Chapter 4: Can Adjustments Be Shaped? (II)

“Hey,” I asked, adjusting my goggles as the faint smell of ethanol drifted in the laboratory. “Do you think food really connects families?”

Daiki didn’t look up from the beaker he was pouring acid in. His eyes followed the thin line of liquid with the same seriousness he had whenever he handled a soccer ball on the field.

“Food, huh? That’s like asking if a ball connects soccer players.”

I raised a brow. “…That’s your answer?”

Ah, yes. One might call us weirdos talking about food and soccer in the middle of a subject that involves chemical warfare or whatever scientific formulas those grey-haired nerds decided to give the world, but as for Hoshino Daiki, my only friend at Meishin, it’s straight up normal.

The casual comparison was made because he’s part of the elite soccer team—which makes him popular among girls. He’s athletic, outgoing, stylish and attractive, you name it. I can say that we're on the opposite poles of school hierarchy, a superstar and a loner, but trust me, we have lots of common ground that’s why I befriended him.

“Yep.” He finally glanced at me, smirking lazily. “If you pass a ball around, people chase it, struggle over it, and in the end…everyone gets involved whether they like it or not. Isn’t that what breakfasts are? Pass the plate, share the taste, play the same game under the same rules?”

Wait—I didn't really expect him to answer such nonsensical questions about food but I'm more surprised that he answered in a strangely logical and annoyingly fitting way.

"Where did that even come from, Kaede? Having a hard time adjusting to your family so you’re trying to connect with food?"

He was one of the few people that knew about that story. I've known him long enough to trust that he won't broadcast this news to the whole campus. After all, even though he's popular, he's enclosed when it comes to personal matters.

As I was about to answer, our chemistry teacher walked past us with her constantly frowned expression, reminding us for the fifth time: Careful with the acids, and never spill anything.

I stirred the clear solution pretentiously in my test tube, watching the tiny ripples. It reminded me of the miso broth earlier this morning. Strange how quickly the thought surfaced.

Daiki spoke again as our teacher went back to her observation post.

“So, again, what’s this about food? Don’t tell me your stepmom made you lunch.”

I snorted. “Close. I cooked breakfast for them.”

That made him pause mid-pour.

“You cooked?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

I hesitated, scratching the back of my neck. “Didn’t expect her to…well, eat it. But she did.”

"Of course she will. Why wouldn't your stepmother eat something you made for her?" Daiki's voice seemed unusually sharp. "I mean, if you're so good at cooking, I see no reason for them not to appreciate it. If I were them, I would've asked for your recipe.”

"I get your point. But I'm not talking about my stepmother. I'm talking about Asahina-san."

“Wha—?!”

The glass flask tilted dangerously in Daiki’s hand. It nearly overflowed.

“Watch it!” I darted forward and caught it before it slipped off the table. My heart jumped as the liquid sloshed inside.

“Are you trying to burn us both alive?!”

“Oi, oi, don’t say that so casually!” Daiki hissed. “You never told me that your stepsister is the ice queen herself!”

For a moment, I want to peel off the glove from my palm and cover his mouth with it.

“Keep it down, it's a damn secret!”

Before he could answer, a sharp voice cut through the air.

“Fujimiya, Hoshino!”

Both of us snapped our heads toward the front. Our teacher was glaring at us over her glasses.

“You two want to blow up the classroom?!"

"No, ma'am," we chorused, then exchanged a glance.

"Then less talking and more focus!"

“Yes, ma’am!”

As her sharp scowl dialed down and our classmates returned to their usual activities, we both sighed in relief and went back over our experiment.

“Man, you nearly gave me a heart attack."

"You nearly reduced us to roasts. Which is worse?"

It was my fault for him reacting this way. After all, I only told him about my father’s remarriage and not about the stepsister thing. A surprised Daiki is expected, but the fact that my sister was Asahina-san gave him a near-death experience.

But wait a second…

“Asahina-san…ice queen?”

