Ego Surfing

Ego surfing.

Ego searching. Vanity searching. In Japan, and only in Japan, they also call it egosa. Whatever the name, it means going on the internet to check your own reputation.

So then — does ego surfing actually help?

It is, admittedly, the fastest way to confirm that people think better of you than they did before.

Turn that around, though, and it is also a way to watch your reputation fall in real time. Fold in the internet's defining trait, anonymity, and the whole habit is reborn as the worst possible outcome.

Which is why a fair number of people look on ego surfing itself with nothing but disapproval.

My manager told me, even before my debut, that I would do well to hold back.

"Haa..."

But the most frightening thing about ego surfing is that you end up doing it anyway, even when you know it's bad for you.

...

...

"I want to fix it, too..."

But what am I supposed to do about a stutter I don't even notice happening? It isn't something I can control.

...No.

"...I don't know."

At first I thought the stutter was nothing more than a bad habit I had picked up in this life. So when the memories of my previous one came back, I believed, of course, that it would get better little by little. And why wouldn't it? I had never stuttered back then.

Plenty of Iztomo told me I really did seem to be improving, bit by bit, and I could feel it myself, in my own way.

...Well. It is a miserable thing, that it took five whole years just to take a single step.

But in the end, that kind of progress is only something the people who keep watching my streams can even notice. And more than that — say it another way, and this habit of stuttering means it can be corrected, however slowly.

So had I spent five years leaving it alone, hiding behind I can't help it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and I'm used to being by myself? Before I started streaming, had I simply looked the other way because fixing it was too much trouble?

From deep in my chest, disgust comes rising.

"I shouldn't..."

I promised Miss Koga. From now on, fewer dark thoughts....

But a seed of malice, once planted, feeds on my feelings and grows.

...

That was the reason for this Calamity.

Just as someone had said, it was nothing. No — a Calamity that had begun as agitation with no basis at all. But the way a cigarette's small ember can start a wildfire, Calamities often begin exactly like that.

...

I know.

I know that far more people are on my side than theirs. I know that I truly did nothing wrong. I know that a Calamity like this isn't worth paying attention to.

I know all of it.

But the negative thoughts will not leave my head.

I ought to be drawing strength from the support, and yet my eyes kept catching only on the cruel posts, and all that remained was misery.

What did I even do wrong?

Wasn't it a mistake from the start — someone who can't even speak properly, throwing herself into internet streaming?

"...What am I even supposed to do?"

Of course no answer came back from the monitor.

And so my gaze, with nowhere left to go, fell at last upon an album.

Until now, just looking at it had been enough to give me strength. Right now it was no different from poison.

Natchan's face, and the things she had said to me, begin to eat their way in.

I had been so happy when I heard those words. Now, somehow, I feel nothing at all. No — the negative thoughts only keep piling on.

"Why?"

Why did she acknowledge me?

What does she even know about me, that she cheers me on?

I hate it. I'm scared.

The "Kaino Izumi" you're cheering for is, in truth, a worthless, insignificant nobody. There is nothing I'm good at. I only cause trouble for the people around me. I'm the kind of person everyone looks at with nothing but distaste, just like now. I'm so weak I can't even keep a promise I made to a friend.

It would have been better if Natchan hated me, too. Then I could have been happy, and smiled, just from being in the same agency.

Those words — that she supports me, that she'll help me — they scare me so much.

The moment I picture Natchan learning what I really am and making a displeased face, I feel like I'm going to be sick.

"Hic. Hnnn... hic, hk..."

My feelings surged, and unwanted tears came of their own accord.

I resented this body that cries so easily. No — I resented the person I am now.

I'm so sorry, Miss Koga.

I promised I would have fewer dark thoughts, and I couldn't. I suppose this is the limit of someone like me.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I truly am sorry.

Kayano Mina.

That was the name of the girl who always stood at the center of the talk in Class 1-A of Shiodome Private High School.

Light brown hair, so soft and glossy that anyone could see it, spilled past her waist. Her eyes were a mysterious blue that made people wonder whether she might be mixed, and on smooth skin her features sat small and neat and yet perfectly distinct, taking the charm of a puppyish face as far as it would go. Her figure was balanced, without a spare ounce anywhere, and more than a few people said she looked exactly like a doll.

But the reason she always stood at the center of attention was not simply how she looked.

It was the coldness of her, so at odds with that doll-like sweetness.

Someone said their eyes had met by accident, and that even though the shape of her gaze was soft, the look in it was so sharp they had no choice but to hold their breath. Someone said that when Kayano opened her mouth, it felt as if the air itself froze over.

Why she chose to be alone, her classmates could not begin to understand.

Even now, with the second semester already underway, you could count on one hand the people who had traded words with Kayano besides the class president, Miyauchi — and even Miyauchi, who spoke with her fairly often, said they had never once had a private conversation.

Once, someone floated the idea that perhaps she was simply, severely shy of strangers, and earned nothing but sneers for it. With a face like that, what on earth would she have to be shy about?

In any case, back to the matter at hand: for the past week, the atmosphere in Class 1-A of Shiodome High had been very bad indeed.

The reason was simple.

Kayano's air was far colder than usual, and far heavier.

If the ordinary her only made you reluctant to speak, then now, merely sharing a room with her was enough to draw you tight with nerves. And because her seat sat near the center of the classroom, there was nowhere you could be and not feel it.

"I'm sorry. As you know, I've never really had a private conversation with Miss Kayano either...."

"Yeah. Figures."

At Miyauchi's answer, Tateyama let out a long sigh.

Since the second semester began, Tateyama had not spoken with Kayano even once.

No — it would be more accurate to say she hadn't been able to.

She had tried drifting around Kayano's vicinity as if by accident, but the girl never so much as glanced her way.

"I really ought to just talk to her myself, shouldn't I...?"

No matter what, it wasn't good for the classroom to stay sunk like this. She would speak to Kayano directly and settle whatever the problem was — and while she was at it, use the chance to build enough of a rapport that they could talk now and then.

Tateyama, whose motto was the more friends, the better, settled on that plan.

"Hmm-hmm, hmmm~."

Homeroom was over and it was time to go home, and Tateyama hummed under her breath as she sidled toward Kayano. Every student in Class 1-A cheered her on in silence, and by the time she had come all the way up behind Kayano's back, she cleared her throat and opened her mouth.

"H-hey, Kaya—"

"Ah..."

But in that instant Kayano shot up from her seat.

"...Oh, Miss Tateyama? Did you... need something?"

"Uh, ah, n-no, Miss Kayano..."

"...I see. Then I'll... be going."

Leaving Tateyama, who had shaken her head without thinking, behind her, Kayano dipped her head and left the classroom.

"Haa..."

Watching that retreating back, Tateyama sighed, long and deep.

"If something's wrong, I hope it gets resolved soon..."

At Miyauchi's murmur, all of Class 1-A nodded.