Sendai-san feels too Familiar

 Episode 5

If I had to choose between regret and no regret, I’d choose regret. That’s how much I’ve been thinking about the last day I saw Sendai-san. That day, she was covered in popcorn and cider—furious in a way I’d never seen before. She’d sulked and frowned at things before, sure, but never had she shown such outright anger.

But that was exactly the outcome I’d aimed for.

Lying on the bed where Sendai-san use to sprawl out, I let out a long, slow breath—just like she would. It was the first time I’d ever done something like that to someone. I’d never dumped popcorn and cider on anyone, never even considered doing such a thing.

I shouldn’t have done it.

I’ve thought that a few times.

But I had to do it.

I’ve tried to think that far more often.

Maybe it’s just because I don’t have anything planned for spring break. My mind keeps drifting toward thoughts I’d normally avoid, and it makes me feel low. If school were in session, I’d be swept up in the routine and distraction of daily life. But spring break offers no such escape.

Trying to lift my spirits even a little, I used the five thousand yen I would’ve given to Sendai-san to buy some manga. But I couldn’t get into any of them. The words and images didn’t stay in my mind—I just flipped through pages mechanically. Now they sit untouched, more like ornaments than books.

Still lying down, I raise my hand to the soft sunlight streaming through the window. The cut I got slicing cabbage at Sendai-san’s request has healed. It stung when it happened, and it hurt even more when she bit me afterward. I’m glad it’s gone.

But while the surface wound has faded, I can’t stop thinking about what she was thinking when she licked my blood that day.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t figure it out. All I know is that the version of Sendai-san I knew in this room was nothing like the one from school. At school, she was someone who seemed above obeying others, yet in this room, she followed my lead. I expected her to bring cute bandages—but she brought plain, practical ones. The smile she wore at school, like a plastered mask, vanished in this room. There, she was loose, carefree, and used the space however she wanted.

Her sense of distance was all wrong.

She ignored personal space, got far too close—slipping into my life like it was natural.

It threw me off balance.

“It’s like we were actually friends or something,” I mutter.

Sitting up, I hug my knees and stroke my toes, exhaling softly. Sendai-san—who barely spoke to me at school—licked my foot. She could’ve refused. She could’ve just stopped coming. But she didn’t. Even though she didn’t seem to need the money, she kept showing up. Now, I’m stuck spending spring break haunted by those memories. I saw a side of her that no one else did—one far removed from her school persona.

It was supposed to be nothing more than that.

So why has it come to this?

I reach for a manga on the floor. “Why is this volume two?” I haven’t even read volume one. I pick up the top five books, but none of them are the first volume. Sighing, I toss them aside and grab my phone. When I open the chat app, Sendai-san’s name catches my eye. I quickly look away.

“Oh, right. What’s Maika doing?”

She said she was attending cram school during spring break—maybe she’s there now. We ran into each other two days ago when she was heading home from it. If there’s anyone I’d contact to hang out with, it’d be Maika. I send her a single-word message: “Bored.”

No reply—just as I expected.

And yet, Sendai-san’s face pops into my mind.

It’s spring break, so I can’t call her over. We only met on school days—never during breaks. That was the rule. But technically, there’s no rule against messaging her. A message or two wouldn’t break anything. Still, I can’t bring myself to do it. I made sure I couldn’t contact her. That’s what the popcorn and cider were for. After pulling something like that, I can’t possibly message her. And even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t know what to say. We have nothing in common.

If I don’t message her, she won’t come.

She’s never messaged me first.

I glance at my phone again.

No messages. From anyone.

Just like the cut on my finger faded, this relationship with Sendai-san will eventually vanish too. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next year. But it won’t last. One day, she’ll stop coming to this room.

Our arrangement was built on the five thousand yen I gave her, but she didn’t seem to need the money. Once she grows tired of this, it’ll be over.

There was never any set end date. It could’ve lasted a long time or ended just as abruptly as it began.

