Chapter 7: Rain, Ramen, and Ridiculous Rules

The sky turned gray around third period. By lunchtime, rain had started to fall in gentle sheets, covering the school grounds with a soft mist. Most students groaned at the change in weather, shuffling through the hallways with umbrellas or jackets over their heads.

Yasu, as usual, didn’t mind the rain.

He sat in his usual spot, near the window, watching drops race down the glass like they were in some slow-motion competition. Lunch in hand — convenience store onigiri and a small carton of milk — he didn’t notice anyone approaching.

Until a familiar voice sliced through the quiet.

“Yasu-kun, you eat like a ghost. Silent and depressing.”

He turned his head. Hoshiko-sensei, standing there in the middle of the classroom, holding her own bento like it was a prop in a commercial.

“Should you really be here?” he asked. “Isn’t this student-only territory during lunch?”

She waved a hand. “Please. Rules bend like wet noodles in weather like this.”

He raised a brow. “You really don’t take anything seriously, do you?”

“I take interesting things seriously,” she said, sitting down at the desk in front of him — backward, leaning against the backrest like a high schooler herself. “Sadly, boring regulations about lunch zones don’t make the cut.”

Yasu opened his onigiri, trying to ignore how casually she fit into a space she didn’t belong in. Her presence wasn’t like a teacher’s. She didn’t command. She... slipped in. Like she was meant to be part of the scene, even if she shouldn’t be.

She popped open her bento box and gave him a side glance. “So, tell me. Hypothetically. If I wanted to conduct a secret experiment involving student attention spans and spicy ramen, would I get fired?”

Yasu blinked. “What kind of experiment is that?”

“Let’s say,” she leaned in conspiratorially, “I prepared three types of ramen. Mild, medium, and melt-your-soul spicy. I serve them to students during a study session. Record the results. See how long they last before abandoning their homework and crying.”

Yasu stared at her.

She grinned. “It’s for science.”

“That sounds like torture.”

“It’s fun torture. Educational.”

“You’re insane.”

“Probably.” She took a bite of her tamagoyaki, then pointed her chopsticks at him. “But you’re still listening. Which means you’re no better.”

He didn’t deny it. He just chewed silently.

The rain thickened outside. Students passed by in the hall, some giving them strange looks — a teacher chatting with a lone student during lunch was unusual, if not suspicious. But Hoshiko didn’t seem to care.

“You know,” she said suddenly, “when I was your age, I used to sneak onto the rooftop during rain.”

He glanced at her. “Why?”

“To be alone. To think. To pretend I was in one of those dramatic anime scenes where the main character questions their entire life.”

He allowed a tiny smirk. “You really think like that?”

“Oh, absolutely.” She leaned back with a dramatic sigh. “Tragic monologues in the rain. So romantic. So cliché.”

“You’re weird.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

The bell rang then, signaling the end of lunch. Hoshiko stood up, brushing off her skirt.

“Well,” she said, packing up her bento, “duty calls. Or rather, bored teenagers and a blackboard.”

She paused, glancing down at him.

“Yasu-kun.”

“…What?”

“Don’t rot away at your desk too fast. It’s only April. I need you intact until at least the summer festival.”

He frowned. “Why?”

She winked. “So I can make you carry lab equipment. Duh.”

And just like that, she walked out.

Yasu watched her go, silent as always — but with a vague, unwanted smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

The rain kept falling, steady and soft. And for the first time, he wasn’t entirely sure if he was waiting for it to stop — or hoping it would last just a little longer.