Ch.7Chapter 2. Bread and the Heroine (1)

I should have come out with something since I have a guest.

But the truth is, I don’t really have anything to offer.

If the guest were a yokai, they might consider me food. Maybe there are a few bugs crawling around somewhere in this house that I can’t see.

Other than that, I have soy sauce and salt, but I can’t exactly serve those as food.

I don’t even have cushions for us to sit on, so we ended up awkwardly sitting face to face inside the house.

“So… Miss Kurosawa?”

“Yes.”

“Where might your mother be?”

“…”

Do I have a mother?

No, thinking about it, this might be normal. It’s not easy for a high school girl living alone to enter a private high school in the middle of Tokyo.

Someone must have taken the entrance exam and paid the fees. Kotone Kurosawa probably has elementary and middle school records too.

I’m not sure if “she” just prepared everything in advance, or if this body actually attended elementary and middle school.

“You see, Miss Kurosawa, you’re supposed to be living with your mother.”

“My mother went out to work.”

I lied.

And I thought it was a convincing lie.

A mother living with her daughter in a place like this, working late into the night to afford expensive school fees—doesn’t that sound plausible? Or she could be a terrible parent who just leaves her daughter alone in her room. Either way, it was a statement likely to stimulate the other person’s imagination.

“I see.”

Looking at Ms. Suzuki’s face, she seemed to be thinking the latter.

After all, her daughter had been assaulted, collapsed, and hospitalized, but the mother never showed up.

Any sensible parent would at least thank the person who paid the hospital bills. The Miuras must have a bad impression of her.

Ms. Suzuki hesitated for a moment, then carefully opened her mouth again.

“Miss Kurosawa, about what happened yesterday—”

“I don’t remember.”

Ms. Suzuki closed her mouth when I spoke.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I don’t remember anything after seeing that man. I… woke up to Miura’s voice… at the hospital…”

“I see.”

Ms. Suzuki’s face hardened.

I lowered my gaze to my left hand. Come to think of it, she had seen the mark engraved here before.

Until now, I’d been wearing my long winter uniform, so no one had noticed. I’d also been consciously keeping my arm down when walking around.

Maybe I should do something about it. After all, no one would think positively about a high school student with a tattoo.

“Do you need any help?”

I thought for a moment.

Before, a few years ago in Korea, I heard that if teachers tried to help but parents interfered, there wasn’t much they could do to help the child separately.

What about Japan?

In any country around the world, bullying happens in schools, and juvenile crimes occur somewhere. From minor violence to theft, or even rape and murder, the types vary.

This is just my opinion, but in the early 21st century, whether in Japan or Korea, student rights probably weren’t held in very high regard.

“No.”

So I answered firmly.

It would be more troublesome if she tried to help and noticed something strange about my situation.

“…”

But my answer seemed to make Ms. Suzuki think differently.

She took out a note from her bag and scribbled something on it.

The note she handed me had Ms. Suzuki’s name and contact information. Phone number, mobile number, and email.

“When your mother comes back, could you show this to her? I’d like to have a conversation with her.”

“…Alright.”

“Good, then… take care.”

Ms. Suzuki looked around the room once more.

All she could see were my personal belongings scattered on the floor without any furniture, and a garbage bag in the corner.

Since I hadn’t cleaned since coming here, it must look like a real ruin to Ms. Suzuki.

With a worried expression, she looked at me once more and carefully got up from the room.

Snore.

The sound of snoring came through the wall, suggesting the man next door had finally returned.

Ms. Suzuki froze at the sound.

She must have realized how thin the walls were—thin enough that you could break through with a hammer to enter the next apartment.

“…”

She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again.

And with very hesitant movements, she slowly walked to the entrance.

“Well, I’ll come again. Would that be alright?”

“…Yes, thank you for coming.”

“Good.”

Ms. Suzuki smiled slightly at my words.

She waved at me until I closed the door.

It was dark outside, but Ms. Suzuki should be fine going back alone. This apartment might be particularly old, but the surrounding area didn’t seem especially unsafe.

“Phew.”

I sighed deeply and went back to my room.

I laid down using my bag as a pillow.

“…”

Ah, I’m screwed.

I’m even more wide awake than during the day.

It’s not like I have anything to do if I don’t sleep.

*

“Huh? What’s this, your hair is back to normal.”

Fukuda said that when she saw my hair in the classroom.

My hairstyle had returned from a ponytail to just having the ends tied up. Fortunately, the hair tie Fukuda gave me was still there, so I could avoid additional expenses.

“…It takes longer than you’d think.”

“I guess so. Your hair is long too. Why not get it trimmed a bit?”

“…Not interested.”

When I was a man, I could get a decent haircut for about 10,000 won. Now it’s 2004, so it would be much cheaper.

But that’s in Korea, and for men’s hair.

I occasionally saw videos online claiming that Korean hair salons offer good value for money, which means Japanese salons are more expensive than Korean ones.

And with hair this long, there would be additional costs for styling.

…And this is just my guess, but the salons these rich girls go to probably aren’t cheap.

“You were sick yesterday, right? Or were you actually hanging out with that boy you met at the mixer? Hmm?”

