Special Project (cont.) III

...The answer to Mari’s question was instant udon.

We were going to have instant udon for lunch.

While I might have made a big scene and all that about cooking for her, I only remembered when we entered my spartan living room that I was no longer living with my parents.

Rather, I was an independent boy living with a male roommate—and as expected of two teenage guys living together, our idea of ‘groceries’ consisted of arguing whether instant udon or instant ramen tasted better.

There was no woman in the household to remind us to buy actual food.

I took the side of cup udon and Watanabe packet ramen (since in my roommate’s words, ‘boiling water in a pot makes it feel classier’, and 'udon feels slimy'). Supposedly, I won the argument, but the truth was that the both of us were losing in the long run to sodium intake. More so on my end since Watanabe could actually afford to eat decent food, whereas I had to watch my spending. Speaking of poverty...

“This place looks barren, Kohei-san.”

A layer of sweat had gathered on Mari’s school blouse and rendered it translucent. She’d entered ahead of me after I unlocked my door, and so, I ended up staring down her exposed back as we spoke—barring bra straps, of course.

By no means was it extremely sensual, and in general I find sweat off-putting… but something about our situation made it hard to look at her properly.

Very, very hard.

“W-well, I can’t afford any furniture, and Watanabe refuses to buy any unless we split down the middle…”

Still taking in the sights of my living room (or lack thereof), Mari responded while facing away from me. “Oh, Watanabe-kun said that? I see.”

“H-he did, indeed.”

No Yousupon? Back to just Kohei-san?

You’d reckon being called ‘Kocchan’ by a cute girl would set your heart aflutter—but the reality was that for someone with a voice as silvery as Mari’s, there was something mesmerising about the way the polite ‘-san’ honorific sounded when it came from her mouth. The effect wasn't the same when she forced herself to go use her genki girl persona.

And even though going from that cutesy nickname to this seemed like a downgrade in terms of intimacy, it was how she’d been addressing me for most of our friendship. People would always ask why a close friend still called me by the equivalent of ‘Mister’ in English, and I could never find a good way to respond—mostly because the origin stories of inside jokes are usually much more boring than we remember.

So, I’ll skip that bit of exposition.

All you need to know is this—I much preferred it to Kocchan.

“...By the way, Kohei-san. And I want you to be honest with me...”

“Y-yes?”

I gulped nervously.

There’s something terrorizing about a girl asking you to ‘be honest’ while facing away from you...

“Did you really intend to cook for me?”

“......”

Uh, good one. I didn't know what to say at all.

Lying again was out for sure, but at the same time, telling her yes was the equivalent of admitting I was an idiot… I mean, who forgets what they have in their fridge when the answer is ‘nothing’? 

“Even if it’s a no,” she interjected, “I don’t mind.”

“...Huh?”

Mind what?

What was there to mind in this situation? Was she content with starving, after all?

Was she on a diet?

Wait a moment.

Why was she grabbing the hem of her skirt and swinging her shoulders left and right like some maiden in distress?

“Actually, forget what I just said.”

“...I don't understand, but okay.”

Very strange.

And I must say, her body was trembling weirdly—but before you blame me for using an adverb that in effect describes nothing, how can I explain something I have no understanding of?

The closest observation I could make was that it reminded me of Emi in class. Angry, yet not angry.

So, did that mean...

“Regardless of how trashy you might think it is, Kohei-san, I want you to tell me the truth.”

Nevermind. It was definitely anger.

Mari probably figured out I didn’t have anything to cook for her based on my pathetic living conditions. Not that my place was squalid or anything like that, but if someone was too lazy to buy furniture, logically, they wouldn’t shop for ingredients either. In effect, I’d basically gotten her hopes up for a home-cooked meal when I knew it wasn’t on the cards.

...Is what the explanation would’ve been if I wasn’t so stupid, except that I was.

“H-honestly,” I began, “I did intend to cook for you. But in the heat of the moment I forgot that I moved out. You know how my fridge at home is usually stocked to the brim, right? It was like… my brain just automatically assumed… you know.”

Yukimura was right, I was mentally deficient.

“...I see.”

Mari heaved a sigh, then her shoulders slumped forwards in disappointment.

She must’ve really been looking forward to the food, huh?

“Mari, I'm sorry…”

“No, there’s nothing you have to apologise for, really.”

“But I let you down...”

