u/suomynonaedud

“Sendai-san.”

Miyagi’s voice comes from the bed. When I turn toward her, our eyes meet in the dimly lit room.

“Go back to your room.”

Miyagi says it in a clearer voice than before, as though she had been awake ever since I kissed her cheek. I ask her, “Why?”

The person who told me a little over ten minutes ago that I could come lie beside her shouldn’t be allowed to say something like that.

“If you stay here like this, Sendai-san, you’ll sleep on the floor.”

Miyagi says quietly.

“Why do you think I’d sleep on the floor?”

“When I had a fever last time, Sendai-san slept on the floor.”

“So what? It’s fine if I sleep on the floor.”

It’s true that in the past, when Miyagi had a fever, I slept on the floor of her room. And today, I intend to sleep on the floor again.

But that isn’t something Miyagi needs to worry about. A sick person should focus on getting better, and there’s absolutely no need for her to worry about me.

“It’s not fine. Go back to your room and sleep properly.”

Miyagi won’t budge.

She's trying to kick me out of this room.

“Miyagi, do you not want me to stay here?”

Right now, the place where I should be is here, and nowhere else.

“…You said you weren’t coming beside me.”

Miyagi mutters it as though she is dissatisfied that I won’t sleep beside her, and my thoughts come to a complete stop.

I look at Miyagi.

It's too dark to make out her expression clearly.

I slowly approach the bed.

Miyagi wraps herself in the blanket and turns her back to me.

Ever since we went to see a movie, Miyagi has been saying one thing after another that doesn’t seem like something Miyagi would say. Of course, I have no complaints about it, but it makes me a little scared. I can't help but think that Miyagi might suddenly start saying something she shouldn’t.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be next to you.”

I sit on the bed and give the lump of blanket a light pat.

“I just want you to get plenty of sleep, Miyagi. I hope you get over your cold quickly.”

I say it gently, and Miyagi’s voice comes from inside the blanket.

“…When will you finish your report?”

“It's fine whenever I finish it.”

It isn’t finished yet, but it was never something I could finish today anyways, so I was planning to stop at a good point.

“I can’t sleep.”

Miyagi says in a small voice.

“Go to sleep.”

Just because she took medicine doesn’t mean her cold will necessarily go away. She needs rest. Right now, she should sleep as much as she can.

I place my hand on the blanket and softly sing a ballad I’ve been listening to a lot lately in a quiet voice.

Slower than its original tempo, I hum softly, hoping sleep will come to Miyagi.

“…Why are you singing?”

Miyagi pokes her face out from the blanket and pushes my stomach.

“You said you couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d sing a lullaby for you with my beautiful voice.”

“You don’t have to sing.”

Miyagi pushes my stomach again and insists, “Just be quiet.”

“Miyagi. Want to go to karaoke together sometime?”

It’s not that I particularly want to sing, so I ask Miyagi, who doesn’t seem to be getting sleepy, and add, “I want to hear you sing, too.”

“I’m not singing.”

“Then I’ll sing enough for both of us, so let’s go.”

“During winter break, let’s do something that isn’t karaoke.”

“Eh?”

Because Miyagi suddenly says something I never expected, an incomprehensible word slips out of my mouth.

“Sendai-san, you said you wanted to do something instead of wearing a furisode. Decide what we should do.”

I was the one who said I wanted to do something instead of wearing a furisode, but Miyagi’s response back then could hardly be called enthusiastic. So for her to suddenly tell me to decide what we should do is so unexpected that my mind can’t keep up.

“Eh? Now?”

“It doesn’t have to be now, but decide.”

“Anything?”

“Not just anything. Take me somewhere interesting.”

This is difficult.

Miyagi’s “not just anything” is usually a phrase that rejects most things, and I can’t immediately think of something she would actually approve of.

“…What do you mean by somewhere interesting?”

“Somewhere you think is interesting, Sendai-san. Take responsibility and think of it yourself.”

I have absolutely no idea what's gotten into her.

Maybe Miyagi got sick because she has been doing so many unusual things lately, and perhaps she is pushing herself too hard.

I had always wanted to continue being Miyagi’s roommate while also hoping that Miyagi would catch up to my feelings. But she never walked beside me; she only walked behind me. So I was always turning around to look back at her.

Skipping steps as I climbed the stairs, turning around and going back the way I came, suddenly running ahead.

Sometimes, pulling Miyagi along by the hand.

As we went through our days together, I put into words the feelings that had become too difficult to keep inside.

But something like that alone couldn’t make our feelings overlap. That's why, instead of looking forward, I kept looking back, to make sure I didn’t lose sight of Miyagi.

And yet—

“…Miyagi, don’t try so hard.”

I feel as though Miyagi is walking ahead of me.

I don’t know what she is thinking or where she is trying to go, but right now, I’m probably the one being pulled by the hand.

“I’m not trying hard.”

“You’re trying hard enough to give yourself a fever. You don’t have to try that hard.”

“…Why?”

“Because I feel like you're going to leave me behind.”

I tightly hold Miyagi’s hand, hidden beneath the blanket.

“…You’re the one who’s going leave me behind, Sendai-san.”

“I would never do that.”

“Then don’t sleep. Just keep talking to me. …If I can hear your voice, I’ll know you haven’t gone anywhere.”

“Okay. Then I’ll sing.”

“Don’t sing. Just talk about anything.”

As expected, my singing is rejected, and I’m asked to engage in aimless conversation instead, so I talk about trivial things.

I already talked so much earlier that I don’t have much left to say, but I say whatever comes to mind—things we don’t need to talk about today, things that come to mind in the moment.

But unlike earlier, Miyagi responds with little acknowledgments.

It isn’t one-sided chatter anymore. Miyagi’s voice blends with mine, making the air in the room tremble and carrying time forward toward morning.

Slowly, slowly.

The conversation continues, pausing every now and then.

Sometimes, I touch Miyagi’s cheek and check her temperature.

The gentle passage of time hides the stars behind the sun, and sunlight begins to stream through the curtains.

“Miyagi, it’s morning now.”

I yawn once and stretch out fully.

“I’m sleepy.”

“Of course you are. You’ve been awake this whole time. I’m sleepy too.”

It has been a long time since I last stayed up all night, and my eyelids feel heavy.

The time I spend with Miyagi is irreplaceable, but people can’t live without sleeping, and there’s no resisting sleepiness.

I stretch again with a drawn-out “Ugh,” and pick up the thermometer.

“Miyagi. For now, take your temperature.”

Even though it was what she wanted, I kept a sick person who should have been sleeping awake and talked with her all night, so it wouldn’t be surprising if her fever had gone up.

“Here.”

I hand the thermometer to Miyagi. She starts to furrow her brow, but she takes her temperature without complaining. The electronic beep sounds almost immediately, and Miyagi stares at the thermometer. I lean over to look at what she is holding and see the number displayed.

“Good. It’s gone down.”

Her temperature has returned to what could be considered normal, and I put the thermometer on the table.

“Sendai-san, it’s already seven.”

Miyagi says after apparently checking the time on her phone.

If her fever hadn’t gone down, I was planning to skip university. But she no longer has a fever, so I know what I should do.

I’ll take a shower now, prepare food, and go to university. I want to make sure I prepare a proper meal, so I’ll probably be late, but it’s better than not going at all.

“Maybe I should hurry.”

“Hurry?”

“I need to get to university soon.”

I answer cheerfully, and a quiet voice comes back.

“…You could stay here today.”

“What about university?”

“You’re going?”

A question is answered with another question.

We both think of university as something we are supposed to attend.

And we have lived our lives treating it as something we are supposed to do.

So this kind of situation is unusual.

“Miyagi, you’re such a delinquent.”

I lie down on the bed.

Of course, Miyagi is beside me.

“Your hair is brown, so Sendai-san is more of a delinquent.”

Miyagi says unhappily, then pushes against my body.

“You’re too close.”

Carrying cold medicine, a glass of water, a cooling gel sheet, and my bag, I knocked twice on the door.

"Come in."

The reply came almost immediately and I entered Miyagi's room.

I set the medicine and glass on the table, my bag on the floor, and sat down on the bed.

"Sorry to keep you waiting."

I leaned over and placed a kiss on Miyagi's forehead as she lay quietly in bed. She reached up and pushed at my shoulder as though it were a bother.

But she had no strength behind it, and she didn't complain.

I wanted to kiss her more, but it wouldn't be fair to keep kissing a Miyagi who didn't have the energy to object. Instead, I peeled the backing off the cooling gel sheet I'd brought and gently pressed it onto her forehead.

"Now for the medicine."

After stroking her head in place of another kiss, I stood up, picked up the medicine and the glass, and brought them over.

"Sit up."

Miyagi slowly pushed herself upright, and I handed her the glass. Then I placed the proper number of tablets into her palm.

"Do I really have to take it?"

Miyagi asked like a child.

"Take it."

When I answered gently, she swallowed the medicine, seemingly resigned.

I picked up the black cat plush from where it was relaxing on the bookshelf and returned to her bedside.

"Here, Roro-chan. A good-luck charm for a good night's sleep."

I handed her the black cat in exchange for the glass.

"Don't turn Roro-chan into a lucky charm without asking."

"I can be your lucky charm instead, if you'd prefer. What do you think?"

"...Roro-chan is fine."

Just as I'd expected, Miyagi climbed under the blanket with Roro-chan.

"That's too bad. But two people in a single bed is cramped, so get some proper rest by yourself today."

If this were the usual Miyagi, I wouldn't hand over my role as her good-luck charm to Roro-chan.

But today was different.

I didn't want to crawl into her narrow bed and disturb her sleep.

After stroking her head once more, I set the glass back on the table.

"...Are you going back to your room?"

Miyagi's voice was barely above a whisper.

I smiled at her.

"I'll stay here until you tell me to leave."

I pulled the blanket back up around her, turned off the main light, and left only the nightlight on.

In the dimly lit room, I sat down on the bed.

"I'll stroke your head, so get some sleep."

Under the faint light, I ran my fingers through Miyagi's hair and gently stroked her head.

"It's distracting."

"What is?"

"Your hand, Sendai-san."

"Then should I kiss you instead?"

Even in the dim light, I could make out her black hair. I kissed it gently and brushed my fingers against her cheek.

"It's not fair to make that a two-choice question."

"Then would it be better if I did neither?"

After I asked, there was a brief silence before Miyagi answered.

"...That's not what I'm saying. It's just... I'm not used to this kind of thing, so... it's fine."

"Not used to it?"

When I asked, Miyagi turned her back to me, still clutching the stuffed animal.

"...I've been on my own for a long time."

Those words reminded me that Miyagi's mother had left before Miyagi learned to cook.

If I followed that thought, then what she meant by not being used to it was probably that it had been so long since anyone had stroked her head that the memory had become distant.

"Is there anything you'd like me to do?"

I wanted to give Miyagi everything she'd never received, everything she'd been missing.

But continuing to do something she'd just admitted she wasn't used to—especially while she was sick—didn't seem right.

Still...

I wanted to do something.

At times like this, I wanted to be someone she could rely on.

"...Talk to me."

Miyagi murmured.

