FLF 01

01 – External Entrance Exam

People come to know love, are nurtured by it, and eventually die within it.

That was something my late grandmother used to say often. She was always reading old books, so maybe it was a line from one of her favorites.

When we were still little, we couldn’t understand what those words meant. The only reason we liked them at all was because they contained the same kanji as our names. That alone made them feel oddly special to us.

I remember—just once—my younger sister asked Grandma what it meant. She thought about it for a moment, then gave us one of her usual gentle smiles.

“Love and romance are a little different, you know. You two probably don’t even know what romance is yet, do you? When you do understand it, I’ll tell you this story again.”

It wasn’t an answer at all. Both my sister and I simply tilted our heads in confusion.

In the end, we never got a proper explanation. Grandma passed away before she could ever tell us.

Let me talk about us.

When I say “us,” I mean the eldest and second daughter born into the Kashiwabara family.

When my parents found out they were pregnant with us, they were apparently overwhelmed with anxiety. After all, it was their first pregnancy—and it turned out to be twins.

They were happy when the doctor told them, of course. Twins. But that happiness was quickly followed by worry: Could they really raise two children properly at the same time?

They consulted my grandparents and relatives over and over again, and with every conversation, their anxiety only grew.

But once we were actually born… perhaps it was true that motherhood makes people strong. All those worries disappeared as if they had never existed. They seemed to believe, without a doubt, that everything would work out.

My mother, influenced by Grandma’s words that she had heard since childhood, decided she wanted to give us names containing the character for “love.”

So my older sister was to be named “Ai,” and I was to be “Mana.”

However, my grandparents objected—saying it was confusing for siblings to share the same single kanji.

So in the end, my sister became “Aika” (written with the kanji for “love fragrance”), and I became “Manaka” (written with the kanji for “love flower”).

Even so… it still felt unnecessarily complicated.

We grew up incredibly close.

We wore matching clothes, had matching hairstyles, even wore matching hair accessories. Being identical twins, people eventually couldn’t tell us apart at all.

If Manaka cried, Aika would panic right beside her. If Aika laughed, I would be laughing too. We were, quite literally, two halves of a single existence.

When we entered middle school, Grandma’s health declined, and our family moved to the town where my mother’s parents lived.

Because we would be entering a public middle school, my mother worried we might be isolated by students who had already grown up together since elementary school. So she suggested we take entrance exams for private schools.

We weren’t exactly top students, but we were far from poor academically.

Thanks to that, we passed the interviews and exams without much trouble and were accepted into an elite girls’ school that continued through to university.

Ironically, the very environment my mother had feared we might avoid… might have been even more intense here.

We really were identical.

But around that time, it stopped feeling like we were always acting the same. Instead, it felt more like we were compensating for each other’s weaknesses.

My sister, Manaka, had grown into the very image of a proper young lady. As for me… I couldn’t really be called one.

Even with the same face and the same voice, people had somehow learned to distinguish us as:

“Quiet and graceful—that’s Manaka.”
“And the slightly rough one—that’s Aika.”

Still, we were one.

No one was allowed to divide us. I wouldn’t allow it.

Everything we had shared until now—nothing had truly changed. It was just slightly tilted toward one side or the other.

So everything was the same as always.

We would always be together.

That was what I believed.

Which is why I couldn’t hide my shock at what my sister said next.

Looking back now… that was already the moment we had begun to drift apart.

“Entrance exam!?”

“Ah—A-Ai-chan! You’re too loud…”

At Manaka’s warning, I looked around and realized we had drawn attention.

It was a Sunday afternoon, inside a family restaurant. Of course we had. There were families, groups of friends, couples on dates—every seat was filled. In a place like this, of course people would stare if someone suddenly stood up and shouted.

“Sorry… but, Mana. What do you mean by that?”

I sat back down, lowering my head slightly. By the time I did, the surrounding gazes had already drifted away—to the TV mounted on the wall, to menus, to the people across from them.

Manaka hesitated, then mumbled shyly.

“I… thought it might be fun. And… I want to try doing what I want to do…”

“School is fun for you right now too, isn’t it? Besides, we don’t need entrance exams. We can go straight to university normally.”

“But, Ai-chan…”

“And the university you’re talking about is co-ed, right?”

I flipped through the pamphlet she had shown me.

A bright green campus under a blue sky. Smiling men and women posing far too perfectly, like a staged advertisement.

What exactly was supposed to be appealing about something that looked like a lie?

“I know that,” she replied immediately.

I sighed.

“You know, but… that means there are boys there too.”

“Yeah, I know that already…” she said, slightly exasperated. “It’s not like I’m scared of boys or anything. I’m fine.”

She downed her iced tea in one go—well, through a straw, but still with determination.

“Come on, Ai-chan, let’s go home. We still have to help with dinner.”

“Hey, Mana—wait!”

But she had already headed for the register.

Since she was the one who had invited me out today, she insisted on paying. After finishing, she turned back once, motioned for me to follow, and quietly left the shop.

Even before today, something had felt off.

Manaka didn’t usually invite me anywhere on her own. That was just how she was. Still, I also wanted new shoes, so I agreed to meet her on Sunday.

But during shopping, she seemed absent-minded the entire time. So much so that I almost regretted not choosing another day.

