Chapter 2: The Curtain Rises on the Third Semester of the Second Year

Chapter 2: The Curtain Rises on the Third Semester of the Second Year

Chapter 2:

The Curtain Rises on the Third Semester of the Second Year

T HE ROAD TO SCHOOL was jam-packed with people. I hadn’t seen this sight at all during winter vacation. It’s not like I hated the scenery during times of peaceful quiet, but I guess I preferred seeing the sea of students. Or perhaps I have just become accustomed to seeing the bigger picture. Was it that I could foresee the end of these times approaching and I was subconsciously beginning to feel regret?

“What’s the matter, Kiyotaka? You stopped.”

Looking at my right arm, I could see the face of my girlfriend, Kei, peering up at me as she held my arm in a warm embrace. Her moist lips caught my eye. She had probably put on her favorite lipstick before heading out.

“It’s nothing,” I muttered, and the two of us began walking.

Spending every day with her was, at the very least, a release from boredom. That was because Kei, who loved to chat away even if the other person stayed silent, would automatically provide the topic of conversation for the day, day after day. However, she was becoming overwhelmingly irrelevant compared to my alone time. If you asked me whether the days we spent together were necessary or unnecessary, I’d say it was about a fifty-fifty split.

The reason I needed those days with her was because they gave me the ability to communicate with others through invaluable practice. It was a valuable opportunity for me to hone my as-of-yet unripe skills. On the other hand, precisely because I was inexperienced, I would often fail in my conversational skills. There were many instances of me choosing the wrong answer when dealing with Kei, especially when she was in a bad mood, which resulted in making her even grumpier. That was a taxing part.

On the other hand, it was also a disadvantage to me because it cut into time for honing other skills. Putting aside the benefits of analyzing communication and romance, as well as the opposite sex, it was a deep sacrifice.

“What? You’re staring at my face,” said Kei.

“Does that bother you?” I asked.

“No, it doesn’t. It’s just… Well, it makes me want to kiss you again. A lot,” replied Kei.

The day before winter vacation was over, Kei and I spent the entire day together in my room, from morning until night, taking it easy. If a young man and young woman who are intimate with one another spend time together in the same space, well, what happens goes without saying. Kei squeezed more tightly, wrapping herself around my right arm and pulling me in close.

We remained closely nuzzled together all the way up until we had arrived at our classroom, except for when we had arrived at the school gate and took off our shoes to put on our school slippers. The classroom was already bustling, and it looked like nearly half of the students had already arrived.

“Morning, everybody!” exclaimed Kei.

It was the beginning of the third semester. Kei waved to her friends in class. She slowly released me from her grip as she pulled away before saying, “See you later!” with a wink. After Kei had parted from me with such a pronounced display of affection, Kei headed to her seat in the middle of the classroom and set down her bag, which held an assortment of things. Since our class began using tablets, the amount of supplies we needed to bring had decreased. Even so, our bags were indispensable.

“Ugh, seriously, dude, don’t go showin’ up to school in a way that makes me embarrassed to even look atcha, Ayanokouji,” said Sudou, conveying his discomfort. Looks like he’d shown up before me.

“I mean, like, rockin’ up together arm-in-arm and junk, that’s like the peak trashy behavior, ain’t it? Ugh, goddammit, I am jealous,” huffed Sudou.

Apparently he had some envy mixed in with his discomfort.

“Just for the record, it’s not like I wanted it,” I replied.

“Nah dude, I know you didn’t. I mean, hell, if you did, I would’ve been floored. Seriously, like, absolutely weirded out, for real,” said Sudou.

Sudou repeatedly muttered quietly under his breath, then brought his face closer to mine.

“Anyway, you two flirting and all is fine or whatever I guess, but did you see that email ’bout those first-year students gettin’ handed over to the guidance counselor over winter vacation? Knowing you, I’m sure there’s nothin’ to worry about, but just in case, be careful, yeah?” said Sudou.

“Now that you mention it, there was an email like that, wasn’t there?” I replied.

Near the end of winter vacation, we received an email from the school stating that two first-year students had been punished. Their identities were kept anonymous, so we didn’t know who exactly it was, but the email stated that two students, a male and a female, had been caught by a third party engaged in an illicit sexual act outside. Acts for the purpose of sexual stimulation were generally forbidden, so naturally such things would be subject to punishment.

“They could’ve just done it in their room and that would’ve been fine. Anyway, yer my senpai in this kinda thing, so what would you have even done in their situation?” asked Sudou.

“What would I have done? What do you mean?” I asked.

“…Y’know dude, if, like, you wanted to do, um, ‘stuff’ outside, and, like…yeah, stuff , y’know?” said Sudou.

If he was so embarrassed, he shouldn’t even be asking about it, but I kept that thought to myself.

“I’d have to go with what the email said. There are eyes and surveillance cameras everywhere around campus. If you do something strange, there is a significant risk that you’ll get caught. Given that, I would choose not to let my instincts get the better of me,” I replied.

“Y-yeah. I dunno, dude, I feel like that’s an answer that only you could give… It’s a little off-puttin’.”

I’d apparently shaken Sudou, but for some unrelated reason.

“…Sigh.”

Not that it seemed like an especially intentional sigh on his part, but I heard Sudou let out a fairly heavy sigh. It sounded like he’d let it out unconsciously, but Sudou seemed to have noticed once he did it, and hurriedly apologized to me.

“That wasn’t about you just now or anything, my dude. Sorry if it came off like that,” said Sudou.