That’s why I needed the popcorn and cider. I needed to make her angry, to drive her away. I needed a reason not to contact her—and to believe she wouldn’t return.

I flip my phone face-down on the bed.

When I was a kid, my mother disappeared without a word.

Even the bond between a parent and child can break so easily—and never heal.

So it’s not strange at all that someone like Sendai-san, a stranger, might stop coming once we move up a grade and things change.

I don’t want to keep waiting for someone who will never come back.

If she has a reason not to return, and I have a reason not to reach out, then maybe I can stop waiting.

Maybe I won’t have to hope she’ll show up again—or dread the moment she doesn’t.

That was the real purpose of the popcorn and cider: to sever the thread between us before spring break. I gave us both a reason to stay apart—so I wouldn’t waste my days waiting.

But what I got instead was a spring break full of regret and longing.

Sendai-san spent so much time in this room that I keep expecting to see her again. Her overly familiar presence still clings to everything, even now, when we’re not supposed to meet.

It was meant to be a way to kill time.

Just a brief distraction.

But when I sit on the floor, I remember sharing chocolate with her, or her doing my homework. When I lie on the bed, I remember her lounging there, flipping through manga, rolling around like she owned the place. These memories refuse to fade.

It’s all Sendai-san’s fault.

I rub the finger that once bore a cut.

I try licking it, but there’s no taste of blood.

I get off the bed and sit next to the stack of manga, flipping through a random volume when a message finally arrives from Maika: “At cram school.”

I reply: “Wanna catch a movie after?”

“Tomorrow okay?”

“Sure.”

Sitting at home only makes me feel worse. Going out will be a good distraction. Maika’s fun to be around.

I hope we end up in the same class next year.

And Sendai-san too—though that’s different. It wouldn’t really matter if we were in the same class. She’s angry. She won’t come back. That’s how it’s supposed to be. Thinking about her is pointless.

Even so, I can’t stop.

Maybe if we’re in the same class, I’ll call her over again, just like before.

If we’re in different classes, that’s the end.

If I can convince myself of that, maybe I’ll feel a little better. But even if I messaged her, she probably wouldn’t come.

My chest feels tight.

But for now, there’s nothing I can do.

“Where should we meet?” Maika texts.

I reply: “Same place as last time.”

Spring break doesn’t last long.

It always seems to end in the blink of an eye.

But this year, it dragged on endlessly. I spent it like I always do, and yet time moved painfully slow.

April finally arrived, bringing the start of a new school year. Now a third-year, I feel a little nervous.

My steps toward school feel unusually heavy.

I rarely talked to Sendai-san at school, but I don’t know what kind of expression to make if I see her. With the new class shuffle, I’m not even sure I’ll see her at all. I fidget, uneasy.

The new class list is posted by the entrance.

After walking through the school gate, I see the white sheet of paper through the crowd. Taking a deep breath, I scan the list, finding my name among a mix of familiar and unfamiliar ones.

But Sendai-san’s name isn’t there.

I wasn’t expecting it.

I tell myself I’m not disappointed. Whispering that to myself, I head toward the school building—the one where the seniors from last year used to be.

Opening the door to my new classroom, I spot Maika—someone I met with several times over the break.

“Shiori, over here!”

I raise my hand in response and walk toward her. Her ponytail is tied just as it was during break—longer than mine, shorter than Sendai-san’s. She wears no makeup, unlike Sendai-san, and that makes me feel at ease.

“Morning.”

“Morning! I was worried we wouldn’t be in the same class.”

“Me too.”

“Did you see? Ami’s with us this year.”

We were with Shirakawa Ami in first year, but not in second. I remember seeing her name on the list too.

“Yeah, I saw. She’s not here yet?”

“Not yet, I guess.”

“Got it.”

If Ami’s not here, there’s no one else I need to look for. Still, my eyes search for Sendai-san. But of course, she’s not here. Her name wasn’t on the list.

