Nothing Special |「ナニモナイ」[Nani Mo Nai] 

A draft. | Short Story. | Written by Clover @ Aqil 3B 

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Chapter 1: Ideal Human 

“Everyone aspired to be the perfect human.” Later added, “They would even break the boundary to reach them.” 

An early riser, Ichika woke up and washed her face. Took a shower and brushed her teeth. Dived herself into fragranced school clothes. Groomed herself, making charming looks to anyone who passed by. 

She exited home in a manner after giving a goodbye kiss to her beloved mother. The moment she stepped outside, a sense of herself flooded the scene.  

Every one of the girls, women, and grannies, was wearing her face. It sure was suffocating to be in this environment. But she showed no weakness and kept on being the perfect girl. 

Meanwhile, the boys and men were wearing a face that Ichika recognized. It was the sparkly face of a man—the face of Makoto Kenji. In this world, there were only two faces: Ichika Tanaka’s and Makoto Kenji’s. Two perfect faces, representing the ideal girl and boy.  

This view started 2 years ago when they were interviewed by a group of social studies students. They got publicized and people started to aspire to them. From that point, it grew to obsession and so on. 

Ichika let out a sigh from inside each time she passed ‘her’. She never yet hated being perfect but was suffocated by this atrocious act of society. Everyone just tore off their personalities at once, changing to her. From the way, she walks to the smallest speck of details. 

“Just another day, like all the others…” Ichika thought to herself as she arrived at school and headed straight to class. As she walked through the halls, she passed by several students, and it all felt the same as it did outside.  

In class, about 5 cameras were set up by the school and some professors. She would be under surveillance for the whole 6 hours at school without any blind spot. Even in the toilet, there was no peace.  

She hated those, but it was nothing compared to judging looks from her classmates. They would occasionally take their eyes off the board to look at her. To them, “She’s perfect that it’s irresistible and too plausible to not watch her.” The teachers weren’t excluded in this case. 

Ichika’s classes always end with them jumped by the rings of bells after sinking themselves by watching her. She would pack her bags politely and take her leave without a single word. 

She would walk home, looking down. She’s too suffocated, she needs to get back home. When she got home, she was greeted by none other than Ichika’s face once again. She didn’t hate her mum, just very disgusted with her for wearing her daughter’s face as a persona. 

She would sink herself on her bed. Sometimes, she would cry for hours. Sometimes she would hold a scissor up on her throat, depending on the day. She would say, “This perfection wasn’t a mere act as they did. I never asked for this, I hated this. I’m just unable to be, not-perfect,” over and over until she fell asleep. 

Then, she would wake up and go through the day. Wash, rinse, repeat.  

One day, she took a thinking, “What would happen to this world if their perfect idol happened to be- a mere cold body?” From there, she kept thinking about that million-dollar question. She became excited after thinking ‘what-if’ one after another. Driving her to take action. 

She went to an abandoned building that only she knew about, a place hidden from judgment. Occasionally, she came here to rest or reflect on her misfortunes, but this time, something felt different. She was ready to cross boundaries and finally act. Climbing to the top, she sat on a ledge on the fifth floor, aware that any human would easily be splattered if they happened to slip off.  

Looking down, a rush of emotions flooded her. She instinctively pulled herself back from the edge, saving herself from a potentially tragic fall. At that moment, she began to hyperventilate, squeezing her chest as tears streamed down her face. Her mind went blank, and she hugged herself tightly, crying. “What was I even thinking?” she wondered.  

Lost in her own turmoil, she felt as if her identity no longer belonged to her. She existed in an abstract world where everyone took pieces of her identity for themselves. There was no longer just her; everyone had become her—everyone was Makoto.  

Ichika continued to reflect on her thoughts until she eventually fell asleep after squeezing out her last tears. The sky wasn’t particularly sunny; it was melancholic, as if it empathized with her misfortune. The chilly breeze swept by, making it difficult for Ichika to sleep soundly. Then, she felt the warmth of a human presence surrounding her. She resumed her sleep, comfortable and undisturbed. 

When she woke up, she heard gentle breaths nearby. Turning toward the sound, she saw a boy. He was wearing the school uniform from her school. As she realized this, she noticed that she had been covered with his blazer. It smelled pleasant, which brought a small comfort to her. 

