Volume 2 Interlude

 It was supposed to be cloudy today.

I hold an umbrella in one hand and look beyond the school entrance.

The weather forecast is only a prediction of changes in the weather, not something guaranteed to be correct.

So I am not surprised that it is raining.

The rainy season has not ended yet, and if a forecast of “cloudy” changes to “rain,” that is just how it goes.

I had brought a folding umbrella just in case, so there should have been no problem.

―――――That was how it should have been.

But today, even with an umbrella, I do not want to leave the school.

Outside the entrance is a different world from inside the school.

While I was waiting for Umina, who had been called by a teacher after classes, it began to rain

rain that seems to drench the city as though it bore some terrible grudge.

The umbrella looks as though it will be of no use, and I cannot help hesitating to step outside.

If I go out, I will absolutely get wet.

Mariko, who was picked up by her parents, is one thing,

but Umina, who left walking with her boyfriend under an umbrella, must be soaked by now.

“What should I do.”

If my destination were home, it would have been fine.

No matter how wet I became, I could simply take a shower and change clothes right away.

But the place I have to go now is Miyagi’s house.

If I told her, she would probably lend me the bathroom and something to change into,

but I do not want to borrow them.

She would not just quietly lend them,

and I have the feeling her order would turn into something unpleasant.

I hesitate a little, then take out my phone.

I start to type, “The rain is too heavy, so I cannot come today,”

but stop before sending it.

Sending messages is Miyagi’s role, not mine.

A home where no one says “welcome back,”

and a home where Miyagi is, who, though unsociable, will serve me barley tea.

There is no need to think about which is more comfortable.

Getting wet in the rain might be a trivial matter.

As for changing clothes, I will think about it after I reach Miyagi’s house.

I put my phone away, open my umbrella, and step out of the entrance.

As expected, the umbrella is useless.

It may be an exaggeration to say it is like overturning a bucket,

but the rain is heavy enough that I do not want to walk through it, and it drenches me.

The rain is truly too heavy.

Even so, my feet do not turn toward home.

I quicken my pace, heading toward Miyagi’s house—

the house of the girl who binds people with a necktie and tells them to lick her feet.

I have no real complaints about the rule of obeying her orders,

but I cannot understand why I am trying to go to her even while being beaten by this terrible rain.

Through the rain that blocks my sight,

I draw steadily closer to the apartment where Miyagi lives.

My uniform feels cold.

Though it is July, wearing a soaked uniform makes summer feel terribly far away.

Recently, the direction between the two of us has not been good.

If I am to turn back, now is the time.

It is still not too late.

That is what I think, yet my feet will not slow down.

Before I realize it, I have closed my umbrella, and am standing at the entrance to Miyagi’s apartment, pressing the intercom mechanically. The lock is released by a displeased Miyagi, and I enter the elevator.

My blouse clings to my body and feels unpleasant.

I swallow down a sigh, get off on the sixth floor, and enter Miyagi’s home, where a flat voice greets me.

“You didn’t have an umbrella?”

“You can see I did. Sorry, but can you lend me a towel?”

“Just come in. I’ll lend you clothes, so change inside.”

Miyagi says this naturally at the entrance.

“The hallway will get wet, you know?”

I am soaked so badly it is obvious at a glance.

If I take off my shoes and walk a single step, I will leave one footprint.

With two steps, there will be two, and I will leave many more footprints, and I think water will drip from my uniform as well.

Even if I wiped it with a towel, the hallway would probably still get wet,

but it should be better than not wiping at all.

“It’s fine. If it gets wet, I’ll just wipe it up.”

Miyagi says this unusually seriously, looking at me.

“No, it’s not fine. Give me a towel.”

“Then I’ll bring you a towel and a change of clothes, so change here.”

“Here?”

“Here. There is no one else, and no one will come.

Besides, even if you wipe with a towel, your clothes won’t dry.

If you walk around in that uniform, the hallway and the room will both get wet.”

Her words are correct.

A towel is no more than temporary comfort.

I could do something about my arms and legs, but my uniform is too wet to be helped by wiping.

Even if I borrowed a towel, it would only be enough to keep from leaving too many footprints.

I understand that,

yet I do not want to obey her.

Because not all of her words are correct.

This is Miyagi’s entranceway, and an entranceway is not a place to remove clothes.

And while it is true that no one else is here or will come, Miyagi is here.

She is in front of me, watching me.

If she said, “I’ll go back to my room,” or, “I’ll step away from here,” that would be different.

But she does not add such words.

She seems to be deliberately avoiding them.

It looks as though she is insisting on “being in this place.”

Because of that, I cannot bring myself to obey her.

“I don’t have the habit of taking off my clothes in an entranceway.”