That was not the adjective that best fit with her. Remembering how radiant she was back at middle school, it seemed surreal. I only thought that she acted that way because she was just adjusting to coexisting with the person she destroyed years ago, but it seems she also brought that attitude towards school.

“Yup. She always walked around with that aura of indifference much worse than you. Some of my teammates already advised against approaching her. But you can't really stop men from drooling over that kind of beauty, right? Asahina-san might have been the most beautiful student at Meishin."

I do admit that Asahina-san is a masterpiece in terms of aesthetics, and someone like her is expected to be in the mainstream of the school's gossip network.

What I didn't expect is the nature of those rumors. I missed out so much detail on her daily life even though we're just a wall apart. The agreement we made surely limited information about our lives to an extent.

“For the boys that advised against her, did they know about our past?”

“No. They’re just holding grudges because of how Asahina-san brutally rejected them.”

Oh…now that makes sense.

To be at the receiving end of a rejection would sting like hell—but I can't help but feel a little satisfied with the fact that no one won her heart.

It's not because I'm jealous—no, my feelings would never boil down to that point. I'm just threatened that I would have to deal with another acquaintance if that ever happened.

“I can safely say that they dodged a bullet right there.” I murmured.

“More like they dodged a death sentence. They don't know the monster beneath that porcelain face."

We both shared an awkward laugh. Though knowing the dangerous territory we’re in, Daiki didn’t let the awkwardness linger and instead switched into the main topic.

"So, she actually liked it?”

I didn’t reply immediately. My eyes drifted to the flask I had just saved. The transparent liquid inside swirled as if resisting stillness, bubbles forming at the bottom before disappearing.

“…It’s not like she said anything. But…her face kind of gave it away.”

Daiki whistled low. “Oho. That’s a chemical reaction if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Don’t compare her to hydrochloric acid.”

But my thoughts immediately rejected my comparison.

Asahina-san and HCI were pretty similar in a sense. Both are harmless externally, but corrosive to the touch.

So no matter how she eats my food or how she looks at me now—I’m not letting that through my guard.

“Why not? Think about it.” He lifted his beaker, tilting it against the light. “Mix the wrong stuff, and boom—it’s toxic, explosive, or just outright deadly. But sometimes, if the ratio’s right, you get something useful.”

“Like what?”

“Like salt.”

“…So which one are we?”

“You tell me. You’re the one doing the mixing.”

I went quiet.

The truth was, I wasn’t mixing anything. I was just standing there, letting her life happen. I just wished that there’s a simple word to describe our complex setup—because it’s in between ‘no expectations’, where we simply mind our business and coexist and ‘no acknowledgement’, where any connection simply doesn't exist at all.

But food was a variable I didn’t account for. It was like a welding machine trying to put two different cold metals into place.

“Still,” Daiki said, breaking the silence, “if even Asahina Shiori can smile at your cooking, maybe there’s more chemistry between you two than you think.”

I almost choked at the suggestion.

"Not happening. I won't allow you to enjoy this too much.”

Daiki's really the greatest pest behind my colleague at my part time job in the convenience store.

“Damn right I am. My boring elective just turned into a soap opera because of these thoughts of you being a siscon[1].”

“Not in this life…”

Our teacher’s voice snapped again. “Hoshino! Fujimiya! Less drama, more data!”

“Yes, ma’am!” Daiki answered cheerfully. Meanwhile, I scribbled on the activity sheet on pretense.

As our act unfolded, he leaned closer and whispered, “Careful, man. Bonds are tricky. Once they form, breaking them hurts more than never mixing at all.”

"It already blew up two years ago."

I stared down at the flask, the solution finally settling into clarity.

A neat bond, simple and transparent.

And this transparency is the key to mankind’s full understanding of others.

Well, if only mankind worked that way.

[1] "Siscon" is a Japanese-derived term and abbreviation for "sister complex", which describes a state of strong attachment or obsession with one's sister or sisters.