When Hirata was very young, he believed that English was a code vital to truly understand Japanese. He had seen his parents, teachers, and distant relatives converse. Yet the words eluded him.
Ergo, there was only one answer, so he had concluded then. "They are talking in a secret language." He could still recall the feeling of self-satisfaction that filled him at that moment. It was like discovering a lost key to a secret passage known to none. Hirata also remembered the brief and sharp pang of sadness cutting in his ribs, following the bubbly emotions. The young him was lonely. What worth was knowledge with none to share it?
As the years passed, as his knowledge grew, he came to realise that his initial conclusion was wrong. People from other countries didn't talk in some code. カナダ was little different from Canada. The enunciation, however different as it may be, it just spoke to him of a thinly veiled puzzle.
As the years had passed, as his old desire to share knowledge turned quiet, simultaneously (or perhaps the former was an inevitable consequence) his view of the world was torn—the few pieces found glued back together with own hands, shakily and slowly. With the unfeeling motions of a machine the phonemes and the lexicon and the morphemes of English had slipped into the labyrinth of his mind.
"Hirata, you handled the English quiz quite well," said Karuizawa-san, walking to stand beside him, "your actual use of it is, like even better than your grades."
Knowledge was built to a purpose. All things had a meaning, you had to work to find them.
"Thank you," replied Hirata with a genuine and long-practiced smile, "it was just past experience that helped." Years had gone by, and still there remained pieces in his native language continuing to elude him. The language was like a twisted labyrinth, the key to which he could quite never find.
In middle school both when silent and not-silent, a secret passage was undercurrent. He had noticed it very late. You could hold only so many answers, Hirata knew, but why was it so? Knowledge was built to a purpose, to remain for discovery.
Locked doorways to twisted mazes tucked many treasures.
There was always something undercurrent in every sphere of life.
In high school, only now he learnt this truth. So many passages hidden, so many keys lost between cracks on the road of life. When he was very young, he believed English was an important key. That it unlocked the door to treasures unseen and untouched.
Kiyotaka was a locked door. A treasure unknown.
Every language in this world was unique. Hirata was now fine with knowing only a few. When he was young, he swerved on a similar path. His mind was asunder then. His choice wasn't his then. Now however? It was an action done by conscious intent and careful consideration. In exchange to let the passages and labyrinths and treasures to remain a whispered secret, he wanted no other key except one—
"Here is everything," said Kiyotaka, "listen to me".
—leave the roads bloody, carve out the buried treasures, and then tell him, behind that veil, behind that puzzle, what meaning have you been scrutinising of this life?
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A/N: Hope you enjoyed reading the chapter. I am thinking I might do more Hirata POVs in future.
Words: 532
Published: January 28, 2023
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COTE: Vignettes archive
FanfictionA collection of random scenes, one-shots, potential stories that I used to write. Disclaimer: I do not own Classroom of the Elite or any of its characters. It belongs to Shōgo Kinugasa and respective other owners.
