Chapter 4

The cafeteria smelled like soy sauce and overcooked rice, which was better than I expected, honestly.

Our school didn’t do anything fancy for lunch. No trays with ten compartments or color-coded meals. Just a mix of cheap curry bowls, soba, bentos, and bread rolls that were somehow both dry and oily. If you were early, you got the good stuff. If you were late, you got potato bread and regret.

I had yakisoba bread and a canned peach soda. Daiki somehow managed to snag curry katsudon — steaming and messy. Aoi, as always, was suspiciously prepared. She had a cute little homemade bento box with egg rolls, broccoli, rice shaped like a bear face, and probably a lifetime supply of patience.

“I still think you should sell those,” I said, eyeing the bear rice.

“And give up my status as a lunchtime goddess? Never,” she replied, popping a piece of broccoli into her mouth like she didn’t just call herself a goddess.

We sat near the window, a four-seat table with a good view of the courtyard. Sunlight spilled in like something out of a high school brochure. The seats were hard, but the atmosphere wasn’t.

Daiki shoveled curry into his mouth like the world was ending in ten minutes.

“You guys doing anything after school?” he asked between bites.

“Club scouting maybe,” Aoi said. “But I kinda want to stop by the new cake shop near the station. Their matcha roll looks amazing.”

“That sounds expensive,” I said.

“That sounds worth it,” she replied, tapping her chopsticks against her bento lid.

Daiki grinned. “I’ll go if you’re paying.”

Aoi gave him a look. “You’re the one with the katsudon, rich boy.”

“Fast hands, not rich.”

I was about to make a joke about him stealing food in his past life when Aoi leaned to the side and looked across the cafeteria.

“Hey, isn’t that the guy who sits front-left in class?”

I followed her gaze.

Sitting alone at a table a short distance away was a boy with neat glasses and perfect posture. His lunch was plain — just convenience store sandwiches and a bottle of water — but the way he ate, it felt like he was attending a formal interview.

“Yeah, he’s the one who corrected Mr. Nakano on the schedule this morning,” Daiki said. “The guy’s sharp.”

“He looks lonely,” Aoi said, standing up without warning.

“Aoi—” I started.

Too late.

She walked over, leaned down slightly, and asked something. I couldn’t hear what she said, but the guy blinked, hesitated, then gave a slow nod. Aoi smiled and gestured toward our table.

He followed with his sandwich still in hand.

Daiki and I both sat a little straighter as he approached. He looked like the type who kept his socks aligned by color and owned a label maker. Not in a bad way. Just... very precise.

“Hi again,” Aoi said as she sat back down. “Hope you don’t mind. I figured four is a friendlier number than one.”

He looked at us one at a time, then gave a slight bow.

“Satoshi Hirai. Nice to meet you.”

“Kaito Sakamura,” I said. “And this is Daiki Moriyama.”

“Daiki’s fine,” Daiki mumbled, mouth half-full again.

Satoshi sat down stiffly, like he was in a job interview. He unwrapped his sandwich with careful precision, not saying much.

The table went quiet for a moment.

Then Aoi asked, “Do you like sweets?”

He blinked.

“I’m not opposed to them.”

“That’s a yes,” she said, smiling. “We’re thinking of checking out a cake shop after school. You should come.”

“I don’t really—”

“Great. It’s settled,” Daiki said. “You can help split the cost.”

Satoshi looked briefly confused. Then, oddly, amused.

“I see. You two operate under democracy?”

“More like dictatorship disguised as friendship,” I said, sipping my soda.

He huffed a breath. I think it might’ve been a laugh.

By the time lunch was halfway through, he was still a little stiff, but not silent anymore. He asked about classes, mentioned his commute, and even rolled his eyes when Daiki told a story about getting chased by a stray cat on the way to school.

I leaned back in my chair, the sun warm on my shoulders.

It was only the first day, but it already felt like something was settling into place.

A small group. A shared table. A quiet moment.

As the conversation wandered between curry portions and vending machine prices, Aoi clapped her hands softly against the edge of the table.

“By the way, I checked out the school club board this morning. There’s a lot.”

She pulled out a small notepad — of course she had a notepad — and flipped it open.

“There’s basketball, track, drama, art, archery, go-home club—”

“That’s not a real club,” I said.

“It is in spirit,” Daiki muttered.

Aoi ignored us. “There’s a photography club, shogi, calligraphy, and even a movie appreciation club. But honestly? Nothing really stood out to me.”

“I thought you’d go for the cooking club,” I said.

Aoi frowned. “Too much pressure. They’ll expect me to bake for everyone.”

“You literally brought a rice bear to school.”

“Exactly. I can’t peak too early.”

Daiki leaned back. “I might check out basketball again. Or maybe nothing. Depends how lazy I feel this year.”

I turned to Satoshi, who was finishing the last bite of his sandwich with clean precision.

“What about you? Got a club in mind?”

He paused, dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin, and said, “I like writing.”

Aoi perked up. “Oh, like stories? Or poetry?”

“I read novels sometimes, if they’re not too long. I like short stories better.” I said.

Daiki chimed in with a grin. “I like manga. Does that count?”

Satoshi shook his head lightly. “Not fiction. I like writing news. Real stuff. Reports. School events, community things.”

There was a brief silence.

“Wait,” I said. “You mean like… newspaper writing?”

He nodded.

“Like, the actual newspaper kind?”

“Yeah.”

“…Huh.”

Aoi blinked. “That’s so specific.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard anyone say that,” I said honestly. “Ever.”

Satoshi looked almost amused by our reactions. A corner of his mouth curled into what might have been a smile.

“It’s just interesting,” he said. “Writing something that actually happened, in a way that makes people care about it.”

That… made sense, weirdly.

“What club does that?” Daiki asked, scratching his head.

“There’s a newspaper club. I saw it on the board,” Aoi said, flipping her notepad back a few pages. “Third floor. Room 3-11.”

Satoshi gave a small nod, thoughtful. “I’ll probably check it out.”

Then, he looked up at the rest of us.

“What about you guys?”

Daiki shrugged. “If I’m being honest, probably sports. Basketball, maybe football. Something I can get benched in and not feel guilty.”

I nodded. “P.E.’s the only subject I don’t instinctively dislike, so yeah — probably something with running. I like football.”

“You’re decent at it,” Daiki added.

“Define decent.”

“You didn’t trip over your own feet during middle school. That puts you in the top thirty percent.”

I chuckled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Aoi tapped her chopsticks against her bento box again. “Maybe we should all visit a few clubs together after class? Just to get a feel.”

“Only if the cake shop’s still part of the deal,” Daiki said.

“Obviously.”

To Be Continued