“I don’t mind. What’s wrong?” I asked.

I remembered plenty of times when Sudou had raised his voice in front of people, but he wasn’t the sort of student who sighed often. This change wasn’t something I could casually brush off.

“I’ve just been kinda exhausted lately,” he said. “I thought I was managin’ to balance my studies and sports, but it’s like it’s gettin’ tougher and tougher… I guess…”

Sudou tried to talk his way out of it, perhaps because he felt like it was a mistake to share his feelings. I figured that any further words of concern on my part would likely backfire, so I decided I’d just give him a few words of advice instead.

“Even if you try to cram more knowledge into your head, if you rush it, it just makes it easier for that knowledge to spill back out. Slow and steady wins the race, as they say,” I replied.

“…Yeah. Anyway, let’s do our best this semester,” said Sudou, answering me with a smile. He’d cheered himself up in time to head back to his seat.

Immediately afterward, Satou, who had just entered the classroom, walked past me while greeting our fellow classmates. Just as she passed by, she whispered, “You two were awfully hot and heavy this morning,” in a quiet murmur, adding, “Thanks for the show! It gives me life!” before joining up with a group of girls.

I guess she’d been behind us on the walk to school.

2.1

E VEN AFTER WINTER VACATION, nothing had fundamentally changed for the students or the teachers alike. Once Chabashira-sensei came into the classroom, she offered a quick new year’s greeting and then put her hands on the podium.

“The third semester begins today. This is a time of year that seems to go by in a flash. Just like they say, January walks, February runs, and March is already gone. Please be sure to keep your mind focused so that you don’t end up going on autopilot,” said Chabashira-sensei.

No one pointed it out, but the hair at the back of Chabashira-sensei’s head was rather amusing—it looked like she had a case of bedhead. Perhaps she had woken up late this morning and had been in too much of a hurry to notice. So even though she was telling her students to keep focused, her hair undermined her message a bit.

Upon announcing the end of morning homeroom, Chabashira-sensei was about to leave the classroom, but then stopped near the doorway.

“I forgot one announcement,” she said while turning around to address the students once again. “We’re planning to hold your first student-teacher meetings next month. While we will discuss things like your activities and performance at school thus far, we will mainly focus on discussing matters related to your academic career path and future employment. Naturally, we have already conducted interview surveys with your legal guardians as well.”

While some families might leave the matter of their child’s future course solely to that individual student’s decision, in many cases the parents’ opinions will be taken into consideration as well. That was proof that the school was doing things properly, even when the students weren’t there.

“Huh, wow. Even this school has something like that. I thought for sure it wouldn’t.”

To no one’s surprise, Ike had been the first to say something.

“Although high school is not classified as compulsory education, it’s not as though we can simply let students decide their futures while completely ignoring their legal guardians’ opinions. Naturally, at some point, we will hold student-teacher conferences with a legal guardian present as well,” replied Chabashira-sensei.

A meeting between student, teacher, and parent or guardian. Did that mean there was a possibility that man would leave the White Room and come here once again? No, he said that we would never meet in this school again, but will he really stick to that?

Though I was concerned about that issue, the first thing to deal with was the student-teacher meeting in February. Even so, since there was nothing I could do about the future regardless of my wishes, one could say that it didn’t matter. I was extremely grateful that Chabashira-sensei understood my situation, even if it was only a little. My meeting with her would likely only be a formality, as there was no need for any in-depth discussion or anything.

As for my classmates, the student-teacher meetings and ones where the students would also attend would be valuable for their futures. Would they go straight ahead and pursue their own path with single-minded focus, or would they take a detour and look for another way? Parents and teachers should be able to provide guidance in areas that you couldn’t see on your own.

“If you have any concerns, you can come and talk to me directly,” Chabashira-sensei added.

Now that she had finished talking, Chabashira-sensei put her hand on the door. In that brief moment, as she was closing the door behind her, she raised her hand to the back of her head with her other hand. I guess she’d noticed her own bedhead.

2.2

A FTER CHABASHIRA-SENSEI had left the classroom, the class immediately filled with chatter about the student-teacher conferences and their futures.

“I guess we need to start thinking about what we’re going to do soon,” said one girl.

“We need to consider one pathway in which we manage to graduate from Class A and another where we don’t, right? Hey, Hirata-kun, what are you planning to do?” asked another girl.

The girls gathered around Yousuke, who was enshrined as the center of the class bringing the conversation to him.

“I’m considering going to college even if I don’t get the benefits of Class A. My parents have told me from early on that they want that for me, too,” said Yousuke.

I didn’t intend to eavesdrop on their conversation, but the sound reached my ears anyway, so it was inevitable that I heard. It sounded as though Yousuke had no intention of finding a job at this current stage and instead was keeping his eye on college as the finish line. Considering his attitude toward his studies and his actual academic ability, that was a natural progression.

Regardless of whether you had the privileges that came from Class A or not, if you didn’t have the ability to back it up, you wouldn’t be able to make the most of those privileges anyway. However, that was true for everything.

“Oh, okay. Huh, I thought for sure you were going to be a soccer player or something,” replied one of the girls.

“Ha ha, well, that’d be a bit of a stretch for me, I think. Hypothetically, even if you used the privileges of Class A to force your way into going pro, it’d be obvious. You’d be let go immediately if your abilities aren’t up to snuff. I am planning to continue playing soccer even after I get to college, but I guess it’s nothing more than a hobby for me,” said Yousuke.