Curious, she moved closer to the boy and observed his sleeping face. It was indeed the face she recognized, but there was something different about it—a depth beyond what she was used to. She playfully poked his cheek and suddenly understood everything. It was him, the real Makoto.

“He’s really something,” she murmured, still dazed by the encounter, as she continued to poke him gently.

“Are you gonna keep poking me, princess?” the faked-sleeping Makoto started speaking. 

It startled Ichika, she moved back and said, “I was wondering if you’re the real prince, and guess what? I was correct!” she laughed. 

“And you’re the real princess,” he paused. He thought of something, “What are you doing here?” Makoto gazed at the city. 

Ichika didn’t answer the question, instead, “What about you?” 

“I was just, trying to find a spot to have a break. I’m sure I’ve found yours,” he smirked. 

“And you’ve taken a liking here too I assume?” replied Ichika. 

“Oh- you bet.” 

“I don’t mind, it’s been quite a while for me to have a decent chat like this. I’m fine with having a talkative acquaintance.” 

“Really? That’s funny, I thought you’re the talkative here.” 

“That means we’re both equally quiet?” Ichika loose herself, started to trust Makoto. 

“And equally chirping,” Makoto said. They had quite a good chat and laugh. It cured Ichika’s sad episode for the day.  

From that point on, they began hanging out in the abandoned building. They exchanged bad puns one after another, sharing plenty of laughs. Slowly, Ichika’s life started to transform into a blooming garden. 

At school, they would occasionally meet during breaks to chat or partner up during recess. Their friendship drew a lot of attention throughout the school, sparking both happy and unhappy rumors. As the news spread, even more speculation began to circulate. 

Despite all the chatter, both Makoto and Ichika chose not to respond. They were accustomed to the rumours and grew tired of them, blocking out any comments from others. 

This beautiful moment was about to turn into a dreadful story, as a hint of hypnomania lingered. 

“I wanted to be an author,” Makoto announced to Ichika. 

They sat in an abandoned building, gazing at the sunset beyond the massive city. It had been a week since they met, and they had already formed a bond that felt like that of old friends. 

Ichika raised an eyebrow. “Where’s this sudden confession coming from?” 

“I don’t know, I just thought you should know,” Makoto replied, closing his eyes to enjoy the gentle breeze that flowed around them. 

“Do you want me to write?” suggested Ichika. 

“For what?” he paused to think, “You know what, good idea. I would like to see how you write.” 

“Any theme you got at the back of your head?”  

“Any would do, I just wanted you to write a story. Maybe you’re a better writer than me. Who knows?” Makoto ended their conversation. 

Ichika went home feeling an unusual excitement to write. She picked up a pen and began writing, losing herself in the process for the next three hours. Once she penned the final sentence, she read through her work thoroughly. A satisfied smile spread across her face as she decided to go straight to bed, eager to show her story to Makoto.  

The next day at school felt unusually long for her as she kept checking the time. For the first time, she was genuinely motivated at school, though not really because of the classes. When the bell finally rang, she quickly gathered her belongings and rushed out of the classroom, clutching the paper that contained her writing, ready to share it.  

“You’re terrifyingly quick today,” Makoto waved at Ichika. He must’ve reached earlier despite Ichika being very quick to come here. 

“Oh, you shut up,” she sighed. “Here’s my assignment teacher, I’m handing it off,” she stretched out the paper to Makoto. 

But, Makoto rejected it by pushing it back, “I want you to read it out loud for me, can you?” 

Ichika was confused by that request, “Sure?” 

Ichika read the story to Makoto with great emotion, making sure not to skip any part of it. Despite some bumps in the narrative, Makoto smiled earnestly at her and listened intently. The story was beautifully crafted, and when Ichika finished, Makoto applauded her enthusiastically. 

“I love that story of yours, despite it being sad and all,” commented Makoto. 

“Thanks. I know if I were being compared to you, I would be thrown off the competition,” smiled Ichika. Although the compliment was short and simple, she seemed happy about it. 

“And this isn’t a competition either. You’ve created a good story, and that’s what really matters,” Makoto reassured Ichika. Their conversation ended shortly after, following a brief chat about school and how their day had gone. They said their goodbyes, and the day concluded on a positive note. 

[Ichika’s story: Sometimes, the world is just so cruel that a happy story could overturned into a somber one. It’s unexplainable how this pattern works, it’s parallel of randoms.] 

