Chapter 3: Mitarashi Dango (Part 2)

Later on, I tried seizing for opportunities to approach her. The best idea I had in mind was to wait for lunch break and seize her absence to put everything on her desk, but that didn't happen. She had her bento ready, and didn't need to leave her seat. That left me no options and I was left re-strategizing in the cafeteria.

I returned to the classroom without a hitch, and let the droning voice of the fourth and fifth period melt into background noise. Then, I reviewed formulas for the term exams during the rest time between periods, maximizing whatever time I had left to prepare. This school wasn’t an exception to a life I lived like a routine.

A while ago, I realized that being a second year student at Shonan High School puts you in the middle of the opposite poles high school life offers: the first being that fiery curiosity to taste what being a highschooler is, and the second, the looming fear of graduating and navigating the merciless adult world outside the confines of the campus.

But if you're going to ask me, I don't fear the latter. I lived through enough bad experiences and losses to be hinged.

Once you go through the worst nightmares, the next would be the lesser, as they say.

Then again, I don't regard myself as a supremacist, but I believe that those who were introduced to struggle at an earlier age will be more resilient in the challenge of the outside world.

And the struggle, if I were to transform it into a tangible event, was Nakabeni-sensei drawing bizarre algebraic expressions on the blackboard.

An outsider can call this a 'typical' school last period, but to us Class 2-1 and Nakabeni-sensei's students, her subject would be a mountain to cross before we get home.

This already played out a dozen times before. She's going to drawl about complicated rules of solving this and that, then write equations long enough to fill half of the board. Then surely after that, she'll turn around and scan the room.

Make eye contact with her and find yourself on the board answering everything she had just written.

So today, the usually loud Class 2-1 classroom became hushed when she turned to look at us. Even the normally rowdy, sometimes overly excitable girls and brash delinquents in front of me stopped talking altogether.

Only Tsurugi-san and the other nerds had the joy of being challenged by her questions, and they were the one that saved this classroom from mathematical demise.

But today, she was absent. The nerds aren't even willing to volunteer. It meant only one thing—the classroom will become Nakabeni-sensei's hunting ground.

And here I am, hoping that she'll choose the most detached student, the one that doesn't care about classes, whose mind is always preoccupied by the desire of going home and doing nothing.

Coincidentally, her eyes found the target, it was behind me. Two rows, three meters.

"Yes, Kousaka-kun?" she sounded almost pleasant, but it carried the complications of her math problems.

Eh… looks like my wishes backfired. But wait… Kousaka-san wanting to participate in class? I don't know what kind of anomaly this is, but my instincts screamed that I should turn around and confirm reality.

My head turned towards the back, and to no surprise, Kousaka-san wasn't raising her hand. She was probably called out for recitation just because everybody in the class was paying attention. Either way, this wasn’t going to end nicely.

“Kousaka-kun,” the teacher repeated, with her marker tapping the board, “Would you kindly solve this?”

She stepped aside to reveal the equation: 

(3x - 2)(x + 5) - (x² - 4x - 10) = 0.

At a single glance, I already caught on the structure. It’s a classic foil-expansion and simplification type. Not really impossible to answer—one just needs to slow down and make sure to select the right factors. But it looked aggressive by how it was sprawled across the board in big, bold strokes.

“........”

I think it fell on deaf ears. I turned to the sketchpad-obsessed porcupine behind me, and she wasn’t even glancing up. She kept sketching, her pencil swishing softly across the page and tapping on invisible rhythm.

“Kousaka-kun?”

"I’m doing something.” she said flatly.

With fresh memories from earlier, a couple of snickers sparked around the classroom. Class 2-1 wasn’t particularly brave, but they appreciated good entertainment when presented itself. They knew Kousaka-san wouldn't budge at all.

In response, Nakabeni-sensei pushed up her glasses with terrifying calm.

“Sorry but, can you spare me some time and answer these problems? You can draw again unbothered after this. Please come to the board.”

The porcupine’s spine visibly bristled. With her sharp exhale, I can say that she was finally annoyed.

“You’re condemned to be free, thus you're responsible for everything you do. You created that problem on the board yourself, I am not the one responsible for solving it.”

The temperature in the room dropped. A few of my classmates actually gasped, including me. I don't know if she embodied herself in Sartre's philosophy or this is her narcissism taking place overtly. For us watchers, the delinquency of Kousaka-san is on premiere once more.