You could say that employment in a sports-related field was still an extremely high hurdle to clear, even after graduating. The only instances when someone should go into sports even if it meant they’d have to use the privileges of Class A would be things like if they had the ability, but they were stuck in obscurity and hadn’t been discovered for some reason, or maybe if they had some other problem that they were dealing with that prevented them from getting in the normal way. So then what was the right way to make effective use of the benefit from graduating from Class A? Keisei, who’d established himself as a brilliant student among those in our class, opened his mouth to speak.

“You should absolutely use Class A’s perks to get a job at a big company. If you can do the work just like any other ordinary person, you won’t get laid off that easily unless your abilities are clearly subpar. Wouldn’t you want to be a winner just by making the wisest use of those privileges?” said Keisei.

Our classmates nodded in apparent admiration of Keisei’s reasonable comments. When a company hires someone, that company takes on a great responsibility. It would be unreasonable for a company to dismiss an employee simply for personal reasons unless that employee failed in some major way. ANHS was not a newly established school or anything, and it was famous as a government-backed institution. Any student who has graduated from Class A thus far has been able to find employment. Therefore, if you choose to go to a major company, you could feel secure in your employment and work for a long time.

“If we’re considering efficiency alone, then I think your choice might be the correct one, Yukimura-kun. However, I also think that it’s important to aim for the career path that you actually want to pursue,” replied Yousuke.

That was also one correct answer. You only live once, and we didn’t have to decide to live our lives solely for money or landing a stable job. Would you go for a place of employment that matched your ideal vision or a place of employment that matched your reality? Eventually, the students here now would stand at that crossroad. There were upsides and downsides regardless of the choice they’d make.

There was only one future waiting for me after I graduated, but even so, it would be a long, long time before I knew whether it was the right decision or the wrong one. In the end, would I be able to look back and believe I had chosen the correct path? I’d have to live a whole life to learn the answer.

2.3

I T WAS TIME FOR OUR first lunch of the new year. Kei seemed to have already gotten together with a group of girls, including Satou, and headed over to the cafeteria with them. You couldn’t just focus on your significant other, you had to treasure your friends. When I went out into the hallway and casually watched Kei leave from behind, I saw that she and her friends were walking together neatly in a horizontal line.

“Why do girls always have to line up like that, even if they’re in a group of four or five?” I wondered aloud, posing my question to Horikita as she stood behind me.

“Hey, don’t ask me. I have no idea why they do it. Lining up like that is such a nuisance,” said Horikita.

Apparently, she didn’t know either.

“More importantly, do you have eyes in the back of your head or something? I wonder how you noticed I was here. How mysterious,” said Horikita.

“Don’t you think it’s better to let mysterious things remain a mystery?” I replied.

“So you’re not gonna tell me,” said Horikita.

“If you can come up with a reason why girls always line up like that, I’ll answer your question,” I replied.

“It’s kinda mean to ask Horikita something like that, you know. She doesn’t have enough friends to walk like that,” said Kushida-san, showing up after Horikita.

“It’s because there’s a caste system. Sometimes it’s necessary to do that to keep the group whole, even if it means blocking the hall,” explained Kushida.

“I see. So that means people naturally avoid getting into a formation where they’re following someone else?” I asked.

“Perhaps. It’s not as though everyone actually talks about it out loud, but I think that it’s something people sense,” said Kushida.

If so, then you could say that was a mechanism derived from a common group psychology women shared.

“Honestly, what a ridiculous reason. People should be aware of their surroundings when they walk,” sneered Horikita.

“Yes, yes. That’s exactly what someone with no friends would say,” replied Kushida.

“Are you trying to pick a fight with me?” asked Horikita.

“Did you seriously think that I wasn’t? Oh, you make me laugh.”

Sparks flew between the two of them as they glared at each other.

“Hey, cool it, guys. Did you want something from me?” I asked.

“Yes, I do. Ayanokouji-kun, if you wouldn’t mind, would you be so kind as to allow me to treat you to lunch?” asked Horikita.

Horikita treating me to a meal? Even digging deep into my memories, I couldn’t find any good associations with that scenario.

“When you say something like that, it’s typically not a good thing. I’m talking from experience,” I replied.

“Rude! I won’t ask you for money and I won’t be asking you for advice on anything strange, either. Would you feel safer if I told you that?” said Horikita.

“Well… I suppose,” I replied.

I felt like she’d get angry if I said that I wouldn’t feel safe at all, so I just nodded obediently.

“You sure thought about that for an extremely long time,” said Kushida.

“I really don’t like the fact he did that, but whatever. Are you ready as well, Kushida-san?” asked Horikita.

“Yes, I’m ready,” she replied.

Kushida nonchalantly switched from battle mode to angel mode.

“I see, you invited Kushida, too. That’s also really unusual,” I remarked.

Could it be that Horikita invited me along because she didn’t want to have lunch alone with Kushida? No, there was no need for Horikita to have set up a meeting in this way if she hated being with Kushida so much. There was most definitely some underlying reason these two had teamed up and invited me. I wondered what in the world they were thinking. Kei wasn’t with me today, so I supposed there wasn’t any harm in accompanying them.

“So? Are we headed to the cafeteria?” I asked.

“No, that wouldn’t be the best choice…yeah. Somewhere quiet and not too crowded would be good, I think,” answered Horikita.

