The "Yes-Man's" Burden

...❄️...

The month of April in this corner of the world is a deceptive masterpiece.

Outside the tall, arched windows of our academy, the cherry blossoms had already begun their slow, melancholic descent, carpeting the asphalt in a fragile, pale pink skin.

It was a time for "new beginnings"—a phrase that usually implied hope, but for me, it felt more like the tightening of a familiar knot.

The days since the "Silent Transfer" had bled into a blur of routine. I existed in the very immediate orbit of Seja Ldrym S. Mergali, yet I might as well have been a moon circling a dead planet. We were seatmates, separated by only a few inches of varnished wood and a chasm of absolute silence.

I had tried, initially. I had offered her a spare eraser when hers rolled away; she ignored it until she found her own.

I had attempted to hand her the class handouts with a small, inviting smile; she took them without looking at me, her fingers never brushing mine, as if I were a mechanical dispenser rather than a human being.

Eventually, the one-sided glances I stole—watching the way her pen moved with surgical precision or how she stared at the cherry blossoms with eyes that seemed to freeze the very air—became a source of exhaustion. I grew tired of reaching for a hand that was perpetually tucked away in a coat of ice.

So, I retreated into what I knew best: being the Ryne Alf Albedo the world expected.

In the ecosystem of 12th grade, I was the "lubricant." I was the one who made the gears turn without grinding.

When Mr. Aris needed the heavy stack of graded exams carried to the faculty wing, my hands were already reaching out before he could ask. When a girl in the front row dropped her container of colored leads and they scattered like neon rain across the floor, I was the one on my knees, gathering them while she laughed with her friends, barely offering a "thanks" as I handed them back.

"Ryne, could you check the focus on the Media Club’s digital archives?"

"Ryne, since you’re going to the cafeteria anyway, could you grab me a melon bread?"

"Ryne, I forgot my gym clothes; can you tell the coach I’m in the infirmary if he asks?"

Each request was a tiny thread. Individually, they were weightless. But by the second week of April, I was wrapped in a cocoon of other people's needs, barely able to move my own limbs. I lived the lie I had told Reom-nee every single hour. I was the well she warned me about, and the village was thirsty.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, the sky painted in the bruised, golden hues of a departing sun. I had just returned to the classroom, my legs heavy after running an errand for the chemistry teacher—carrying a box of glass beakers that felt like they were filled with lead.

The classroom was mostly empty, the air thick with the smell of chalk dust and the lingering warmth of thirty bodies. Only two students remained: Ervin and Xye, members of the soccer club. They were supposed to be the cleaning crew for the day, but they were standing by the lockers, their bags already slung over their shoulders, looking frantic.

"Ryne! Just the guy!" Ervin called out, his voice echoing with a forced, oily friendliness.

I felt a small, cold shiver of intuition. "I’m actually just heading out. I have a—"

"Dude, please," Xye interrupted, stepping into my personal space. His face was a mask of exaggerated desperation. "The soccer try-outs for the inter-high starters are starting in ten minutes. If we’re late, the coach will kill us. We’ll be benchwarmers for the whole season."

"The cleaning duty..." I started, looking at the brooms leaning against the wall like silent sentinels of a task ignored.

"We were going to do it, really!" Ervin pleaded, placing a hand on my shoulder. It was a heavy, manipulative weight. "But Xye’s grandmother... she called earlier, she’s not feeling well, and he’s been so stressed he forgot the schedule. I have to stay with him to make sure he’s okay during the drills. You’re the only one we can trust, Ryne. You’re the fastest, most efficient guy we know."

The excuses were flimsy—transparent as cheap glass. I knew Xye’s grandmother lived three towns away, and I knew Ervin just wanted to see the freshmen try-outs. But the "Yes" was already bubbling up in my throat, a biological imperative I couldn't suppress.

My conscience began to ache, whispering that if I said no and they failed their try-outs, it would be my fault. Their disappointment would be a stain on my soul.

"Just this once?" I asked, though we all knew it was never just once.

"You’re a legend! A literal saint!" Ervin shouted, already halfway out the door.

"We owe you big time!" Xye added, his "stress" vanishing instantly as he sprinted down the hallway.

The door clicked shut. Silence reclaimed the room, save for the ticking of the wall clock. I stood alone amidst the overturned chairs and the dust motes dancing in the sunset light.

I picked up a broom. The wood was cold. As I began to sweep, my movements were rhythmic and lonely.

I looked toward the back of the room. Seja’s desk was perfectly clean, a stark contrast to the chaos around it. She had left minutes ago, vanishing like a winter mist before the sun could touch it.

I wondered if she ever felt this weight—this invisible pressure to be "good." Probably not. To be that cold required a level of freedom I couldn't even imagine.

By the time the floors were polished and the chalkboards were black voids once more, my shadow had grown long and thin. I checked my watch. I still had forty minutes before my shift at the café.

"I can make it," I whispered to the empty room.

I had been planning this for a week. There was a small, tucked-away fishkeeping shop near the station—The Blue Ripple. I had heard a rumor they were receiving a shipment of rare, deep-blue iridescent bettas today.

In the quiet, underwater world of a fish tank, there were no requests, no alibis, and no lies. Just the silent, graceful movement of life. It was the only place where I didn't have to be a "Yes-Man."

I reached the school gates, my heart lifting slightly at the prospect of the cool, bubbling silence of the shop. But then, the vibration in my pocket shattered the moment.

My phone screen flickered with a name: Miki, my co-worker at the café.