“But Kousaka-kun, your responsibility, as a student here, is to engage with the material and participate in that learning process. The moment I write a mathematical statement on this board and present it to the class, it becomes a potential object of study. This equation isn't that hard though, and as a teacher, my responsibility is to guide you to correct answers too.”

I don't see this situation escalating because of Nakabeni-sensei’s practiced tolerance and leniency, and the good counterargument.

"A duty to engage, perhaps, but not a forced obligation to perform.”

Blinking once, she closed her sketchpad and crossed her arms.

“You, as the creator, have an authority over the content, but that authority does not negate my autonomy as an individual learner. The problem is a proposition; my engagement is a choice. It is my understanding of the material, not my ability to recite the answer to an ad hoc problem, that is the measure of my learning.”

The argument itself sounds reasonable for both sides, but both of them are just shifting the blame onto the other person. Creator versus solver and whatnot.

By creating the math problem, sensei is just simply creating a necessary condition for Kousaka-san’s growth and learning, which is the universal purpose why schools were created. When questions are formed, we have an obligation to fulfill the sufficient condition—the act of solving it. And by obligation, it’s not born from sensei’s authorship of the problem, but from our agreement being students in this space.

But I'm not going to stick around and waste my time listening to this ridiculous back and forth just because one side thinks so highly of themselves.

So before I could stop myself, before I could calculate the pros and cons, before I remembered that this wasn’t my problem—I raised my hand.

“If it’s alright, sensei… I’ll solve it.”

Nakabeni-sensei blinked, like she never expected anyone to intervene. There was a twitch at the edge of her mouth. Amusement, maybe. Or relief that she won't have to deal with the immovable object sulking behind the classroom.

“But this was directed at Kousaka-kun…”

I gave her a weak smile as I grasped my own pen.

“It’s okay. You can give the performance marks to her instead.”

Collective hushed laughter echoed in the room. Am I crazy for suggesting such a stupid idea? Well, if it moves the class forward, why not?

“Eh—? Very well… please proceed.” She seemed hesitant but gave in to me nonetheless.

For so long I stayed invisible in these four walls, I can’t blame them for reacting that way.

I stood, walked to the board, and took the chalk from her hand.

I ignored the strange silence behind me, the subtle tick of pencils pausing, the hushed whispers of conversations suddenly stopping. Of course who wouldn’t be piqued by a wallflower dango seller suddenly playing hero?

I focused on the problem on the board. The first step was to expand, combine then subtract the second expression. Lastly, factor out. The computations went smooth, like I was a scientific calculator propped with red hair.

My mind worked quietly and methodically, practiced from years of calculating grocery money and budget allocation. By the time I reached the final calculation, the answers already settled in.

Final answer: x equals zero… and negative eight point five.

When I capped the marker, the room heaved a collective sigh. Acknowledgement isn’t really part of my expectations from them, but at least my intervention wasn’t entirely in vain. Each one of us knew better if no-one tried to volunteer.

“Well done, Shimizu-kun.”

I placed the marker down to Nakabeni-sensei’s table gently, and returned to my seat.

That didn't end there though. A couple of whispers floated throughout the classroom.

"Did he just save Kousaka-san from Nakabeni-sensei?"

"I heard he's as dumb as Yuuya. What if we’re wrong?"

"Yeah… I can’t believe it…"

"I mean… I’d still copy notes and assignments from Tsurugi-san, but still…"

“Maybe he’s secretly a genius?”

“I'd still prefer Tsurugi-san over that weirdo.”

The praises and skepticisms were quickly drowned by more chatter than ever. I don't care if they respond with hostility or fascination, or if they'll laugh at me if I fail. I wanted to remain invisible like I used to, though I can't say the same for Nakabeni-sensei who surely placed me under her radar.

“Kousaka-kun, I hope you followed the calculation’s steps. This would appear in our term exams.”

A few of the braver students shot an awed glance at me as I wordlessly stared upfront.

Behind me, I didn’t hear Kousaka-san sketching anymore. Her chair was finally turned forward now, and she was introspectively fixed on something far beyond the windows.

I don’t know if my heroic ploy did her good, but seeing her completely abandon what she’s doing just earlier made me feel slightly guilty.

I didn’t mean to ruin her moment—but it seems like I can finally feel the essence of what I just did.

At least I returned the favor, although unappreciated.

