Chapter 54: First Experience

“This section of the wall is specifically for beginners,” the cheerful female employee explained, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. “You’ll see that some of the holds have deep grooves, which you can grip securely with your fingers. Others are flatter, designed more as footholds, to be used for balance and propulsion.”

With a diligent concern, she began to lay out the fundamental principles of climbing.

But Yomikawa wasn’t listening. She had no interest in the tedious mechanics of the sport. Her goal was not to learn, but to… purge. To find a task so physically and mentally demanding that it would cauterize the chaotic, intrusive thoughts that now swarmed in her mind like a plague of locusts.

“Those men… the ones who keep staring at me… what, precisely, are they thinking? Is it purely sexual in nature?”

“Am I truly, irrevocably, fated to live out the rest of my existence in this… female form? Is there no chance, no possibility, however remote, of ever returning to what I once was?”

“And if I must remain a woman, how am I to navigate this endless gauntlet of scrutiny, this constant, wearying comparison from both men and women? I cannot possibly maintain this… this performance… for an entire lifetime, can I?”

The chaotic, unwelcome thoughts bubbled up, one after another, an endless, tormenting cycle, each one bringing with it a toxic cocktail of emotions: disgust, despair, anxiety.

“Thank you very much for your explanation,” Yomikawa Tsuko said, her voice a cold, sharp instrument that cut through the employee’s cheerful prattling. “But for the rest, I would prefer to try and figure it out on my own. Would you mind… not watching me? It makes me… nervous.”

“Eh? But… you’re a complete beginner, aren’t you? Without any proper guidance, there are… safety concerns…”

Yomikawa offered a polite, but utterly inflexible smile. “It’s quite alright. I have no intention of climbing very high. I am simply… not accustomed to being watched.”

Faced with her repeated and increasingly firm refusals, the employee hesitated for a moment, then finally, reluctantly nodded. This section of the wall was, after all, designed for novices. While it had a few challenging spots, there had never been a serious accident. It should be fine.

Watching the employee walk away, Yomikawa let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh of relief. Her expression hardened into a mask of pure, cold determination. She meticulously double-checked the safety rope herself, and after confirming that it was secure, she placed her foot on the largest, most inviting hold on the bottom row and pushed off, her hand shooting up to grasp a bright green hold to her upper right.

In that instant, in that single, jarring moment of physical contact, she finally, viscerally, understood why Kishida Masayoshi had said this sport was so effective at focusing the mind, at completely emptying it of all other extraneous thoughts.

The green hold had no groove. Its surface was smooth, almost polished, and angled slightly downwards. It was, by design, a foothold, not a handhold. The moment she gripped it, she felt her fingers, slick with a sudden, unexpected film of sweat, begin to slip.

“Am I going to fail? Already? Before I’ve even truly begun?”

She gritted her teeth, a snarl of frustration forming on her lips. Her eyes darted quickly to the left. Her hand shot out, her fingers finding and closing, with a desperate, crushing force, around a crimson hold.

A stroke of luck. This one had a deep, reassuring groove. Her fingers dug in, anchoring her, stabilizing her body. Her left foot found a secure, solid purchase. And in that moment, she realized that her right hand, which had been gripping the treacherous green hold so tightly, was now slick with a cold, clammy sweat.

“Is this sport truly this difficult for a novice? Or am I just… weak?”

“Or is it… is it Senpai’s body? Is her inherent physical weakness… dragging me down?”

“Damn it! To blame Senpai’s physical condition… that’s nothing more than a pathetic excuse! How could I even allow myself to have such a weak, contemptible thought?”

“I must keep moving forward! I must silence this incessant, useless, internal chatter!”

Taking a deep, ragged breath, Yomikawa straightened her bent left leg, her right hand reaching up with a newfound sense of purpose, to grab a vibrant blue hold. In the next second, her heart sank, a cold, heavy stone in her chest. This one, too, had no groove. And its angle was even steeper, more unforgiving than the last one. It had clearly been designed as a foothold, angled for the sole of a shoe when the right leg was bent.

I cannot fall. Not now. Not at the very beginning. Failure is not an option.

She had no time for rambling, self-pitying thoughts now. Her mind, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, was blessedly silent. She frantically searched for a suitable handhold for her left hand. Fortunately, near the starting area, the holds were more numerous, their distribution less erratic, more forgiving.

When she had once again stabilized her body, she let out a quiet, shaky sigh of relief, only to realize that, without her noticing, her heart was now pounding, a frantic, wild rhythm against her ribs.

