Chapter 3: Mitarashi Dango (Part 1)

The next morning, everything went back to normal. Or at least, the kind of normal I was used to. The fever broke when I woke up around dawn, and I was glad because I really thought that yesterday was my last day.

But thankfully, I didn’t.

I remembered everything. Kousaka-san, the golden bombshell, just barged into my room and played Florence Nightingale in Shonan High School uniform. We bickered over nonsensical arguments about who crossed borders first, ate meals until everything became blurry and I fell back to sleep. I had no idea if I took the medicines she brought for me before that, well, who knows. If I'm already doing well now, it makes the question answered.

There was nothing unusual that happened throughout, as far as I can remember. It was a straight deep sleep. I don’t usually experience that knowing that I don’t easily let my guard down. I’ve had enough stories about violence and burglary on TV to know that the best way to get cautious people like me was always through us sleeping.

My parents slipped out that way, right?

But that’s it—I slept really well in her presence, notwithstanding the danger it could possibly bring. By the time I woke up, the apartment was already cleaned up, and even the meals I didn’t finish yesterday were gone.

Garbage bags? Disposed.

Kitchen? Shining.

Furniture and items? Still complete.

Keys? In my pockets.

Her presence? Gone.

I tried checking the corners if she left something, a note at least, saying “thank you for letting me break into your apartment and insult your life situation.”, but there was none.

I just wanted to know what time she left or if she made it home safely.

The final train of thoughts led me to pull out my decaying phone and as expected, there were no messages at all.

“I don't have her LINE number…” as I shook my head.

Why did I even imagine that in the first place?

It’s not like getting something as divine as her contact number is easy. In my head, the plan is simple. Step 1: Walk over. Step 2: "Hey, can I get your LINE?" Step 3: Profit. But in reality, the physics of the situation are much more complex.

If I approach her, I’m initiating not just a conversation but a high-stakes gamble where the currency is my remaining dignity. If Kousaka-san says yes, I have to actually message her. That’s a whole new saga of "how many dots do I use?" and "is this emoji too aggressive?"

If she says no...well, I suppose I could always transfer schools. Moving to a different prefecture seems like a reasonable response to a mild rejection.

“…Right. Enough of that,” I muttered and dragged my feet to the kitchenette. I’m cleaning up instead to distract myself from these stupid thoughts.

I decided to knot the curtains and saw the sun finally out for this day. It drenched my room in a warm light, exposing the truth about my setup.

My apartment wasn’t clean. It was simply less dirty than yesterday. Kousaka-san’s insults weren’t that hard but it managed to echo today.

With a sigh of defeat, I rolled up my sleeves.

For someone who used to live alone for a long while, this was the state of living I have preferred. There wasn’t any need for anyone’s help with anything. I only cared about the primary chores, and the rest of my free time was put into more important activities. I never really got called out for it anyway so I didn't put much thought into changing it.

However, I didn’t realize how dreadful it was in the outside world. Now that somebody other than me bore witness to my way of living, I think I had to adjust accordingly.

Her presence brought me to consciousness, and the truth didn’t sit well with me. I had to do damage control—because the last thing I needed was for the girl who fed and took care of me to have the thought that I like living in a house of filth. She might raise the idea that I'm not independent, living alone but can't do any chores, worse yet—unhygienic—and that's unacceptable.

I started with the futon, throwing the old and damaged cover into the apartment dumpster. When I lifted it, it threw me to a hell of a coughing fit. The dust motes it released was more like a cloud of death and destruction.

I just said to myself that it’s much better than Kousaka-san actually doing it for me. I dragged it out in the open, dusting it off along with the carpets.

Next task, the floor beneath. I wiped them until no grime was visible. When it dried, I swept it with the broom I just borrowed from Mikoto-san, our landlady.

“Cleaning again, Itsuki-kun?” as she peeked over the door.

"Well...you can say that. I woke up earlier than intended and I just felt like it."

I didn't even say that there was a random Frenchwoman who slapped me with the unsettling fact I treated all along as normal.

"Oh...? That's unusual." She looked away. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Of course she couldn't be more worried about me, after having her own experience and getting used to my routines. But I couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed.

I smiled, "Yeah, I'm alright. I got a mild cold yesterday but I'm doing well now."

“Oh, boy. Don't overdo yourself, okay? You always said you weren't, but I can see it on your face.”

My tiredness, as it always surfaced on my face?

Oh, right. I remember looking at myself in the mirror yesterday and thinking, 'I have these bags under my eyes again...'

No matter how often I reassured Mikoto-san that this was the exact opposite of what she’s thinking, it will never be accepted completely. But hear me out, saying no to work is easy, but what if that’s the person’s only option? Their only source of income? Would they trade the bad chain reaction of having no money for a few days rest?

Of course not, at least for me.

So I conceded, nodding with a smile.

“I’ll try my best to save up energy, I think.”

She sighed softly.

“No worries, Itsuki-kun. I just don't wanna see you lose all of your youth just because you’re always overworking yourself."

I snorted quietly at her. Her worry was ridiculous, honestly. I'm not some weak little girl who needs someone to hold me on their lap 24/7. But then again, this is just Mikoto-san being herself.

The autumn wind picked up, a bit stronger than usual, and I heard a small thud just outside the hallway.

Mikoto-san’s eyes darted towards it, and given how she reacted, she seemed piqued by the sight as well.

…The freaking futon.

“…Um,” she began cautiously, “did something happen to your futon cover?”

I froze, and my face fell.

I threw it out in the hallway, and expected no-one to see it. A masterclass of logic, Shimizu.

“Oh…that.” I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly fascinated by the shining floor. “It’s kind of…a bit older than me and reaching the end of its lifespan.”

“My, you're such a carefree young man, aren’t you?”

"Yeah, because I thought leaving it just rotting was acceptable before."

She laughed politely—one of those small, motherly “oh dear” laughs meant not to hurt my feelings. Not that I’ll take it personally though.

“If there’s anything you need, just ask me, okay?”

Yes, here comes the elephant in the room. Might as well ask now, before she tells the other tenants I slept on bare mattresses.

“Um, Mikoto-san,” I called out, voice dropping awkwardly low.

“Yes?”

“Do you—by any chance—have a spare futon cover? It's just temporary until I buy a new one.”

My eyes flailed left and right in embarrassment. She just smiled as if already expecting the question.

“Of course, dear. I have several since my nephews come over sometimes. What color do you want?”

“Anything that doesn't involve too cutesy or flashy designs, I guess?”

I don't want to see superheroes or whatnot below me when I sleep. It's just unsettling.

She smiled warmly. “Leave it to me. Wait here.”

As she headed back to her unit, I groaned into my hands. I couldn’t believe that I would ask others for such a simple thing like a futon cover.

At this point, if anyone else showed up to fix my life, I am just going to go back to bed.