The Day I Was Appointed Personal Guide to a Real-Life Swedish Princess

Okay, let’s rewind a bit. After Freja’s epic forehead-meets-desk introduction, the rest of the morning classes flew by in a blur of whispers and stolen glances. Daiki kept poking me from behind, hissing stuff like, “Dude, she’s totally your type—tall, blonde, and accident-prone. Score!” I ignored him, mostly because my brain was too busy processing the fact that Aoyama-sensei had basically volunteered me as Freja’s human GPS for Japanese life. Me, Amamiya Hibiki, the guy whose biggest adventure is deciding between curry rice or tonkatsu at lunch.

By the time the lunch bell rang, the classroom erupted into its usual chaos. Desks scraped together to form groups, bento boxes popped open, and the air filled with the smell of tamagoyaki and fried chicken. 

“Hibiki,” she said, turning to me with that polite, textbook-perfect Japanese. Her voice was soft, but it cut through the noise like a gentle breeze. “What is everyone doing? Is this… lunch time?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, pulling out my own bento—mom’s specialty karaage with rice and pickled veggies. Nothing fancy, but reliable. “We eat in class or on the roof if it’s nice out. You brought lunch too?”

She nodded, her braid swaying like a golden pendulum. 

Unpacking her own lunch—a neat little box her host family must have packed. It looked… normal? Wait, no. She had what seemed like a sandwich, but with some weird brown spread inside. And was that cheese? In a Japanese classroom? “Hai. My host mother made this. It’s… smörgås? No, in Japanese, sando? With leverpastej—ah, liver paste. From Sweden.”

Liver paste? On bread? In school? The Three Girls Squad—let’s call them Aiko, Miko, and Yuko for simplicity—were already eyeing her like she was an exotic exhibit at the zoo. Aiko, the leader with the perpetual ponytail, leaned over. “Freja-chan, that’s so cool! Is it like, reindeer meat or something?”

Freja blinked, her blue eyes wide. “No, it’s from a pig. In Sweden, we eat it often for breakfast. But reindeer? Sometimes, yes. With lingonberry jam.”

The squad gasped in unison. ”Kyaaa! Reindeer? Like Santa’s? That’s adorable!”

I could see Freja’s confusion mounting. She looked at me for help, her expression saying, ‘What did I say something wrong?’ I cleared my throat. “Uh, in Japan, we don’t really eat reindeer. It’s more… cute animal stuff. Like in cartoons.”

“Ah, wakatta,” she said, nodding seriously. “In Sweden, reindeer are food and friends. Like cows.”

Daiki burst out laughing from behind. “Food and friends? That’s gold! Hibiki, translate that for the class blackboard. Crush meter update: Freja 1, Hibiki 0 for cultural save.”

“Shut up, Daiki,” I muttered, but Freja smiled—a small, genuine one that made my stomach do a weird flip. Not like I was hungry or anything. Totally the karaage.

We ate in relative peace after that. Freja tried a piece of my karaage after I offered (purely out of politeness, okay?), and her eyes lit up like Christmas lights. “Oishii! This is… crispy outside, juicy inside. What is it?”

“Chicken. Fried chicken. Karaage,” I explained, feeling oddly proud. “My mom’s recipe.”

She savored it, then offered me a bite of her sandwich. “Please try. It’s pålägg—topping. Good for energy.”

I hesitated. Liver paste? But her expectant look was too pure to refuse. I took a small bite. It was… salty, a bit metallic, like paté but earthier. Not bad, actually. “Huh. It’s interesting. Kinda like natto, but less sticky.”

“Natto?” she repeated, tilting her head. “What is natto?”

Oh boy. That’s when Kisaragi Miu decided to chime in from across the aisle. She’s the class idol—perfect hair, perfect grades, perfect everything. But today, her smile seemed a tad sharper. “Natto is fermented soybeans. Super healthy, but kinda slimy. You should try it, Freja-san. Hibiki loves it, right?”

I do not love natto. It’s like eating snotty beans. But before I could protest, Daiki was already grinning. “Yeah, Hibiki’s a natto master. Eats it every morning for that extra… stickiness.”

Freja looked intrigued. “Fermented? Like surströmming in Sweden. But surströmming is fish, very smelly. I will try natto!”

The class snickered, and I shot Daiki a death glare. Thanks, buddy. Now I’m the natto guy.

Lunch wrapped up, and afternoon classes dragged on. Math, history—the usual. Freja took notes furiously, her pen flying across the page in neat, angular script that looked nothing like kanji. During a break, she leaned over. “Hibiki, what is ‘hanami’? Teacher mentioned it for next week.”

“Hanami? It’s cherry blossom viewing. We go to parks, eat under the trees, drink… well, adults drink. It’s like a picnic for flowers.”

Her face brightened. "Like Valborg in Sweden! Bonfires and spring celebration. But with flowers? I want to see.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty. The petals fall like snow.” Why was I getting poetic? It’s just hanami.

After school, the real adventure began. The bell rang, and everyone bolted like it was a fire drill. Freja packed her bag slowly, looking a bit lost. “Hibiki, the konbini? You said you show me.”

Right. I’d promised. “Yeah, let’s go. There’s one right outside the gate.”

Daiki slapped my back as he passed. “Have fun on your date, culture guide! Don’t forget to hold hands.”

“It’s not a date!” I hissed, but he was gone, cackling. Freja just blinked innocently. “Date? Like fruit?”

“No, like… uh, meeting. Never mind.”

We walked out together, the cherry blossoms still budding overhead. The konbini was your standard 7-Eleven clone—bright lights, endless snacks, and that familiar chime as we entered. Freja’s eyes went wide, like she'd stepped into Aladdin’s cave. “So many things! Lights everywhere. Is this… supermarket?”

“Kinda, but smaller. Open 24/7. Snacks, drinks, magazines, you can even pay bills here.”

She wandered the aisles, picking up random items. First, a pack of Pocky. “Sticks with chocolate? For eating?”

“Yeah, try one.” I bought a pack—my treat. She nibbled, then beamed. “Sweet and crunchy! Like kex, but better.”

Next, onigiri. “Rice ball? With… fish inside?”

“Tuna mayo. Classic.”

She unwrapped it carefully, but bit in with the plastic still half-on. “Mmm—wait, chewy part?”

I laughed—couldn’t help it. “No, peel the plastic first!”

“Ah! Gomennasai!” She blushed, that red mark from morning still faint on her forehead. Cute. Wait, no. Helpful. Just being helpful.

We spent the next half-hour exploring. She marveled at the oden pot (“Soup in store?”), tried a melon pan (“Bread like fruit? Magic!”), and even bought a weird yogurt drink that she pronounced “like filmjölk from home.” By the time we left, her bag was stuffed with snacks, and the sun was dipping low.

“Thank you, Hibiki,” she said as we walked back toward the station. Her host family was in the next neighborhood over. “Today was… difficult, but fun. Because of you.”

My face heated up. “N-No big deal. Just helping out.”

She stopped under a streetlight, her blue eyes serious. “In Sweden, we say ‘tack’. Thank you. You are  kind guide.”

Kind? Me? I scratched my head. “Anytime, Freja.”

As she waved goodbye and headed off, I stood there like an idiot, watching her braid swing. Daiki’s crush meter? Yeah, maybe it wasn’t zero anymore.