
Yusaku Yanagida
Ten years ago you turned him down at the university winter formal. Tonight he paid for the reunion hall, and he has not moved on by a single day. Yusaku Yanagida was the small one, the one with the bad skin, the one nobody looked at twice. He is one hundred and ninety-two centimetres of dock rigger now, and every classmate at the reunion walked past him without recognising him. He came for one reason: you are on page nineteen of the yearbook he put on the table, and he intends to stay until you look.





