Volume 3 Episode 07

Being touched by Sendai-san isn’t unpleasant.

But if I allow one thing, she gets carried away and demands more, so I can’t permit everything. Still, I feel a bit fond of her for accepting the trade-off and listening to me quietly.

I sit on an old chair in the corner of the music prep room.

“Lick my foot.”

Sendai-san has heard this order many times before.

Even so, she looks surprised.

“Huh?”

“Didn’t hear me? I said, lick my foot.”

“…Here?”

“If you can do it here, you can touch me.”

Sendai-san almost never disobeys my orders, but that’s only at home. I doubt she’d lick my foot at school.

I chose this condition because I thought she couldn’t do it.

Any condition that would make her back off would’ve worked, but I couldn’t think of another one she’d hesitate to follow. It’s not a great order, but since it’s an impossible trade-off, she should give up—making it a relatively harmless condition.

“You know this is school, right? Not your room. The old building doesn’t get many people, but what if someone sees us? This is too much for a trade-off.”

As expected, Sendai-san lists reasons to reject it.

“So, you can’t do it?” I ask, and she glances at the prep room’s entrance.

Her eyes waver, unsure.

I decide her answer while she hesitates.

“Then the trade-off’s off. I’m leaving, so come to my place later.”

If there’s more to talk about, we can do it at home.

She’s asking things I don’t want to answer today, so I don’t want to talk at home either, but it’s better than continuing here. At home, I can shut down the conversation with an order.

I stand, grab my bag, and start to leave when Sendai-san calls out.

“Wait.”

She brings over a chair before I can respond.

“Sit. You want your foot licked, right?”

“You don’t have to force yourself.”

“I’m not. Just sit.”

“What if someone comes?”

“I’ll say you ordered me, so it’s fine.”

“That’s not fine for me.”

“Even if it’s not, it’s your trade-off, so sit.”

She hesitated earlier.

Her reluctance shows it was a tough condition. Yet she decided to comply.

Accepting such a hesitant condition—this is what Sendai-san wants to achieve.

I can’t believe it’s just “wanting to touch.”

“…What’s so important that you’d go this far?”

“I said I just want to touch you.”

“Really, that’s all?”

“Yeah. I won’t do anything to make you mad.”

Sendai-san looks at me directly.

Her calm voice doesn’t seem like a lie. But I can’t believe she’d accept licking my foot here just to touch me lightly. There’s no reason for her to want this, no trigger for it.

Still, she’s looking only at me now.

That makes my question about why she accepted the trade-off feel trivial.

Her blouse is unbuttoned to the second button, revealing her necklace.

Until graduation, she should be this Sendai-san—and that’s happening now. It doesn’t feel bad.

“Miyagi, sit already.”

I proposed the trade-off.

I sit—not to obey her, but to take responsibility for my words. Sendai-san slowly kneels on the floor and removes my indoor shoes and socks.

The prep room door is closed.

Perhaps anxious, she glances at the entrance.

No voices or footsteps come from the hall, only the sound of her soft exhale.

Her gaze shifts from the door to me.

Not her tongue, but her fingertips trace the top of my foot.

The soft touch tickles, and I lightly kick her foot. 

“Not like that. Lick it.”

Responding to my words, she grabs my heel, lifting my foot slightly. Her face nears, and something less wet than a tongue presses against the base of my toes. I realize it’s her lips, kissing the top of my foot with soft little sounds.

I press my foot to her lips in protest for not following my order, and something warmer and wetter moves toward my ankle.

“Is this okay?”

She looks up and asks.

“No.”

Of course not.

She’s the one who decided to do it.

Half-hearted cheating won’t be forgiven.

“Lick it properly.”

“I did.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“I think it does.”

“It doesn’t.”

I insist, and she pulls my foot, biting my big toe. It’s restrained but strong enough to hurt. I open my mouth to complain, but before I can, she licks the top of my foot.

Her tongue glides, moving up to my ankle.

The warm sensation of her tongue sliding over my skin isn’t bad.

The first time I made her lick my foot, I felt a bit grossed out despite suggesting it. But the superiority of having someone like Sendai-san, with whom I had no real connection, obey me felt… significant.