After she said that, I noticed that Kushida, walking along next to me, was empty-handed. Did that mean we were going to stop at the convenience store or a food stall along the way and pick up lunch? I figured the answer would come soon, and so I got up from my seat and the three of us stepped out into the hallway. Naturally, we didn’t line up side-by-side in the hall. Horikita took the lead, while Kushida and I lagged a little behind.

“Hey, Horikita-san? I just wanted to double-check with you, but are we really planning to eat lunch?” asked Kushida.

“That’s what I had said we would do, didn’t I? We’ll be eating,” said Horikita.

Kushida sighed. “Well, in that case, could you let me stop by the convenience store first? I’d like to buy some stomach medicine,” said Kushida.

“Knock it off. I understand that you’re feeling anxious, but that would be an unnecessary purchase,” snapped Horikita.

Huh. I guess she had tummy troubles.

“Hold on a minute? What’s this about stomach medicine? What in the world are we going to be eating?” I asked sharply.

The fact that Kushida wanted to procure an item that was normally completely unnecessary for lunch meant that something was clearly off. She answered me immediately, without even turning back.

“Ibuki-san’s homemade lunch,” said Horikita.

“…Ibuki’s? Homemade?” I repeated.

For an instant, my brain froze, and then I forced myself to calmly assess the situation.

“She’s making lunch today for me, Kushida-san, and you, Ayanokouji-kun. So we’re going to divide her lunch neatly into three equal portions and eat it all. Didn’t I tell you?” said Horikita.

“You had no intention of telling me, did you?” I replied.

If I had heard that explanation first, then I would have run away as quick as a hare. Besides, there was no way she made it for me, anyway. This was a shock.

“If I remember correctly, Ibuki isn’t known for being a good cook though, right?” I asked.

I deliberately avoided saying that she was awful while suppressing my fear by using more roundabout language as I asked that question.

“Up until now she hasn’t really cooked much. Because of that, the food she makes is somewhat lacking in nutrition. I’m sure what happened recently is still fresh in your mind, right?” asked Horikita.

We had been on winter vacation until recently, but just after the start of the new year, I had run into the three of them: Horikita, Kushida, and Ibuki. I did indeed recall hearing them talk about this.

“I’ve been inviting her to come to my room to have meals that I’ve cooked. Poor nutrition can have negative effects on your health, you know. She’s never missed an invitation to have a meal, despite her apparent discontent, because she could save money on food costs,” explained Horikita.

“It’s not cute that she complains about being fed, is it?” added Kushida.

I supposed that wouldn’t be cute, no.

“You seem to be well informed about the situation despite hating Horikita and Ibuki,” I remarked.

“It’s just because I end up going there too. I expected they’d start a fight or something,” said Kushida.

Well, that was like Kushida, I supposed. Expecting something very unpleasant.

“Thanks to that, I’m stuck having to make servings for three people, including me,” said Horikita.

Even though she was complaining, Horikita didn’t seem that bothered by it. She must have been used to it.

“But how does that tie into us eating Ibuki’s homemade lunch?” I asked.

“It’s because the two of them engaged in a verbal tit-for-tat. When Horikita-san asserted her superiority and told Ibuki-san that she should at least learn to cook, Ibuki-san bragged that she could easily cook something if she wanted to. Then Horikita-san said, ‘Okay, in that case, make something.’ Ibuki-san responded, ‘I will! Get your taste buds ready!’ Then Horikita-san said, ‘If you can’t do it, just go die.’ Then Ibuki-san said, ‘If I can do it, then I’ll kill you instead!’ Which brings us to today,” said Kushida.

I was impressed by how straightforward the explanation was. However, those last two statements that Kushida quoted must have been a lie—at least, I hope it was.

“Okay then, I understand the situation completely now. Anyway, I’m off to the cafeteria, so I’ll see you later,” I announced.

Once we reached a fork in the road, I turned on my heel and tried to escape in the other direction, but Kushida grabbed my arm without warning.

“Isn’t this great? You get to eat homemade cooking by someone who I guess counts as a girl,” said Kushida.

“You tricked me,” I replied, venting my resentment at Horikita as she walked on calmly ahead.

“You’re making me sound like a villain. I simply wanted to share Ibuki-san’s cooking with as many people as possible. But it would’ve been odd to have involved people who aren’t close to her though, wouldn’t it? Besides, it’s too early to judge that her cooking isn’t delicious,” said Horikita.

The flow of the conversation did not give me the impression that this was something to look forward to. I couldn’t escape, so it looked like I had no other choice but to give up and follow.

“But, wait… Couldn’t you have run away without getting wrapped up in this, Kushida?” I asked.

I could understand why she might barge into Horikita’s room for a home-cooked meal. No matter how much she wanted to see Horikita and Ibuki face off, that was a substantial risk for her to take. You never knew what kind of tragedy might await.

“Well, yes, you’re right. But I have my reasons,” said Kushida.

“It’s because you’re a sore loser, Kushida-san. You forced yourself to come because Ibuki-san made some cheap shots about you being a coward if you ran away, right?” said Horikita.

“…I just want to see Ibuki fail and apologize,” said Kushida.

The fact Kushida had left out the honorific “-san” in referring to her then sounded significant. That sign of intimacy aside, did Ibuki have the disposition to apologize, even if she failed? Maybe it was precisely because Kushida had a nasty personality herself that she thought she could see Ibuki apologize, even if the probability was low.

“It seems like she hasn’t arrived yet. Well, it’s still a few minutes until we’re supposed to meet, I suppose, but…,” said Horikita.

