This (is) Fujioka's Madness & Method

“Looks like homerooms’ over. Please make sure to have those assignments done for Wednesday, and have a good evening.”

Hasegawa-sensei picked up a small stack of papers and straightened them. Whenever I look at him I always wonder—why doesn’t he shave more often?

It’s a weird thing to wonder about your teacher, I know, but it’s like… why? I haven’t seen anything to suggest he’s extremely busy. In fact I’ve seen him out a few times shopping.

A style choice…? He’s not a bad looking guy… I only suggest he shave because the stubble gives him a tired alcoholic vibe. Which he’s probably aware of, and might be.

By the time I finished my thoughts everyone else had dispersed from the room—leaving me alone, staring at Hasegawa-sensei.

That normally wouldn’t be an issue if I was sitting idly, but when I caught myself, I was gingerly resting my chin on a hand.

“Uhm… Kiyotaka-kun.”

“Y-yes!”

“Is—is there something you wanted to talk about? Or…”

“N-no! I mean, uh, I zoned out!”

“Right…”

“I gotta… go… I’ll uh, see myself out.”

***

The clubroom’s are located in a separate building adjacent to the facility. It’s not far of a walk at all, a few minutes at most if you dawdle. This walk does take you past dozens of classrooms and faculty rooms though.

As I passed another one of the countless classrooms a head of golden hair caught my attention.

You’d think it’d be beyond obvious who this is, but you’d be mistaken if you thought that. As if I had a yen for every Japanese student in my year who had natural blonde hair, I’d have three yen. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird I’d have three.

Anyway, it was Akimoto… Explaining that previous bit feels redundant now.

I’ve been standing in the doorway for a moment now, and it’s only natural she’d notice me.

She flashed a quick smile then turned back to the other two girls she was chatting with. The three of them giggled a bit and I felt my face heating up.

I averted my eyes and quickly got back-on-track towards the clubroom.

“I should expect a reaction like that. Of course she wouldn’t say hi like she usually would. I forgot who she really is…”

Akimoto, despite her brash behavior and frustrating mannerisms, is popular. On the other hand, I’m not.

“Do I blame her for not acknowledging me?”

No.

“Does it still hurt…?”

No. Honestly, it doesn’t. It makes me wonder though, could I pull something like Takachi and become someone they see as “acceptable”?

“I don’t know… but if that means giving up light novels just to be seen as acceptable by a bunch of shallow idiots who haven’t even read the greats! Then no way in hell I’d change.”

I’m on a journey above silly things like “friends” or “relationships”. How would a girlfriend even help me?

I alone, am the writer, because I’m—

“Kiyotaka Makoto.”

“What!?”

Sitting in my usual spot in the Writing Club’s room was a girl that could easily be mistaken for a teacher at first glance.

Fujioka’s crossed legs were clad in her signature black dress pants, which were accompanied by a long-sleeved dress shirt.

“You know, Fujioka-san, girls wearing pants isn’t against the dress-code at all. However, the way you wear them definitely is.”

“Oh~? So you admit you’ve been lustfully eyeing my lower half?”

I pushed up my glasses.

“Hm, you expect me to get flustered at this, no? Nice try! I, Kiyotaka Makoto, have the power of objective analysis.”

I sat down across from her at the table.

“First, it is nearly impossible to not notice because of two reasons: One, all boys, and girls if they choose, are designated loose-fitting black dress pants. As to not show off his or her figure. Two, the pants are required to be worn no higher than your waist—or in the case of girls, lower abdomen. Again for the same reason as the first.”

I folded my arms and raised an index finger.

“Then, comes you, Fujioka Chihiro. You wear clearly custom tailored dress pants meant to tightly hug your figure. I know this as there's a small embroidered logo of the tailoring business above your right buttocks on the waistband. Second! I’ve seen the dress shirt you wear in a clothing store’s window. If I remember correctly, the price is north of sixty-thousand yen, no? While of course a very opulent shirt, it’s one against the dress code nonetheless.”

I’m not even going to start on her against-the-rules ponytail…

After concluding my analysis I glanced up at Fujioka. There was no doubt a redness had enveloped her face—was it blush!? Wait, why is she blushing!? Is it something I said!?

“M-Makoto-kun… it seems you eye me a lot closer than even I could’ve imagined.” Fujioka, usually a proud woman, brought her legs up onto the chair, tucked them to her chest, and crossed her arms.

“My question is… How do you get away with it?”

“Ahem—”

The red-hugh in her face began dissipating and she returned to a more relaxed position.

“Seeing as how dense you are, I’m sure you had no ill intent when looking at me… unfortunately. So I’ll look past your analysis.”

Ill intent…? Unfortunately!?

As I worried myself over her wording, Fujioka produced a sketch-book from her bag. She flipped to a random page and set it in front of me.

Masterfully, but not tastefully, done was a depiction of two faculty at our school in the act of— I’ll let you infer the rest.

“W-why’re you showing me this!?”

“You inquired the reason as to why I don’t get asked to follow the dress code. Here it is.”

“No— No— No, there’s no way…”

Fujioka smirked as if she was proud of this. “If anyone, and I mean anyone, happens to cross my path, it is not very difficult for me to draw people from memory. Even just one glance is enough.”

“Isn’t this a crime!?”

“What? It’s just a drawing of a fictional character with no relations to the real world. How is it a crime?”

At this point I could only respond with a deflated sigh.

“Oh, and Fujioka-san, why’re you here? You’ve never come to the clubroom.”

“It’s out of the kindness of my heart that I’m here. I’m aware that very recently Kaoru-chan has discarded you, disposed of you, cast you aside like the rebound she saw you as, and left you all alone again.”

“...?”

“So I’m graciously here to prevent that loneliness.”

“How do you know about Akimoto-san going back to her old friends…?”

Fujioka rapidly blinked and shook her head—it seems my question caught her off guard.

“Eh— well uhm, because… Someone with high natural intuition like me simply knows these things.”

“And by the way, Akimoto-san didn’t “cast me aside”, she just… found herself again.”

“Does that “found self” involve not playing with you anymore?”

“We’re not “playing”! We’re writing!”

“You’ve avoided the main point.”

“...”

“Trust me, Kaoru-chan’s are a dime-a-dozen. She was just a popular girl who wanted to check out if the nerdy kid was interesting.”

“Fujioka-san…”

“Whatever she promised, she most likely had no real long-term desire to actually follow through.”

“Fujioka-san!”

I slammed my hands on the table—she fell silent.

“You’re placing labels on Akimoto-san based on nothing. You have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Sorry…”

I shook my head and took a few deep breaths. On a side note, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard Fujioka apologize.

An awkward silence descended on us—something that almost never happens. However, as I expected, it didn’t last long. After a few comments and remarks we returned to our usual flow of conversation.

Spending one-on-one time with Fujioka isn’t bad at all really, especially when she’s a bit more serious. The vibe in the clubroom however felt off without Akimoto.

I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but writing with her felt more fun and natural than with Fujioka. The latter’s process for creative work is rigid, a kind of madness after the method, if that makes any sense.