Chapter 19: After the Applause

By the time the sun had dipped below the rooftop line, painting the sky in soft shades of orange and rose, the crowd had begun to thin. The once-bustling festival grounds now echoed with the sounds of cleanup—folding chairs clacking, laughter trailing into exhaustion, and the occasional tape ripping from the corners of stalls.

Yaso stretched his back, his arms sore from hours of standing, serving, and being stared at like a theme park attraction.

The cat ears were finally tucked away in his bag.
For good, he hoped.

Daichi sat cross-legged on the ground beside the booth, fanning himself with a paper plate. “We sold out. Sold out, Sunohara-chan. You know what that means?”

“It means your math was off again,” she said, folding the last of the takoyaki trays. “We could’ve made more if you didn’t burn the first batch.”

Daichi held a hand over his chest, gasping theatrically. “So cold. Even after victory.”

Yaso leaned against the side panel of the stall, watching them without saying much. His body was tired, but his mind was strangely alert—tuned in to everything around him. The breeze, the fading chatter, the warmth of having been part of something, even if for just a day.

“Good work,” Sunohara said, glancing his way. “You held up better than I thought.”

Yaso nodded slightly. “Thanks… for not mocking the ears too much.”

She smirked. “I never said I didn’t laugh when you weren’t looking.”

Daichi grinned. “Even Hoshiko-sensei couldn’t keep it in.”

Yaso’s eyes shifted. The memory of her voice—“You look adorable in that outfit”—replayed in his head with unwanted clarity. He exhaled and looked away.

“She passed by again,” Daichi said, waving a hand. “Near the end, when you were busy cleaning. Didn’t say anything this time, though. Just smiled and walked off.”

Yaso didn’t reply. A smile? That was unexpected… though, not unwelcome.

He left the booth shortly after, offering a quick wave to both Daichi and Sunohara. “I’ll take a walk.”

Daichi raised a hand. “Don’t get lost, kitty!”

“Shut up,” Yaso muttered. 

 Paper lanterns flickered in the twilight, some still swaying gently from the breeze. As he passed the old garden near the back of the school, he heard soft footsteps ahead.

He slowed.

There, standing by the hydrangea bushes, was Hoshiko-sensei. She was no longer wearing her light jacket from earlier—just her blouse rolled at the sleeves and a clipboard tucked under one arm.

She didn’t notice him at first. She was looking up, watching a trail of smoke rise from the last firework in the sky.

Yaso stepped closer.

She turned at the sound, eyes catching his.

“Well,” she said, smiling lightly, “the ears are gone.”

He stopped a few steps away. “They’ve been retired.”

“Pity. You were popular today. There were whispers that you’d start a fan club.”

He gave her a tired look. “Don’t.”

She chuckled softly, then looked back up at the sky.

“You surprised me,” she said after a pause.

“How?”

“You didn’t hide. You let people see you today.”

He didn’t answer. Not immediately.

Instead, he looked at the crushed petals beneath the bushes, hands in his pockets.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” he said quietly. “It feels like… I’m being pulled forward without asking for it.”

She nodded. “That’s what change feels like.”

“It’s uncomfortable.”

“Good. That means it’s real.”

A light wind passed between them, cool against the warmth still lingering in the air. There was silence again—this time heavier, but not unwelcome.

She turned toward him, studying his expression. “You’re thinking a lot.”

He nodded.

“Don’t think too much, Yaso-kun,” she said. “Sometimes, you just have to live through the mess to figure out what it means.”

He looked at her—really looked.

Not as a teacher. Not as the strange woman who teased him in science class or on the rooftop.

But as someone standing beside him in this strange, growing world.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

She raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For not… treating me like I’m invisible.”

Her smile softened. “You never were.”

She walked past him slowly, gently tapping the edge of his shoulder with the clipboard as she passed.

“Go home and sleep, neko-kun. You’ve earned it.”

And just like that, she disappeared into the hallway shadows, leaving behind only the rustle of leaves and the fading memory of fireworks.

Yaso stood alone for a while longer, eyes on the sky.

He was changing.

And deep down, he knew exactly why.

He just still wasn’t ready to say it.