She looked up at the chaotic, colorful tapestry of protrusions studding the wall above her. Is every grip, every climb, a step into the unknown? she thought, a strange, almost philosophical detachment settling over her. Like the endless, branching crossroads in a person’s life. One wrong choice, one miscalculation, and you immediately pay the price for your mistake.

Steeling herself, she began to climb again. Each movement was a gamble, a blind reach into the unknown. With each new, uncertain hold, she had to be completely focused, prepared for any unexpected difficulty, for the ever-present possibility of sudden, catastrophic failure.

And in that state of absolute, unwavering concentration, all the chaotic, intrusive, and unwelcome thoughts in her mind were brutally suppressed, silenced. Her heart was still racing, a frantic, panicked drumbeat, but her mind… her mind felt strangely, blessedly serene.

It was almost like being her old self again.

She climbed to about a third of the way up the wall before she finally allowed herself to pause, to breathe, to assess her position. She glanced to her left, then to her right, and suddenly, with a sickening lurch, realized that she had, without noticing, climbed herself into a very disadvantageous, almost impossible position. A trap of her own making.

The holds on either side were too far away. Even if she stretched her arms to their absolute, screaming limit, she couldn’t reach them. The gap, she estimated, with a cold, detached horror, was a good thirty centimeters. Unless she could… jump. But if the hold she was aiming for had no groove, if her fingers couldn’t find a secure, locking grip, then even if she managed to execute the leap, to make contact with the hold, she would just… slip.

“Damn it! Is this truly the extent of my current abilities? Is this all I am now?”

“To make a series of blind, impulsive, and ultimately incorrect choices, and then to simply… plunge into the abyss?”

“This version of myself… it’s ugly. Pathetic. Contemptible. Damn it all.”

The chaotic, self-loathing thoughts began to surface again, a tide of black, oily water. Yomikawa could feel her physical strength rapidly, catastrophically, depleting. All she could do was cling, with a desperate, trembling force, to the small, unforgiving holds with her fingertips and toes, her weight now supported almost entirely by the taut safety rope behind her, as she rested, suspended in mid-air, a helpless, struggling insect pinned to a board.

“No. I cannot accept this. I will not give up like this. There must be another way. Another option. There is always another option.”

“If I cannot go left, and I cannot go right… what about straight up?”

“The distance looks… approximately the same. Should I risk it? Should I gamble everything on a single, desperate, all-or-nothing move?”

Just as Yomikawa was weighing her options, just as she was preparing to let go, to commit herself to that final, desperate gamble, a small, bright green laser beam suddenly appeared on the wall, just below her right hand. And at the same time, a familiar and deeply unwelcome voice called up from behind her. “Grab this one with your right hand. Can you reach it? No, wait. Come back down a little first. Then you can replan your route.”

Then, the green laser beam moved to her left.

“Then, grab this hold with your left hand. Both of these have good, deep grips. They’re solid.”

“Once you’re stable, then you can worry about choosing your footing.”

“And try to keep your body as close to the wall as possible. It will conserve your energy.”

Yomikawa didn’t need to turn around to know who was speaking. That calm, steady, and infuriatingly condescending voice.

She let out a soft, almost inaudible, contemptuous snort. I never knew he was such a meddling, officious busybody.

“Just because you possess a little more experience, you think you have the right to order me around, to command me, as if you were some kind of senior, some kind of… expert? Don’t be ridiculous. As if I would ever deign to listen to the unsolicited advice of such a fool.”

Retreat? Replan her route? Absolutely not. That was an admission of failure, of flawed judgment. Her choice, even if it was the wrong one, she would not be corrected. She would not be told what to do.

Yomikawa Tsuko took a deep, shuddering breath, her eyes fixed, with a new, fanatical intensity, on the vibrant blue hold approximately one meter diagonally above her. In her mind, she rehearsed the move over and over, visualizing the explosive leap, the desperate, crushing grip, how she would stabilize her body, her momentum, after a successful catch.

The voice from below, likely sensing her defiant, almost suicidal intention, fell silent.

“Now!”

With a silent, internal roar, she summoned every last, flickering ounce of her remaining strength. She pushed off with her right foot, her body launching upwards. Her hand closed around the blue hold, her slender fingers tightening with all their might.

In the next second, her heart plummeted, a cold, dead weight in her chest.

The hold had no groove.

Her fingers had nowhere to lock in, nowhere to find purchase.

“Failure.”

Her fingertips, slick with sweat and despair, began to slip. Yomikawa Tsuko stared, almost in a daze, at the smooth, unforgiving blue hold, and then, with a strange sense of detachment, of resignation, she let her body fall backward, into the void.