Special Project (cont.)

The two of us made it to class at 8.28am—a full two minutes before Mishima usually arrived. Despite all the trauma that Sakura had put me through on the walk to school, we actually managed to go much faster than if I were alone.

Mostly thanks to her absurdly quick walking pace.

Apparently, there’s a correlation between how fast someone walks and how intelligent they are… but after witnessing Sakura Emi, I couldn’t help but feel like researchers got this one wrong. Not that she wasn’t smart in an academic sense, but based on how fast she moved you’d think she’d have enough general wisdom to figure out flipping her skirt in public was a no-go.

Unless she was an exhibitionist.

In that case I’d have to introduce her to Yukimura sometime.

Then again, I understood common sense and intelligence weren’t the same thing. While I didn’t consider myself intelligent by any means, I did pride myself on my sanity—and frankly speaking, Kitazawa really made it seem like smart people were smart precisely because they chose to do away with conventional logic.

Watanabe, Yukimura, Mari, and I guess you could add Sakura into the list now (given her 75 rating for academics)—all of them were CLEARLY a bunch of loons. And while I’d really have liked to join them in the hopes my grades would improve, it would’ve ruined the comedic balance of this story.

Can’t have everyone be weird.

In any case, the reason you’re listening to me monologue about boring stuff rather than talking to Sakura is because she got mobbed by her fan club the moment we stepped in—as expected of a universally loved class rep. Like any normal person would, rather than trying to include myself in the conversation or figuring out who Ruri-chan or Junpei-kun were (Mari was cuter and I do not like men), I proceeded straight to my desk.

Then I took out my phone and started to scroll left and right on my home screen.

Intently.

Intensely.

Not a single notification to be seen, not a single notification to be expected.

Just thumb exercise.

Incidentally, this is why I knew it was precisely 8.28am—because I’d been wholly committed to the modern equivalent of watching paint dry.

Then midway through, I must’ve begun hallucinating—

“Mizuhara-kun, can I have a moment?”

—since I heard someone calling out my name.

I ignored it. No one talked to me in class. I knew browsing your phone caused your eyesight to deteriorate, but your aural faculties too? How scary! Phones were scary!

Didn’t care—scrollers gotta scroll.

“…Mizuhara-kun?”

“……”

“Mizuhara-kun!”

I felt a tap on my shoulder. Okay, so I wasn’t hallucinating… maybe.

Looking up, I was greeted by the face of a girl with generic features, an exposed forehead, and a scent that reminded me vaguely of yuzu. Her skin was unblemished—not artificial like porcelain, but rosier and livelier instead—and on her face was an expression of concern… the type that a mother would have while doting on their child, or a face one might make while running into an abandoned kitten in a box. She was beautiful. And probably a hallucination.

Of course, none of that description was needed at all.

Her name was Sakura Emi.

“H-hold on,” I said. “Weren’t you just talking to your friends?”

“I was, until I wasn’t.”

“…Uh, okay.”

“Why did you slither away on your own? I thought we were friends.”

“W-we are, Sakura-san.”

Standing over me—domineering over me, frankly, was the beloved rep of Class 1-F. For whatever reason, she seemed to be angry at me based on her forceful diction and her crossed arms—but at the same time, on her face was an unmistakable expression of worry.

So which was it?

Girls are really hard to understand.

And honestly, weren’t worry and anger rather distinct feelings? How could you be worried about someone and angry at them at the same time? Actually, theoretically, it was possible… if you looked at it from a different perspective, then—

“Hey.”

Now that I think about it, how is a story told in the past tense able to have its monologues interrupted?

“Y-y-yes ma’am!”

“Are you mad at me?” Sakura asked.

“Wh-why would you think that, ma’am?”

Why would you call her ma’am, sir?

“…It just feels that way. You walked to your seat the moment we got here with a sulk on your face, ignoring me completely—it’s clear you’re upset about something. I don’t know what, but I can’t help but feel it’s my fault.”

Wait, a sulk?

I didn’t even realise.

Or was she perceiving my introversion as a sign of disdain? True, Sakura did seem like the person who would do something like that, the popular extrovert she was, but still…

…She was actually uncannily accurate regarding this matter.

“Did I do something wrong?” she continued.

“N-no, actually, I think you might be one of the nicest people on the planet…”

“Huh?” She tilted her head. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Oh, all I meant to say is that I have a bit of social anxiety.”

A half-truth.

I’m naturally extroverted, so.

“That didn’t sound like the same sentence…” Uncrossing her arms, her face going back to its usual placid look—Sakura took the seat adjacent to mine. “Well, I probably just heard you wrongly the first time. It does make sense, the social anxiety part… you haven’t really socialised with the class much so far. Really, if that’s what it was, then I’m sorry for assuming you were angry at me. It was rather self-important of me to think that.”

Oh my God.

This girl.

“I-i-it’s fine, Sakura-san. I-I’m the one who s-should be apologising,” I barely said.

Come to think of it, how much is too much when it comes to stuttering? It was completely involuntary, by the way—it’s not like hyphenated words bring up the word count. If I were really trying to do that, I’d throw in more “uhms” and “ahs”. Just putting it out there. Also, em dashes connect words together, so really, I probably should’ve put more thought into my writing style initially.

“No,” Sakura smiled. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Whoa.

This person…

Was an angel! Did you see that? Did you see that, Mari?! She ditched her fanclub to talk to me! She came here to ask if I was okay! How could you doubt this woman for even a single moment? Could you really be any more of a paranoid little shrew, Tsujimoto-san?! Forget Mari Wasabi and Yukimura, I wanted vanilla… No, I didn’t want vanilla, I wanted sakura. I wanted some sakura mochi. I wanted to brush her teeth! I wanted to lick her feet! I love sakura! I love Sakura! I love…

Eh, wait a moment.

“…Sorry for bringing this up so suddenly. Is it just me, or do you happen to act differently when we’re not alone?”

“Ara? What do you mean by that, Kohei-kun?”

“K-K-K-Kohei Coon?!”

My brain—exploded.

Forget the fact she was a ditz on the walk to school—I didn’t care!

Forget the fact that she’s being suspiciously perceptive at the moment—like I gave a damn!

I love—em dashes!

I love—Em—

“S-sorry,” she blushed, suddenly sheepish. “Is… is it too early for t-that?”

“Early for what?”

“Um… you know… calling you K-Kohei-kun…”

The ticket.

I knew what I was gonna spend my ticket on.

Anything, she said.

See you at seven in the evening.

Sakura beat me to the punch. “You know what, you’re right, maybe Mizuhara-kun would be—“

“No.”

“…Ngh!”

“It’s never too late, Emi-san,” I said in my best otome impression.

“…Nkk!”

“Emi-san,” I repeated.

“Emi… Emi…”

Sakura… no, Emi started to repeat her name to herself like some sort of mantra. Her eyes were glazed over, their pupils dilated, her full lips involuntarily opening and closing over and over again—a state of shock… a state of euphoric shock.

“Call Emi… by her name… one more time,” she begged.

Uttered between heaving breaths.

Her blush.

Her upturned eyes.

Her use of 3rd-person pronouns.

Moe!

Moe Moe Kyun!

“Emi.”

“One more time…”

“Emi.”

“……”

“Emi. Emi. Emi. Emi. Emi. Emi. Emi. Emi. Emi. Emi. Emi. Emi. Emi. Emi. Emi. Emi. Emi—”

“Get a room, idiots!”

***