"What should I talk about?"

"Anything. Just... keep talking until I fall asleep. ...Your voice is calming."

Miyagi's voice was faint.

"Well, let's see..."

I tried to think of something that would fill the time until she fell asleep, but nothing immediately came to mind.

"Hmm... The sausage muffin we had this morning was really delicious, so I'd like to go eat one with you again. But no complaining about the bell peppers in the salad next time, okay? Complaining won't change how they taste. And... let's go out for dinner together once in a while too."

My thoughts came out before I could organize them.

Miyagi kept her back to me.

She never looked my way.

Still, I kept talking.

About movies.

About university.

One topic after another.

Eventually, my thoughts reached the taco rice.

I'd planned to ask her about it when she got home.

Why did she decide to go out to eat with Mio?

What did the three of them talk about?

Are they going to eat taco rice again?

If I really wanted, I could probably ask Mio about most of it.

But I wanted to hear it from Miyagi herself. I wanted her to tell me what she'd been thinking and what she'd done.

But...

Now wasn't the time.

"Miyagi."

I called her softly as I stroked her head.

Miyagi didn't say anything, nor did she move.

I quietly leaned closer.

Her breathing was slow and even.

It seemed she'd fallen asleep.

I gently combed my fingers through her hair once more and kissed its

glossy strands.

Quietly, I stood up and sat down at the table.

I took my notebook, textbook, and a library book from my bag and laid them out on the table.

I glanced toward Miyagi on the bed.

She was still lying there with her back to me, unmoving.

I turned the light back on and dimmed it.

It was dark enough to keep the room calm, but bright enough to read and write.

I began working on the report for a university assignment.

Every so often, I checked on Miyagi. I replaced her cooling gel sheet.

She never woke up.

One hour passed.

Then two.

Just before the third hour—

I heard a voice calling my name.

"Sen... dai... san..."

I stopped writing and sat back down on the bed.

"I'm here."

Sometime while I'd been working, Miyagi had turned to face me.

I took her hand and guided it to my cheek, letting her stroke it.

"You're... here?"

When Miyagi opened her eyes, I answered gently.

"I'm here. Did you have a scary dream?"

"No."

Her voice was hoarse.

"That's good. Should I turn the light off?"

"It's fine... like this. ...Sendai-san... were you awake?"

Her sleepy eyes looked up at me.

"I was working on my report."

"Aren't... you going to sleep?"

"I'm awake, and I'm here with you, so don't worry. Just go back to sleep."

I stroked her head and rested my hand gently against her cheek.

But she didn't close her eyes. She just kept looking at me.

"Oh, right, Miyagi. What kind of dream did you have yesterday?"

Since she didn't seem ready to fall asleep, I asked about something harmless that I'd been wanting to know.

"I... told you... this morning."

"You did. But you never told me what animal was in the dream."

She was right.

We'd talked about her dream this morning. But after she'd casually added, "Sendai-san wasn't in it," I'd ended up missing my chance to ask for the details.

"...A dog."

Miyagi answered in her usual flat voice.

I lifted my hand from her cheek.

"A dog?"

But perhaps because she'd already answered once, she didn't respond again.

So I asked another question.

"Do you want one?"

"No need... to have one. ...Sendai-san... say 'woof.'"

She asked something that made me want to question what exactly she thought I was.

But refusing wasn't really an option.

"Woof!"

I barked obediently and Miyagi reached up and gently stroked my head.

"...You can... come lie here... beside me."

Her voice was so quiet I might have missed it if I hadn't been paying attention.

"I'm happy you asked... but I'm fine right here. Get some rest."

I smiled at her and kissed her on the cheek. "You're hot," she murmured, grabbing hold of my shoulder.

The Person Called Miyagi

Chapter 424

Miyagi is at a café with Mio.

Utsunomiya is there too, so they aren’t alone together, but having three people there doesn’t make it okay either. It’s better than the two of them being alone, but it’s still hard to accept.

“Sensei… are you not feeling well today, by any chance?”

Kikyo-chan’s worried voice comes from across the table, and I force a smile.

“I’m fine. Why?”

Today is Monday, and I have my tutoring job.

I’m here in Kikyo-chan’s room as her tutor, so I need to do what I’m supposed to do. This isn’t the time to be thinking about Miyagi, who is probably happily eating taco rice at a café right now.

“You had a wrinkle right here.”

As she says that, Kikyo-chan taps the space between her own eyebrows with a fingertip, and I suddenly want to touch my own brow.

But I’m smiling now, and I shouldn’t have a wrinkle there anymore, so I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and then open them again.

“Maybe my eyesight’s getting worse. It's a little hard to see.”

I turn a page of the workbook on the table and narrow my eyes as if I’m struggling to read it.

The letters aren’t blurry. They aren’t hazy.

I can see them perfectly well, but I keep staring at the workbook.

“Maybe your eyes got worse from studying too much?”

Kikyo-chan says it with a serious expression, and I answer jokingly, “Maybe.”

“Sensei, if your eyesight really got worse, would you choose glasses or contacts?”

“I wonder.”

“Please choose glasses. I think they’d look really good on you.”

Kikyo-chan says cheerfully.

“If I wore glasses, I might actually look like a teacher.”

I answer lightly, then continue,

“Anyway, about the next problem…”

“Yes.”

Kikyo-chan straightens her posture, and the studying she had interrupted begins again.

I watch her pen move across the notebook.

Earlier today, between lectures, Mio told me, “I was supposed to go eat taco rice with Maika-chan today, but Shiori ended up coming too, so the three of us are going to a café.” Hearing that nearly erased the memory of the sausage muffin Miyagi and I had eaten together that morning.

And then, a little while later, Miyagi sent me a much shorter message than Mio’s: “I’m eating with Maika and Mio-san, so I might be late.” That put me in a terrible mood, and I’m still feeling it now.

Today, Miyagi unusually suggested that we eat out, and on top of that, it was for breakfast. I’d been in a great mood from before I even went to university, so I never expected it to turn out like this.

Mio didn’t do anything wrong, and Miyagi didn’t either. Of course, Utsunomiya and the taco rice aren’t at fault either.

But it isn’t amusing when Miyagi is meeting someone somewhere when I’m not around.

As I answer Kikyo-chan’s questions, I push the taco rice that keeps trying to take over my thoughts out of my head and switch gears.

The sound of pages turning.

The sound of a pen moving across paper.

The voices of Kikyo-chan and me.

Time passes steadily, and eventually it’s time to finish.

“I think that’s enough for today.”

I smile, and a cheerful “Yes!” echoes through the room as she starts putting away her reference books and workbook.

“Oh, Sensei. You said you went to the movies on Sunday, right?”

She asks about something we talked about before studying, and I turn around before opening the door.

“Yeah.”

“I forgot to ask—what movie did you see?”

“A romance movie.”

I answer with a rough genre instead of the title, and she replies, “So it wasn’t a horror movie.”

“Some people aren’t good with horror movies. By the way, Kikyo-chan, how was the horror movie I recommended?”

Last week, she asked me what kinds of movies I liked and what I recommended, and I gave her the titles of a few horror movies.

“Um… I couldn’t watch it all by myself, so I watched it with my family.”

“I see. If I recommend something next time, maybe it should be a non-horror movie.”

The movies I recommended were beginner-friendly and not that scary, so if she couldn’t watch even those alone, she might not have much tolerance for horror. Or maybe she just can’t bring herself to say she didn’t like something I recommended.

It’s not like I know a lot of movies that are so good I’d confidently recommend them, but I think I should suggest something different next time.

“Horror is fine, so please recommend another one sometime.”

“You don’t have to force yourself.”

“I’m not forcing myself.”

Kikyo-chan says something that Miyagi would absolutely never say, then thumps her chest and declares, “I actually like horror movies quite a bit.”

“I see. Then I’ll recommend another one next time.”

It’s not something worth arguing over, so I back down and leave Kikyo-chan’s house. I walk through the night streets and get on the train, heading back to Miyagi, who had eaten taco rice somewhere I wasn’t.

As I watch the scenery pass by outside the window, I wonder when I’ll get to watch a movie with Miyagi again.

It’s not like there’s a particular movie I want to see, and it doesn’t have to be a horror movie.

A romance movie or an animated movie would be fine. I just want to go to the movies with Miyagi again. I want to spend more time with her than the time she spent eating taco rice with someone other than me.

The train stops at our usual station, and I hurry off.

Under the streetlights, I look ahead instead of up at the sky and walk quickly home. I climb the stairs to the third floor, open the front door, and step inside. The shoes of Miyagi, who texted me that she might be late, are there.

“I’m home.”

She probably can’t hear me, but I call out anyway as I take off my shoes.

When I go into the shared space, it’s dark. I turn on the light.

Of course, Miyagi isn’t there.

I knock on the door of her room.

Knock knock.

She should be there, but there’s no answer.

Knock, knock, knock.

I knock three times, but Miyagi still doesn’t come out.

“Miyagi, you’re in there, right?”

I call through the door and knock three more times. This time, the door opens.

“Welcome back.”

Miyagi says it in a quiet, mumbly voice without stepping out of her room.

“I’m home. You already ate, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Was the taco rice delicious?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you talk about with Mio?”

“Maika was there too. I’m sleepy, so can I sleep a little longer?”

Still speaking in that mumbly voice, Miyagi runs a hand through her hair.

She certainly looks sleepy, and I think maybe I should let her rest, but something about her appearance makes me suspicious.

“Didn’t you say this morning that you slept well?”

“I slept well, but I’m still sleepy. I’m going to sleep.”

Miyagi says it firmly.

Her voice is hoarse. She does sound sleepy, but I also get a bad feeling.

“…Are you feeling sick? Food poisoning or something?”

I don’t want to think the taco rice made her sick, but I ask just in case. Miyagi answers immediately.

“I’m not sick. My stomach doesn’t hurt, and I’m not nauseous.”

Miyagi looks sullen.

It’s her usual expression, but she also looks a little like a sulking child.

“What about your head? Does it hurt?”

I reach out, and she brushes my hand away as if it’s annoying.

“It doesn’t hurt. I’m just tired.”

There’s no strength in her voice.

“Miyagi, sorry for this.”

I apologize first and reach toward her forehead.

But Miyagi steps back. My hand can’t reach her.

“Don’t run away.”

I grab her arm so she can’t retreat any farther and place my hand against her forehead.

It’s hot.

At least, it feels hot.

“Miyagi, you don’t have a thermometer, do you?”

“I’m fine.”

She gives me an answer that doesn’t fit the question at all.

“You’re not fine. I’ll go get a thermometer, so lie down.”

I take hold of her shoulders, turn her around, and gently push her back into her room. Then I go to my own room to get the thermometer.

Knock knock.

I knock on her door and call out, “I’m coming in,” before opening it.

“Miyagi, I’m coming in.”

I announce myself before stepping inside. Miyagi is lying quietly on the bed.

“Here, the thermometer.”

I walk over to the bed and place it on top of the blanket.

Miyagi silently picks it up and takes her temperature. The electronic beep sounds almost immediately, and she tries to look at the display, but I snatch the thermometer away before she can see it.