“Oooh, looking for someone special?” Maika teases, glancing around.

“No one.”

“Come on, you were totally scanning the room. Got a crush in this class or something?”

“It’s not like that. I was just checking who showed up.”

“Suspicious,” she says, grinning.

“I’m not suspicious,” I sigh.

If we’re in different classes, that’s the end of it with Sendai-san.

I should stick to that little “bet” I made during spring break.

Sendai-san began coming to my house on a whim sparked by coincidence. But neither whims nor coincidences tend to last. The class reshuffle should have marked the end. The popcorn and cider were meant for that farewell.

The faint melancholy I feel likely stems from the absence of a familiar face in my classroom—it’s nothing deeper than that. It’s not something tragic, not a valid reason to call Sendai-san, and in any case, I can’t call her.

Ami arrives in our new classroom, followed shortly by the teacher. After a half-hearted lecture and the opening ceremony, the first day of the new school year ends quickly.

Maika and Ami invite me to hang out, but I turn them down and head straight home.

Still in uniform, I lie down on my bed and glance at my phone. Sendai-san’s contact is still saved there, small and inconspicuous. But it’s a remnant of the past—no longer necessary.

Now that we’re in separate classes, she’ll probably forget about me soon enough. If I ignore the sting around my heart, time will carry me forward. A few days into the semester, some unpleasant things happen. My hand instinctively reaches for my phone—but that’s all. Before long, I stop even checking it.

It’s a common story: classmates drift apart when placed in different classes.

If I search for reasons why Sendai-san stopped visiting, I’ll find plenty. Besides, I was the one who pushed her away. I chose this, so I’m fine with it. I won’t wait for her.

A few more days pass. I pick up the manga she read during her first visit here. I remember how smoothly she read it—though her delivery was absurdly flat. Flipping through the pages by the bookshelf, the memories come back—her soft voice, the moment she stumbled over a line. I sigh and sit on the bed.

I close the manga and set it beside my pillow. Then the intercom rings.

There’s no scheduled delivery, and no one is supposed to visit. Probably a salesman or something equally unimportant. Not worth answering. I ignore it and turn on the TV. But the chime keeps sounding—persistent and annoying.

I don’t bother checking the monitor. Instead, I raise the TV volume. Just then, my phone buzzes—a message notification. I reach for it and see Sendai-san’s name on the screen.

“Answer the intercom. You’re home, right?”

The moment I read it, I realize: it’s Sendai-san ringing the intercom.

I almost check the monitor but stop and stare at the phone instead.

I send her a reply. She answers. It’s not a rule we ever stated outright, but that’s how our exchanges always went—never her initiating, never her showing up uninvited. Yet here she is. As I hesitate, another message appears.

“I’ve got something to do, so answer the intercom already.”

Pretending not to have seen it, I set the phone down. But the intercom continues ringing—relentless, like a child’s prank. I switch off the TV, stand up, and walk to the intercom. On the screen, Sendai-san appears. I can’t imagine what would bring her here without an invitation.

“Why are you here?” I ask through the intercom.

“You saw my message, didn’t you? Open the door.”

Hearing her voice again after so long sends a jolt through my chest.

Still, I refuse. “No way.”

“I’ve got something to return. Just open up.”

“Return?”

“Yeah. I washed the clothes I borrowed.”

Her words stir a memory.

That day I spilled cider on her blouse, I gave her clothes to wear home. I didn’t lend them—I gave them. I’m sure I said so. But she insisted she’d return them, even though she didn’t seem eager to keep them. Sendai-san is strangely dutiful—annoyingly so. I don’t want the clothes back. I’m not taking back what I said.

“I told you, you don’t need to return them. And I didn’t invite you here today.”

“That’s why I came.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like keeping borrowed things.”

She says it plainly. If it were Ibaraki-san, she’d probably accept the clothes as a gift and be done with it. But not Sendai-san. She’s stubborn. Even when I gave her five thousand yen at the bookstore, she insisted on paying it back—we went in circles over it.