“Her hair is back to normal.”

Yamashita, who had been fiddling with her phone, briefly looked up at me and said:

“If she planned to keep seeing him, she’d keep dressing up.”

“Ah~ I see.”

Fukuda shrugged and sat down at her desk.

She doesn’t seem to know why I missed school. Could someone have seen me passing by? Was I lucky?

“Kurosawa.”

As I was taking out my first-period textbook from my desk, Miura, who had just entered the classroom, approached me with a bright smile.

“Hi.”

I greeted Miura with the most nonchalant expression I could manage. Seeing me greet her like that, Miura’s expression brightened even more.

“I took notes for the classes you missed yesterday, so I’ll show them to you.”

“You’re talking about studying as soon as you see someone who just took a day off?”

Fukuda said with a slightly disgusted expression.

Ahaha, Miura laughed.

“…”

If the story had followed the original light novel, there would be a flower vase behind my seat now instead of Miura.

“Hello, everyone!”

Ms. Suzuki entered through the front door of the classroom, greeting everyone.

When our eyes met, her expression stiffened very briefly before returning to normal.

Is she still thinking about the place where I live?

Well, honestly, it’s not in a state that could be called okay. Not the house itself, but the condition of my room inside.

“Well then, let’s start with attendance today.”

The first class today was Japanese.

From my perspective, it would be a “Japanese language” class.

Right, I need to work hard since I’ve missed a lot.

The protagonist and heroine will carry the story forward anyway.

An extra should live like an extra.

*

There’s a way to not get tired of eating the same food every day.

It’s to never eat anything else, and to eat only a small amount at a time.

The size of a cornet bread isn’t exactly “small,” but high school students are a species that eats well regardless of gender.

Since I don’t usually eat snacks, I actually look forward to eating cornet bread because I’m so hungry.

“…The weather is getting warm.”

Actually, it’s not just warm—it’s going to get really hot soon.

Tokyo is right next to the sea. It must be incredibly humid too.

Should I look for a summer refuge? Maybe the corridor in front of the rooftop would be good enough.

Hardly anyone comes up to the rooftop or the area in front of it anyway.

I put the rest of the bread in my mouth and stuffed the torn wrapper into my pocket.

I took out my phone and saw that there was still quite a bit of time left.

There’s nothing else to do here, so I turned around to go back to the cool classroom.

A few students passing by in the corridor glanced at me coming down from the rooftop, but they passed by without much interest.

As I was walking like that—suddenly, I found myself passing by Class 1-A.

The class where the protagonist and his heroine attend.

Has the heroine not transferred in yet?

I peeked inside through the window in the corridor.

The protagonist’s seat is one seat in front of the very back by the window.

The female protagonist will sit in the seat behind him.

If you ask why that prime seat happens to be empty… it’s because there’s a ghost story attached to it.

A ghost story about a female student who committed suicide. Anyway, it seems people are uncomfortable and don’t sit there. This is mentioned in the novel too.

The heroine sits there without any concern, and when the protagonist tells her about the ghost story, she scoffs.

With those eyes that can see yokai, it makes sense that she’s not afraid.

“She’s not here.”

The protagonist is there, but the heroine isn’t.

I was a bit disappointed, as she was a character I liked when reading the novel.

A pure tsundere that would struggle to gain popularity these days. A character from the turn of the century when the concept was just beginning to take shape, with a purity so high it’s almost harsh.

I shrugged to myself and then returned to my seat.

*

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Hey, Kurosawa’s not a child. She can go home by herself.”

In my view, you all are children.

Well, teenagers usually think they’re all grown up. Even though they can’t even drink alcohol yet.

According to the laws of this country at this time, can they even get married?

“I just need to get to the subway.”

Actually, I have to walk quite a bit from the subway, but it’s not like they’re going to follow me all the way to Saitama.

“Then at least to the subway…”

“…I’m fine, really.”

I was actually a bit scared.

You guys spend a lot of money when you go out.

Not just fast food places, but expensive cafes where you eat expensive desserts, karaoke where you play for hours, and claw machines.

With the money for one try at those claw machines, I could buy several cornet breads.

I only hung out with them to prevent Miura from dying, so it’s fine to separate from now on.

If our relationship becomes distant because of this… well, I’m a 30-something man inside anyway. Hanging out with them only makes me feel guilty.

“…Alright then. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

I waved to Miura.

After watching the three of them go in the direction they wanted, I turned and walked away.

After walking a few steps, an idea suddenly occurred to me.

Ah, right.

What about joining a club?

Miura, Fukuda, and Yamashita are all in the “going home club,” meaning they don’t participate in club activities. If I say I have club activities, we can naturally drift apart.

A club that doesn’t cost money. Preferably one where I can spend time appropriately inside the school.

The literature club would be good, wouldn’t it? Everyone just gathers to read books anyway. Occasionally writing something for the school festival.

Would anyone care if one more quiet, gloomy girl appeared in the corner of a quiet club room?

As I was walking forward thinking such thoughts, I was momentarily distracted by a girl.

A female student who was going up in the opposite direction from where I was going down.