“Thirty-seven point four. If you’re not feeling well, just say you’re not feeling well. ‘I’m sleepy’ doesn’t tell me anything.”

“…I didn’t realize.”

“You didn’t realize—”

I stop there because I remember.

Golden Week, when we were supposed to go see the penguins.

Miyagi had a fever then too.

Back then, she also refused to admit she felt bad and refused to take her temperature. In the summer, she wore unfamiliar wooden sandals and hurt her feet from the straps rubbing, but she didn’t tell me about that either.

That’s the kind of person Miyagi is.

I clench my own hand tightly.

“You don’t have to be able to tell whether you’re feeling unwell or not, Miyagi. I can tell.”

I unclench my hand.

I sit down on the bed and stroke her hair.

“But even if I know you’re not feeling well, there’s nothing I can do if you don't admit it. So when you’re sick, please admit that you’re sick.”

Miyagi doesn’t say anything.

But when I keep looking at her, she gives the tiniest nod, so small I might have missed it.

“You’ve been doing all kinds of unusual things lately. Maybe that’s why you got a fever.”

I laugh softly as I say it, and Miyagi glares at me, but she doesn’t deny it.

Miyagi, who would never normally suggest eating out, suggested it. And that same Miyagi went out to eat with Mio, someone she normally wouldn’t eat with.

Ever since last night, when she proposed the strange idea of us sleeping in each other’s rooms, something inside Miyagi has changed rapidly.

I don’t really know what triggered it, and I don’t know whether it’s a good thing for me or not, but I want to believe it isn’t a bad thing.

“I’ll go get some cold medicine and something to cool your forehead.”

I pat the blanket lightly.

“I can do it myself.”

“Patients should lie quietly and rest.”

“I’m not a child.”

Miyagi says with a wrinkle between her brows.

“Even if you're not a child, you should listen to me. I’ll be extra, extra gentle with you.”

I say something that the usual Miyagi wouldn’t be able to let pass without a complaint, but she simply closes her eyes without saying a word.

"That's unusual. You're cutting it pretty close."

I rushed into the lecture hall just before I would have been late and hurriedly dropped into the seat beside Maika. Instead of saying good morning, she greeted me with that comment, then immediately asked,

"Did something happen?"

"I took too long eating breakfast. Morning."

It was true, at least in broad terms. As soon as I answered, Maika turned toward me without even trying to hide her curiosity.

"Morning. What kind of breakfast makes you want to take your time eating it? Now I'm curious."

"A sausage muffin."

Let's eat out for a change.

The place where I had invited Sendai-san to eat breakfast was a restaurant with a distinctive red-and-yellow sign, and we ordered ordinary breakfast items.

—Though we certainly didn't have enough time to eat leisurely.

"That sounds like a breakfast menu item. Did you eat at home?"

"No, out."

"With Sendai-san?"

"Yeah."

Neither the sausage muffins nor the salad we ordered were anything special, but Sendai-san had been unusually talkative and in a good mood, so I think that it's okay to have a day like this once in a while.

"That's really unusual, isn't it?"

As I talked with Maika, who looked thoroughly intrigued, the words 'suspect' and 'detective' popped into my head.

Talking about breakfast wasn't a big deal, nor was it something I needed to hide. But because I just couldn't bring myself to tell her everything naturally, our conversation ended up coming out in fragments, only making Maika even more curious.

Still, I'd already used up about a month's worth of my 'honesty' card in my conversation with Sendai-san.

"So, did something happen?"

Maika repeated the very same question she'd asked earlier as she looked at me.

"I just wanted a change of pace. The professor's here."

If the question was whether something had happened or not, then yes, something had.

Sendai-san and I had spent the night in each other's rooms, and in the morning we had shared our impressions.

But I wanted to keep that something a secret between the two of us. We hadn't made any promise, but I didn't want to tell anyone about it.

"Aww, the professor's here already. I wanted to tell you about taco rice."

"Taco rice?"

"Yeah. I'll tell you later."

Maika sounded disappointed, and the lecture began almost immediately.

I gently touched my plumeria earrings.

The day after doing something I'd never done before at night, I did something else I normally never did—I ate breakfast out. But the lecture was completely ordinary. Nothing had changed. Maika was just as openly curious as always.

Even though it felt like I'd done something fairly significant, once the day began, the outline of that important event started to blur. Tomorrow it would blur even more, and after more time passed, it would surely blend into everyday life.

No matter how significant something is, eventually it becomes just another point in time, absorbed into daily life.

When that happens...

Will I have become someone who knows Sendai-san much better?

I don't know.

I don't.

But I've already started walking down the path of getting to know Sendai-san, so all I can do is keep moving forward—and I intend to move forward.

I stroked my earring and look ahead.

After giving my bangs a quick tug, I turned my attention to the professor's voice.

The lecture continued exactly as usual, without anything noteworthy happening. It didn't end especially quickly, nor did it feel especially long. When it was over, Maika slipped her pencil case into her bag and said,

"About that taco rice I mentioned earlier..."

"Want to go eat it today? Sendai-san has work today, right?"

"Yeah. Is there a place that makes good taco rice?"

"There is!... Or so I've heard."

"Or so you've heard?"

She'd just invited me to eat there, yet added something that made me question whether it was actually good, so I couldn't help asking.

"My source is Mio-san. Actually, I'm planning to go eat taco rice with Mio-san today. Want to come too, Shiori? Mio-san said I should invite you too."

The name that came up didn't surprise me.

She's Sendai-san's friend, and I know her well too. She's also close with Maika, and they seem to go out together fairly often, so it wasn't strange for something like this to come up.

Still, I couldn't answer right away.

"Hmm..."

There was no doubt that Sendai-san had work today.

She had her tutoring job.

And, as far as I was concerned, it was a job I don't find particularly interesting. Today she was teaching the very first student she'd ever had—a high school student I'd met before—so there wasn't anything enjoyable about it. If I could pass the time, having dinner with Maika didn't sound bad.

"What should I do..."

As I packed away my notebook and pencil case and stood up to head to my next lecture, I thought it over.

I didn't dislike Mio-san.

She wasn't someone I felt awkward around anymore, either.

Still, I had a feeling she'd ask me questions that would leave me struggling for answers.

"It's okay if you can't."

Maika said cheerfully as she stood up.

Before leaving the lecture hall, I declared,

"I'll go. I want to eat taco rice."

"Eh? That's unusual. I invited you expecting you'd probably say no. What's gotten into you today? Do you have a fever or something?"

She looked genuinely surprised.

"I don't."

I answered immediately before continuing.

"I'm fine, and I'm going to eat taco rice. If it isn't good, I'll hold Mio-san responsible."

Ever since yesterday, I'd been continuing to do things that weren't like my usual self.

In that case, doing one more thing that I normally wouldn't do was fine too. Maybe this would also become part of my everyday life, until one day it would feel completely ordinary.

"I want to eat delicious taco rice... but I kind of want to see Mio-san getting blamed too."

We left the lecture hall and walked down the hallway.

"Still, I feel like Mio-san would just bounce all the blame right back."

"True. She seems like the type who's immune to grudges and curses."

"Maybe I won't blame her after all."

Mio-san was the kind of person I'd never had around me before.

But because of Sendai-san, I had the chance to get to know her, and she'd even introduced me to my part-time job. On a day like today, it felt like the perfect time to have a meal with someone like her.

"That's probably for the best. Though I'd kind of like to see your blame reflected back at you too, Shiori."

Maika said with a quiet laugh.

"It'd probably come back three times stronger, so I'll refrain from holding a grudge."

"Then let's just hope the taco rice is delicious."

With that, Maika took out her phone, smiled, and said,

"I'll message Mio-san."

A soft clatter sounds as a glass is set down on the table.

"Let's see..." Sendai-san says, letting out a small sigh.

But nothing follows.

Silence.

Her eyes are fixed on me.

Her expression is neither bright nor gloomy, but her hand idly strokes the tabletop as though searching for something.

The shared space is filled with silence, but it isn't oppressive.

Even so, she doesn't open her mouth.

"Sendai-san. There isn't a right or wrong answer when it comes to your impressions, so just tell me whatever you thought."

I don't know what kind of meaning there is in the silence she's creating. But I have the feeling she's worrying about saying the right thing, about not getting it wrong.

What I want to know isn't the impression that Sendai-san thinks is correct.

I want to know what she was thinking yesterday.

"...Miyagi."

Sendai-san murmurs as she picks up her glass.

But instead of drinking the barley tea, she says,

"You're really neat, aren't you? Even back in high school, no matter when I came over, you never once told me, 'Wait here while I clean my room.' Your kitchen was always spotless too. And your room now is always really clean."

Sendai-san says it all in one breath before taking a drink of her barley tea.

Then she sets the glass back on the table and asks uncertainly,

"...Is this the kind of thing you meant?"

"That's exactly the kind of thing I meant. Anything else?"

I couldn't quite manage a cheerful smile, but I think I spoke gently enough.

"It's funny that you're such a neat freak even though you crumple up tissues and throw them at me."

"That part was unnecessary."

I answer briefly to Sendai-san, whose voice is now brighter.

"Come on, it's true. Why are you so obsessed with keeping things clean?"

"Because if I don't clean up myself, nobody else will. I'd rather tidy things up before they get messy."

"I see. Then can I hear what you thought of my room?"

"Sure. Your room felt... like your room."

"Didn't you say something before about how back in high school you expected it to look like a high school girl's room, but it wasn't like that?"

Asked that, I take two sips of my barley tea before answering.

"When I first went to your room in high school, it felt a little strange. But now I think it really suits you, Sendai-san. Your room is fairly tidy."

"'Fairly' was unnecessary, wasn't it?"

"It was necessary."

"That's mean—... Well, maybe not. I think you're just too neat and tidy, Miyagi."

Sendai-san chuckles and asks.

"Is that all?"

"I've got one more thing. I slept really well in your room."

I figured Sendai-san would say something silly if I told her, but I should at least let her know that her bed was comfortable.

"I'm glad to hear that. Then you should sleep in my bed every day from now on."

Smiling pleasantly, Sendai-san lightly bumps my foot with hers.

"I'm not going to."

"Why not?"

"Because you're going to say something weird."

"I don't think saying, 'I'll sleep beside you, Miyagi,' is weird at all."

Just as I'd expected, Sendai-san says something ridiculous and I step on her foot.

"See? You're saying something weird. Besides, the reason I slept so well was because you weren't there."

"That's mean. ...Well, I guess it's fine. Did you have any dreams?"

"I did."

"What kind?"

"I dreamed about animals. You weren't in it, Sendai-san."

Since there was no reason to hide it, I tell her the truth.

Sendai-san deliberately knits her brows.

"You didn't have to go out of your way to add, 'You weren't in it, Sendai-san.'"

"I figured you'd ask, so I just answered first."

My voice isn't warm, but it isn't cold either, as I finish the rest of my barley tea.

I'd set my phone alarm earlier than usual, but I'm glad I woke up even before that.

Maybe because we have plenty of time, we've been able to talk about so many things in such a relaxed atmosphere.

Considering how much time has passed since we first started talking to each other, what happened today is just a small thing.