***

Finally, the school bell rang around 4:30 PM and it marked the end of school sessions. All my classmates started standing up, taking all their bags and grouped up with their acquaintances. It proves their excitement to go to their after-school lives—just by judging how noisy they were.

This is how I end my day, being the first one to slip out without doing anything extra at all. If I were to miscalculate my timing, the corridors would be filled up with loud students and it would be hard for me to squeeze through. Not an ideal situation.

As I walked out of the building, I gazed in the afternoon skyline, and saw my shadow walking beside me. Looking around, hundreds of them moved in a sea of red, some were facing their friends, some romantics were holding hands, and the rest of loners were just reading under the tree shades.

"I'm unlucky…"

I breezed through them like I always did. Staying for longer would just fill me with either curiosity or envy. But in my defense, that envy is just about their social skills, not because they have someone that they could rely on emotionally.

On a rare occasion, I found myself taking the train instead of walking straight to the park. It's because I picked up a pamphlet just near the school gates saying that there would be a youth event just near Yuenchi, so getting there as soon as possible was crucial. Of course, if I got there too late, I might risk missing the entire crowd.

As the train filled with home-bound students started moving, the landscape opened up. For a glorious, fleeting moment, I caught the wide-open view of the port. Huge metal cargo cranes stood like colossal sentinels against the horizon, with tall skyscrapers being shadowed by the Port Tower. The sun caught the surface of the vast, glittering water, momentarily blinding.

“Is this really Kobe?”

“Yeah!"

"Look—there’s the port! Wow!"

"I told you it’s underrated. Tokyo was so crowded yesterday I thought I’d faint.”

I heard the unmistakable cadence of foreign tourists behind me—talking in excited English. I could understand them well, as I have read lots of English literature before. I could picture them wide-eyed on the surroundings, but had zero awareness of how loud they were. That's always the problem with foreigners, they talk too loud in a country that values the quiet.

Meiwaku.

“Well, at least the convenience stores there had everything. The stores here were smaller and lacked some necessities."

“Mm. But cheaper, too. Our hotel last night was half the price of the one in Shibuya.”

Cheaper, huh?

I blinked slowly at the window, letting the setting sun send a small warmth to my face.

That’s how they’d see it. Temporary residents don’t worry about the long-term effects of the places they briefly step on. They take pictures. Buy souvenirs. Sleep. Leave. Then the city deals with whatever rises after.

The two female tourists kept talking, discussing which “hidden gems” to visit, which restaurants were “worth photographing,” which districts were “authentic but aesthetically pleasing.” until one line stuck:

“I heard Kobe’s not as popular because it doesn’t have a lot of flashy stuff.”

That made me send a sidelong glance at them.

For starters, Kobe is beautiful. If you asked people what places come to their mind first when they hear of the country's name, Tokyo, Okinawa or Osaka will be their no brainer answer. Kobe was never part of it, but for me, it has the kind of beauty that doesn’t brag about itself.

Kobe doesn’t plaster itself on travel brochures or into vlog thumbnails with neon captions like “TOP 10 HIDDEN GEMS OF JAPAN!!!” No one’s trying to sell it to the world, and maybe that’s why it still feels ours.

I am grateful. I am grateful that Kobe wasn’t more famous.

Don’t get me wrong—it deserves to be. But fame is a double-edged knife disguised as a bouquet.

Let me explain this in a nutshell: Tourists flood a place, and due to exposure, suddenly everything costs 30% more. Even the cheap bread at the local corner store surely will explode like wagyu steak. When a city becomes an attraction, the basic necessities magically become “premium experiences" for the sake of profit.

And people like me… don’t survive those “premium experiences.”

No tourists means no inflated prices. This leaves no desperate businessmen trying to squeeze money out of every corner of the street. We will be forever living in a quiet port city—slow enough for someone like me, who doesn’t ask for much, to keep up.

Kobe is beautiful, yes. But it is also merciful.

The train screeched softly as the pneumatic brakes kicked in, pulling into my stop: Sannomiya Station. I feel the familiar lurch that signals the end of the journey. The door opened with a hiss, and a wall of sound hit me: a mixture of announcements, the distant rumble of another train, and the loud, cheerful melody of the station's departure chime. It's instantly louder and warmer out here than it was inside the train car.

A few minutes of walking takes me to the sprawl of tall buildings and entertainment areas.

I maneuvered past office workers and other students rushing to their destinations, carefully avoiding being seen by anyone who might recognize me.