“I already told you, they’re yours. No need to return anything.”

I doubt she’ll let it go so easily.

What a hassle.

There’s no point in continuing this argument, so I move to end the call. But before I can, she says something unexpected.

“Then give me an order.”

“…What?”

“I said, just give me an order.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I can’t just take clothes for nothing. So if you’re giving them to me, then order me to take them. Or, if you’d rather, treat the clothes as payment and order me to do something—like before.”

She says it so nonchalantly.

It’s true—I gave her orders in exchange for money. So in that context, trading clothes for an order isn’t completely off-base. But being told to give an order makes me reluctant.

“Why do I have to give an order just for a change of clothes? I told you to take them, so just take them and go.”

“If I leave now, I won’t come back. Is that okay?”

Her voice isn’t pleading. It’s past annoyance—bordering on anger.

“You came here just to be ordered around? Are you some kind of pervert, Sendai-san?”

I told her to go home once already. But now, I can’t bring myself to say it again.

“Not as much as you, Miyagi. So—are you going to order me to take them? Or something else?”

Even though she can’t see me, she stares at the intercom as if she can. I was the one who gave her a reason not to return before spring break—because I couldn’t stand the idea of her disappearing for no reason. Yet here she is.

It would be easy to send her away.

But if she leaves now, she won’t come back.

“…I’ll open it.”

I still don’t know why she came. But since she’s here, I’ll let her in. That’s all.

I’m not trying to hold her back.

“Thanks.”

Her image vanishes from the monitor. A moment later, the doorbell rings. I open the door. She stands there, holding a small paper bag.

“What do I do with this?”

She’s waiting for me to decide. Inside the bag are the clothes I gave her that day.

“Didn’t you come here to be ordered around? Forget the clothes. Come in.”

I turn my back on her, leaving the bag untouched. I hear the door shut and lock behind her.

“That works.”

Her voice is calm—neither light nor heavy. I walk to my room. Footsteps follow naturally. When I open the door, she enters and sits on the same bed she always claimed as hers.

“Nothing’s changed in here,” she says, as though it’s been a year, though only a month has passed.

“No reason to change anything.”

“Guess so.”

She says it lightly, like petals in the wind, and picks up the manga beside the pillow. “This is the one from that time. You were reading it?”

I regret not putting it away.

I should have stashed the manga she read on her first visit. But it’s too late now.

“So what if I was?”

“Nothing.” Her voice is slightly higher—not quite laughing, but amused.

I hate this part of her.

“By the way,” she says, flipping through the pages idly, “school’s started, but you didn’t call me for a whole week. Why?”

Casual, as always.

“Sometimes I just don’t call.”

“But you always did—right after summer break, winter break. This time’s different, isn’t it? There’s a reason, right?”

“Because we’re third-years now.”

It’s not entirely true—but it’s not a lie either.

“Are you going to cram school or something?”

“…No.”

I don’t plan to. I’m not particularly studious, and I’m not desperate to go to university. If I get in, fine. If not, I’ll deal with it then.

She seems unsure whether to accept my answer, but eventually says, “Hmm,” and closes the manga. “You’re in the same class as Utsunomiya, right?”

“Yeah.”

I never told her that. But she knows. Maybe she checked the class list, or maybe she saw my name while looking for hers. That seems more likely.

I snatch the manga from her hands.

It doesn’t matter.

To push away the thoughts swirling in my mind, I return the manga to the shelf.

“You were disappointed we’re not in the same class, weren’t you?” she teases behind me.

“Nope.”

“Really? I was.”

I turn around at her weightless words. She smiles, dazzling and carefree. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

She responds playfully and steps forward, picking another manga off the shelf. I take it from her, return it, and say:

“Any order is fine, right?”

“You’re asking now?”

“Well, it’s not about five thousand yen today. Just making sure.”

