Chapter 4:

A Post-Modern Literature Club

Why I Write


It took me a long time to figure out why Kiku had such a gross misnomer for a title.

The Ice Queen.

It really had nothing to do with an icy demeanour, although strangers definitely misinterpreted her as having one. Since she was—and I say this in the most endearing way possible—an entitled, stuck-up woman with complete disregard for social norms.

I’d like to think that was where the ‘queen’ part came from, though it was really just her objectively good looks. High school boys are not known for being creative.

As for ‘ice’, it was somewhat due to a bastardisation of her name. It started off as ‘queen of snow’, from the kanji in her name, ‘yuki’—but since ‘ice queen’ is an objectively cooler nickname and also an anime trope, it became the title of choice for the male population of Kitazawa. Girls just referred to her as 'that bitch from Class A' most of the time.

A bona-fide celebrity, both she and the alter ego.

In any case.

Sitting with me at my desk, in my bedroom, was the award-winning rookie novelist Kasumi Kazumi.

Two days after ‘that spring day’.

Consuming farewell gifts, curated by my sister—

Her cheeks stuffed full, like a chipmunk's in winter.

***

Mmf mmph.”

“Yep.”

Hmph.

“Cool.”

“HMPH!”

“Of course.”

Yukimura had a scowl on her face, like I was the stupid one for not being able to understand. Unfortunately for her, an angry look combined with puffed cheeks makes you look less like a threat and more like unprepared fugu.

“You know, the food won't disappear if you leave it alone for a bit,” I said.

She’d taken it as her duty to consume every snack I had in my pantry—as if facing certain starvation otherwise. Like a bear beginning the process of calorie storage for hibernation. It was an ungodly primal instinct, and probably the result of some trauma I had no clue about.

Her obsidian eyes gradually returned to normality as she chewed with a pufferfish's face.

“Should I spit, or swallow?”

“The chips?”

“Spit, or swallow?”

“In what context?”

She gulped down, then started licking barbecue dust off her fingers.

“I swallowed. Would you have preferred it if I spat?”

That same finger started moving in and out of her (literal) mouth.

“Not really? Spitting would be a waste of… Oh.”

I was beginning to feel that there was more than just a little projection going on when she declared me a pervert in the library.

“My, You-kun. You truly are despicable.”

“Come on, you clearly wanted that outcome!”

She scoffed.

“There will be no ifs or buts—not for the heinous crime you've just committed against women. Sexualising the words and actions of a high school girl. What are you, a rookie light novelist writing a school harem? Are you, perhaps, secretly longing for the human touch due to your friendless nature?”

“Is this a meta joke about self-awareness?”

Rolling up a stack of middle school test manuscripts, she smacked me over the head.

With an amount of force suitable for killing someone.

“Ow!”

“That was strike one. Strike two shall be conducted with a paperback, and strike three a hardcover. Let this serve as a deterrent for those who lewd my innocent maidenhood, namely, You-kun.”

“Innocent maidenhood? Really?”

“Well, I am a high school girl. And also a minor."

“But you're older than me!”

“It doesn't matter, age is a social construct,” she declared.

“......”

Trying to figure out this person would've been like trying to understand why the ideal design for a spaceship in 2021 was a cock. Why the Laws of Physics somehow conveniently aligned to launch a penis rocket into space. That’s just how some omniscient creator intended it.

It do be like that sometimes.

Running her free hand untainted by saliva or chip dust through her hair, Yukimura continued with a completely straight face.

“So, I’ve wanted to ask since I got here—You-kun, do you happen to be poor?”

“I think I'm middle-class. Was that a joke?”

I don’t want my response to be misconstrued as classism—I was simply dumbfounded as to how she arrived at that conclusion.

“Well, firstly, there is the fact that you live with a person who doesn't bear your last name. Watanabe-san, was it? I’m assuming this is because you can’t afford rent? Or are you perhaps caught up in never-ending sexual debt to organised crime, and this is your assigned client?”

“...Senpai, this is a dormitory.”

“Your point being?”

“At least two students per flat. School rules.”

“What in the…”

Her expression was one of utter bewilderment. As if I’d just said something ridiculous—like ‘age is a social construct’, for example.

Then she started hitting me over and over on the head with the paper roll.