It's just they'd assume that I'm living my life youthfully and glamorously being always present at the metro sprawl.

Anyhow, I'll just stop them right there—if they ever thought that “Oh, he’s being with his friends sipping ramen or singing in karaoke bars again!”

No, of course I don’t have any strong interest in doing that as a part of my own go-home club.

And it's not like statements like that would work on the first try. Most of them were too preoccupied with their own life to take notice of what I am doing anyway.

As far as anyone knew, I was just a lonely boy who always spent his time alone behind a dango stall in a quiet Yuenchi park every afternoon. And that suited me fine. I wanted it that way. I was content.

It was the routine I've been in for years, selling at Shimizu's Mitarashi Dango Castle. And me, the red-haired prince residing behind it was turning sticks, basting glaze and breathing steam.

Today, the crowd was as expected: large, with a mix of high school and college students moving to the nearby Minato Park.

As the first customer approached me, the rhythm already began:

"Good afternoon! What's your order?"

"Alright, I'm on it.”

"Here's your change. Do you want an extra glaze?"

“That would cost 10 yen…”

…and "Thank you, come again!"

Then another, and another, until I already hit the quota just an hour and a half after setting the stall up.

After that, the crowd dispersed, making me assume that everyone was already at the said event. I used this window to watch the life of others happen around me.

The few people left were the isolated eggheads reading books under the trees, some stylish boys being followed by hopeless romantics of the opposite genders. At one point, I even saw a confession between two students that were also my schoolmates. I don't know how it went, as I have no particular interest in eavesdropping.

Albeit 2 hours late, the solitary princess of the auburn camphor kingdom finally appeared across the walkway.

She sat on the same spot, opened her bag, and unfolded her sketchpad. She tied her long golden hair into a ponytail, exposing her snowy pale nape. For some reason, she didn’t draw right away like she used to. She kept turning on pages, and occasionally lifting her eyes and looking around.

I clicked my tongue, the sound crisp and sharp in the park air.

“Stop… staring.” I mumbled to myself.

I am just planning how to approach her to hand over her worksheets, but it looks like I was acting suspicious. I just gulped the feeling and returned to flipping dango sticks.

Before, I only ever spared her a glance or two—just enough to confirm she wasn’t, say, collapsing from heatstroke or getting robbed. It’s totally normal civic duty stuff, see—but I can’t say the same for now.

My eyes keep drifting back to her longer than it's supposed to be. I get it, we’re two people who always wanted to be “left alone” but couldn’t quite get ourselves out of the picture. I fear the day that I’ll get caught. I fear the time I’ll get called a creep, a stalker or a pervert. And to add insult, maybe people will think that I’m a desperate vendor trying to lure in the distant princess with eye contact.

Either way, none of it would be great for business.

I rubbed the back of my neck, realizing how tense I’d become. I tried to think of everything as part of the status quo, and it’s just another day of two strangers from ten meters across.

Strangers, yes, but I knew what her hands looked like wet with miso steam. The way her slender fingers, painted with colors as blue as her eyes, traced along the tip of the bowl.

I knew what she looked like up close in my dim apartment, and her golden hair that never refused to catch light.

I knew her grace from our witty exchanges that will make an average person's brain spill from their ears. How she uses French, sharp and intense, like a sword in the hand of a goddess with no mercy.

I wonder when did I start to notice and remember such details.

Naive, right? Just like how I knew that she puts more salt in meals than usual.

And more than that, I knew how stubborn she was when she ignored Nakabeni-sensei.

I’d seen her do that to other teachers and students so many times before, but now, I can’t help but think it feels off now that we have known each other and talked at the very least. I don’t mean it as a concern, but a flick in my chest, perhaps.

I found no proper method to approach her. The last time I approached her was out of desperation, but now, having just papers in my hand, that wasn’t nearly enough of a reason.

Kousaka Akari did not like people coming at her without good reasons. She didn’t like being touched, talked to, bothered, stared at, breathed near, or even shared a place with if she could help it. Do I even need the rain again just to spare me a headache?

For a few more days, I kept doing the same thing. Attend class, ignore people, eat lunch alone, review the term exams, look at the bench, plan my approach, and work at the dango stall. Kousaka-san and I kept coexisting on an astronomical distance, even though we’re just ten meters apart.

That was the case until a certain afternoon the following week.

I was serving two office workers ranting about their manager and a mom pushing a stroller on that particular day. Everything had been going smoothly—with the caring mother occasionally humming her child to sleep and rocking the stroller slowly.