But it's something we needed.

And I'm glad we were able to do it properly.

"Miyagi."

She calls my name in an unusually serious voice, and I look at her.

"When I came out of your room... I lied. Well, not exactly—I just didn't tell you the truth."

On top of the table, Sendai-san squeezes her own index finger tightly before letting it go.

"The truth?"

"I didn't actually sleep very well."

"Was there a reason you couldn't sleep?"

"Because it was your bed, Miyagi."

"Are you the type who can't sleep if it's a different pillow?"

When I ask, Sendai-san leans back against her chair with an awkward expression.

"No. I was thinking about things I can't exactly say out loud here."

I had expected Sendai-san to say something silly earlier.

That much was exactly as I'd imagined.

But I hadn't expected her to say something even more ridiculous than that.

I think being honest is a good thing, and I do want Sendai-san not to lie to me.

But sometimes people need to lie.

And this is one of those times.

"Sendai-san, you really are an erotic demon."

"I'm not going to deny it today. Shall we start making breakfast?"

I couldn't exactly praise her for not even denying those impure thoughts, and bringing up making breakfast right after that wasn't an appropriate transition either.

Still, breakfast won't make itself. So talking about it now isn't wrong.

"Since you're responsible for saying something weird, you can do all the cutting and frying."

I tell her with a sigh as I stand up.

"Got it."

Sendai-san answers lightly, stands as well, and walks over to the refrigerator.

"Sendai-san. We're doing another sleepover. The rules will be the same as this time."

"...Including the rule about leaving something on the table that you want the other person to see?"

"Yes."

"If I don't have anything, I don't have to leave anything, right?"

Her voice is neither light nor heavy as she opens the refrigerator.

I can't see her expression.

Her gaze is fixed on what's inside the fridge.

"It's not mandatory. Leave something if there's something you want to."

"I see. By the way, when's the next sleepover? You're not about to say this weekend, are you?"

Without taking anything out of the refrigerator, Sendai-san looks back at me.

"I'm not. It can be a while from now."

When I answer quietly, Sendai-san's face visibly relaxes.

Whenever I see her react like that, it makes me feel as though what I'm doing is somehow wrong.

I want to know more about Sendai-san.

I want her to know more about me.

But...

Is that something that only troubles her?

I can't help wondering.

"Sendai-san, how about we don't make breakfast after all?"

"Eh? We're not eating? Won't you get hungry at university?"

"Let's eat out for a change."

This sleepover can remain a one-time thing.

But if we leave it at that, nothing will have changed.

I'll still hardly know anything about Sendai-san, and she still won't know much about me.

"Eat where?"

"Somewhere that serves breakfast. ...I think we've got enough time. Don't you want to go?"

If we stay here like this, we'll just go back to living the way we always have.

Just as we did something different yesterday, I want to do something different today as well.

I want us to walk a different path from the one we've been following.

"I do. Let's go. I'll get ready right away."

Her voice is as bright as the morning sun shining through the window.

"I'll get ready too."

We had plenty of time, but we both hurried back to our rooms anyway.

What I Want Sendai-san to Know

Chapter 421

I had a dream about living with a very large dog.

It was a very happy dream, one that didn't have a single scary thing in it.

I don't think I would have had that dream if I'd been sleeping in my own bed.

I sit up and hug the penguin plush that slept with me.

Last night, Sendai-san slept in my room, and I slept in hers.

So this isn't my room.

It's Sendai-san's room.

But even though Sendai-san's bed isn't my bed, I slept well, and I woke up before my phone's alarm went off.

I look around the room in the light filtering through the gap in the curtains.

This room isn't the same as the room of Sendai-san's that I saw during summer vacation in high school. The books lined up on the bookshelf are mostly the same study-related books as back then, but the bookshelf is smaller, and the bed is different.

Even so, this has already become Sendai-san's room to me. I think the simple furniture suits her perfectly.

I place the penguin at the edge of the bed and turn off my phone's alarm.

I stretch my arms toward the ceiling and straighten my back too. I let out a soft breath and climb out of bed.

As expected, there's still nothing on the table.

Of course.

Something that wasn't there last night isn't suddenly going to appear in the morning.

It was what I expected, but it isn't interesting.

I make the bed and, taking my phone, leave the room and head for the washroom. After washing my face and coming back, I find Sendai-san in the shared space.

"Morning."

I hear her soft voice and reply, "Morning."

"Did you sleep well?"

Sendai-san asks with a sleepy expression.

"I slept fine. How about you, Sendai-san?"

"Pretty well. Should I tell you my impressions now?"

Normally, after saying pretty well, she'd follow it with I slept well, but she looks like she's about to say she didn't sleep much. Thinking that, I say, "After we get changed, we'll talk about our impressions and eat breakfast, so get ready and meet here."

"Got it. I'll go wash my face."

She waves a hand lazily and heads toward the washroom.

What did she think after spending the night in my room?

I'm about to find out.

I don't intend to tell her she has to tell me everything she felt, but I do want her not to lie. Watching her not say she couldn't sleep despite looking sleepy, I can't help but think that.

I return to my room and look at the table.

Roro-chan isn't there.

I look at the bookshelf.

It's not here either.

When I look at the bed, I see the black cat plushie with the moon necklace around its neck sitting proudly beside the pillow.

"Morning."

After greeting it, I pick up the black cat and place it on the bookshelf.

"Did Sendai-san say anything?"

I ask the plushie, which probably slept with her, but there is no reply.

As usual, the black cat is taciturn. After adjusting the moon charm hanging from the necklace around its neck so it shines in the middle of its chest, I take out a t-shirt and a pair of denim pants and get changed.

When I open the curtains, the weather is so nice it feels as though yesterday's rain had never happened.

The ground is still wet, but it feels like a pleasant morning.

I straighten the already-made bed and head to the shared space.

Sendai-san isn't there.

I look inside the refrigerator and start thinking about breakfast when I hear a door open and turn around.

"Oh, Miyagi. Are you making breakfast first?"

Sendai-san's skirt sways as she walks toward me.

"We've still got plenty of time, so breakfast can wait. Let me hear your impressions first."

I shut the refrigerator door and say that, and she asks, "Should we sit down?"

"Sit."

When I say that, Sendai-san sits down, and I prepare two glasses.

I take a bottle out of the refrigerator and pour barley tea.

I place the glasses on the table and sit down.

"You first, Sendai-san."

I tell her briefly, and after thinking for a moment, she cautiously says,

"...Why did you leave Roro-chan there?"

"That's not an impression."

"I know. But tell me first."

Her voice is unusually serious, and I look directly at her.

I had thought she'd ask about the black cat before talking about her impressions.

And I had wanted her to ask.

I didn't want her to ignore the black cat plushie and the necklace and just give me some casual impressions of staying in my room.

So I say clearly enough for Sendai-san to hear.

"Because I wanted you to know something about me."

Across from me, Sendai-san's expression doesn't change.

She touches the four-leaf clover at her chest with her fingertips and speaks in that same serious voice.

"Why did you leave Roro-chan there?"

"You're asking the same thing again."

"I know. But what did you want me to know by leaving Roro-chan there?"

"I wanted you to know what I treasure. Because both the black cat plushie and the necklace are important to me."

It's not really the kind of thing I'd normally put into words, but if I don't say it, it won't get across.

But I'm bad at this kind of thing.

Even now, I feel like I said something strange, and the inside of my chest tingles uneasily. The air feels heavy, and at the same time thin. Because Sendai-san has fallen silent and isn't saying anything, it only makes me feel that way even more.

Restless, I move my toes.

I clench and unclench my hand under the table, and at last Sendai-san opens her mouth.

"...Thanks. I was happy to find Roro-chan and the necklace there. Can I ask why they're important to you?"

"The black cat—Roro-chan—is important because it's something you gave me, Sendai-san. I thought you were a strange person for buying me a friend for the crocodile."

When she gave me the black cat plushie as a Christmas present, she said something like she'd thought maybe the crocodile wanted a friend.

I don't really need to bring that up now, but I can't help adding something, and I end up blurting it all out at once.

"That's mean."

She complains softly, and I lightly tap her foot with my toes.

"It's true. Why did you pick a cat plushie as a present, Sendai-san?"

"...Because it seemed like the kind of thing I wouldn't be too upset about even if you rejected it and gave it back. I kept thinking, What if I give it to her and she throws it away?"

"That's mean."

I reflexively throw back the exact same words she used, and quiet laughter comes from across the table.

I end up laughing too and lightly tap her foot again.

"Ow."

"I barely touched you."

"I guess."

Still smiling, Sendai-san continues.

"You picked out the moon necklace yourself, right?"

"I found it when I went shopping for materials for the sign during preparations for the cultural festival."

"You bought it then?"

"A while later. I went back to see if it had sold out, and since it was still there, I bought it."

"That's mean."

"It is mean, but I'm glad I bought the moon necklace back then. I left them there because both of them are important to me."

The black cat plushie and the necklace.

They were things I could have lived without, but now they've become things that had to exist.

The thing Sendai-san gave me and the thing I gave to Sendai-san became important things with the passage of time. They've become things I can't do without now, and they've also become things whose existence Sendai-san must never forget.

I let out a small sigh.

I've mixed together things I should have said and things I could have kept to myself, but I was able to talk about a lot of things for me, and the tension leaves my shoulders.

"Thanks. ...And sorry I didn't leave anything."

Her voice sounds terribly apologetic, and I look at Sendai-san.

I don't remember complaining about there being nothing on the table, but she looks as if she's being blamed. It's almost like a child being scolded by a teacher, and it starts to make me feel like I'm the one who's blaming her.

"I didn't think you would leave anything there, Sendai-san, so it's fine."

I take a sip of the barley tea I'd prepared and forgotten about.

After taking a sip of her own, Sendai-san murmurs,

"...Why did you think that?"

"I thought there probably wasn't anything you wanted me to see."

"I don't mind you seeing anything, Miyagi, and you could've looked at anything."

Sendai-san doesn't look at me.

She's staring at the glass with only a little barley tea missing from it.

"'Not minding if something is seen' and 'wanting someone to see something' are different."

"They're basically the same thing, aren't they?"

"I don't think so."

Things you're okay with being seen and things you want someone to see aren't things that should be treated as the same.

I don't want to see something that Sendai-san can casually say she's fine with me seeing.

I want to see something that Sendai-san, as the person she is, wants me to see.

—Though maybe I'm the one who's wrong for thinking that.

"...If I had left something there, what would've been the right answer? Something that would make it obvious that I love you?"

Sendai-san says something ridiculous and flicks the side of her glass with a fingertip.

"There isn't a right answer, and you don't need to leave something like that."

"Why?"

"Because I already know you love me even without you leaving something like that. Your turn now, Sendai-san. Tell me your impressions properly."

I lightly tap her foot with my toes, and she takes another sip of her barley tea.

Roro-chan and the necklace.

Both were things connected to our high school days, and both were connected to me.

Roro-chan was something I gave Miyagi as a Christmas present when I was a high school student. The necklace was something Miyagi gave to me when she a high school student. It became a part of me, and now represented Hazuki's moon.