“Why would anyone subject themselves to that? Why would you do that? Why, You-kun? I’m genuinely mortified! Do your parents hate you? Do you even have parents? I’m worried! Please don’t kill yourself!”

“Stop hitting me after every sentence!”

“But I’m flustered!”

I will admit, I did feel a strange gratitude towards Yukimura during her odd display of concern—but I also realised from it that I was not a masochist. A worthy lesson, since she liked (literally) beating high school boys.

Thus I grabbed her flailing arm.

“You don’t have to be so concerned, you know—I want to live in the dorms.”

“Huh?”

“Like, it's actually pretty refreshing.”

“Huh? Huh?”

The look she gave me was not one of confusion. It was pure, unadulterated fear. Jerking away, and no, I will not rewrite this sentence to sound less sexual, she freed herself from my grip.

“T-then… those boxes? What do those boxes mean? Aren’t cardboard boxes a symbol for the homeless?”

“…They’re just there because I haven’t fully unpacked yet.”

“Then how about your bed? Why is it so tiny? Why does it remind me of something else on your person that also starts with ‘p’?"

"Hey, I'm middle-class for that too!"

"What about your personal assistant? Portrait of your ancestors? Personal bathroom? Pornography?”

“......”

If I had to give a number, I would’ve said that 95 percent of the school population lived in the dorms. More importantly, I was also 95 percent sure Yukimura was just screwing with me—though I didn’t want to risk that 5 percent in case she really was that detached from reality.

And even as a joke, it was still disconcerting. Her hoarding of food, her very terrible habit of projection...

I wanted it all to stop.

“Senpai, if my being poor makes you feel better—then I’ll be poor for you.”

On a dime, her face returned to its usual emotionless look.

“Hmph. Empty words.”

“No, really. And even if you're poor, I don't really care.”

“You…”

A tiny crack of a smile appeared on her face that betrayed her facade of hostility.

And just then—

Just then.

She smacked me on the lips with her own.

……

……

……

Just kidding.

This wouldn't follow the Laws of Romance Anime if that actually happened.

The truth was that her expression morphed into one of intense disgust—the type of disgust reserved for when you discover a rotting corpse. The type of expression one would make when reading a run-on sentence in a bad web novel, except the guy is friendly so you're not sure whether to criticise or excuse it as a 'stylistic choice'.

“...are disgusting, You-kun. Classless.”

"S-sorry. I was just trying to be nice!"

"If problems could be solved by people saying they were 'just being nice', then I would actually have female friends."

I wasn't sure whether to focus on her quasi-philosophical statement, or her open declaration that she had no female friends.

The image of a brown-haired girl under a tree appeared in my mind.

"Senpai, you do know that—"

"I'm not finished. Your ruining of a girl's mood with a thoughtless comment is so virginlike, it makes me want to punish you. Disgusting. You've ruined my Kaguya moment. This is why no self-respecting girl ever has, or will like you."

Tsujimoto Mari, I wanted to say.

“And how would you know that?”

“Intuition.”

“So, a 50/50?”

“Well, I guess you could put it this way: It would upset me if you weren’t a virgin, but I also wouldn't really mind, you see.”

Then the image of the brown-haired girl immediately crumpled into ash, like a piece of paper burning from its edges.

“Huh?”

“Don’t read into that comment, Virgin-kun. I obviously didn't mean it that way.”

"Huh? Huh?"

With a deep sigh, she dusted off her skirt, then stood up from her chair.

“I want to wash myself off now. I’m afraid that if I sit here any longer without taking the proper precautions, I might end up catching your virginity after all.”

“What?”

“Please stop looking so dumb, You-kun. Lend me your bath.”

“What?!”

“And your towel, and your soap, and possibly your underwear if I feel like it. But not clothes.”

“But what if you run into Watanabe?!”

“Then he would be a very lucky boy."

Since I pride myself on being capable of recognising exercises in futility, such as debating 'age is just a construct'—I gave in and handed over to Yukimura a bunch of stuff... except clothes.

And thus.

She ended up taking a bath.

That wraps up the first 20 minutes of my virgin tutee experience.

On the 21st minute, deciding that since I didn't have any girls' clothes, and that I didn't want Yukimura to suffer by wearing her school uniform again—it made logical sense to call someone who did.

And this was just the prelude of a long day that ended up with the formation of an unofficial Literature Club. One that disobeyed the Laws of Romance Anime.