The story somehow broke out and it became so popularized that some infamous authors analyzed it. It wasn’t particularly bad, people now saw a new curtain of perfection inside both Makoto and Ichika. 

[The girl in this story, would suffer and be tormented right after a happy scene. It would be happy and sad back to back, until it unfolds what lies under the long story. Agony] 

The story she wrote, would be refined by society into-

A reality. 

Chapter 2: Ichika’s Short Story 

For the first time, she’s delighted by the public’s attention to her. This time, it wasn’t suffocating kind; it’s a proud one. However, one question managed to pierce through all the positivity: How did the story break out? Of course, now that she’s satisfied, she chose to ignore it, and decided that she earned herself a sound sleep. She cannot wait to see what tomorrow will unfold for her.  

The next day, she woke up with a bright smile and danced through her routines. Before leaving, she wrapped herself around her mother and slipped in a kiss. She realized that this was the first time she’d been elated, and she chose to enjoy it to the fullest.   

[Before it fades into…] 

Coincidentally, the assignment for the Japanese student was to write an essay or a story. Feeling confident in her skills, she decided to write a story. The assigned theme was quite interesting. She dived herself into her memories to capture the piece perfectly. With only three minutes left in class, she managed to finish her final draft. It may not have been the best piece, but it effectively captured the gist of the theme. 

Ignoring the reflections of her, she left the classroom at once after the bell rang. She quickened her pace as she approached the building where they could escape from the world. Makoto was already there, leaning against a wall. Ichika waved, and Makoto returned the gesture. They chatted, occasionally pairing up with giggles, and their conversation lasted quite a while. 

Before saying their goodbyes, Makoto stopped her. “Wait, I have something for you,” he told Ichika as he went past her to grab a box behind her. It was a pink box, wrapped with a ribbon that was tidily tied. It was as small as a man’s palm, but Ichika ought to get excited after Makoto handed the box to her. 

She almost immediately pulled the ribbon. “Don’t; please open it once you get back,” Makoto asked.  

Ichika smiled, “Alright, if that’s what you want. I will open it and see whatever you shoved in this cute box,” she lifted up the box.  

Makoto let out a sigh of relief, “Thanks. Anyway, I should get going.

Careful going back. Goodbye!” Makoto waved at Ichika.  

Ichika echoed it and replied, “Bye, thanks for the gift Makoto.”  

They parted and went back home. Ichika hold the box wondering what’s in the lovely pink box. She heard a gentle shake as she walked back home. It didn’t sound particularly heavy or massive, almost too small for the box. She didn’t ponder much and patiently waited for the surprise to reveal itself once she opened it.  

Ichika hummed until she reached the front door of hers. She hold the knob and twisted it slowly. As the door waved her open, she managed to waft herself an unpleasant smell. Blood. 

At the end of the hallway, she saw one of the sliding doors was left open because something was blocking it on the floor. Her mother, lying on the floor, bathed with blood. Ichika vividly remembered, how lively she was back then before she left. Who knew, that kiss and hug was the last time. There won’t be next time for her to seek her mother’s warmth.

It’s cold and silent as the air was. 

She dragged herself to her lifeless mother to take a final look at it, “Yeah, she’s dead,” said Ichika, trembling. The gift she had clutched fell from her weak hand and dipped itself in the sea of blood. 

Momentarily, she was taken back a few hours ago when she’s at school. “I wanted you to write as you please about your family,” the Japanese subject’s teacher said in her head. It was vivid what she wrote about, but not clear what she actually wrote. It’s true, she missed her dad. However, she didn’t fret nor thought much about it because of her mum. She also wrote down about the precious and painful memories they went through together as one. 

What irony, she thought. The timing couldn’t be worse. She had such poor luck; no matter how hard she tried, not a single tear fell. The situation had caught her off guard, leaving her unable to react properly. “I’m sorry, Mum. You’ve got the world’s worst daughter,” she said weakly. 

For a few moments, she stood there, staring at her deceased mother. “Not a tear has come out. I can’t just stand here doing nothing,” she finally said, gathering herself. As she looked around, she noticed that the present was now a dark crimson red, no longer resembling the cute pink box it once was. 

She stepped onto the thick red substance and picked up the box. Her hands were shaking as she lifted the cover, revealing a shining silver necklace and a folded piece of paper. As any girl would, she took out the necklace and examined its intricate shapes and patterns. 

