The New Hero in Her Experience Journals

We waved the chef off as we continued on the sidewalk that led to Kotonoha's residence.

"We're here," Fumiko said.

"But we've only been walking for a few m--" I said before taking the sight of the apartment building looming over me.

I almost didn't see the red and white apartment beneath the planted row of Japanese Oak trees, which stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the street lamp posts, but all it took was a slight tilt to see the overwhelming presence of the building in its entirety. I knew that she just lived here and didn't own the whole darn building, but witnessing the residence made me feel like there was a massive divide between us. My mouth rested agape.

"Oh, yeah. My mom said you'd react this way. Yeah, we're pretty well off by the way," Fumiko said.

"What do your parents do to live here?"

She hummed as she stroked her fingers through her chin.

"My father is a ghost writer and my mother owns her own personal clinic."

Wait, so only one of her parents is in a creative field. Her family's career arrangement makes some sense I suppose. Her father was really lucky to bump into someone practical like Kotonoha's mother.

"I know how absurd it sounds. In all fairness, the neighbors think we're weirdos," Fumiko continued.

"Well I guess I'll follow your lead then," I said, stepping aside to gesture towards the automatic sliding door.

I followed close behind her, taking note of the vast open space in the lobby.

We stopped at the reception desk. The receptionist gave a cheery smile.

"Hello, Fumiko," she said.

"Hello. I came with someone from class. I assure you he is a model citizen," Fumiko said.

"It's okay, Fumiko, really. You don't have to justify letting every one of your guests in," the receptionist said with a deflated laugh.

"Oh, okay. Then I guess we'll go through then," she said, grabbing the cuff of my blazer.

"Enjoy your stay, sir," the receptionist said, pressing the button on a square terminal in front of her.

I heard the click of a door unlocking. Kotonoha pulled the door open and walked inside with my wrist in tow.

She didn't let go of the cuff of my uniform until we reached the first elevator. We waited twenty seconds tops for the elevator to open. We promptly entered after we heard the ding that always came with the opening double-doors.

The elevator opened to what appeared to be the 14th floor, noted by the elevator car indicator displayed by a white backlight. We continued until we reached the room at the end of the hall that was located to the left of the elevator.

She took out a small short-toothed key from her keychain and unlocked the door.

We walked past the minimalist decor that lined the living room and made a beeline for her room.

Once she opened the door I was greeted by a wall of merchandise from Super Ranger Ravagers displayed on a bookcase, a cult sentai series that had long been canceled. Two of the shelves held all the characters, from the reluctant members of the Ravager heroes, the insidious alien generals they fought, to the ancillary characters like the heart-shaped red bat mascot. The middle two shelves held volumes of a light novel series adaptation of the old 90s series.

I didn't have much time to absorb the other details of her room, because I was led again by the cuff of my uniform to a wooden desk supported by several black metal bars. On the top right corner was a closed volume of a light novel series.

A laptop sat closed in the middle of the modest desk.

"This is where the romantic does her work," Fumiko said, gesturing towards the modest desk space.

"The Power of Love Didn't Work, So I Have To Become The Hero And Save My True Love," I read aloud, gleaning the title of the novel on her desk.

"I didn't want my story to be a rejection of the power of love, but a story that redefined what love is," Fumiko said matter-of-factly.

As she did a flourish with her fingers with one hand and a flip of her hair with the other, I, uninitiated to the whims of a writer, could only muster a glazed-over expression. I made a lazy exclamation with droopy eyelids and slightly parted lips.

"Oh, so you wanted to write a different love story," I said.

"Well, when you put it that way--yes."

Fumiko opened her lips, caught on what word she wanted to say next. This moment was about her, but something lingered at the back of my mind. The small shelf next to her work space jogged my memory. Ten journals sat in a neat row of ten, all with titles scrawled in black marker.

"Oh, Kotonoha, back to when you mentioned those journals of yours-- how do they exactly help you with learning about writing romance?"

"This is going to sound weird, but back when I was a little ranger of love and justice, a friend of mine and I used to fight about what the true definition of love meant. We never got to finish our little argument, because we both eventually went to different schools, but my curiosity of what the universal definition of love only grew deeper," she said.

Kotonoha's eyes appeared to drift in focus as she dug deeper into her memories. There was a brief stutter as she laughed recalling everything.

"When middle school started, I wanted nothing more than to become a light novel writer and write a romance story. So to become a better romance writer, I wrote down everything from my past romances so I could get some clue on how love worked, because I honestly had no idea what I was doing," Fumiko continued.

"I see. So this has been going on since you were in middle school," I said.

"I want to show you something," Fumiko said.

She took off her backpack and gingerly took out the notebook she was scrawling in. She shoved the book into my periphery with both hands. The title written in marker on a pasted piece of thin duct tape appeared clearly legible now, the title reading The New Experience Journals-Kenta Yamamoto Edition.

"This is the newest journal, but I've kept the other entries."

She tugged my wrist again and brought me to the small bookshelf that cradled the other ten journals. One by one she took out three journals and laid them down next to each other on her violet bed accompanied by a purple comforter and pillows. From left to right, the names on each entry read Shun Kanzaki, Kyoko Imai, and Ryuuji Sakamoto.

Kyoko. Wasn't that the name of the girl she mentioned yesterday? I suppose that leaves another very important question to ask later about Kotonoha's writing process.

"I've made my fair share of mistakes, but even if my attempts at romance ended unceremoniously, I somehow made some friends through it all."

"Really, I'm impressed. I don't think I could remain friends with my ex," I said.

"It just felt right to me, especially after what one of my friends told me."

I just ran out of excuses.

There was absolutely no reason to reject her now. Well, except whether or not I was interested in her. And I couldn't realistically say I wasn't interested in her little story.

After incessantly tapping my foot for a minute and the muscles in my face struggling to decide whether to grimace or smile, I came to my decision. And I also chose to smile.

"You said you wanted to learn more about me? We can start there, I guess. But regardless, I think it's better that we start out as friends. We'll both learn really quickly why we're either a perfect match, or an abhorrent one."

I wasn't going to enter another relationship. Not yet. A lot could go wrong.

But that didn't mean I couldn't at least dip my toes into the theoretical romantic water.

She matched my erratic change in expression and settled on a smile as well. She took my hand, but instead of squeezing it like a pining teenager, she subtly gave me reassurance with a non-committal cupping of my hand.

"You know, you're probably right. I've been told that I'm rather impatient," she said, chuckling as she lightly scraped at the bulb of her nose with her finger as she chuckled.

"Well, there's no rush. I have nowhere to be. I won't suddenly disappear," I said, grinning.

"Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise."

"Well, now I'm going to hold you to that, because you're already the next heroic subject of my journal collection," Fumiko said, pointing her index finger towards me.

"Huh?"

"You're the new hero in this series of stories. Be proud," She continued, with a smile of an ingénue.

She was so straightforward, it was almost embarrassing. But I couldn't say that anybody else would do this for me. I couldn't help but smile along with her.

"Okay. So how much do you have written?"

"Only a couple chapters. It's really hard to write new content because I don't really know you yet. You know what that means, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah. So when's the first date, then?"

"How about in two days, since it'll be the weekend?"

"Right. Saturday it is, then."