After them, nothing followed. So I turned my back to the counter to rinse the tray under the small tap, taking a breath after the mini-rush. When I straightened up and turned back to face the park, the customer standing in front of my stall left me glued to where I was standing.

It wasn't just another customer; it was the last person I thought would ever be my customer.

“Can I buy something?” she asked.

I nearly toppled over the tray by the bombshell she threw at me, but I quickly masked the surprise by adjusting the fire, basting the next batch, avoiding eye contact like it was radioactive. I fumbled with everything superficial just to pretend I didn't notice the anomaly standing right in front of me.

The unthinkable just happened. How would I deal with this if my carefully built facade is crumbling before me?

Fine, just suit yourself, Itsuki.

“...Kousaka… san…?” The name escaped my lips as I finally met her eyes.

I failed to notice that she had already crossed the path and stepped onto our exclusion zone. And now, she was standing in front of my empire.

I was at a loss for words, heart beating rapidly and beads of sweat forming in my temple. But then I remembered Marcus Aurelius’ quote, “The nearer a man comes to a calm mind, the closer he is to strength.”, but no amount of stoicism could help me get past this.

“Why the hell is she here?!” I asked myself. I even echoed the words she just said, a fool’s errand.

I have carefully planned and quietly wished that something will change—and now I'm cowering away. Not even my apron could cover my ridiculousness.

“Excuse me, can I buy something? Hello?”

I only snapped back to my senses when she leaned forward and waved her hand in front of my face.

“Ah, sorry…”

Right, Kousaka-san will not leave. She's here for a reason. Following my invisible script, I put up a smile that can melt glaciers despite the turmoil running inside me.

"G-Good afternoon…" I spat on a shaking voice. "We have Mitarashi, Hanami and Kinako on the menu today. What's your order?"

She didn’t say anything at first, and her blue daggers disguised as eyes were boring holes in the professionalism I made up.

Then, slowly—she reached into her blazer pocket, pulled out a 500-yen coin, and dropped it into the tray.

"One mitarashi," she said simply. The sound was small, but in my world, it thundered.

“Any special requests?”

“I don’t like overly sweet foods, so I would like to have fewer servings of glaze, if you may."

“Okay, on it.”

I quickly moved as if hit by a whip, unable to test if this moment was a mere glitch in reality or not. I looked down the grill and fanned on shaking limbs.

I carefully grabbed a stick from the freshest batch, then turned it once more over the heat. Reheating relied on the customer's option, but I forced it—I needed a few more seconds to collect my thoughts.

Was this a prank? A power move? I couldn’t determine. I couldn’t even look at her straight in the face to get a gist.

“Thank you for waiting.” I mumbled as I finally turned around.

I handed her the skewer with my pretentious smile unwavering.

“Won’t you take my payment?” she asked, pushing the coin closer to me.

“It's free.” I replied.

My kindness was met with just a mere raised eyebrow from her.

“What are you saying? It’s not.”

I returned her gaze with a smile, and I already regretted it. Her eyes were as sharp as glass knives, and her lips pursed in an expression of such perfect disdain I could barely see my reflection in them.

“I mean… we're acquainted, right? You can take it as a favor of knowing me.”

“I'm not paying for our acquaintance. I'm paying for the effort. This is just a simple supply and demand issue.”

“She didn't deny it… but right.” I mumbled to myself.

Despite the fact that I'm trying to be generous, I cannot help but agree with her logic. I made the effort, and it has to be compensated accordingly. Because without the earnings, I wouldn't be able to buy the ingredients and sell them again. That’s what businesses are made for in the first place, right?

Having just thought of that, I forced a smile.

"Wait up, I'm computing your change—"

"No need.”

“Eh?”

“I already explained myself. Don't even make me repeat myself."

My smile flattened by a fraction for a second, one eye twitching.

Tips are taboo in this country, but knowing that the hellhole she came from probably gifted her the polar opposites of bluntness and generosity, I let myself be acquiesced today.

“…Thank you, come again.” I said after a beat, handing her the still-warm stick.

She took it with the same care she held her sketchpad, in my eyes at least.

“It’s still warm,” she muttered.

“I guess so. Anyways, do you need a tissue?”

I wasn’t sure if she meant the food or my hand. Of course it’s warm. Heat does that, you porcupine. If I’m going to be forced to explain that in detail, goodness, just kill me.