The two had become one and lived on the bookshelf in Miyagi's room. I'd seen them on her bed before, but today they were looking at me from the top of her table.

I'm happy.

I'm incredibly happy that these two things had been chosen as something she wanted me to see.

I walk over to the table and pick up the black cat.

"Good evening, Roro-chan."

I gently press my lips to it and gave it a kiss.

The black cat wearing the necklace is very quiet. It didn't meow, and it didn't move. Like a proper stuffed animal, it sits calmly in my hands with a composed expression.

As I look at Roro-chan, who unlike Miyagi neither speaks nor bites me, the feeling of 'why?' gradually painted over my happiness.

Why had she placed Roro-chan wearing the necklace here as something she wanted me to see?

A memory.

A declaration of ownership.

Or something else entirely.

It probably hadn't been placed there as some sort of puzzle to solve, and she hadn't told me to think about its meaning, so maybe there was no need to think too deeply about it. Still, I can't help wonder why she had deliberately moved something normally kept in plain sight and placed it on the table.

"Did Miyagi tell you anything?"

I try asking Roro-chan, but of course it doesn't answer.

Its whiskers stick straight out while it wears an innocent expression.

Naturally, if I want to know why the black cat had been placed on the table, I'd have to ask its owner, Miyagi.

In other words, the answer will have to wait until tomorrow morning.

I stroke Roro-chan once and sit down on the bed.

"...Maybe I should've left something too."

I hadn't left anything in my own room.

Until a little while ago, I'd thought it was fine that my table was empty, but it's not too late yet.

Miyagi is in the bath right now.

If I hurry back to my room, I can still put something on the table—

No.

There isn't anything I want to put there.

I could leave something random on the table, but if Miyagi asked me tomorrow morning why I'd chosen it, I'd be at a loss for words.

Game over.

Even though this isn't a game, those words float through my mind, and I press a hand against my chest.

Leaving nothing isn't a crime, and surely she won't blame me for it. It won't make Miyagi reject me.

But if I leave something lying around without any thought behind it, she might criticize me for that instead.

Deciding not to do anything unnecessary, I look around Miyagi's room.

There had been many times when I'd been the only person in this room for a moment, but this is the first time I would spend an entire night here alone.

It's a place I'm almost as familiar with as my own room, yet simply because she isn't here, it feels like I've wandered into another world.

And yet, the scenery before my eyes hadn't changed.

Even without its owner present, Miyagi's room remains orderly.

Every book was neatly arranged on the bookshelf. Her clothes were all where they belonged, and not a single thing had been left lying on the floor. There wasn't any trash or dust. Beneath the table, the crocodile tissue-box cover seemed to be standing guard over the room's order.

Looking around again, I thought that Miyagi is a tidy and meticulous person.

Her room had always been neat and tidy, even back in high school, and her kitchen had always been organized. The black cat I was holding now had been adjusted so that the moon on the necklace rested precisely in the center of its chest.

She dislikes having dishes to wash when eating, but from high school until now, I'd never once seen dirty dishes piling up in her kitchen.

Even now, just like back then, the cup noodles and retort meals are lined up neatly on shelves and in drawers.

My impression of Miyagi had changed considerably since the day she handed me five thousand yen in that bookstore.

Back then, I'd thought she was quiet, bad-tempered, and overbearing.

Now, there are still times when I can't understand what she's thinking, but I've learned that she's a sensitive and kind person.

She's also an interesting person who calls me things no one else would—an idiot, a pervert, and all sorts of other things.

My interest in her is endless.

The more I learned about her, the more I loved her.

Being alone in Miyagi's room like this only made me want to know more about her.

And it made me want to fill her with me.

I want to fill her so completely with me that no one else could get inside.

—Though Miyagi has friends, books, movies, and all sorts of other things within her, and those things probably aren't going to disappear.

I turn off the light, place the black cat beside my pillow, and lay down on the bed.

Then I call the name of the room's owner, who isn't here.

"Miyagi."

I slip beneath the blanket and curl up like a cat.

It smells like Miyagi.

Everything in the bathroom is shared, so we use the same shampoo and body soap.

We live surrounded by the same scents.

And yet, she smells different from me.

I sniff like a dog.

I'd slept in this bed many times before, but tonight I felt Miyagi's presence more strongly than ever.

Her absence only made her presence feel larger.

"Shiori."

I murmur the name I was sometimes allowed to call her by, but which she rarely let me use.

I run my hand across the sheets.

"Shiori."

I call her name again.

We had done more than sleep in this bed.

Since confessing my feelings, we hadn't done anything like that. But I hope the day would come when we could again. And when that day came, I want not only to call her Shiori, but also to tell her that I love her—to make up for all the times I hadn't been able to say it.

I want to tell her again and again.

"...This is bad. I should go to sleep."

Whenever I started thinking about things like this, my thoughts headed in a dangerous direction.

I softly speak to Roro-chan beside my pillow.

"Stay here so I can have sweet dreams."

I stroke the black cat's head, take a deep breath, and slowly close my eyes.

To help myself fall asleep, instead of counting sheep, I count black cats.

"Once you've gotten ready for your bath, come to my room."

Just as Miyagi told me, I take a change of clothes and head out into the shared space.

She said she was going to explain the rules of the sleepover, so I leave my clothes in the dressing room. She also said I could take a bath first, and if I'm just going to listen, it's easier to go empty-handed.

Knock, knock.

After waiting for a while following my knock, Miyagi opens the door.

"Sendai-san, are you ready for your bath?"

"My clothes are in the dressing room."

When I answer briefly, Miyagi seems satisfied and begins speaking without stepping out of her room.

"About the sleepover rules... anything that's left out in plain sight in the room can be touched freely. Anything you don't want touched should be hidden somewhere out of sight. Those are the rules. Is that okay with you, Sendai-san?"

"That's fine. There's nothing I don't want Miyagi touching. Is that all?"

"There's more. If there's something you want me to see, leave it on the table. I'll leave something too."

"Something you want me to see?"

A rule whose purpose I can't quite understand has been added to the simple rules, and I find myself asking for clarification.

"It means exactly what it sounds like. If there's something you want me to see, leave it on the table. That's only if there's something you want me to see, though."

"And if there isn't?"

"Then you don't have to leave anything."

Miyagi answers without hesitation, and I voice another question.

"Are you going to leave something?"

"You can find that out for yourself later. Tomorrow morning, I'm going to ask for your impressions of staying there, so get up ten minutes earlier than usual."

Apparently, I'll have to leave the answer to my future self.

"That's all the rules. Any questions, Sendai-san?"

"When you say impressions, what kind of things am I supposed to talk about?"

"Just say whatever you thought. If you don't have anything to say, that's fine too."

Miyagi answers matter-of-factly. This time, instead of asking if I have more questions, she grabs my arm and turns me toward the dressing room.

"When you're out of the bath and your room is ready, call me."

"Okay. I'll hurry."

"No need to rush. Make sure you warm up properly."

After emphasizing that point, Miyagi disappears back into her room, and the door clicks shut behind her.

Left alone in the shared space, I head to the dressing room and take off my clothes.

I understand the rules of the sleepover.

But I don't understand the purpose of it.

And I have absolutely no idea what fills the head of a person named Miyagi Shiori.

Still, I love that Miyagi Shiori just the way she is.

I understand the rules but not the purpose of this sleepover, and I have no objections whatsoever to participating in it.

Sleeping together with Miyagi would be ideal, but sleeping alone in Miyagi's bed doesn't sound bad either.

I open the bathroom door and step inside.

I rinse myself off and sink into the hot water.

It's warm.

Comfortable.

Splash.

I strike the water lightly.

The sound echoes through the bathroom, and the tension leaves my body.

Aside from the fact that it rained, today was a good day.

If we'd been able to have the kind of sleepover I imagined, it would have been an even better day.

I let out a slow breath.

A sleepover.

The two words float into my mind and cling there stubbornly.

I don't understand it, but staying in each other's rooms must mean something to Miyagi.

Otherwise, she wouldn't have added such a mysterious rule about leaving something on the table for the other person to see.

Which means Miyagi is definitely going to leave something there.

—Though I have no idea what.

I couldn't read anything from the expression she wore earlier.

"Something she wants me to see, huh..."

I murmur softly and splash the water again.

Splash.

Water droplets scatter.

I don't have anything I want to leave on the table.

Just as there's nothing in my room I'd be troubled by Miyagi seeing, there's also nothing I especially want her to see.

Even so, if I had to choose one thing—it would be me.

But putting myself on a table and having the kind of sleepover Miyagi described is impossible.

"Hmm."

Miyagi said that if there wasn't anything, I didn't have to leave anything.

I decide to take her at her word and simply stay in her room.

With a sigh, I climb out of the bath.

I wash my hair and body, then return to the dressing room.

I change into a sweatshirt to use as pajamas and dry my hair.

Back in my room, I make my bed.

It wasn't messy since I'd already fixed it before taking a bath, but I smooth out the sheets again anyway, lay the penguin plush down, and tuck it under the blanket. I stroke the platypus tissue-box cover, and put it back beneath the table.

Then I slowly look around the room.

It's not especially clean, but it's not messy either.

There's nothing here I'd mind someone seeing.

It's exactly the same room as always.

The problem is what to leave on the table.

But I still can't think of anything.

Miyagi seems to have some kind of plan, but I'm only participating in this strange sleepover because she dragged me into it.

There's no reason to force myself.

Making that excuse to myself, I leave the room.

When I knock twice on the neighboring door, Miyagi comes out carrying a change of clothes.

"Already out of the bath?"

she asks briefly.

"Yeah."

I answer just as briefly.

"When I get out of the bath, I'm going straight to your room, Sendai-san. Is that okay?"

"Sure."

"Then I'm going to take my bath. Just stay in my room and sleep there. Feel free to use the bed and whatever else."

Miyagi says it so casually that I can't help asking:

"Miyagi. Are you really okay with me staying in your room by myself?"

We've had sleepovers before, but neither of us has ever used the other's room alone.

"Yeah."

She answers as if it's nothing.

Then she steps out, closes the door behind her, and heads straight for the dressing room.

I'm left standing there alone.

Just me and the door to Miyagi's room.

It's an ordinary scene, the kind that happens every day. Yet it feels completely different from before.

I take a breath in.

And out.

I stare at the door, then take another breath and exhale again.

Entering someone's room alone when they're not there makes me nervous.

It feels almost like peeking into their heart.

Gently, I wrap my hand around the doorknob.

Beyond this door is not my room. It's Miyagi's room.

A room with almost the same layout as mine, but filled with different things.

Tonight, I'll spend be spending the night there.

I pull the door open and step inside slowly. Then close it behind me.

The very first thing my eyes go to is the table in this room I've entered so many times before.

Something black catches my eye.

The thing Miyagi wanted me to see.

Its name slips from my lips.

"...Roro-chan."

I expected something to be sitting on the table.

But I never expected that.

The black cat I gave Miyagi when I was in high school.

Around its neck is the moon necklace I used to wear years ago.

I'd seen it countless times before, but now it was sitting there neatly on the table.

Inside Miyagi's Head

Chapter 418

Rain, rain, rain.