Is she about my age? She seems a bit taller than me. Well, Kotone Kurosawa’s height isn’t objectively that tall anyway.

She had her bangs swept to one side behind her ear, and her long hair was neatly gathered into a single tie. It was a textbook-perfect ponytail.

She had a somewhat fierce impression with sharp eye corners.

Her tightly closed lips looked inflexible, but her pink lips seemed soft.

She was a beauty like a painting. I wouldn’t have felt any dissonance if this girl were appearing on TV rather than passing by me now.

…Yuka Yuuki.

Although she was in casual clothes right now, I knew well what she looked like in a sailor uniform.

She was heading toward the school.

Is she properly transferring to this world too?

Originally, she only transfers to school after saving the protagonist’s younger sister.

I forcibly turned my gaze away.

I didn’t want to stare too long and let her know I was looking at her, as that could become troublesome.

My heart was pounding.

“…”

I tried to maintain my usual pace as I moved forward.

Could she know my identity?

I’m not completely certain, but I know that my body is not that of an ordinary human.

If Yuka Yuuki can see yokai nests, could she see through my identity too?

I passed by her like that.

Her long ponytail swayed with her steps.

After walking a few steps, I let out a small sigh, when suddenly the footsteps behind me stopped.

“Hey.”

And a voice calling someone.

I stopped walking too.

It’s currently the peak time for students going home. Hanakawa High School has a slightly higher rate of club activities, so it’s not like students are pouring out all at once, but there were quite a few other students in the same uniform on this road.

Despite that, strangely, there was no one else where the two of us were standing.

Bad luck.

“…What?”

I carefully answered as I turned around.

Yuka Yuuki’s neat face was clearly visible. How could a high school girl who supposedly fights have no injuries on her face?

In the novel, she got roughed up quite a bit. I haven’t seen it, but it was probably the same in the anime or comic versions.

Did she read some anxiety on my face? Yuka Yuuki tilted her head.

That’s a relief. She doesn’t seem to have noticed that I’m not an ordinary human.

“If I keep walking straight on this road, will I reach Hanakawa High School?”

Although she tilted her head, she asked her question directly.

“Yeah. Just keep going up along the road.”

“Thanks.”

She said that and then turned around without hesitation to continue walking.

She didn’t recognize me?

While I felt relieved, I was also a bit disappointed.

Well, I’m living again in the world of a light novel. It’s a bit sad to think I’m disconnected from the main story.

Not that I particularly want to get involved, though.

*

…I used to think that way.

Lunchtime.

Unlike the other students, I got up from my seat leisurely and walked slowly toward the school store.

The cornet bread is always plentiful. Unfortunately, I don’t carry enough money to buy multiple breads, but well, I can at least buy one to temporarily fill my hungry stomach.

So I walked slowly to the front of the school store—

And there was Yuka Yuuki.

She was looking at the school store with an expression full of various kinds of shock.

Seeing that, I quickly racked my brain to search for faint memories from 20 years ago.

There… ah, she ate bread.

I think there were occasional scenes where she grumbled about bread.

I remembered the conversation she had when she arbitrarily ate with the protagonist for the first time.

She said she went to buy bread at the school store, but she was too late and ended up buying cornet bread.

And among the episodes about that bread, there was also a comedy short story where Yuka Yuuki engaged in a bread battle.

Realizing this, I almost smacked my forehead.

If it was something like that, I wish I had remembered it sooner. Then I wouldn’t have had to awkwardly run into her like this.

Of course, I seem to be the only one who thinks we’ve run into each other.

I carefully leaned against a wall in a more secluded spot than where I usually stand.

Only after all the children who had gathered noisily to battle for bread had left did I slowly move.

“Ah, excuse me—”

“I’m sorry. The only bread left is cornet bread.”

When Yuka Yuuki went to the school store and opened her mouth, the store owner auntie said with a bitter smile. Yuka Yuuki’s shoulders slumped.

She’s a tsundere with a personality as rigid as any school disciplinary committee chairperson in a typical school drama, yet in some ways, she’s like a young girl. It’s natural since she was a character I once liked.

Seeing her directly now, my memories are gradually coming back, which suggests that 20 years was enough time to completely bury my memories.

Keeping some distance from Yuka Yuuki with her slumped shoulders, I approached the counter.

“Oh, you came today too.”

“Yes, one cornet bread please.”

“How do you always end up like this? Should I set one aside for you next time?”

This auntie doesn’t seem to think at all that I’m eating cornet bread because I’m poor.

“No, this is fine.”

I said that as I placed coins in the auntie’s hand and received the bread.

“Huh?”

Seemingly confused by the conversation between me and the auntie, Yuka Yuuki looked back and forth between us, but I didn’t give her any special attention—or at least tried to appear that way—as I turned around and slowly walked out of the school store.

“Hey, wait a moment!”

After walking for a few seconds after leaving.

Yuka Yuuki quickly ran out and said.

“Yes?”

It was too obvious she was calling me, so it would be awkward not to answer. I turned around and responded, and she, having run over, said while catching her breath:

“Are you perhaps acquainted with the school store auntie?”

“…”

Ah, she’s asking about the bread.