By lunchtime, we ended up at a family restaurant. We ordered while she responded with vague nods—but something was still wrong.

So, while eating dessert, I finally asked.

“Hey, Mana?”

“Mm? What is it, Ai-chan? …Oh, do you want some of this?”

She pointed at her parfait.

I sighed and shook my head.

“We ordered almost the same thing… I don’t need yours.”

“Is that so? It’s really good,” she said with a smile.

“Yeah, I know…”

Then she tilted her head slightly.

“You’re acting weird, Ai-chan.”

It’s because of you.

Because of you.

“Hey, Mana. If I’m misunderstanding, that’s fine—but… you’ve been spacing out all day. What’s wrong?”

“Ah… um…”

I was right.

She looked guilty and went quiet.

Several minutes passed. Neither of us touched our parfaits. Eventually, I couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine. Everyone has things like that.”

Even twins… though we’d never had that before.

When I looked at her, she was still staring down.

I was about to say something again when she finally pulled something out of her bag.

A pamphlet.

There was no mistake—it was a university brochure. A bright sky, green grass, smiling students.

And the title printed across the top:

“Seiga University Admissions Guide.”

“…What’s this? A university brochure?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Seiga University… isn’t that an art university in the mountains?”

“Yeah. You know it well, Ai-chan.”

Manaka scooped up a melting bite of parfait and ate it.

“So? What about it?”

“Do you remember our dream?”

“…Of course.”

We had always said it since childhood.

We would create picture books together.

She would draw the illustrations. I would write the story. That was our dream.

“I can come up with stories,” she said softly, “but turning them into writing, organizing them… that’s your strength, Ai-chan.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve been studying writing properly. I even write down story ideas and show them to you.”

Just last week, I had shown her a plot idea. She had praised it endlessly.

“I know you’ve been working hard for our dream,” she continued. “But… my drawings still aren’t at a level where they can really convey anything.”

“That’s not true,” I said quickly. “I really like your drawings. The sketches you do in your notebook are more than enough. It’s just because they’re pencil drawings. If you used watercolor like you used to—”

“No,” she interrupted gently. “I want to become a real professional. So sketches like that… aren’t enough.”

“…Mana.”

“I thought about vocational school too… but then I thought maybe I should push myself a little and try an art university.”

Her expression changed rapidly—earlier she had looked downcast, but now she looked almost bright, like a flower suddenly opening.

I couldn’t keep up. My mouth hung open slightly.

“I want to see more people’s art… exchange opinions… grow in that kind of environment…”

“W-wait, so that means…”

She nodded.

“I… I’m thinking of taking entrance exams externally.”

“…Entrance exam!?”

I stood up with a loud scrape of the chair.

She immediately blushed, glancing around.

“A-Ai-chan… you’re too loud…”

And that was how it came to this.

Why would she say something like that?

Sure, if you asked whether she had the talent to become a painter, I couldn’t confidently say yes. But for picture books? I thought she was more than capable. There was no need for specialized training.

And me—I had always been better at writing. Teachers praised me. I even won awards.

We had always worked like this since we were children: I would create stories, and she would draw them.

We had been sharing our strengths… and weaknesses… without even realizing it.

Which meant this imbalance existed in everything we were.

If Manaka went to an art university alone… then we would drift apart.

“Hey, Mana! Why are you suddenly saying this?!”

“Our art teacher called me in the other day,” she said. “He told me my grades are good enough that I could probably handle the entrance exams, and that I should try it.”

“What?! Why is that woman interfering with your future?!”

I hated her.

That teacher with her fake sweet voice.

“If she hadn’t told me, I never would’ve thought about art school,” Manaka said softly. “So… I think it might actually be a good thing.”

“It’s not good!! If you do that, we’ll be separated!”

“You’re overreacting, Ai-chan,” she said with a small laugh. “It’s not like I’m going to live alone. I can still commute from home. We’ll still see each other.”

“That means you’ll leave early in the morning! And we won’t see each other at night either!”

Panic surged up inside me.

I stepped in front of her without thinking.

She calmly placed her belongings into my hands.

“…Hold this for me. I’ll open the door.”

Before I realized it, we were already home.

“I’m home— …huh? Dad and Mom aren’t here?”

Her voice echoed through the quiet house.

Right. Today was their anniversary trip.

They had left us alone again.

“You said that this morning, didn’t you?”

“Did I…? Whatever. I’m all sweaty. Ai-chan, do you want to shower first?”

“No, you go ahead.”

“Come on, don’t sulk!”

She smiled awkwardly and nudged her forehead against my back.

“I’m just sad you decided all this without asking me.”

When I said it directly, she looked genuinely guilty.

“…I’m sorry.”

“…Just go take your bath already. I’ll bring your things to your room.”

People always said I spoiled her too much.

I knew I shouldn’t give in so easily.

But in the end… I always did.

“Okay, thanks, Ai-chan!”

She smiled brightly and closed the bathroom door.

Left alone in the entryway, I let out a small sigh and picked up her bag and our shopping bags, heading toward the stairs.

Creaaak…

“…Huh?”

I heard it.

It wasn’t the sound of the stairs.

Somewhere deep inside me—or maybe in the world itself—

the sound of something beginning to slip out of alignment.