Chapter 6: Next Time, Try Not To Lose (Part 4)

Then, after what looked like an eternity, she reached into her blazer sleeve, pulled out something, and tossed it at my chest. It was close to hitting my chin, but I was glad that I possessed good reflexes.

It was a canned french vanilla iced coffee.

“…Don’t think this means anything.”

“I never do. Just like you, I have no expectations.”

“Good to know. Now, press it to your face or whatever, because I can see how much you need it.”

I did as told. I winced at the first contact, but nonetheless managed to bear with the pain.

Did she buy it solely for me? The question never left my throat, though I didn’t really want an answer to that one either.

We fell into an impasse again, and I walked forward to lean on the same wall as hers with a fair distance between us. I expected her to move two steps away, but she didn't.

“Hey, can I vent?”

She immediately turned to me, caught by surprise. I can see in her eyes that she took it as hostility, so I clarified in no time.

“I mean, rant—or whatever. I did not mean to physically harm you, but to say you know, random things.”

“I totally get that. I just didn’t expect someone like you would want to vent. You barely talk to others, let alone rant about all the crap you're going through."

"Are you not interested though?"

"Ah, just do it. I want to listen nonetheless."

I heaved a long and dramatic sigh.

“They gave me three days,” I said eventually.

“Of what? Vacation?”

“Suspension.”

She smirked. “Even more pathetic. I would’ve thanked them otherwise.”

“You’re cruel.”

Seriously. Did I just choose the wrong person to vent out?”

“That being said,” I continued. “I was also ordered to write apology letters to them. That’s around three pages each.”

Kousaka-san snorted.

“Let me guess—’I solemnly swear I won’t rescue girls who clearly don’t need rescuing ever again’?”

“More like ‘I acknowledge I disrupted the moral fabric of second-year locker rooms.’”

“So, what did the bullies get in return?”

Now we’re talking.

“They’ll help school personnel on their cleaning duties and maintenance tasks after school. In a sense, I think it’s unfair. I’m beaten to pulp, they're unscathed. They got the chance to attend school while I’m not. All for what? Just because I tried to be righteous? It makes me wonder why I even bothered. Everyone talks about ‘doing the right thing’ until the right thing gets inconvenient. Then suddenly, everyone’s a pacifist once the victim hits back.”

Hearing that made her ponder for a moment. Eventually, she leaned her head back against the wall.

“Let's just pretend that this statement is a lie: The world rewards righteousness.”

“It's truly a lie though. It only rewards order.”

“In a sense, you disrupted the peace. To the administration, the reason doesn’t matter as much as the noise you made. They don’t care who’s right; they care who’s loud.”

“Eh…are you saying that I should’ve just stayed quiet by any chance?”

“I didn't say that.” She turned her head, locking eyes with me. For a second, the coldness was gone, replaced by a strange, grounded clarity. “I’m saying you’re an idiot for expecting a 'Thank You' card from a system designed to keep its head down. You did something brave, take the credit. You’re just being punished for it. That’s how it works.”

“So basically, you're saying that—”

“Putain de système scolaire.”

“Hey…that sounded mean.”

“It really was.” Her voice softened. “But it was for them, not for you.”

I looked at her.

She didn’t return the glance, but her mouth was curved slightly upward.

“…You know, I never know if you’re complimenting me or hexing me.”

“Keep guessing,” she said with a shrug. “It keeps things fun.”

I thought that this conversation would go straight to hell and fry my brains out but no, her philosophical edge stayed out of the picture.

I’m flattered that she allowed me to vent, honestly. To my knowledge, only people with established trust towards one another can settle into venting and digging about personal stuff.

Right then, I’d slipped into a rhythm with her that I don't know how to play, but still kept doing so.

Do I need to elaborate? Well, our shoulders brushed when we finally sat on the cold floor. We talked about how the events unfolded without further criticism or snide remarks and eventually agreed that the two sides have their own set of faults.

“You know,” I muttered, keeping the cold can in place. “The worst part isn't even the suspension. It's the shop. To be able to catch up to the lessons I would miss, I have to cram and work on my textbooks. I think I won't can't sell anything all throughout that period.”

“You don't even want people to see your face black and blue.”

“They've already seen me before. Today is just the worst. Goodness, what if I lose all my loyal customers?”

It was strange, talking to her like this. It’s strange that the person who always sat a fair distance from me was finally right next to me. It’s strange that I allowed someone to skim through the personal space I always honored.

“You won't lose anyone…at least…if it makes you feel better.”

Now, it’s strange that in the way her voice, usually so acidic, sounded almost...gentle.

“What?”

“I tried the dango stall right next to Hyogo Station last night. The one with the flashy sign and the seasonal specials. I think they're using pre-mixed flour and artificial flavoring.”

I scoffed, the reflex of a craftsman overriding the sting of my injuries.

“They definitely use pre-mixed flour. You can tell by the way the center stays doughy even when the outside is charred.”

“Exactly.” she admitted flatly. “The texture was really off. I ended up throwing most of it away.”

“It’s always faster when it's artificial. It’s a shortcut for people who care more about social media trends than the actual bite.”

“Yours is different…I guess. It tastes like actual food.”

I looked at her, surprised. Kousaka-san wasn't exactly the type to offer compliments—or even talk about food. But I guess it was just because we haven't talked like this before.

“It’s because I use charcoal,” I explained, gesturing vaguely with my hands as if I were back at the stall. “Electric grills just dry the dough out. Charcoal gives it that smoky depth that you can't get using gases.”

“I see…”

When our banter dialed down and the conversation was done, she stood up, turned around and walked away. I didn’t even see the afternoon coming and the realization that we skipped a couple of periods.

Yet everything still felt right. That’s what I told to myself while staring at the half-filled coffee she just gave.

“Hey, Shimizu.”

“Hmm?”

I looked up, and she was just halfway down the corridor. Without looking back, she muttered:

“Next time, try not to lose.”

And then she was gone.

I sat there in the hallway, the coffee a bit heavier now. I’m not sure whether I’d just lost something or started gaining it.