We stopped just before the roofed corridor connecting the school building outside, which apparently was our meeting place. She had misled me with the whole “quiet place” thing from earlier. It looked like she had intended to involve me from the beginning.

“Hey, aren’t our classrooms close enough so that we wouldn’t have to meet up here?” I asked.

“It’s a pointless meeting place, for sure. I had invited Ibuki-san to meet us normally, but she refused, saying she didn’t want to walk with me,” said Horikita.

If Ibuki hated Horikita (and Kushida too, probably) that much, then she should have just refused the challenge from the start. This was a good example of how being too competitive could lead to big problems.

“At any rate, it’s obvious that she’s going to fail and come here with an awful-tasting lunch,” remarked Kushida.

“I don’t want to make assumptions before seeing the results, but yes, I’m absolutely certain she will fail,” said Horikita.

“Yeah… So does this mean I’m going to be forced to eat something inedible?” I asked.

“Oh my god , shut up! Listen to you, going on and on, ‘fail’ this and ‘inedible’ that!”

Just as the mood grew sour, Ibuki showed up, barking at us. In her hands was a bomb… I mean lunch. She had lunch in her hands. I didn’t want her to have that in her hands. I wanted her to shout out something caustic like “I forgot, so it’s off!” or something. I would’ve cheered her on.

“Hold on, why is Ayanokouji here? I didn’t invite him,” said Ibuki.

“Come now, it’s fine, isn’t it? Besides, having more judges means you’ll get a more objective answer about your skills. Now that we’re all here, let’s head off. I’m sure you don’t want people thinking that we’re friends, do you?” said Horikita.

“Obviously not!” snapped Ibuki.

With that, we went outside through the hallway. It was still early January, so it was moderately cold outside, making the usually popular area for eating lunch a quiet spot. Ibuki held up what appeared to be a bento box wrapped in a simple, plain wrapping cloth (which I had seen before at the discount shop). She slammed it onto the bench.

“I’m going to make you regret calling me a failure over and over. Hurry up and eat,” snapped Ibuki.

“You certainly sound confident. Perhaps a miracle occurred, and you actually made something good?” said Kushida.

Ibuki was indeed brimming with confidence. It was far, far better than for her to have no confidence at all, I suppose, but could I really expect anything from this?

“She’s obviously the overconfident type, so I wouldn’t count on her attitude at all,” said Horikita.

Horikita knew that sort of thing very well. She turned her gaze away from Ibuki to her bento box. The faint hopes Kushida and I held crumbled.

“Hmph. I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t stand a chance of winning,” countered Ibuki.

“You have certainly conveyed your confidence to me. Even so, you shouldn’t handle the food so roughly. Supposing even if, hypothetically, your cooking was good, that would disqualify you as a cook,” said Horikita.

“Shut up. All right already, just get to eating it. And then apologize to me, HoriKushi! And you too, Ayanokouji, while we’re at it!” shouted Ibuki.

“Do not combine me with Kushida-san. Besides, what method of abbreviation even is that?” replied Horikita.

She referred to me like I was an afterthought, but that didn’t particularly bother me. Actually…

“The three of you have really gotten close, huh?” I remarked.

That’s all I could think of while witnessing this disaster.

“We are not friends in the slightest. How did you even arrive at that misconception, Ayanokouji-kun?” asked Horikita.

“That’s right. Don’t make bizarre assumptions,” added Kushida.

“If you ever say that again, I’ll kick your ass!” shouted Ibuki.

It was obvious one of them was on a different level of energy. Anyway, they did seem to be getting along well, and I felt like a third wheel.

“So…I guess I should get going now?” I asked.

I thought it would be wrong of me to get in their way, so I had meant those words from the heart, but—

“Don’t leave!” shouted Ibuki.

“Don’t run away,” added Kushida.

“That’s cowardly, Ayanokouji-kun,” said Horikita.

The three of them shouted their thoughts at me. I didn’t really understand it, but it seemed like I wasn’t going to be able to escape, so I decided to take a seat. Well, that was all right. After listening to the conversation, my curiosity was piqued. Ibuki’s homemade cooking likely wasn’t even to the level of a beginner, no matter how much thought you put into it. Even so, she had come up with something after trial and error to make Horikita and Kushida say, “Okay Ibuki, you win.”

Probably.

Wrapped up in anticipation, I started my assessment with the presentation, which was one of the essential elements of a dish. Out of the wrapping cloth appeared another plain item, the bento box (which I had also seen at the discount shop).

“Well, let’s open it,” announced Horikita.

Ibuki, reclined in a cocky posture, arms folded, neither anxious nor worried. The lid of the box was gently removed. And what appeared underneath was…

The first thing that caught my eye was the rice. It wasn’t white rice, but fried rice. There were a variety of colors too. She must have used some vegetables and meat. It was just that, as ingredients in fried rice, the proportion of veggies and meat was rather large. Well, that was one issue. Aside from that, there were mini tomatoes, fried eggs, gratin, and nimono, as well as fried chicken and mini hamburger steaks. There wasn’t that much of each individual item, but there was a wide variety—seven elements I could count. The deciding factor was the four slices of green plastic dividers included in the bento. At the very least, it qualified as a bento.

“Are these all homemade?” I asked.

“Of course,” answered Ibuki.

Judging from the fact that she answered immediately and without hesitation, it seemed to be true, but I suddenly wondered about the nimono.

“I’ll give you thirty points for presentation at least, as a bonus,” said Horikita.

