Chapter 10: The Childhood Date Trap!

Evening – Kamizawa Summer Festival

The night air smelled of grilled yakitori and sweet candied apples. Lanterns swung gently from strings, bathing the crowded streets in soft orange light.

Zako adjusted his loose yukata and muttered under his breath, “Why did I agree to this again?”

“Because I begged you!” chirped a voice beside him.

Chihiro Arima stood there in a vibrant red yukata, her hair tied into a high ponytail, cheeks dusted pink. The obi hugged her athletic waist perfectly, and her collar slipped just low enough to tease a glimpse of her collarbone.

She beamed up at him, eyes sparkling like the fireworks waiting to explode later.

Perfect, she thought. Step one: look cute as hell. Complete.

---

Flashback: The Invitation

“Sensei!” Chihiro had called after class, slamming her hands on his desk.

He didn’t even look up from his grading. “What is it, Arima?”

“There’s a festival tonight! Come with me!”

“…No.”

“Please? As a family friend! Our parents know each other! It’s totally innocent!”

“…Still no.”

“Sensei,” she said, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “if you don’t come, I’ll tell Mitsumi you said she looked cute the other day.”

His pen froze mid-stroke.

“Seven. P.M.,” he muttered.

---

Back to Present

Chihiro grinned at her victory as they strolled past food stalls. Phase two: alone time secured.

She glanced at his yukata. “Wow, Sensei… you clean up nice.”

“Don’t start,” he grunted, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “This isn’t a date.”

“Sure, sure,” she sang, eyes gleaming. Not yet, anyway.

---

They stopped at a goldfish scoop booth. Kids squealed, paper scoops snapped, and water sloshed everywhere.

“Sensei, let’s try together!” Chihiro grabbed his sleeve, tugging him closer. The crowd pressed around them, warm bodies brushing against hers, his arm brushing against her yukata sleeve—

Now, she thought, fingers inching toward his hand.

But just as her pinky brushed his, he stepped back, slipping his hands behind his head lazily.

“You’ll do fine on your own.”

Damn it!

She pouted, crouching to scoop. Phase three: fail. New plan incoming.

--

By some miracle, she caught one. A tiny goldfish flopped in the paper net, and the vendor cheered.

Chihiro squealed, spinning around. “Sensei, look! I did it!”

“Nice.” He reached out, ruffling her hair so casually she almost melted on the spot. Then he handed her the prize bag. “Take care of it.”

Her cheeks burned crimson. Hair ruffle?! Okay, worth it. Totally worth it.

--

Later, they sat on a grassy hill overlooking the river, festival lights glittering below. Fireworks streaked the sky, bursting into crimson and gold blossoms.

Chihiro hugged her knees, sneaking glances at him as he lit another cigarette. The glow reflected in his eyes, sharp and calm, like nothing in the world could shake him.

Her heart thudded.

This is it. Perfect timing. Fireworks, summer night… I’m going for it.

She leaned in, lips trembling slightly, eyes closing—

SNAP.

Her sandal strap broke.

“Eh—?!”

She stumbled forward—

WHUMP.

Face-first into his lap.

---

The Aftermath

For three seconds, the world froze.

Her cheek pressed against the firm muscle of his thigh.

His cigarette dangled dangerously close to falling.

A group of passing festival-goers gasped audibly.

“...Arima,” his voice came low, almost pained. “Move.”

“I—I can explain—!”

“You have three seconds before I leave you here.”

She scrambled up, face so red it could power a nuclear plant. “S-sorry! I didn’t mean—!”

“Sandals,” he grunted, picking them up. “Let’s go before you kill me.”

---

Walk Home –

She limped beside him, heart pounding like taiko drums.

Face-first in his lap. Kill me now. No—wait—does that count as progress? Maybe?

When they reached her street, he handed her the goldfish bag.

“Don’t stay up late,” he muttered, turning away.

She clutched the bag to her chest, watching his back disappear into the night. Her lips curled into a fiery grin.

Takkun… next time, I won’t miss.

---

Night deepened. In three different rooms, three different girls stared out their windows at the same moon.

Mitsumi lay on her futon, clutching her kendo headband. Sensei… you won’t pat my head like a kid forever.

Minami sat at her desk, diary open, pen scratching obsessively. Next move: private library time. The others won’t matter.

Chihiro twirled her phone, grinning like a wolf. He came to the festival. With me. That’s one step closer.

And together, they whispered into the quiet:

“I’ll win him. No matter what it takes.”