Even now, after finishing dinner and walking home together, the rain is still falling.

It doesn't look like it's going to stop today.

But that doesn't mean we can avoid going home, so we walk through the rain. Which means Miyagi's clothes that had managed to dry are getting wet again, and right now at least part of her outfit is probably damp.

But I can't touch her to check.

Because of the rain and our umbrellas, there's about as much distance between us on the way home as there was on the way there.

As a result, we barely talk.

The sound of the rain is loud.

And yet it's quiet.

When Miyagi is here but I can't hear her voice, it feels as though all sound disappears from the world.

The dark sky shows neither moon nor stars.

Even with the streetlights, it's dark.

Unnecessary thoughts creep into my head.

—My sister.

My coming-of-age ceremony isn't something she needs to worry about, so why did she go out of her way to send me that message?

I'm worried about something I shouldn't care about.

The message she sent was the only contact I received from her. Since then, my phone hasn't made a sound.

I regret turning my phone back on after switching it off for the movie. If I hadn't turned it on, I wouldn't have noticed her message while eating with Miyagi, and I'd probably be able to focus on walking right now instead of thinking about this.

In this quiet world, the sound of the rain grows louder.

The message from my sister isn't anything worth worrying about, but because the raindrops obscuring my vision prevents me from seeing Miyagi's back clearly, it bothers me far more than it should.

I can't get it out of my head.

I want to hear Miyagi's voice instead of the sound of raindrops hitting my umbrella.

The world is overflowing with unpleasant noises.

"Sendai-san."

Miyagi's umbrella bumps into mine.

Rainwater pours off it with a splash and wets my shoes.

"Sendai-san, we're here."

I turn toward the voice I'd been longing to hear.

It's bright.

There isn't a single raindrop.

"Sendai-san, your umbrella."

"Eh?"

"Not 'eh.' Close your umbrella."

I lower my gaze from Miyagi to my umbrella.

It's not raining.

No, it is raining, but not on my umbrella.

Looking around, I realize we've somehow reached the first floor of the building where our apartment is, and I close my umbrella.

"Let's go."

Miyagi grabs my arm and pulls me toward the stairs.

We climb to the third floor.

Miyagi opens the front door and steps inside.

The skirt I chose for her sways.

I stare blankly at her legs until a voice, neither loud nor quiet, reaches me.

"Sendai-san, stop standing there and come inside already."

"Oh. Sorry."

I step in and lean my umbrella against the door.

Following Miyagi's back, I walk into the shared space.

The lights come on, brightening the room.

Now I can clearly see Miyagi—a Miyagi who belonged only to me—wearing the skirt I had chosen.

I press my hand against her arm.

Cold.

Her clothes are damp.

I take two steps closer to the rain-soaked Miyagi and rest my forehead on her shoulder.

When I wrap my arms around her from behind, she quietly whispers in my ear,

"...Are you feeling sick?"

Her voice is softer than it had been outside, and it trembles against my eardrums.

Holding her tightly, I ask,

"Why?"

"You've been spacing out. And you're quiet."

Normally Miyagi would push me away, but she stays still in my arms.

Probably because she's worried about me. And that makes me want to lie.

Maybe I have a fever.

If I said that, Miyagi would surely stay quietly in my arms.

She'd continue speaking to me gently and stay by my side.

But the moment the lie was exposed, I'd lose exactly as much of her trust as I'd gained by taking advantage of her kindness.

"I'm just sad because I couldn't hold hands with you on the way home."

I don't intend to lie about being sick. But I don't want to tell the truth, either.

Thoughts about my sister are better left locked away deep inside my heart.

"Don't mope over something so trivial. Cheer up."

Miyagi says it in a voice that's neither cold nor warm as she pushes against my stomach.

Our bodies, which were pressed together, separate, leaving a gap between us.

"Impossible."

I hug Miyagi tighter as she tries to escape.

"Sendai-san, let go."

"I'll let go if you let me take a picture."

"No."

"Then are you okay staying like this forever?"

"Of course not."

Miyagi's low voice echoes through the room.

Then she shoves against me.

But I don't let go.

"I want a memory of you wearing the skirt I picked out for you."

Miyagi in that skirt was supposed to be for me.

And since I didn't get to fully enjoy seeing her in it today, I feel like I should at least be allowed to take a photo.

Miyagi has to choose.

Either stay trapped in my arms or let me take a picture.

"You looked plenty already today."

Her voice sounds sulky.

"I didn't look plenty. It was raining outside, so I couldn't see properly. At the theater I was watching the movie, not your skirt. During dinner the table was in the way."

"If you want to look that badly, then use your own eyes instead of taking a picture."

Miyagi tugs on my clothes.

Instead of choosing one of the two options I'd prepared, she presents a third option.

And I accept it.

I release her.

Miyagi takes two steps back.

There she is, wearing the clothes I chose for her.

Even when I stare at her, no crease forms between her brows.

The corners of her mouth don't rise either, but she isn't angry.

Cute.

As I take a step closer, Miyagi takes a step toward me as well.

Then the light vanishes from my view.

"That's enough."

Covering my eyes with her palm, Miyagi speaks quietly.

"Miyagi, that's not fair. I can't see anything like this."

"You've already seen enough."

"I haven't."

When I pout, Miyagi removes her hand from my eyes and meets my gaze.

"...Sendai-san, you're acting weird."

"Isn't this how I always am?"

"Something's different."

"Really?"

"Really."

"It's not different."

I answer shortly, tug on her damp clothes, and take her hand.

But the hand I grab immediately slips away.

So instead, I grab her skirt.

She doesn't swat my hand away.

Miyagi, whose skirt is being held, looks straight at me.

"...Were you thinking about your sister?"

Miyagi mutters.

Her voice is flat. I can't read any emotion from it.

I didn't know what she was thinking when she asked that, but my answer is already decided.

"No. I was thinking about where we should go together around New Year's or sometime early next year."

While we were eating, I'd said I wanted to do something together with Miyagi, just the two of us.

Those words had included the year-end holidays.

And Miyagi had replied, 'maybe we can do something.'

So although what I'm saying now is a lie, it's also a reasonable answer. Not a strange thing to say in this situation.

And I need to change the subject.

"Let's go somewhere on New Year's. How about visiting a shrine?"

"...Is that really what you were thinking about?"

Her voice is quiet but perfectly clear.

"It is. So let's have a sleepover and figure out where we want to go together."

I say it brightly.

Without looking away, Miyagi replies,

"Are you lying?"

"I'm not. Want to start the sleepover now and discuss it in your room?"

It's not exactly true.

But it isn't completely false either.

I was thinking about my sister before we entered this house.

So I'm not thinking about her here.

And if the usual me is thinking about something in this place, it's usually something I want to do with Miyagi.

"Tomorrow's Monday."

"Then we'll just go to bed early."

"Fine. Then I'll stay in your room, Sendai-san."

I don't know whether she believed me or not, but Miyagi says it decisively.

"Got it. After we take our baths, let's meet up in my room."

"No. We don't need to meet up. Once you've gotten ready for your bath, come to my room."

"So you mean I should come get you?"

"No. I said come to my room."

"What do you mean?"

I don't understand.

Miyagi just said she'd stay in my room.

Then there should be no reason for me to go to hers.

"I'm staying in your room, so you stay in mine."

The completely unexpected words fly out of Miyagi's mouth, and I immediately protest.

"That's not a sleepover."

"It's a sleepover where we stay in each other's rooms."

"That's not the kind of sleepover I want. Besides, what are we even supposed to do staying in each other's rooms?"

"When we wake up, we'll compare impressions."

Miyagi says yet another completely unexpected thing.

"Impressions?"

"Yeah. Tell me what you noticed, or anything you want to talk about after staying there."

I have absolutely no idea what she's talking about.

It's not unusual for Miyagi to say weird things, but this "sleepover" is bizarre even by her standards.

My sister vanishes completely from my thoughts, replaced by a head full of question marks.

What is the point of staying in each other's rooms?

What is the point of sharing impressions afterward?

More importantly, how did she even come up with the idea of swapping rooms for a sleepover?

I have countless questions.

I want to ask them.

But before I can open my mouth, Miyagi speaks again without changing her expression.

"You can take a bath first. I'll explain the rules for sleepover once you come to my room."

Rules?

A new question mark appears in my mind.

But Miyagi leaves me standing in the shared space and disappears into her room.

I really have no idea what's going on.

Still, Miyagi being impossible to understand is nothing unusual.

So I decide to obediently do as she says.

1. Shrimp Tempura (Sendai PoV)

The thing I loved was my older sister.

She wasn’t an object, of course, but she had always been my number one.

But now that I was in my second year of middle school—

“Onee-chan.”

I gathered a reasonable amount of courage before speaking.

Mom was in the living room—someone I would rather not have there—but she didn’t look at me. Still, my sister, who came out of the kitchen holding a glass of barley tea, did look at me.

“What is it, Hazuki?”

Her voice was neither soft nor harsh.

Mom didn’t move.

It was uncomfortable.

The moment I spoke, the air in the living room turned cold.

Maybe it was because Mom refused to look at me.

Maybe it was because my sister’s voice wasn’t gentle.

No, I knew why.

It was because someone as mediocre as me had spoken to my incredibly accomplished sister. I shouldn’t have said “Onee-chan” after all. But once the words had left my mouth, I couldn’t swallow them back or erase them.

I breathed in and exhaled.

Teach me how to study.

That was all I wanted to say. Such a short sentence should have been easy to say aloud. And when I was little, I used to say it so naturally. But now, I can no longer do things that I used to be able to do naturally as a child.

“Mutsuki.”

The voice echoing through the living room wasn’t mine, but Mom’s, calling for my sister from the sofa.

"Is there anything you want for dinner?"

The words stabbed lightly at my stomach.

I didn’t want to think about when things had become this way, but those were words Mom could still say to my sister, yet no longer said to me. My stomach wasn’t the only thing that hurt—it felt like my heart was being tightly squeezed too.

“Hm… shrimp tempura.”

My sister answered in a voice that wasn’t too flat, and the pain in my stomach and heart worsened enough that I looked away from them.

My sister was lying.

I was the one who liked shrimp tempura, not her.

What she really liked was meatballs.

And yet she asked Mom for shrimp tempura—a dish that wasn’t even her favorite—because of me.

—Probably.

Most likely.

Surely.

“We just had shrimp tempura the other day, didn't we?”

Mom spoke softly, and my sister replied, “But I like shrimp tempura.”

“Then let’s have shrimp tempura tonight.”

With dinner decided, Mom disappeared into the kitchen without speaking to me once, even though we were in the same living room. And then only two of us remained: me, outside the family, and my sister, inside it.

—The silence was terrifying, enough to make it hard to breathe.

Not speaking wouldn’t kill me, but staying silent made me feel like I’d get lost searching for words that could bridge the gap our parents had created between me and my sister.

“Looks like we’re having shrimp tempura, Hazuki.”

Trying to avoid the silence, my sister spoke in a voice that was neither cold nor warm, and I answered, “Yeah.”

Why didn’t you say meatballs?