“Food isn’t about looks! It’s about taste! Taste!” shouted Ibuki.

“Relax, it’s almost a compliment. I was expecting something closer to zero points,” said Horikita bluntly.

Horikita was rather brilliant in shooting down Ibuki, going as far as telling her thirty points was more than enough. Horikita had taken out disposable chopsticks she’d prepared for the occasion, and after taking her share of the food, she gave Kushida her portion and then gave me mine.

“Well then, let’s get to taste-testing,” said Horikita.

“Wow, this is the least exciting taste-test ever. This will be a lovely memory,” said Kushida in a monotone voice.

Kushida separated her chopsticks but didn’t appear to be interested in going first, and waited for Horikita to start eating. Horikita picked up a light chunk of fried rice with her chopsticks and brought it to her mouth. Then she grabbed a piece of gratin and gave it a try as well.

After Horikita finished eating those in silence, Kushida asked, “How is it?”

“Not yet. I don’t want my opinion to affect anyone else’s. It’s your turn next,” said Horikita.

“Tch.”

Kushida just clicked her tongue at that. It was a sight that would’ve likely caused a student who still carried delusions about Kushida to faint were they to witness it. Perhaps if one of those students were listening nearby, they wouldn’t think that it was intentional.

“Can I just have a mini tomato?” asked Kushida.

“Take this seriously,” snapped Horikita.

“Tch. You’re so nitpicky,” huffed Kushida.

Kushida clicked her tongue again, louder this time. Kushida, acting as though she had no choice in the matter, chose to sample the nimono and mini hamburger steak.

“Ah… I see. All right, your turn, Ayanokouji-kun,” said Kushida.

Kushida, who had a look on her face like she had come to an understanding, crudely passed the baton over to me. What to do? There were seven different items included in the bento, including the mini tomatoes. Since two out of the three of us had eaten four different items, I figured it would be best if I ate the two remaining items: the fried egg and the fried chicken. So, was this life and death? Or was it death and death?

“Okay, I guess I’ll start with the fried egg,” I announced.

This was a staple bento item. It took skill to master, but it was easy to make something edible. I popped it into my mouth, but I was distracted by my fear of eggshells. However, the fried egg wasn’t crunchy or gritty at all, and it went down my throat without difficulty. Riding my momentum, I moved on to the fried chicken. It was only when I picked it up with my chopsticks that I realized it was like a croquette rolled into bite-sized pieces.

“…”

I cautiously placed it on my tongue. When I bit into it, the contents spilled out from the batter. It was easy to tell that it was a croquette, and it tasted like one. However, what I found more strikingly noticeable was the gooey mouthfeel. The filling hadn’t lost its moisture at all, and Ibuki hadn’t fried it nearly enough. The feel of it on my tongue was bad, and it left an awful aftertaste. After I had finished eating it, I quietly put down my chopsticks and briefly closed my eyes.

…Hm, yes, I see.

If you just chew and swallow, the answers will come to you naturally.

“Now that the three of us have finished eating, I’ll give you my honest opinion. It’s not good,” said Horikita.

“What?!” blurted Ibuki.

“It’s not inedible, and visually, it’s not like it’s a worst-case scenario worth zero points. I can see that it was made by a beginner who tried her best. That aside, it’s very salty and the seasoning is haphazard,” said Horikita.

As Horikita had said in her analysis, the reason the flavors were intense was probably because Ibuki flavored things in the amounts based on her own tastes.

“While it certainly is true that you can eat the skin of the carrot, it’s not palatable to leave it on. The sizing of your cuts is sporadic. You aren’t really hiding the fact you got lazy,” added Horikita.

Although Horikita had only seen and eaten part of one of Ibuki’s lunches, she was able to guess what kind of thought process Ibuki had put into making it, delivering her analysis bluntly. It was evident Horikita had hit the nail on the head when you saw the look of shame on Ibuki’s face.

“I don’t want to eat any more of this. What a waste of food,” said Kushida.

Kushida gestured like she was about to throw up. Her attitude, in combination with Horikita’s, made Ibuki’s shoulders shake in frustration.

“Seriously, this is all you could do after all that bragging about how you could beat Horikita in cooking? Hell, if anything, you could’ve even given money or something to a real cook and had them make something for you instead,” added Kushida.

It was a little sad that she was being criticized so harshly, but it couldn’t be helped. That’s just how bad the quality of her lunch was.

“You guys aren’t judging fairly!” shouted Ibuki.

“If you think so, then you eat it. I bet you didn’t even properly taste-test it yourself, did you?” countered Horikita.

“Taste-test? No, I didn’t, but…I mean, it looks normal and all, and it’s edible, right?” said Ibuki.

“I didn’t say anything about it being inedible. I’m just saying it doesn’t taste good. Just eat it already,” snapped Horikita.

The lunch that Ibuki had made herself was now being forced upon her. Though irritated, Ibuki took it in her hands.

“…Y-yeah, it’s not g—I mean, it’s tasty…! Oh wow, it’s amazing!” shouted Ibuki.

“Don’t force yourself to lie,” snapped Horikita. Ibuki howled as Horikita smacked her on the head.

“Why does it taste so bad?! It just tastes like disappointment! And it’s salty as hell!” shouted Ibuki.

“I have already explained everything to you. You can’t make food based solely on what you think feels right,” explained Horikita.

“Well, whatever! It’s just that I thought that all that stuff about one tablespoon this, two teaspoons that was a pain in the butt and that it wouldn’t matter if I winged things!” snapped Ibuki.