“No, thanks. I'm good.”

When she finally turned around, that's where I only remembered that I still have the worksheets to hand out to her. It's already a day overdue.

Panic seized me, as my preoccupation made me miss out on the opportunity entirely.

I cleared my throat.

“Uhm… K-Kousaka-san!”

She stopped on her tracks. She slowly turned, and those blue eyes lifted to me, sharper than the skewer she held.

“…What?”

“I, uh...”

I fumbled with the zipper of my bag so aggressively that it sounded like I was trying to tear time apart.

"...Wait..." Finally, I pulled out the worksheet—creased from being handled, unhandled, and rehandled in my endless indecisions. “Your worksheets… I have it.”

“Worksheets? From who?”

“From our social studies teacher. Chiya handed it to me the other day,” I said, raising it with both hands like a ceremonial offering. “I wanted to give it back.”

She stared at the paper for a moment.

"Why did he pass it to you instead? I don't understand at all."

I cannot explicitly say that Chiya is afraid of her, right? That will only make the atmosphere awkward. I resorted to a safer option, for the sake of maintaining order.

"You weren't in the classroom when the handouts were given, and I forgot it because I was reviewing for the term exams strenuously. I just took this chance so I'm sorry for interrupting you."

"No… I don't mind it at all. Thank you.”

When she said 'Thank you', I blinked. I mean, I already heard it for quite a few times but man, this time, her usually cold voice actually softened. I can only watch her turn around with that stack in her hands, making her way to the bench.

When she sat on it once more, I decided to steal a glance across. I looked over the stall cabinets and squinted in an attempt to make out what she was doing.

No, the sketchpad didn’t open right away. Instead, she unwrapped the 120-yen dango stick with a kind of hesitant grace. That made me ask, has she eaten it before? Because she certainly doesn't know how to properly do it.

Somehow, that’s uncharacteristic for the cool and flawless persona she had. I expected her to always have an innate knowledge of things, since her face never showed unrest or confusion.

I kept watching under the pretense of cleaning up the grill.

For a moment it looked comical—like a child opening up their first cookie, only she wasn’t smiling or laughing either. She was looking at it on a molecular level, examining for flaws.

She bit into the first dango ball slowly. Then she looked down at it, brows furrowing slightly—not in displeasure, but reverie. It was the kind that you can see in people that are experiencing something different from what they are anticipating.

Kousaka-san was unsure about what she was feeling. The same goes on my account.

I kept wiping the already-clean surface, my heart raging from my chest from anxiety.

At one point, she caught my glance mid-chew, and I almost threw my rug while I crouched on reflex.

This time I realized that I badly wanted a crowd of customers around my stall in order to shield me from the intensity and rawness of the situation.

As if the universe pitied me for once, salvation came from an unexpected voice:

"One Kinako please."

OH! FINALLY!

Relief shot through me so strongly that I bowed so lowI nearly hit my head on the grill.

When I rose, there was a highschooler from a different school staring at me, head tilted, in confusion.

"What? Is there something wrong with my face?”

...I said my thoughts out loud, didn't I?

Embarrassment flooded me right away—and I felt my face contorting to the most awkward smile I ever wore.

“N-No, nothing’s wrong. Sorry—uh—here it is.”

I quickly handed him the Kinako coated in apologies, then computed change, said thanks, and sent him off.

Machine-like efficiency.

Fortunately for my sanity, a line formed quickly and I had time to distract myself from the weird feeling of watching another human being eat dango. If I were to be caught, I'd surely be beaten by her to a pulp.

The routine continued like a rolling script, with Kousaka-san’s gaze and charcoal pencil dancing once more on the thick paper.

She sketched.

I worked.

And we stayed until 8:00—all whilst not speaking to each other again.

When she stood to leave, she didn’t look back. That was already expected.

What I don’t expect is the wrapper from the dango stick—she folded it neatly and tucked it into the inside pocket of her baseball jacket as if something to keep for a little longer.

And that made me smile, at the very least. That's the best thing that happened today. So in order to reimburse the act, I waved a goodbye, the one that never left the pocket of my apron.

After her, there's still a lot of people in Yuenchi, most of which were the young crowd from Minato so I stayed for another 90 minutes.

Her figure might have disappeared past the curve of the park path, but a single thought lingered in the quiet: Kousaka Akari was finally a customer.

Well, I'm not going to complain about that, because she's the worst and best customer I ever had.