elementary education department (from six to twelve years old)
Secondary education department (from twelve to fifteen years old)
Those who have decided their career path up to this point go to the vocational education department (from fifteen to twenty years old), and those who still want to learn broadly go to the higher education department (from fifteen to eighteen years old), and the branching begins.
Basically, those who were in the nursery seem to smoothly move up to the same academy’s kindergarten, elementary, and secondary education departments.
In other words, Anna will be promoted to another monitoring facility in about six months.
Anna seemed to want me to celebrate, but I remained expressionless.
She doesn’t seem to realize it, but if she graduates from the nursery and goes to kindergarten, Anna and I will be assigned to separate classrooms.
In other words, the time of parting is approaching.
I couldn’t genuinely celebrate Anna’s advancement.
“Youchisha has uniforms, you know.”
It seems that Anna thinks I don’t understand what “youchisha” is.
She talks about various appeal points, such as having uniforms, everyone being older than four, and even the younger sister of the protagonist of the currently airing girls’ entertainment show being four years old.
This is something that won’t end unless I say “amazing.”
Well, I’m an adult.
Even if it’s not from the heart, I can have a conversation using the pretext of “congratulating only in words.”
It was fortunate to meet a reliable older woman like Anna, but “parting” always haunted my life.
A million reincarnations—this time, the world hasn’t bared its fangs at me yet, but eventually it will show me a grim, sinister, and ruthless truth.
If that happens, “farewell” would mean “parting in death”. Especially those who care for me, they will be crushed by the cruel reality and suffer until their death.
In that sense, “graduation” is such a gentle separation.
It’s as if this world is peaceful — but that’s not the case. There is no way the world I was born into is peaceful. I know that because I have been reincarnated a million times.
…The only thing I can do is to send Anna off with a smile, without any regrets.
She is currently still three years old (turning four this year), but she is very mature. In moments when she picks up dishes I accidentally dropped, she shows the strength of an adult woman.
On the other hand, when she talks about girls’ videos, she is very passionate. She is like a three-year-old with a childish heart.
Memories of spending six months with her in the nursery come flooding back.
She confiscated the building blocks I tried to put in my mouth, and the small stones I tried to put in my mouth, and even the hands of other children that I tried to put in my mouth… Wait, am I being stolen by Anna all the time?
That’s right. Anna was a usurper.
I haven’t forgotten the grudge I have against her for taking away my favorite cubic building blocks.
I admired cubes. Not cylinders, not triangular prisms. The stability of a cube was exactly the form I aimed for.
I wished to become a cube in the future — it wasn’t just once or twice. Stability. That was what I desired in every life, but couldn’t obtain. A cube embodies my ideals. There’s no way I wouldn’t admire it.
But I was bipedal.
I couldn’t become a cube.
That’s why I always kept a cube by my side. I even thought about becoming one with it. I have a habit of touching things I’m interested in with my lips, so I always touched the cube with my lips.
Anna took that cube away from me.
So — I don’t know this kind of woman.
If you’re going, then go wherever you want.
That’s what I think —
But I cried.
I hugged Anna tightly and cried.
“Rex-kun?”
“No.”
As a one-year-old, I couldn’t say anything more.
But it seems like Anna understood what I was trying to say — she understood, it seems.
She realized our parting.
She realized that graduation is a separation.
She cried.
I cried too.
We continued to hold each other and cry.
I no longer knew why I was crying, but I cried while raising my voice, “Why am I crying?!” I cried with that feeling.
I was tired, so I went to sleep.