That was a huge problem. The side dishes packed into her bento box had a striking difference between them. They swung wildly between two different degrees of seasoning: bland or overly seasoned or salty.

“If I had to give your dish a score, I would give it twenty points,” said Horikita.

“…Out of twenty?” asked Ibuki.

“Out of a hundred,” stated Horikita.

“Huh? Did someone pay off the judges?!” exclaimed Ibuki.

“I was being generous. I don’t want to eat this,” said Horikita.

“That’s true, she was. If it were me, I would’ve probably given you two points,” said Kushida.

Ibuki stamped her feet in frustration as she protested the harsh ruling.

“I’m guessing you probably feel the same way, Ayanokouji-kun?” asked Kushida.

“No. It’s not quite inedible; I would’ve given it a higher score,” I replied.

“See?! You see?!” exclaimed Ibuki.

Ibuki hopped up and down only slightly, perhaps in joy at having backup.

“Are you insane? This is obviously a bad lunch. It’s poorly made, at best,” snapped Horikita.

“Oh yes, without a doubt,” I replied.

HoriKushi aligned with nary a moment’s pause, but I wanted to add a different perspective.

“But you do agree that it wasn’t though her lunch was inedible. Right?” I added.

“Well… Yes, you’re right. But I don’t want to eat it,” said Horikita.

“Sure, yes, in an age where we have ample access to food and can eat what we like until we’re satisfied, I can’t imagine anyone would want to eat this. But what if you were left on an uninhabited island? If there was nothing to eat except for this, you would be overjoyed to have it, wouldn’t you? So, with that in mind, my score would be—”

“There’s no need for that. Thank you for providing that analogy, which was simple and weird at the same time. At any rate, all I understand is that you didn’t compliment the food at all,” said Horikita.

“…Okay,” I replied.

I felt somewhat unwell and like I had slight indigestion. My score hung in the back of my throat.

“Averaging our scores, you get eleven points. Too bad, Ibuki-san,” said Kushida.

If you weren’t going to include my evaluation in the end, then you didn’t have to call me here in the first place… I thought.

While it was already over and done with, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unbearable vexation.

“Grr…” grumbled Ibuki.

Ibuki had no other choice but to accept the situation. This was the result of her trying to do something beyond her ability when she hadn’t been capable of cooking in the first place.

“You know, it’s not as though I wouldn’t make time for you if you say that you’re going to try making it over again later,” said Horikita.

“I am not making it over again!” Ibuki sounded disgruntled, perhaps because she had been criticized so much that it’d broken her spirit.

“There’s nothing wrong with you giving up so quickly. As you are right now, you aren’t meant for cooking,” said Horikita.

Though Ibuki was being criticized once more, she must have already given up caring. She snorted and crossed her arms.

“Whatever, it was stupid to even try. You two are just wasting your time,” huffed Ibuki.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” spat Horikita.

“I mean you don’t even really have to cook; you can just buy lunch at the convenience store or the supermarket. It saves time and you don’t have to deal with leftover ingredients either. Plus, it tastes good. Obviously!” countered Ibuki.

Well… That was certainly the function of ready-made bento boxes, sure, but…

“That’s unacceptable. You need to consider proper nutrition when having meals. How many times are you planning to make me repeat what I’ve already explained? This is why you aren’t growing,” shouted Horikita.

“A ha ha ha ha, yes, she’s right. Your mind certainly hasn’t matured either, but your growth is also stunted,” added Kushida.

“Hey, what the hell, Kushida?! Where are you looking when you say that?!” snapped Ibuki.

“Where do you think?” asked Kushida.

“I’ll kick your ass right now! I’ll kick you to the ground and make you get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness!” shouted Ibuki.

“Yes, yes, all right. Stop snapping at people like that. That irritability of yours is also proof that you aren’t getting enough nutrition. Come to my room again today at seven,” ordered Horikita.

“Fine, I will!” shouted Ibuki.

So, she’s going, huh? I had thought she would’ve refused, but Ibuki agreed to it, even though she still looked irritated. She was going to eat a delicious meal high in nutrition while saving money on food. There was the downside of her having to listen to Horikita’s lecturing, but Ibuki probably figured it’d be a shame to waste that opportunity over that inconvenience.

“See ya later!” shouted Ibuki.

Almost spitting out those parting words, Ibuki half jogged away. She moved with such intensity that if she were in an apartment building right now, the people downstairs would’ve been furious.

“Oh for the love of… She didn’t even pack up the bento box she brought with her,” sighed Horikita.

Horikita picked up the messy, scattered lunch while outwardly acting like a mother grumbling about her daughter’s inadequacies. She was probably going to wash the containers after taking them back to her dorm room. Kushida, who had been sitting beside her, stood up while averting her eyes.

“Well then, I’ll pay you a visit tonight at seven as well,” announced Kushida.

“…I don’t remember inviting you,” replied Horikita.

“Come now, it’s all right, isn’t it? Personally, I would like to hold onto as many Private Points as possible. Besides, the meals we eat when you’re scraping together funds aren’t bad at all, Horikita-san. I’ll be eating well,” said Kushida.

It sounded as though Kushida found deliciousness in a completely different place than other people did.

“Don’t you have plenty of Private Points saved up, though?” asked Horikita.

“Not at all. I was supposed to be getting money from a certain someone, but those plans changed rather unexpectedly,” replied Kushida.