“That’s fine, the usual,” Sendai-san says, her expression no different from before spring break.

I glance out the window, and the sky is dyed red. The house next door and the apartment a few buildings away are painted in the same crimson hue.

It’s spring now, and the days are a bit longer than in winter. The fan heater’s no longer in use. Sendai-san, still in her blazer, doesn’t seem hot. I close the curtains, shutting out the sunset-colored world from this room. Then I turn on the light and sit on the bed.

“Sit there,” I say, pointing to the floor in front of the bed. Sendai-san does as told, sitting on the floor and grabbing my foot.

“ 'Take off my socks and lick my foot,' right?”

“You know me well.”

“You like giving orders like this, don’t you, Miyagi?”

“It’s not like I like it. It’s just that I don’t have any other good orders.”

“Uh-huh.” She gives me a skeptical look, and I nudge her shoulder with my foot. “Hurry up.”

“No violence.”

“It’s not violence.”

I expect her to retort, but she quietly places her hands on my foot, slips off my sock, and rests her hand on my heel. Her exhaled breath brushes against my toes, warm and soft, followed by the touch of something gentle. Her tongue, pressed against me, wets my toes.

It moves slowly up the top of my foot, feeling a little gross, but watching Sendai-san lick my foot feels… good.

I don’t know much about Class 3.

But she’s probably at the top of the social hierarchy there, hanging out happily with Ibaraki-san, who’s in the same class. Yet right now, that Sendai-san is licking my foot.

Her tongue presses harder.

I feel her body heat more intensely on my skin. Our warmth collides, melts, and becomes part of me. Her tongue moves toward my ankle. The fan heater’s off, but the room feels a bit hot. I loosen my tie as she strongly sucks near my ankle.

The sensation, different from her tongue, makes me grip the sheets.

“Sendai-san, I don’t like that.”

As soon as I speak, her lips pull away, but then she suddenly bites my thumb.

“Ow!” Her teeth dig into my flesh. She doesn’t stop.

It’s not as bad as when I caught my finger in a door, but the sharp pain makes my foot twitch.

“Sendai-san, stop.”

Slowly, her teeth release my thumb, and the pain fades. In its place, her soft tongue gently licks upward. The wet, clinging sensation isn’t exactly pleasant, but I don’t hate her warmth. My focus is captured by the feeling from my toes, heat pooling deep in my stomach. Even my exhaled breath feels hotter. It’s not a great sensation, so I tug her bangs to stop her.

“Sendai-san, how long are you planning to keep coming here?”

“Hmm? Maybe until graduation. We’ll probably go to different universities. But if you tell me not to come, I won’t. Should I stop?” She looks up, her tone unusually serious.

If I say come, it sounds like she’d keep coming until graduation. But I don’t want to ask her to come, so I let go of her bangs and give a non-answer.

“Are you going to university?”

“Are you not going, Miyagi?”

“I don’t know. Where are you going?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

Is she avoiding telling me her choice of school, or does she really not know? I can’t tell, and the conversation stalls.

Looking at the curtains blocking the sunset, I notice less light seeping through.

As if passing the time, Sendai-san’s hand brushes my ankle. The ticklish touch makes my foot jump. I lightly kick her thigh in protest, and she speaks.

“Hey, Miyagi. I don’t like carbonated drinks.”

Her unexpected confession at an unexpected moment makes me blurt out, “Huh?”

“Isn’t that a bit late to say?”

“I didn’t think I’d keep coming here this long at first, and I missed the chance to say it.”

“…I’ll serve cider next time too.”

“Wow, you’re mean.”

“Shut up. No more chatting. Lick my foot.”

Sendai-san presses her lips to the top of my foot, making a small sound. Her tongue touches my skin. Her warmth mixes with mine, seeping into me. Her heat builds up inside my body. Her wet tongue glides, moving toward my ankle. And, as expected, it feels a little gross.

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Translator Note

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Update date change to "Tuesday" from "Monday".