Welcome: Obliged to Enter

Ring!

…

Ring!

…

Ring!

Oh come on, who doesn’t answer the door by the third one? And what’s with the long pause between each one? Are they trying to scar—

The door swung open.

She was very, very different from the struggling student he had imagined. Maybe it was just a stereotype based on every “___ but it’s actually a romance” anime he’d ever half-watched, but he had always thought of struggling students as a particular type: painfully quiet, small, and, for lack of a better phrase, the crying type. This random girl had shattered all of those stereotypes pretty quickly. Not the small part, though.

She hadn’t said a word yet, but she certainly didn’t look nervous. Or was that another stereotype? Maybe there are shy, anxious losers who can stand straight?

Short hair, sharp jaw, frustrated eyes, no smile… No no, that’s not a stereotype.

“Are you gonna say anything?”

Oh yeah, words.

His mouth opened as he took a deep breath.

What do I say?

Okay wait… My name is Arata—no wait, Kurosawa would be better here, right? Well, the full name is the standard, I guess. But that’s a bit too formal yeah? These guys are my age, aren’t they? But then again, we’ve never met, so Kurosawa sets a more professional tone, which is probably what I want here, since this is technically a working arrangement and all. Okay, yeah. That wo—

Well I can’t just say my name and nothing else, that would be weird. “I’m from the school”? That sounds like I’m a truancy officer. To be fair, truancy officers are usually older men, but still. Am I even from the school? I’m a student just like them, so probably not. “I’m here about the programme”? What if she doesn’t know what the programme is? What if none of them know? Did the school actually tell them anything? This is the right house, isn’t it? The letter said October 5th, that’s today, so presumably someone in that house is expecting me, but this girl is looking at me like I just knocked on the wrong door entirely, so maybe—

Okay SHUSH. Just name, programme, done. That’ll be that.

He tilted his head slightly, as if she were the one who’d rung his doorbell.

…Should I have brought something? Like, the paperwork? Or a gift? No, that would be creepy as shit. What about the letter they sent me? Is that weird? That’s probably weird. Who shows up to someone’s house and immediately produces documents, that’s the behaviour of someone deeply unwell.

SLAM.

Blink.

Did she just—

He turned around and looked at the empty street behind him, as if someone out there could confirm what had just happened. No one could.

He turned back.

She slammed the door. On me? What? I didn’t even get a chance to say anything! Ridiculous. It’s ridiculous! And I’m supposed to teach this lot?

His mouth was still open. The audacity.

Close your mouth, Arata. You look like a fish.

He closed his mouth.

Okay. Okay, fine. That’s… that’s not an issue. Whatever.

He rang the doorbell again.

Ring!

…

Ring!

…

Ring!

The third one cut off mid-chime, followed by that distinct “Call declined” tone.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

It was one thing to ignore him, but to actively, manually terminate the call was unjustifiable. And what’s the point of having a doorbell with a video call feature if you’re just going to decline the call!?

He took a deep breath.

Right. Well, there’s only one thing that can be done now.

He stepped back off the doorstep, yanked the phone out of his pocket, and scrolled to the contact number from the programme paperwork. In other words, he was telling the teacher.

“Academic Support and Development Office, this is Matsumoto speaking.”

Not the vice-principal. Of course it’s not the vice-principal. Why would it be the vice-principal? He’s probably at home eating dinner right now, completely unaware that one of his precious programme participants is currently getting egoed on the doorstep of a stran—

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Um, hi. It’s Kurosawa, Arata Kurosawa, I’m the high-performing student assigned to the Shiraishi family.”

“Ah, yes. Good evening, Mr Kurosawa. Is everything alright?”

“Well… the family is refusing to let me in, so this is off to a great start, clearly.”

“…Refusing?”

“Yep, one of the sisters slammed the door on me, and now she won’t answer.” Arata had started pacing in circles.

…

“She slammed the door on you?”

“Yeah.”

It was another awkward silence, but with some typing in the background.

“Mr Kurosawa, the programme agreement was signed by a representative of the household. The arrangement was formally confirmed by both parties. That gives you the agreed authority to enter the premises as a registered programme participant.”

He decoded it.

That’s a very polished way of saying “let yourself in”. Or maybe “break the door down”?

“So you’re telling me to just… enter the house?”

“We’re telling you that you have every right to do so, yes.”

He lowered the phone slightly and looked at the door, then raised it back up. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Have you tried the handle?”

No. Why would I, even? She’s gonna welcome me with a cup of tea, is she?

He smiled at the ground. Hah, a nice warm cup of Earl Grey right after she cracks my skull open. That’s a good one.

“Is the door unlocked, Kurosawa?”

“Oh—right, um, let me check.” He took a few steps forward and tried the handle.

It’s OBVIOUSLY not going to be unlo—

…

“It’s not locked.”

“Then I would suggest you enter, Mr Kurosawa. The programme’s success depends on your ability to establish a working relationship with these students. That cannot happen if you refuse to go in.”