“...Just tell me one thing. You wanted to skip the rest of the classes for today, right? What did you intend to do to me after lunch?”

‘Do to me’?

That's some really weird phrasing. But regardless...

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I knew cooking would take a while. After that we’d eat... and just talk? I don’t really do anything except read e-books in my room.”

What did girls and guys do at each other’s houses anyway?

Play video games?

It'd been so long since I'd been at Mari's, so I genuinely forgot everything.

Speaking of video games, Kitazawa had a rule whereby you could only bring in 5,000 yen (at retail) worth of stuff when you moved in. Barring a bed, your phone, school uniforms and other similar necessities which were exempt from this rule, this restriction ensured that students funded their lifestyles solely from points accumulated through their studies. So, as much as narrating this pains me, I didn’t have 60,000 spare points lying around to throw down on a GameStation 5 to entertain Mari with. 

Perhaps even more painful was the fact that most of the 5,000 yen I’d brought with me ended up devoured by Yukimura during her feeding frenzy three titled chapters ago, so it’s not like I had that measly 5,000 yen of goodies to give her either.

Anyway.

That was just a long-winded way of saying there was nothing for us to do because I was poor.

Now Mari seemed even more disappointed. “...You’re really nice, aren’t you? Kohei-san.”

“...Thanks?”

Did she mean ‘boring’? I knew girls called guys ‘nice’ when they really had nothing else to comment on. At least, according to Watanabe. Mari’s statement didn’t seem to make any sense at all otherwise, so it was probably the case.

“I really mean it,” she asserted. “You’re so pure-hearted—actually, you’re the kindest person I know. And to be honest, that’s the most frustrating part...”

Don’t ask me. I had zero clue as to where her train of thought was going.

North Korea?

“But my disappointment aside… I’m glad you wanted to cheer me up. I’m so, so glad... that I want to throw myself at you right now.”

“...Um.”

Talk about zero to hundred real quick.

That being said, Mari used to be really touchy when it came to hugs, so it wasn’t like this was a groundbreaking statement or anything of the sort. Plus, if I had to single out one thing I missed the most about our pre-confession relationship, it would’ve been the hugs. Not the physicality... but you know, the fact it symbolised how close we were to each other.

So I didn’t really mind her suggestion.

“But... I can’t do that right now,” she said.

Turning around, her body language suddenly devoid of disappointment, she beamed me an unexpected smile.

“Because I’m sweaty.”

"......"

"Otherwise, I totally would."

……

The female uniform of Kitazawa High School consists of a white blouse, navy blue skirt, and ribbon which corresponds to the year you’re in. For instance, Yukimura Kiku, a second year in Class 2-A had a red ribbon, whereas Tsujimoto, a first year in Class 1-A had—

“C-c-cleavage!” I sputtered.

“Huh? What are you—”

“Sweaty boobs!”

Fanservice! Look away, Kohei, before she slaps you!

...When has switching to 3rd-person narration ever worked? Never. I was doomed.

“Kyaaa!”

Throwing her arms around her chest violently, Mari squealed. Forcing myself to look away violently, I pondered death.

I knew what was coming. I deserved it. Who yells ‘sweaty boobs’ at a girl? Aside from the toast in mouth trope, another trademark of late 2000s anime was heroines who physically abused main characters. If Mari’s comment was foreshadowing, then perhaps…

“K-Kohei-san.”

This was it.

I'd been ready for this moment my entire existence.

“I understand. I accept. I may not have lived this life according to some ideal the gods have set out for me, but I have lived it in a way I won’t regret. I welcome death with open arms. In the end, I’m no hero, just a—”

“Enough with that cheesy speech! You’re not an isekai protagonist, idiot!”

“I-I’m not?”

“It’s just... Do you want to go to my room instead?”

“Eh?!”

“I have ingredients there, and I can change out of my clothes while you cook, and…”

“Nani?!”

“Will you stop with those stupid sounds after every sentence?!”

“B-but Mari, I just saw your assets… and you haven’t reacted with physical abuse!”

This felt wrong!

This was wrong! (Not that I’m a masochist.)

“Then use your brain and figure out why! I’m not giving you the answer for free.”

Plus the isekai joke wouldn’t exist in a 2000s anime! She added.

Well, true.

After that, she grabbed my wrist, and with her other hand draped across her chest she dragged me along to the female dormitory.