11

The classroom door slid open, and Shohei walked back in carrying a large paper bag from the canteen. Mei followed behind him, balancing another bag in her arms like it was treasure.

“Snacks are here,” Shohei announced casually, setting the bag on the teacher’s desk.

Mei grinned, holding hers up. “I got anpan and melon bread. First come, first serve!”

That was all it took. The class swarmed the desk like pigeons on breadcrumbs. Laughter filled the room as people shuffled around, trading melon bread for yakisoba bread, splitting onigiri in half, passing drinks back and forth.

We ended up back in our groups, desks pulled closer together, snacks spread across the tops like miniature feasts.

Shohei grabbed a pack of senbei, cracking it open with one hand. “Guess I’ll stick with comedy,” he said, nodding toward Yuuto and Daiki.

Yuuto cheered like he’d just won an election. “Excellent choice, Representative! The show will be legendary!”

Shohei just smirked, crunching into his rice cracker.

Across the room, Mei had plopped herself down with the Quiz team — Satoshi, Rika, and Yuuji — happily munching her melon bread as she leaned into their notes.

“I’ll help with the quiz!” she said brightly. “I’m good at writing silly questions. Like, who can name all the flavors of potato chips?”

Yuuji gave her a look like she’d just invented a new sport, but he didn’t push her away. “Finally, someone who gets it.”

Rika sighed. “That’s not a real question.”

Satoshi adjusted his glasses calmly. “We could compromise. Half serious, half lighthearted. That way it’s engaging without being dull.”

“…Fine,” Rika muttered, scribbling something down.

I turned back to my own group.

Aoi had already laid out a small notebook in the middle of our desks. “So. Cooking team. What do we make?”

I bit into my bread roll, chewing slowly. “Cookies? Easy enough.”

“Too common,” Aoi said immediately. “Everyone does cookies.”

Takumi, who had been silently eating senbei until now, spoke up without looking up. “Rice cakes. Simple. Filling.”

“Festival mood though,” Aoi countered. “Rice cakes are good, but… they don’t stand out.”

I shrugged. “What about cakes or pastries? Something sweet but shareable.”

“That takes equipment,” Takumi said flatly. “My place isn’t an option. My little brother runs around too much.”

Aoi nodded, thoughtful. “We could use my kitchen. It’s big enough, and my parents won’t mind. They’d probably even help if we needed.”

That settled it, just like that.

“Alright,” I said. “Cooking practice at Aoi’s house, then.”

“Good,” Takumi murmured.

Aoi scribbled it into her notebook with a little flourish. “But let’s not decide on the exact menu yet. If we rush, we’ll regret it later. We’ll brainstorm properly after a few days. For now, just… let it cool.”

“Fine by me,” I said.

Takumi gave a short nod.

With nothing left to argue about, we leaned back in our chairs. Aoi snapped her notebook shut and clapped her hands once. “Break time. Let’s see how everyone else is doing.”

So the three of us wandered.

The comedy team was in chaos already — Yuuto dramatically acting out a samurai routine while Daiki deadpanned every line. Shohei just sat back, eating another rice cracker like he was watching TV.

The music corner was calmer. Haruka hummed softly while Reina tapped out a rhythm on the desk, her fingers precise like she was already playing piano. Tetsuya adjusted his headphones, explaining something about mixing tracks. I didn’t understand a word of it, but he looked serious enough.

And in the back, the quiz team was holding its own kind of debate.

“Actual knowledge,” Rika insisted, tapping her pen. “Mathematics, history, literature.”

“Fun questions,” Yuuji countered. “Nobody wants to take a real exam at a festival.”

Mei leaned in, grinning. “Do both! Serious and fun. Like, start with history, end with potato chip flavors.”

Satoshi adjusted his glasses again. “That’s… reasonable. A mix would keep it balanced.”

Rika exhaled like she’d just lost a battle she hadn’t agreed to fight. Yuuji grinned like he’d won the lottery. Mei just kept nibbling her bread, satisfied.

I leaned against my desk, watching it all.

The door slid open again, and Mr. Nakano strolled in with his usual half-distracted look.

“Break time’s over, children. Back to your seats.”

Groans rippled through the room as desks scraped apart, everyone dragging themselves back into place. The energy of the festival talk faded into the sound of notebooks opening and pens clicking.

Mr. Nakano dropped a thin textbook onto his desk with a slap. “Alright, next up—social science. Let’s see if you understand how this world actually works.”

He turned to the board and started writing. Chalk squeaked as he scrawled three words in quick, sharp strokes: groups, roles, balance.

“Society isn’t just something you exist in,” he said, brushing the dust off his hands. “It’s something we build, maintain, and, if we’re not careful, tear apart. Groups form because people can’t do everything alone. But…” He paused, looking over his shoulder at us. “They only last if there’s balance.”

I felt a little shiver of recognition. Cooking, music, comedy, quiz — hadn’t we just split ourselves like that a few minutes ago?

Mr. Nakano went on. “Think about your own lives. Some of you lead, some follow. Some plan, some act. Some carry the load, some provide ideas. Take away one, the rest falls apart. A group that doesn’t understand that won’t last long. Not in school, not in work, not anywhere.”

He tapped the board once, leaving a faint chalk mark. “So, here’s the real question: do you know your role? And do you respect the roles of the people next to you?”

Silence lingered for a moment. The kind that made you feel like he was looking straight through you, even if he wasn’t.

Then he flipped the textbook open. “Anyway. Page twenty-four. Let’s start simple before your brains melt.”

Pens began scratching against paper again, Mr. Nakano’s voice steady as he explained.

To Be Continued