So now I’M the one refusing to go in? Uh-huh.

“I don’t know about you, but forcibly entering someone’s home probably isn’t the best way to establish a ‘working relationship’.”

“This is a designated place of residence for all registered participants in your assigned group. As a registered participant, you are obliged to enter.”

“Okay, but—”

Matsumoto hung up.

…

WHAT THE HELL??

He sighed hard and covered his eyes.

What a disaster… ‘Obliged to enter’. What is this, a military draft?

He shoved the phone into his pocket and looked at the door the brat had slammed in his face.

You know what would feel really good right now?

He took a step towards the door.

Don’t.

Another step.

Seriously. Don’t do it.

His left foot lifted slightly off the ground.

…Okay, wait, let’s think about this.

Firstly, I’d probably break my foot. Secondly, if I kick this door in, I immediately become the villain of this story. Doesn’t matter what she did. Doesn’t matter about the obnoxious doorbell, the slamming, none of it. All of that goes out the window the second my foot goes through someone’s front door. I will have zero credibility. Zero. These people will never listen to a word I say.

He lowered his foot, probably because he was about to fall over.

Would they listen to me, anyway?

He exhaled through his nose and stepped up to the door properly.

Fine, let’s do it legally.

His hand was on the handle.

Okay, this is fine. This is completely normal, people do this all the time. Well, not this specifically, but doing something you need to do but don’t want to. Leaving your comfort zone, right? Something like that.

I am going to open this door and someone in that house is going to look at me like I just shot someone.

He pressed down on the handle.

The door opened from the inside.

The sudden movement made his heart jump. He was now facing a completely different girl. Her hair was much lighter, definitely brown, and tied back in a ponytail. Her eyes were a clear hazel, their gaze softer than the previous girl’s.

Her eyes dropped, though he didn’t clock where.

“Are you the tutor?”

“Umm…”

I mean… technically, no. I’m a programme participant. Co-participant, arguably. The school never used the word tutor once in any of the paperwork, and I didn’t sign up to be someone’s tutor, I signed up for a shared living arrangement where—

She shifted her weight against the doorframe and crossed her arms. Her eyes locked on his, narrowing just slightly.

—yes.

“Yes.”

She held his gaze for a second.

“Hmm…”

She leaned forward slightly, close enough that he couldn’t reasonably look anywhere else. Her eyes hadn’t moved at all.

What the fuck are you doing?!

Then she stepped to one side and tilted her head, just barely, towards the interior of the house.

He stepped inside.

The hallway was wider than he expected.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been imagining exactly. Well, he had at least expected five sisters to be messy, but the only real sign of life was a row of shoes by the door and a random jacket on the floor.

He crouched to undo his shoes, bag still slung over his back.

Okay, okay. It’s not going terribly. At least someone let me in this time, and at least I didn’t have to “let myself in” like that dunce suggested.

She’s weird though.

He got one shoe off.

Not weird bad, at least comparatively, but… Whatever. At least I know someone was expecting me.

He reached for the second one.

But what was with that look? And I’m not a tutor, why did I say that? She’s—

He cleared his throat at nobody.

…Forget it.

“Why’s the door open?”

The voice came from somewhere above him. Footsteps on the stairs, descending fast.

So here it is.

“Nagisa.”

The footsteps stopped.

He looked up and saw the unmistakable death stare of the girl from before.

“Why. Is. The. Door. Open.” She banged her fist on the banister for every word.

This was a mistake, wasn’t it?

Arata shut his eyes momentarily, bracing for impact.

“Ah, Mumu!” Nagisa turned and looked up at Homura, who was still glaring from the staircase. “Your tutor’s here, did you forget?” She pointed at the so-called tutor.

Wouldn’t it be “our” in this situation…

“You must’ve missed the doorbell. Don’t worry, he’s harmless. I checked.”

What are you checking by staring into my eyes!?

“Checked…” Homura repeated.

“Mhm.”

“…How, exactly?”

Nagisa, very deliberately, let her eyes drift to Arata. The corner of her mouth tugged upward. She turned back to Homura without losing the smirk.

…

Okay, nope, I can’t do this anymore. End this, I don’t care how.

He straightened up slowly, one shoe on and one shoe off, which was probably not the power stance he needed right now. He gave Homura a small wave.

Why did I—

Homura stared at it.

“Why is he waving? I don’t even…” She pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a slow, exhausted breath.

“Ugh, just… LISTEN.” She pointed at him, leaning over the banister. “Don’t touch anything, don’t go through anything, don’t talk to anyone you don’t need to talk to, and don’t even THINK about going upstairs. Do you hear me?”

The other three better not be exactly like this.

“WELL?”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

Homura glared at him for a moment longer, like she was waiting for him to give her an excuse to lash out. He didn’t. She pushed off the banister and went back up the stairs without looking back.

He stood there a second longer, waiting for the second wave of aggression. It didn’t come. Hm.

Nagisa glanced at the stairs, then back at him. “Aww, she’s warming up to you!”

Have you lost your mind?