Now, it’s different.

Her tongue sliding over bone sends a tingle down my spine. It’s like electricity, not unpleasant.

I press my foot slightly against her tongue, and it sticks firmly, pushing back.

Her body heat feels comforting in the chilly prep room, but I’m frustrated that she accepts this condition yet holds back. Why?

Why is Sendai-san going to an out-of-prefecture university?

She keeps pushing me to change my choice but won’t change hers.

I know her family’s likely why she’s set on an out-of-prefecture university. But it irritates me that she won’t even consider the “stay here” I once suggested, despite doing this at school.

Even if I can imagine her reasons, I can’t accept them.

That’s why I don’t want to tell her about my university plans.

I told Maika I’m applying to the same university, but saying that to Sendai-san would make her think I’m chasing her—and I hate that.

Still, I’m curious.

If I told her, what would she say—with her tongue and lips touching me, in that voice that seems kind but isn’t to me?

“Miyagi, keep going?”

“Continue.”

I kick her lightly.

She winces briefly, then lowers her gaze. Something neither tongue nor lips touches my foot. Her fingertips stroke my ankle, moving up my calf. My skirt is lifted, and soft lips touch my knee, followed by a slick tongue.

Her tongue caresses my knee, sometimes gently, sometimes firmly.

It’s clearly different from before, and I pull my foot back, but it’s quickly pulled again.

My heart feels squeezed, painful. She keeps licking my foot like she’s wiping spilled liquid. This is bad, I think.

I don’t want to remember, but memories surface.

The last day of summer break, in my room, Sendai-san—

I hold my breath, exhaling with the flowing memories.

It’s always like this when I let my guard down.

Even when I ordered her to lick my finger, she didn’t comply normally. She did it in a way that felt loaded with meaning.

“Stop. It’s over.”

I push her head away from my knee.

But instead of stopping, she sucks harder and nibbles.

During summer break, I thought it was okay to do that with her. That’s true, but now I think we shouldn’t.

I’m wrong for thinking it’s okay to continue.These feelings shouldn’t be directed at her.

Her lips touch just above my knee.

“Sendai-san, stop.”

In the corner of the music prep room, I don’t raise my voice, but there’s no way Sendai-san didn’t hear me.

Even so, she lifts my skirt higher than necessary and presses her lips to the inside of my knee.

The part of me she exposes to the cold air should feel chilly, yet where she touches burns hot.

Her lips press again, making a small chu sound.

Her hand lightly grips my knee, pushing it outward.

Something warm sticks to my thigh, then pulls away—only to return a moment later, pressing harder.

It tickles, and my body twitches slightly.

Her hand, which had been on my knee, slides slowly upward, slipping beneath my skirt.

—This is too much.

I reach for her head.

Holding it still, I look down at my legs.

What a mess.

Her head is between them, my skirt embarrassingly disheveled. It’s humiliating just to be in this position.

I want to complain a dozen times over, but for now, I push her head away firmly and fix my skirt.

“I didn’t tell you to do that.”

I throw all my condensed complaints at her, glaring as she acts like nothing happened. I’ve ordered her to lick my foot many times before, but never to go this far.

“I just licked your foot, like you said.”

“It wasn’t just licking. You did weird stuff too.”

“Then is this okay?”

She lifts my skirt slightly and runs her tongue over my knee. Startled by the uninvited touch, my leg jerks. The sensation—like a wet gummy sticking to my skin—creeps up my thigh, and I push at her forehead.

“Stop. That’s not even my foot.”

“It’s a foot. It’s your knee.”

“No. A knee is a knee, not a foot.”

“By that logic, where does a foot start and end?”

As she says this, her fingers trail up my calf. I slap her hand away.

“This is over, so it doesn’t matter where a foot ends. Back off.”

I push her forehead hard, and she obediently pulls away—something that catches me off guard. But she only listens for a moment before grabbing my foot again.

“I’ll put your socks on for you.”

“I’ll do it myself.”

“When they’re right here?”

My crumpled socks are inside my indoor shoes, right next to her, out of reach from my seat on the chair.

“Give them back.”

“I said I’d put them on, so stay seated.”