I’d wanted to ask countless times, but I never had. If I asked, she would probably just say, “I like shrimp tempura too.” So every time we had shrimp tempura for dinner, I was left feeling miserable.

The air in the room was heavy.

My sister moved closer to me, and I wondered what she was thinking.

I nearly stepped back, but stopped myself.

“Didn’t you need something from me?”

Apparently she hadn’t forgotten that I’d called out to her earlier.

“It’s fine. It wasn’t important.”

There had been something in today’s homework I didn’t understand, but even if it took a little time, I could figure it out myself. I didn’t need to rely on her.

“I see.”

“I’m going back to my room.”

I turned my back on my sister after saying it briefly, but her voice followed me.

“Maybe I’ll head back too. Mom, I’m going to work on homework.”

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready,” came Mom’s voice from the kitchen.

“Okaaay,” my sister answered as she started walking ahead of me.

Naturally, I ended up following behind her.

Why?

She didn’t need to go back upstairs with me.

And yet she was climbing the stairs.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Only the sound of footsteps echoed. No voices.

When we were younger, our chatter used to drown out the sound of our footsteps, and even climbing the stairs had been strangely fun. But now it never became that kind of time anymore. Most of what existed between us now was awkward silence.

Since my sister knew that, she should have stayed in the living room. And yet she was walking ahead of me.

As my sister entered high school, she was gradually becoming someone I no longer understood.

The back in front of me stopped.

I stopped walking and looked up.

My sister, having reached the top of the stairs, turned around, and our eyes met. No voice came.

All that stretched before us was silence.

She looked away and opened her bedroom door.

Want me to help you study?

The words I used to hear all the time never came. My sister disappeared into her room, and I opened my own door and entered mine.

Sometimes I wished we could go back to how we used to be.

Back to when we were close.

Back to when I was still part of the family.

But I had no right to return to those days.

I looked at the math test spread across my desk.

91 points.

Generally speaking, it was probably considered a good score.

But my sister had gotten a perfect 100 on the exact same test—the first midterm math exam of her second year in middle school.

I covered the number 91 with my palm.

Until that number became the same as my sister’s, I had no rights at all.

My friends said ninety points was already good enough, but in this house, any number other than the same one my sister got was meaningless. In this family, someone who couldn’t become the same as my sister had no value.

In other words, everything about this household was contained in that flimsy sheet of paper.

I sat down and put the test paper away in my drawer.

Back when the numbers written on those flimsy papers matched my sister’s, things had been good. Mom talked to me. Dad looked at me. We even went out together as a family sometimes.

But once the numbers on my tests stopped matching my sister’s—once it became clear I would never become the same as her—Mom spoke to me less, and Dad looked at me less too.

Whether that was right or wrong aside, this household revolved around my sister.

I spread the textbooks and notebooks I’d left lying around onto my desk.

The handwriting in the notebook looked very similar to my sister’s.

But it wasn’t hers.

The handwriting of my sister, who was probably studying in the room next door was much neater and more beautiful.

I couldn’t even make my handwriting the same as hers.

I took a mechanical pencil from my pencil case and wrote two names in my notebook.

Hazuki (葉月).

Mutsuki (睦月).

Both our names came from the months we were born in, and by coincidence they both contained the character for “moon” (月). But aside from that shared character, the other kanji was different.

If I had been Mutsuki and my sister had been Hazuki, would my future have changed?

That impossible thought—one I’d had many times before—surfaced again.

I didn’t dislike the name Hazuki, but thoughts like these made me miserable.

Instead of wasting time on pointless thoughts, I should be working harder to become closer to my sister.

“…Shrimp tempura tonight, huh.”

A dish that had once excited me as a child no longer made me happy.

Maybe it would be easier if I could simply say I didn’t want it anymore. But the words always got stuck in my throat and never came out. The words that never escaped accumulated in my stomach and are clouding my heart.

Thinking about the dinner waiting ahead made my mood sink.

Had shrimp tempura—the thing I used to love—really been something I liked?

And did I still like it now?

As my sister repeatedly answered “shrimp tempura” on my behalf whenever Mom asked what she wanted for dinner, I'm not sure anymore.

Maybe my sister truly liked shrimp tempura, and simply answered that because she wanted to eat it. Maybe shrimp tempura had always been her favorite, not mine.

—Maybe I hated shrimp tempura all along.

I let the mechanical pencil roll across the desk and buried my face in it.

“That’s not true.”

I spoke softly enough that person in the room next door couldn’t hear me and covered my ears.

I didn’t know what meaning there was in doing this, but I forced the words out, peeled them away from my throat, and swallowed them down.

* * *

Yesterday’s shrimp tempura.

This morning’s fried eggs.

Running down the sidewalk.

It wasn’t that I wanted to get to school early—I just didn’t want to see my family talking together, so I rushed toward school. Though “rushed” was an exaggeration. I’d only run for about five minutes. I didn’t have the stamina to run the whole way, so I walked the rest, approaching the school gate.

“Morning, Hazuki.”

A classmate in a navy-blue sailor uniform called out to me, and I replied, “Morning.”

“Did you do that thing yesterday?”

She asked brightly, but only question marks floated through my head.

“That thing?”

“The personality test.”

Her words connected with the message she’d sent me yesterday.

“Ohh, not yet. I was doing homework.”

“Ooh, such a serious student.”

'It’s fun, so try it.'

That was what she’d sent along with a personality quiz that supposedly analyzed your personality based on your answers. It was the kind of thing my classmates talked about all the time. Yesterday she’d insisted that I should try it too.

“There were too many questions, so I quit halfway through.”

In reality, I hadn’t answered even one question. The reason wasn’t because I was diligent—it was because I couldn’t answer them.

Whenever I read questions about myself, I started wondering how my sister would answer instead, and I couldn’t continue.

But she wouldn't believe me if I said I couldn’t answer the questions, so I chose to listen to the girl beside me instead.

“Forget about me. Tell me your results.”

“I already told you before.”

“Tell me again.”

It wasn’t that I really wanted to hear her results again. I just didn’t want an awkward silence to settle between us.

“Geez, fine. My personality is, like—”

Her cheerful voice answered my question from beside me. I nodded along as we changed shoes at the lockers and entered the school building.

School was a place for studying.

A place to get closer to my sister.

But it wasn’t a place where you could survive by only studying.

What a pain.

A thought I shouldn’t have surfaced in my mind.

“Oh right. Hazuki, let me copy your homework.”

“Sure.”

“As expected of Hazuki. You’re so reliable. Club activities were way too exhausting yesterday, so I totally lost motivation to do homework.”

I didn’t hate studying itself.

Understanding things I hadn’t understood before, being able to solve more problems—that was enjoyable.

So I didn’t mind studying endlessly.

But I still didn’t know how to catch up to my sister.

No matter how much I studied, the gap between us never seemed to shrink.

—Meatballs.

Suddenly, my sister's favorite food pops into my head.

When I was little, I believed that if I ate the same things as my sister, I could become the same as her. So whenever we had meatballs, I’d be happy together with her. Sometimes, when I got too excited, my sister would secretly give me one of hers and whisper,

“Don’t tell Mom.”

But I never became my sister.

And then I stopped being part of the family, and I came to hate meatballs.

That's not true.

I didn’t hate meatballs, and even if I did hate them, it wouldn’t make me become my sister.

Besides, if eating the same things as someone could make you become them, the world would be peaceful, and people like me wouldn’t exist.

“Hazuki, why’re you spacing out? Let’s get to class already.”

“Oh, sorry.”

I answered lightly and forced a smile.

There was only one thing I needed to do.

As long as I could wear the same high school uniform as my sister when I became a high schooler, that would be enough. If I could become the same as her, I could return to the circle called family.

I forced my increasingly heavy legs forward toward the classroom.

2. Broccoli (Miyagi PoV)

“Doesn’t it look like a tiny forest?”

That was what Mom said cheerfully as she set the dishes on the table: cream stew filled with flower-shaped carrot slices and broccoli that looked like fluffy little trees with thick leaves growing everywhere. The stew had more orange and green than usual, and it really did look like a tiny forest. It was beautiful.

I hated broccoli, but to little-kid me, that cream stew looked incredibly delicious, so I stuffed a big piece of broccoli into my mouth.

Then I told Mom, “It's not delicious.”

…Haa.

I let out a small sigh.

That little child grew into a first-year middle school student, and now I was facing off against that green demon once again.

I pressed at the wrinkle threatening to form between my brows with my index finger.

School lunches, which appeared every day at lunchtime, had menus focused more on nutrition than on what students actually liked.

And today’s problem lay in one particular ingredient in the stew.

—Broccoli.

This green lump tastes awful, and the memories associated with it were the worst.

“Shiori-chan, do you hate stew or something?”

A classmate I’d recently become friends with spoke from the seat next to me, and I shifted my gaze from the stew to her.

“I don’t hate it.”

“But?”

“I’m just not really in the mood for stew today.”

More accurately, I wasn’t in the mood to eat broccoli. Though honestly, the day I’d actively want to eat it would probably never come.

I scooped up stew with my spoon while carefully avoiding the green vegetables.

It's delicious.

I took another bite.

Still delicious.

I didn’t hate stew.

Then I went for another spoonful and saw the green vegetable again.

If only I’d been able to tell Mom “It’s delicious” back then, maybe things could have had a happy ending.

When I said, “It's not delicious,” Mom had looked terribly sad. And because I already hated broccoli, the broccoli that caused Mom to make that sad face became something I hated even more.

I should have been tired of dwelling on things related to my family by now, yet even as a middle schooler, seeing broccoli still sometimes brought me back to that moment.

I bit into a piece of broccoli.

Just as I thought—it still wasn't delicious.

But now, at least, I could lie and say it was.

Only… Mom wasn’t here anymore.

You can’t change the past, but if the me from that day had said “It’s delicious,” maybe it would have been a happy ending. Maybe Mom would still be here, maybe I would’ve grown to like broccoli, and maybe a tiny-forest cream stew would still be waiting for me at home.

I glared at the broccoli in my school lunch.

“Shiori-chan, you really do hate stew, don’t you?”

The voice came from beside me again, and I answered while eating another piece of broccoli.

“That’s not true.”

I knew.

The ending of the story wouldn’t change.

Neither would the taste of broccoli.

In a world that didn’t get a happy ending, Mom disappeared, and things that didn't taste delicious still didn't taste delicious as I was now a middle school student.

“Shiori-chan, your frown is getting kinda scary.”

I heard her voice beside me and pressed a finger against the crease in my brow.

“I’ll smooth it out, so it’s fine.”

“Is that really the problem?”

“It is.”

I answered curtly and shoved the broccoli into my mouth.

I swallowed it with as little chewing as possible.

It tasted awful, but I couldn’t exactly complain.

While I focused on eating my stew without wrinkling my forehead any further, a bright voice came from beside me.

“Oh right, Shiori-chan. I kinda want to visit your house sometime. Can I come over today?”

I had a few close friends, but I almost never invited anyone over.

Still, even when I went home, Mom wouldn’t be waiting there. No cream stew either.

Maybe because the broccoli in today’s lunch had dragged out thoughts I normally tried not to think about, I replied:

“Sure.”