I say it, erasing Miyagi’s words.

“If you are worried about the hallway getting wet, then take them off here.”

“Just lend me the towel.”

I clearly state what I want right now. There have been several times when Miyagi unbuttoned my blouse, but that was fine because they were buttons I had not undone myself.

But today is different.

I would have to undo my blouse buttons myself and remove my uniform.

And do so here, where Miyagi is.

To remove my uniform in this place, in front of Miyagi, who seems so intent on being present here, is different from changing at school.

Something as simple as changing clothes would take on another meaning, and I look at her as if to deny her.

“I’ll get them, so wait here.”

Whether she gave up, or had something else in mind, Miyagi says that, and disappears into her own room to fetch a towel.

“...What should I do about this uniform.”

It feels unpleasant, and I want to change.

The truth is, I should follow Miyagi’s words and just change, and it would be fine even with her here.

It is strange that I feel resistance to taking it off by my own will.

If only it had not rained.

If it had been sunny, Miyagi would not have told me to remove my clothes.

I would not feel discomfort in a cold, wet uniform, and I would not be trying to look for what lies hidden beneath her words.

“Ah, geez.”

I remove the elastic holding my hair.

Even after kissing, there was no big change between us.

She has licked my ear, tied me with a necktie, and said things like “Because you’re perverted, Sendai-san,” but that was all.

Still, little by little, things like that have piled up on my side— the side that is commanded— and my attention is being pulled toward them.

I know.

I am being too conscious.

I am making too much of things that do not need to be noticed.

While I am thinking about things that are useless for me to think, Miyagi returns from her room and hands me a bath towel with a curt, “Here.”

“Thanks.”

I say thanks and take it, then dry my hair.

“Sendai-san, what are you going to do about your uniform?”

Miyagi asks while staring straight at me. Apparently, for her, not watching is not even an option.

“I’ll wipe it off. That’s enough.”

“It’s not enough.”

“You’re persistent, Miyagi.”

“I’ll lend you clothes, so take it off.”

“...Do you really want to strip me that badly?”

“That’s right. Otherwise, you’ll catch a cold.”

I had walked here under that useless umbrella in that absurd downpour. My wet uniform is still not removed. It would not be strange if I had already caught a cold.

“Don’t move.”

Miyagi says quietly, taking my hand. Her eyes are fixed on my soaked blouse. She does not need to say what she wants.

“Is that an order?”

When I ask, she replies naturally, “Yes, it’s an order.”

What lies beyond is far from the act of merely changing clothes. I should shake her hand off.

On the day we played that stupid eraser-hunting game, I had told Miyagi to add “Do not undress me” to the list of rules. I could just say this is a violation of that rule, and cancel her order of “Don’t move.”

But my mouth does not move. Instead, I let go of her hand, and the freed hand does not push her away— it just drops naturally.

Even without my permission, her hand unties my necktie. And she unfastens the second button of my bilouse, which I have not undone yet.

There is a reason to accept this order. If I keep wearing this wet uniform, I will catch a cold.

That is an undeniable, correct fact.

“I don’t have a change of clothes.”

I told her, while looking at Miyagi, who refused to take her eyes off me. To prove what was right, a change of clothes was necessary. If I took off my wet uniform, I would have to put on something dry.

“I’ve been saying it from the start—I’ll lend you mine.”

Miyagi’s hand touched the third button, the one I normally never undid at home. She didn’t look the least bit amused. Neither this situation, nor her expression, was pleasant. But since she had ordered me, I couldn’t resist. Her hand slowly undid the third button and moved toward the fourth.

I considered the new rule—no undressing—but then remembered how vague that would be. In truth, I had only said “in addition to the rules,” not that we had agreed on anything. So I had no reason to stop her hand. Taking off a soaked uniform was natural. All Miyagi was doing was helping me, who wouldn’t undress in my own entryway. She was simply doing the right thing.

There was nothing wrong in what she was doing.

[T/N - type of Mental gymnastics I pull when my gf being toxic]

While I was still questioning myself about “rightness,” Miyagi undid every button and opened the front of my blouse. Her gaze stayed fixed on me, clinging to my soaked body. That was fine.

Miyagi and I had once been classmates, and we had changed clothes in the same place before. I didn’t remember what underwear she had worn, or what her body had looked like, but since that had happened, it shouldn’t be a big deal if she saw my underwear now. It would be stranger to mind it. And yet, I kept searching for reasons why it was okay to be seen.

Something was wrong with me today.

Maybe it was because of the rain. Maybe it was because Miyagi was staring at me. Or maybe it was because my chilled body had thrown my judgment off.

Miyagi’s hand touched my bra strap.

She shifted it slightly, and my body stiffened for an instant.