With my foot held, I can’t stand. I’m forced to remain seated, unable to grab or put on my socks myself.

Reluctantly, I comply.

Her fingertips brush the top of my foot, tickling as they move gently before she deftly slips my socks on.

I don’t like how casually she does this.

It shouldn’t feel normal, but she accepts and normalizes abnormal things effortlessly. It feels like I’m being absorbed into her rhythm, and it sours my mood.

She doesn’t care what I’m thinking.

She puts on my shoes as if it’s nothing, then kisses my knee.

“I told you not to do that.”

“I’ll be careful next time.”

She says it with a face that shows no remorse—or intent to be careful.

If I stay seated, who knows what she’ll do next.

I stand, brushing my untouched blazer to tidy it. She stands too, dusting off her skirt before speaking.

“So, the trade-off? I can touch you now, right?”

She claims her right as if it’s obvious.

“Fine. Touch me. But no kissing, no taking off my uniform, and no unbuttoning.”

“Adding conditions afterward is unfair, isn’t it?”

“It’s not. You always try weird stuff, so I have to add them, or it’s dangerous. You said you wouldn’t do anything to make me mad, remember?”

It’s a penalty for going too far.

I don’t say it outright, but if I let her do as she pleases, who knows how far this “touching” trade-off would escalate. It might just mean light contact, but given her past behavior, I can’t trust that.

“Fair enough. Like I said, I won’t do anything to make you mad.”

She says it in a voice lighter than the wind through leaves, smiling. But it’s the smile she uses at school, which makes it even less trustworthy.

“Don’t do anything weird.”

I emphasize, and she replies with a dissatisfied tone.

“Do I have that little credit with you?”

“Think about what you just did and reflect.”

“I already did, so it’s fine.”

“…If you say so.”

I’m uneasy.

But she did keep her promise, even if she went overboard.

So I should keep mine.

I stare at her as she steps closer—one, two steps.

Not knowing what she’ll do, my body tenses.

She comes as close as when we kiss, and I step back, bumping into the chair.

A loud clatter echoes, and she grabs my arm.

Then she hugs me.

“…What’s this?”

I mutter to myself, closer to her than when we kiss.

“I think it’s generally called a hug.”

“I know that.”

I know, but the closeness makes me ask anyway. It’s my first time being hugged by her, and my body feels light, like the cold prep room has suddenly turned swelteringly hot.

My heart’s acting up.

Even though we’re not doing anything, it’s pounding so loudly I’m afraid she’ll hear it.

“Don’t stay here.”

Out of nowhere, she says something unexpected.

“What do you mean, don’t stay?”

I can guess what she’s getting at, but I ask anyway. Her arms tighten around me.

“Go to a university where we can eat together.”

I want to see her face.

But her arms around my back keep me from moving.

Her voice—the only thing carrying her emotions—is flat and unreadable, making it impossible to imagine her expression.

“You don’t get to decide my future.”

I mumble, and a quiet voice answers.

“We eat together at your place now, right? Eating together sometimes after graduation sounds fun, doesn’t it?”

She talks about a future after graduation, brushing off my denial.

I don’t know how to respond to this version of her.

The future she describes sounds fun.

Meals with her taste better than eating alone, and having someone nearby, even without talking, feels comforting. I think it’d be lonely not to see her after graduation.

But I don’t have the confidence to believe her.

I can’t see her face, and her voice sounds so empty that I can’t believe she’d actually want to eat with me after graduation.

“Miyagi?”

Her voice rings by my ear.

“It’s over.”

I try to slip out of her arms, avoiding her dreamy talk about the future, but she doesn’t let go.

“A bit longer’s fine, right?”

“No.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“Just say it’s fine. —Shiori.”

She whispers, and something soft touches my ear.

I realize it’s her lips.

The tickling sensation makes me shove her away with all my strength.

“Don’t call my name.”

Like peeling off glued paper, I force her off and wipe my ear.

“For such a heavy order, I get to do pretty little, don’t I?”

Sendai-san complains, looking at me.

“That’s enough, right?”

I added conditions later, but I knew from the start there wasn’t much she could do, so she has no grounds to complain. There’s nothing more to do, and kissing my ear violated the no-kissing rule.

