Work Text:
Nitori Shuichi’s heart was breaking with pain.
To an uninitiated person, it might seem that mental anguish is something that merely weighs you down or crushes your productivity, not something felt physically by the body. In reality, however, when you experience a truly profound shock, mental pain bleeds into the physical. It becomes so intense that enduring it forever feels impossible. This was the day it happened to Shuichi. Her heart physically ached.
"I was the only one they laughed at," she whispered to herself. Then she said it again, aloud, but softly enough so that no one else could hear.
Shuichi’s words referred to the fact that no one had laughed at Takatsuki Yoshino or Sarashina Chizuru when they came to school in boys' uniforms. At the very least, they were allowed to attend classes in those uniforms, rather than being sent home with the message that they weren't permitted to study in attire that didn't match their sex.
She pulled a small book from her father’s nightstand—the Constitution of Japan. A grand document. If every country adopted such a document, wars would end throughout the world. Right?
A grand document, indeed. How many times in her life had she heard that? If it was such a grand document, then why didn't it work in the place where it mattered most?
She read Article 13: "All of the people shall be respected as individuals." Yeah, right—unless they are "boys who want to be girls." "Their right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness shall, to the extent that it does not interfere with the public welfare, be the supreme consideration in legislation and in other governmental affairs."
Apparently, her wanting to attend school in a dress instead of trousers was a terrible violation of the "public welfare." Society would crumble just because she showed up to school in a dress.
She read the first paragraph of Article 14: "All of the people are equal under the law and there shall be no discrimination in political, economic or social relations because of race, creed, sex, social status or family origin."
Sure. So, sending her home—that’s not discrimination based on sex, is it?
Wars will never end. And war will come to Japanese soil again. If Articles 13 and 14 don’t work for the most important issue imaginable—the right of a person to choose the clothes they feel comfortable in—then what is there to say about the lines where the Japanese people renounce war?
Which meant that maybe she would live to see adulthood only to be sent to the front lines. Why not? Does anyone care what she wants?
How many times had she heard: one must not discriminate against women. And she always understood—the speakers didn't mean her. And when they said, "one must not discriminate based on sex," they didn't mean anyone born with a penis.
Even now, it was hard for her to say "I am a girl" instead of "I am a boy who wants to become a girl." She imagined the face of her older sister, Maho. What would Maho do if Shuichi were so impudent as to allow herself to say, "I am a girl," when Maho was ready to kill her for much less?
And how would Anna-chan react? As for Chiba Saori, there was nothing left to say. She had already said everything she could on the subject. Right before their play for the Bunkasai last year. Bitch.
"Dad," she whispered. "What does 'impudence' mean?"
Nitori Hiroyuki, Shuichi’s father, was quite surprised by the question. "Why do you ask?" "Just because. I want to know if I’m using the word correctly." "Impudence... it’s when a person demands significantly more than they deserve," her father said.
"Do I not deserve to go to school in a dress?"
Her father remained silent.
For some reason, the world Shuichi was drawn to aesthetically—the world of beautiful, cute dresses, the world of models like Anna-chan and Maiko-chan—told her silently in an ethical sense: "You are an impudent boy." They say "weird," they mean "impudent." Taking too many liberties. Walking the streets in dresses just like them. Taking something away from them by doing so.
"I want to wear dresses to school," Shuichi whispered.
"Why do you rarely wear dresses at home?" her father asked.
Shuichi didn't understand what her father meant to imply with that question. Perhaps he meant that she didn't really need it that much. Perhaps he was just curious.
But the mental pain, flowing into the physical, had done its work, and she didn't ask for clarification.
She burst into tears. Her father came over and stroked her head.
"For what it's worth, I don't mind," he said. "You aren't doing anything wrong."
Shuichi felt she couldn't demand anything more from her father than those words. At the very least, he had said what so many others had not. Unlike someone like Chiba-san, he had exceeded her expectations rather than betraying them.