It was lovely how it had been crafted, featuring a design of two lovebirds perched on a branch. She put it on, trying to muster a smile, but it fell flat. Then, she unfolded the paper and straightened it out. 

There was a short and quick text, “Congrats on the story. I wished to see what you would reach, together.” 

She paused after reading the quick note, her eyes fixated on the word “story.” That’s the answer; this scene resembled something from her story. She processed the thought thoroughly.  

In that instant, a surge of realization swept through her mind. If this were truly part of her story, then this wasn’t the end. There were still a few more sequences yet to unfold.  

She turned back, leaving behind the figure she once treasured, and dashed out to find someone. Makoto was in danger. 

She took the shortest route to Makoto’s house, which was about five minutes away from hers. Determined to reach him quickly, she pushed herself to run and hoped to make the journey in just three minutes. 

About halfway there, her run was interrupted by a crossing road. On the other side, she spotted Makoto running toward her. Without hesitation, she sprinted to meet him. 

Makoto appeared calm, but Ichika thought he was unaware of what was coming. When he saw her, he smiled at her and made a gesture towards the necklace. He seemed satisfied to see her wearing it. His eyes sparkled for a moment; it ached her heart.

“I would save him—” she thought, but then she turned left and saw a car speeding toward her with no sign of slowing down or stopping. Time seemed to slow as she realized the danger. 

Just an inch away from death, a figure suddenly pushed her out of the way. She fell hard onto the warm, rough pavement. Sitting up, she looked back at the scene— the car had disappeared without a trace, leaving behind only the aftermath: a human body—Makoto’s. 

Ichika screeched and crawled back, she’s too late. Her eyes bulged and stuttered, unable to process what just unfolded. Once again, she had to see another bird fall. Another had flown away, leaving her behind.

She kept sitting on the roadside as people piled up and stared at her and the fresh body. Tears finally flowed down and dropped into the air as she was fazed by the tragedy.

Makoto’s body lay still, his eyes wide open and fixed on her with a sparkling gaze. Ichika hated seeing two versions of Makoto’s face: the lively masks and his stationary pale face. This imbalance was the very reason her heart felt heavy, overshadowing the logic of acceptance and reality.

Nothing was in her favour—neither angels nor demons, just a series of misfortunes.

Her weak body collapsed, lying on the same ground as Makoto. She probably couldn’t explain it herself; she was unable to breathe. She tried to grasp some breath. With every breath she took, the air felt thinner. Desperately, she scrapes the road with her hands. Oh, she hoped for help to come; people just stood, fazed by what’s happening.

Their idol is dying from the inside.

She only got to view the inertia of Makoto and gasped for breath desperately. Some part of her was relieved to be beside him but most were agonized with her dying like this—suffocated to death.

She stared at his dilated eyes as her breath got thinner, some memories passed through her mind—the way he covered her when she was cold, the way he talked, the jokes, and lastly, his lightened face; it was all too precious for her to forget. But again, it was beyond control; even from the start.

At once, her memories with Makoto slowly fade away. Tears flowed down once again, she hoped that she could conceal and grasp them longer. Knowing this fact; she cried and sobbed, she wept and howled.

Her howl came out to be a scratched voice box. It sounded like both screeching and a scream of agony. The air was thinner than ever. Her vision began to fade. Everything turned black slowly.

Before it became pitch dark, she took one last look at Makoto. The final.

Within that brief moment, she felt something departed from her; desperation and suffocation. Although it was fleeting for us, she had longed for it. But alas, were only set for the wavering stage…

Her rapid breathing was cut short, drawing her final breath. Ichika who was just now running, screaming, crying; silent as the dark nights. Cold as the breeze is.

On that day, the lives of two idols and perfects were tragically cut short by a story written by one of them. She lost her life because of it, but it was not her fault in the slightest; it was society’s.

Even as the story unfolds, the narrative continues—the society is applauding Ichika, Makoto, and anyone else involved in turning her short story into a reality. Theyare witnessing a masterpiece unfolded right before their eyes.

Their applause and excitement lasted for a few days. What happened next?

They simply moved on with their lives, removing one mask only to search for a new one. It’s a society devoid of true identity, a society with nothing special.

The end, fin.

By: Muhammad Aqil bin Azman

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