I thought I should stop her hand. But since she had ordered me not to move, I couldn’t. And because not only my uniform but my underwear was soaked too, it couldn’t be helped if It too was undressed.

Yes, it couldn’t be helped.

I took in a small breath and exhaled.

But then Miyagi’s hand left, without shifting the strap further or undoing my bra.

“Not resisting?” she asked, sounding unsteady despite all she had done.

“You’re the one who ordered me not to move, Miyagi.”

“If you want to resist, you can.”

“I’ll resist if you break the rules.”

“So this doesn’t count as breaking them?”

“If my uniform weren’t soaked, I would’ve smacked you.”

It had rained, and my uniform had gotten wet. If I left it like this, I would catch a cold. That was reason enough not to follow a vague, possibly added-on rule.

“A special exception, then?”

“Yeah. Otherwise I’ll end up sick.”

“But I still haven’t given you the five thousand yen.”

Miyagi lacked resolve. She was the one giving the orders, yet when it came to deciding what to do, she hesitated and fumbled for words.

“Not planning to give it to me?”

“I will, later.”

After that excuse of a reply, Miyagi pressed her palm flat against my chest. It was warm. But wrong.

Her hand only touched the outside of my chilled body, yet inside I was burning. It felt like she was holding my heart directly, and the heat made me want to flee. But my body wouldn’t move. It clung to her palm as if stuck there. Only my heartbeat moved, faster than usual.

“Sendai, you’re cold,” Miyagi muttered.

“Because I got wet.”

I answered with something obvious and stared at her as she stared at me. As though oblivious to my gaze, her hand drifted to my cheek, then my lips, and pulled away.

We were straying far from “what was right.”

Taking off a wet uniform could be disguised as preventing a cold. But beyond that, there was no justification. Miyagi staring at me too intently, her hand touching my cheek and lips—none of it was right.

The reasons Miyagi had once given me were gone.

So I should have stopped her. I shouldn’t have accepted her. And yet, because she wavered, I wavered too, and kept allowing her actions.

If her command had been cruel, like tying my hands with a necktie, I could have protested. If she had unhesitatingly unhooked my bra, I could have said, I won’t go along with this, and gone home.

But she did neither, only faltering halfway, and that dragged me along with her.

Even now, when I should have stopped, my hand betrayed me and reached for her cheek.

“Miyagi, you’re warm.”

It was a warmth that wasn’t right. A chilled body should stay chilled so that the heat inside could subside. I knew that. And yet my hand kept touching her, as if deciding whether to reach her lips the way she had touched mine.

Miyagi’s hand closed around mine. She pulled me toward her, and our faces drew close. Our eyes met, and I understood what she wanted. If I closed my eyes now, our lips would touch.

Miyagi leaned closer again.

She was so near I couldn’t see all of her face anymore, but one thing was clear: Miyagi was still wearing her uniform, even at home.

She always did.

I had never seen her in anything else. I wanted to see a different Miyagi in this house. For example, Miyagi with her necktie undone and her blouse completely unbuttoned, just like me.

Right now, with only me being stripped, it felt unfair. And so a foolish thought crossed my mind: if she were the same, it would be fine.

As if sensing that thought, Miyagi let go of my hand and stepped back. Then she opened my blouse again.

She exhaled softly.

Her lips touched my chest. She sucked hard, and our heat mingled. As if the rain had washed away my reason, I felt an urge to touch her more, and gripped her shoulder.

No.

Even as I thought that, I nearly pulled her toward me—when her lips drew away.

Her fingertip traced the spot where her mouth had just been, stroking lightly, then pressing firmly. She was probably confirming the red mark she had left there, like the one she had once made on my arm.

But both she and I knew—this wasn’t the same as a hickey on my arm. This would leave a stain that lingered in the heart, long after the mark faded from my skin. Not just in me—likely in her as well. It was the consequence of an act that, however ambiguous, could not be called “within the rules.”

Miyagi leaned in again. Our lips touched, and I clutched her shoulder tighter.

“Weren’t you going to undress me?” I asked.

She raised her head in response to my voice.

“The mark won’t last long,” she said.

She didn’t answer about the undressing. That should have relieved me—and it did. But somewhere inside, I felt let down, and I swallowed the sigh rising from my muddled thoughts.

“This much will fade quickly, so it’s fine.”

When I said that, Miyagi made a slightly guilty face and stepped away from me.

“I’ll get you some clothes.”

With that small voice, she turned her back to me. Seeing her back, I remembered the day I ran into her at the bookstore. Back then, rain had been threatening to fall. The back I saw that day and the back I saw now were different—but on that day, I had gained a place called “Miyagi’s room.”

So what had I gained today?

—It was better not to think about it.

I clutched the still-open blouse tightly in my hands.