The Fourth Class Is Modern Chinese (Continued)

At that signal, we left the rest area and headed toward the rock zone.

Maybe it was because they had rested enough, or because they were anticipating the climax of the event, but their steps were remarkably light.

Walking several paces ahead of me, their figures overlapped with the light spilling out from the audience seats, dazzling enough to make me narrow my eyes.

The stretched-out shadows did not remain in one place. They swayed slowly, growing fainter and blurrier, yet they still overlapped.

The moment I saw that, I could not help stopping. Because I had the utterly uncharacteristic thought that I wanted to keep watching a little longer.

"Hikigaya-kun, what are you standing there for? We're leaving you behind."

"Antisocial guy, hurry up!"

Yukino looked back at me, rooted to the spot. Beside her, Yuihama waved vigorously.

"Senpai, you're so slow—"

"Big brother, come on, come on!"

Iroha squinted at me irritably, while Komachi bounced as she waved.

How many more times would I get to see them all gathered together like this?

There was not much time left. When the seasons changed and a new spring arrived, a beautiful yet cruel farewell would await us.

The festival would eventually end as well.

A festival was a festival precisely because it would end someday.

Conversely, anything that would end someday could be called a festival.

Even an ordinary, unremarkable everyday life was a festival.

There would never be another festival like ours.

It was probably, certainly, a once-in-a-lifetime experience—the finest experience, one that ought to be described as Ichigo Ichie.

Someone had once said it.

Chiba's famous sights were festivals and dancing. Fools who danced and fools who watched others dance were both great fools, so if you were going to be a fool anyway, dance and sing