Usually there was only one pair of shoes in the entryway.

Today there were two.

“Excuse me for intruding!”

Just as promised during lunch, my classmate came over to my house and greeted the empty apartment brightly.

As if making excuses for the lack of a “Welcome home,” I said, “No one’s here,” and led her to my room.

We hadn’t really decided what to do, but the idea of studying disappeared instantly. Instead, we grabbed game controllers and started a racing game.

We both won some and lost some.

We drank soda.

We ate some cookies Dad had left behind.

Time passed in the blink of an eye, and eventually we turned off the console.

“Oh yeah, Shiori-chan. Have you read this book?”

She placed a novel on the table.

I looked at the cover and recognized it as one I owned too.

“I read it.”

“What’d you think? Wasn’t it amazing?”

“I didn’t really like it.”

I answered honestly.

“Ehh? Why not?”

“Too many of the companions died, and I don’t think you can really call it a happy ending.”

It was a popular fantasy novel everyone said was moving, which was why I bought it, and I put it away on the bookshelf as soon as I finished reading it. But during the battles, so many allies died, and near the end, even my favorite character died.

Sure, they defeated the enemy.

But defeating the enemy alone didn’t feel like enough.

It was obviously better if nothing had to be lost.

“Shiori-chan, you seriously love super obvious happy endings, huh?”

My friend giggled and tucked the book back into her bag just as her phone chimed with a message notification.

“Sorry, I gotta head home soon.”

She stood up after glancing at her screen.

“Your mom?”

“Yep, Mom. She says we're having curry tonight, so I should come home early."

“Oh, curry?”

“Yeah. Glad it’s not stew. I don’t hate stew, but we just had it at lunch.”

She picked up her bag and left the room. I walked her to the apartment entrance.

“See ya! Bye-bye!”

She waved energetically, and I returned a quiet “Bye.”

Then I went back home.

Only one pair of shoes sat in the entryway again.

Compared to the two pairs there a few minutes ago, it felt a little lonely.

When I returned to my room, naturally, nobody was there. Yet I could almost hear a quiet little thud in the silence that shouldn't be there.

That was why I didn’t really like inviting friends over.

I slowly changed into my loungewear and sat on the bed.

Having friends over was fun, but once I was alone again, the empty spaces in the room stood out too much. It felt like the house was screaming that this world belonged only to me.

If only Mom were here—

Thoughts I normally avoided surfaced in my head, and I shook my head hard.

It was all because I’d been forced to eat that demonic vegetable, broccoli, at lunch today. It was making me think about nothing but bad things.

“Maybe I should have dinner.”

I wasn’t especially hungry, but if I filled my stomach, maybe there’d be no room left inside me for depressing thoughts to creep in.

I headed to the kitchen and opened the drawer beneath the sink.

“Maybe there’s curry.”

My classmate’s dinner menu had wormed its way into my head, and the words slipped out before I realized it.

But there wasn’t any curry.

I opened the freezer.

Still no curry.

Of course there wasn’t.

The instant curry packs that used to be stored in the drawer had run out and never been replaced. And the big sister who used to cook curry and freeze portions for me had stopped coming a long time ago. There was no longer anyone who cooked meals for me anymore.

“Haa…”

I let out a deep sigh and opened the refrigerator.

It was nearly as empty as this house itself, but miraculously, there were three eggs.

“...Scrambled eggs.”

I’d shoved the memory into the corner of my mind, but there had once been a time when Mom’s scrambled eggs were so delicious I’d asked for another helping of rice.

I decided to make dinner myself, something I hadn't done in so long I couldn't even remember the last time. I took out two eggs from the fridge. I cracked them into a bowl, but one of the yolks broke.

Still, scrambled eggs mix the yolk and whites together anyway, so it didn’t matter.

I stirred the eggs with chopsticks… then stopped.

Sugar, salt, soy sauce.

Or something else?

I couldn’t decide what seasoning to add.

I couldn’t remember whether Mom’s scrambled eggs had been sweet, salty, or something entirely different, like I could with cream stew.

No—that's not it.

I didn’t even remember the taste of the cream stew anymore. The only things I remembered were that the broccoli wasn't delicious and the sad look on Mom’s face.

Things you stop replaying in your mind eventually fade away.

Back when I constantly thought about the food Mom made and desperately wanted to eat it again, I could still search for its flavor in my memories. Of course, the longer I went without tasting her cooking, the blurrier those memories became, until I couldn’t remember them accurately anymore. But even then, the taste definitely still existed somewhere inside me.

Yet from the day I gave up trying to remember over and over again, the taste of Mom’s cooking became wrapped in haze, painted over in gray, more indistinct than fog itself—and eventually disappeared.

I gave up on seasoning the eggs.

I heated a frying pan and added oil.

I poured in the beaten eggs, stirred them with chopsticks, then moved the finished eggs onto a plate. Since I hadn’t cooked rice, I decided to eat microwave rice instead, placing it beside the slightly burnt scrambled eggs on the counter.

"Let's eat.”

I muttered softly and lifted to my mouth something entirely different from the bright, sunny scrambled eggs Mom used to make.

“…It's not delicious.”

Even though I couldn’t remember what Mom’s scrambled eggs tasted like anymore, I could clearly tell that what I made was a failure.

Sometimes I think it would’ve been better if delicious things had never existed in the first place. Something that keeps shining in my memories even after I can’t remember the taste anymore only hurts.

No matter what, my memories of Mom could never have a happy ending.

I stood from the chair and walked into the kitchen.

I opened the fridge and took out the ketchup that was barely used.

Back at the counter, I poured it over the eggs like the omurice the big sister used to make when she cooked and cleaned for me.

—Still not delicious.

I hated the thought that something I once liked might become something I hated.

“I shouldn’t have tried doing something I’m not used to.”

Store-bought meals and instant food tasted far better than anything I made myself. Besides, no matter how delicious something was, someday I’d forget the taste anyway. It was probably better just to shove reasonably tasty food into my stomach until I was full instead of making something myself that might not even turn out well.

I forced down the leftover eggs together with the rice.

Cleaning up after food that wasn’t even good was horribly annoying, but I washed the frying pan and dishes anyway. I didn’t want dirty cookware piling up in the sink.

…Haa.

I wanted to forget about the unpleasant things and feel better.

At times like this, doing something I liked worked best, so I returned to my room and looked at my bookshelf.

Tonight, I wanted to read a happy story. A story with a happy ending.

“What should I read?”

The books I reread often were placed where I could easily reach them.

The books I rarely touched sat lower down where I had to crouch or higher up where I had to stretch to reach.

Because of that, the books easiest to grab were all familiar ones I read many times.

I lifted my gaze.

The very top of the bookshelf.

All the way at the edge.

I reached for a picture book hidden out of sight.

There was a cat on the cover.

It was looking straight at me.

This was a picture book Mom bought and used to read aloud to me.

I sat on the floor and turned the pages.

I couldn’t remember what kind of expression Mom wore while reading it to me, but I did remember the story: a cat who hated all its owners through countless reincarnations eventually met its destined white cat and learned what love was.

And I also remembered crying my eyes out after listening to it.

Because even though the cat and the white cat ended up together and lived happily, both of them died in the end.

Mom had said, “The kitty was happy, wasn’t it?”

But to little-kid me, all I understood was that the cat died, and that made me sad.

Even after Mom disappeared and the big sister stopped coming to cook for me, when I reread the picture book, I still only felt sad that the cat died.

I slowly turned the pages one by one.

The cat learned about true love and found happiness with the white cat.

So maybe this story has a happy ending.

But still…

For me, a happy ending was better when nothing was lost.

Rather than stories where something disappears from the world, I wanted stories where nothing disappears at all.

People, animals—everyone, everyone, everyone could become happy in a world where nothing vanishes.

I stood up holding the picture book.

I opened the closet and carefully placed it on the top shelf.

I think the things I’ll come to love from now on should be things that never disappear. If they were destined to disappear, then it would be better if they’d never existed in the first place.

Whenever something disappears or diminishes, more empty space appears in this house. And surely, those empty white spaces would eventually be painted black by the darkness of night, becoming the dwelling place of something invisible. Then whatever lived there would tap my shoulder or drag me down.

—I knew that was nothing more than my imagination, but still.

I firmly shut the closet door.

Then I stood before the bookshelf again and picked up a story that had nothing but a happy ending.

Today, the empty spaces in this house felt larger than usual.

So I dove into a world that was bright, simple, and happy.

Hoping that tomorrow would be a day where nothing disappeared.

Miyagi Shiori never returns to her family home.

Not during Golden Week, and not during summer vacation either.

I figured she’d at least go home for New Year’s, but she stayed away during winter break too, spending it with Sendai-san instead.

If I didn’t have to go back home either, I’d want to stay in my apartment during the holidays, reading as many books as I wanted, watching movies, sleeping whenever I felt like it, and waking up whenever I wanted. I’d fully enjoy the kind of lazy lifestyle I normally can’t have.

But I did come home, and I’m spending the New Year holidays with my parents, so I’m a little jealous of Shiori who's away from home.

At least, that’s what I thought.

But Shiori doesn’t seem like she’s enjoying winter break all that much. Even when we exchange messages and I ask what she’s doing, all her replies are vague.

Sitting on my bed, I stare at my phone screen.

Something about Shiori seems a little off.

Should I ask her why, or leave it alone?

I hesitate.

Even if I ask, should I just send a message, or call her instead?

There’s more than one option.

“What should I do…”

She probably won’t tell me even if I ask.

Still, if we talk, I’ll at least get a sense of how she’s doing.

Using the phone in my hand, I call Shiori.

The phone rings five times.

Then Shiori’s voice comes through the phone, and I ask:

“Is this a bad time?”

“It’s fine.”

Her voice is neither bright nor gloomy, and I ask one more question.

“What about Sendai-san?”

“She’s not here.”

“Oh, got it. You two had a fight.”

“You know that’s not it. Sendai-san is at her part-time job. Even though it’s New Year’s, she went to the café.”

“You said she wasn’t there, so I thought maybe you guys had another fight.”

I tease her, and a more energetic voice than expected comes back.

“We don’t fight that much. There’s no reason to.”

“Glad to hear you two are getting along. Still, being alone at the end of the year, huh? If Sendai-san’s so busy with work, you could’ve come back here.”

“She’s not that busy. She’ll be home tonight.”

“I see. So even if you’re alone right now, you’re not lonely because Sendai-san’s coming back.”

“I’m enjoying being alone.”

“And how exactly are you enjoying it?”

I ask deliberately, and Shiori’s voice comes through sounding like she’s probably frowning.

“Obviously by doing all sorts of things.”

“What kinds of things?”

“…Reading books and stuff.”

Her mumbling voice makes me laugh quietly.

I thought something might be wrong, but it didn't seem to be anything to worry about.

Maybe she’s a little down, but she’s basically the same as always.

“You really are a funny girl, Shiori. Your reactions are hilarious.”

“If you’re saying that, then you’re a funny girl too, Maika. Whenever you walk into a pillar at the station, you always apologize to it.”

Her voice is brighter now than before, and I flop face-first onto my pillow.

“Don’t say that.”