I stared at the phone. I knew what this was. It was the "Emergency Call"—the siren song of the exploiter.

I considered, for a fleeting three seconds, letting it ring out. But the image of the café being understaffed, of the manager’s stressed face, of customers waiting for their coffee... it was too much.

I swiped the screen. "Hello?"

"Ryne? Oh, thank goodness you picked up!" Miki’s voice was high-pitched, laced with a suspiciously theatrical tremor. "I’m so sorry, I know it’s your day off, but I’m... I’m in a real bind. My younger brother just came home with a high fever, and my parents are at work. I can't leave him alone, Ryne. The manager is going to fire me if I don't find a sub. Please, you’re the only one who lives close enough."

I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against the cool metal of a lamp post. The image of the blue betta, its fins waving like silk in the water, began to fade, replaced by the mental image of a stained apron and the hiss of the espresso machine.

"Miki, I actually had plans today. I was going to—"

"I’ll make it up to you, I swear! I’ll cover your shift next weekend! Please, Ryne, he’s crying and I don't know what to do!"

The logic center of my brain told me that Miki didn't even have a younger brother—she had mentioned being an only child during training.

But the "Kindness" center of my brain, that hyper-reactive, mutated organ, didn't care about the truth. It only cared about the perceived distress. My declining skills, honed over years of being the family peacekeeper, crumbled into dust.

"Okay," I said, the word feeling like a surrender. "I’ll be there in fifteen minutes."

"You’re a lifesaver! I’ll tell the manager you’re an angel!"

The line went dead.

I stood under the deepening orange of the sky, the air turning crisp as the evening settled in. I felt a profound sense of displeasure, a localized gloom that seemed to follow me like a private rain cloud. I was tired—not just in my muscles, but in the very marrow of my bones.

The walk to the café was a journey through a world of ghosts. Every person I passed seemed to be carrying something, and I found myself instinctively looking for ways to help.

I held the door for a woman with a stroller; I picked up a dropped glove for an old man; I gave directions to a lost tourist. Each act was a tiny withdrawal from a bank account that was dangerously close to zero.

When I reached The Amber Bean, the bell above the door chimed—a cheerful, mocking sound. The scent of roasted beans and cinnamon hit me, usually a comfort, but today it felt like the smell of a prison.

My manager, a harried man named Mr. Tanaka, looked up from the register. His face broke into a relieved grin that didn't reach his tired eyes.

"Ryne! You’re here! Miki called and said there was a family crisis. I was worried I’d have to close the patio section. You’re a godsend, kid."

"It’s no trouble, Manager," I said, my lips curving into a practiced, effortless smile.

It was a beautiful smile—bright, helpful, and completely hollow. It was the smile of a boy who had learned that it was easier to burn himself out than to deal with the friction of a "No."

I went to the back, tied the dark green apron around my waist, and washed my hands.

As I adjusted my collar in the staff room mirror, I saw a stranger looking back at me. There were shadows under his eyes that no amount of youth could hide. His shoulders were slumped, as if he were carrying the weight of the entire school, the café, and his sister's expectations all at once.

"Ryne! Table four needs their order!"

"Coming!" I called out, my voice bright and steady.

The evening was a blur of motion. I moved between tables with the grace of a well-oiled machine. I refilled water glasses before they were empty. I anticipated orders. I smoothed over complaints about the wait time with genuine-sounding apologies. I worked through my break. I worked past my scheduled end time when the late-night rush hit.

Through it all, I maintained the exterior of the "perfect youth." But deep beneath the surface, a hidden fang of regret was gnawing at me. I thought about the fish shop, now closed and dark. I thought about the quiet room at home where I should have been studying.

Most of all, I thought about Seja.

I imagined her at home, perhaps sitting in a room as cold and organized as her desk. She wouldn't be doing anyone's laundry. She wouldn't be answering frantic phone calls from lying co-workers. She was free because she didn't care about being "good."

I realized then, as I wiped down a sticky table for the hundredth time that night, that I didn't just envy her coldness. I was terrified of it. Because if I wasn't the "Kind Guy," who was I?

If I stopped saying yes, would I simply disappear into the shadows?

The clock struck ten. The last customer departed, and the "Closed" sign was flipped.

Mr. Tanaka patted my back as I headed for the door. "Great work today, Ryne. Seriously. I don't know what we’d do without you."

"Goodnight, Manager," I said, that haunting smile still pinned to my face.

I walked home under a moon that looked like a sliver of ice. The streets were silent, the cherry blossoms on the ground now looking like bruised skin in the dark. I was so exhausted I could feel my pulse in my fingertips.

I reached my front door and paused, looking up at the stars. Somewhere in the city, Reom-nee was likely studying for an exam, her mind sharp and her boundaries firm.

I had lied to her. I had promised to be strong, but I was still the boy who let everyone draw water from his well.

I entered the house quietly, the darkness swallowing me whole. As I climbed the stairs to my room, my mind drifted one last time to the girl with the obsidian eyes.

"That's because you're too kind," she hadn't said anything like that yet, but I imagined the cold sentiment was already there, hanging in the air of the frozen classroom we shared.

I fell onto my bed without even taking off my uniform. My last thought before sleep claimed me wasn't about the exams or the café. It was a fragment of a riddle I couldn't yet articulate—a question about when did the kind of guy like me started to become everyone's possession but myself.

The "Yes-Man" closed his eyes, and for a few hours at least, the world had to find someone else to carry its burdens.

...❄️...

...AerixielDaiminse...

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***