Kushida smiled warmly when she said that, but I felt her cold eyes on me. Then she quickly went back to her usual angelic aura and left, heading toward the cafeteria.

“Well then, I suppose we’re done here. Thanks,” said Horikita.

“Yeah, thank—hey, wait, hold on a second,” I replied forcefully. It stopped Horikita in her tracks as she was about to quickly pick up the bento box and walk off.

“What?” asked Horikita.

“I don’t remember being treated to lunch. All I did was taste-test a lunch that didn’t taste good,” I answered.

“In that case, why not go ahead and eat all of this not-delicious lunch then?” asked Horikita. “There’s plenty left,” she added, offering the bento box to me.

I didn’t hesitate to forcefully push it back at her.

“I’m kidding. Come on, let’s go to the cafeteria. I’ll treat you to whatever you like,” said Horikita. Seemed like her conscience got the better of her.

“Anyway, Ibuki and Kushida, huh? It can’t be cheap treating the two of them to meals,” I remarked.

“Yeah. My food expenses have almost doubled. Kushida-san comes even though I don’t invite her,” said Horikita.

“Maybe that’s because you and Ibuki serve as a good way for Kushida to vent her frustrations and let off some steam?” I offered.

If Kushida really hated Horikita, she wouldn’t try to spend time with her, even if it were just for dinner.

“I have to wonder. It seems like she likes to see me suffer. I think she probably just wants to see the hardship and frustration on my face, and on Ibuki-san’s too, so she can’t help but want to come,” said Horikita.

That made sense. If she spent time together with Horikita, then that meant she would get the chance to see a weaker side of her.

“It’s a little hard for me to imagine, but I’m sure that when the three of you get together, it can’t all be bad?” I asked.

“Not at all. This is not the kind of group of girls that you would normally imagine. There’s not even a single laugh. Actually, if anything, it’s tense the entire time. Didn’t you see us earlier?” asked Horikita.

She had a point. It certainly wasn’t what you would call a fun gathering, even if you were being charitable. Any time Kushida smirked was just out of habit. Even so, compared to the times she spent together with most other people, she smiled about half as often or less than normal when she was with Horikita and Kushida. Still, I didn’t get the feeling that she felt glum or stifled with them. Kushida seemed strangely at home with those two.

“Let’s be going. We’ll just be wasting time if we keep on talking about those two forever,” said Horikita.

“Okay, let’s go,” I replied.

Horikita and I started walking. I thought back on this little event. The suffering I had put my tongue and stomach through aside, today’s gathering had been a worthwhile one. Horikita and Kushida, and then Ibuki, a girl from a different class. The newly formed relationship between the three of them, though warped, was surprisingly strong. If I were to describe their relationship as friendship, I’m sure that all three of them would vocally deny it, but the fact I could expect them to all respond that way could also be interpreted as a sign of deep feelings. However…

“What?” asked Horikita.

Perhaps Horikita didn’t like the way that I was looking at her as we walked together, because she narrowed her eyes at me intensely.

“I was just thinking about what kind of expensive meal I could get you to buy for me,” I answered.

“Just get what you want,” said Horikita.

“I feel like I want to eat the most expensive thing,” I answered.

“Oh, honestly… Whatever,” snapped Horikita.

Despite being owed for my pain and suffering, I was forced to decide on which of the normal lunch combos I wanted to eat instead for some reason.

2.4

K EI HAD COME OVER to hang out in the evening for a while, and then went back to her room. It was now after nine o’clock at night and I was getting ready for tomorrow. Kei had left the TV on, and some kind of variety program was playing. I stopped what I was doing and cast a glance at the TV. A man who looked to be in his forties was hosting the show and was going up to comedians and making them laugh. The scene changed, and he was now taking a stroll through the city, perhaps shot on location.

After watching for a while, there was a wipe effect transition. The moderator repeated the same routine from earlier at the studio, going up to people and getting their reactions. The same thing endlessly, over and over. Five paintings were shown, eliciting surprise and laughter as people tried to figure out which one was the real thing.

“The fourth one,” I remarked.

After muttering the answer to myself nonchalantly, I aimed the remote at the TV and turned it off. In an instant, the noisy room fell quiet once again. Kei liked TV and would often turn it on right away when it was just the two of us alone. While I wasn’t strongly against TV or anything, I had learned that, after trying to learn from television, I didn’t like variety shows very much.

I walked over to the drawer and took out a sketchbook that was in the second drawer, as well as a set of colored pencils. I had bought this sketchbook with my Private Points not too long after I had been admitted to this school, but I hadn’t ever gotten around to using it. I remember seeing Kei find the sketchbook in my drawer and looking inside, and she had a puzzled look on her face because the book was completely blank.

I laid the sketchbook open on my desk and opened the silver case containing the colored pencils. Then, I reached for the still brand-new colored pencils, and—

My hand stopped.

What do I draw? If I don’t think of anything, I guess I can’t keep my hands moving after all . I had thought that I could’ve just let momentum carry me and create something from that, but that wasn’t working for me. In the White Room, I learned many artistic techniques to improve my skill. This included reproduction, which was never my cup of tea.

However, the process of thinking of something on our own and creating that wasn’t in the curriculum.

My blank sketchbook.

After staring at it for a while, I closed the silver case.

“And so ends another day,” I muttered to myself as I put the sketchbook and colored pencils back in the second drawer.

The third semester might pass on by before I knew it, just as Chabashira-sensei had said.