Plus, hugging me like that is almost like—

I exhale to erase the thought and grab my bag.

“If I keep following your orders here, will you let me touch you again?”

“No way.”

The closer Sendai-san gets, the more it feels like her being by my side is normal.

Even after graduation, staying together, eating together.

Like giving orders as always, it feels like this could go on forever.

But that’s just not possible.

“You say no, but you’ll come if I call you, right?”

“I won’t, so don’t call me.”

“Sure, sure.”

She says it so carelessly I doubt my words even got through, and then she takes my hand.

“What?”

“You’re leaving, right?”

“Holding hands?”

“Kidding, obviously.”

Sendai-san smiles and lets go.

“I’m leaving first. Wait ten minutes before you go.”

I step back, putting distance between us.

“Ten minutes? How about five?”

“You’d probably sprint, so no way.”

I don’t actually think she’d run. I just need a little time.

Too much happened in such a short span, and my already foggy head feels shattered.

I turn my back on her and leave the music prep room.

My footsteps echo in the hallway as I glance back.

Of course, she’s not there.

I exit the old building and head to the shoe lockers.

The school isn’t empty, but the hallway feels so quiet it’s as if no one’s here. If it were dark, I might have run in fear, but it’s still light outside. I walk briskly, passing no one, and reach the lockers.

I change shoes and step outside.

Shivering in the cold wind, I look back.

Sendai-san’s not there.

Obviously.

I told her to wait ten minutes, and she’s keeping that promise. If she didn’t want to, she’d have found an excuse to stay by my side.

Like saying we’re headed to the same place.

Today, I called her with my usual message. Her reply—“After school, come to the music prep room. I’ll be waiting”—threw me off. But we’re going to the same place now—my house—so we could walk together. Still, we promised not to interact at school.

So this is fine.

I exhale.

It’s not cold enough to see my breath, but the air feels less gentle, colder than last year at this time.

Without Sendai-san, it’s cold.

In the prep room, she was so close it felt hot.

—No.

It was only hot where she touched me; the cold has nothing to do with her.

I face forward.

If I dawdle, she’ll catch up.

Her sudden hug, her words denying my staying here.

Everything she did and said bothers me, but I can’t dwell on it. Thinking too deeply would paralyze me, and it’d feel like everything she does has meaning.

I pass through the school gate and hurry home, nearly breathless.

In town, I pass people and shops, stopping at the supermarket I visit a few times a week.

There’s nothing in the fridge, right?

No frozen food, no retort meals, no instant ramen. Nothing easy to eat.

Unless Sendai-san sprints like an idiot, I have a little time to buy something quick.

I enter the supermarket and grab a basket.

Cabbage, potatoes.

Retort curry and stew, some frozen foods. After hesitating, I toss in pork, chicken, and curry roux, then check out. The bag is heavier than usual as I step outside, about twenty minutes later.

Checking my phone, I see messages from Sendai-san, who must have reached the apartment first.

I start to reply but stop.

After today, I think it’d be better if she just went home.

Instead of telling her to wait ten minutes, I should have told her not to come. After her doing things she’d never done before, I don’t know how to face her.

I swing the bag of unusual purchases.

The weight slows my pace.

Dragging my sluggish feet, I inch closer to home. The apartment lights come into view, and I enter the entrance. Then, an annoyed voice hits me.

“Ten minutes ahead, and you’re still late? You didn’t check your phone, did you?”

I look toward the familiar voice and see Sendai-san, who could have been gone. Her nose is slightly red, and she looks cold despite being someone who usually runs hot. I must have made her wait too long.

“You waited.”

“Of course. You said wait ten minutes. If you ghosted me, I’d be shocked. It’s cold today, so don’t take detours.”

If it was cold, she could have gone home.

I almost say it but show her the bag instead.

“This.”

“What? Want me to carry it?”

“Ingredients for the dinner you’re making.”

I shove the bag at her and unlock the entrance door.

“I’m making dinner today?”

“It’s an order.”

She can’t argue with that. She mutters, “Got it,” and starts walking. We ride the elevator to the sixth floor, no hand-holding or chatter. We kick off our shoes at the entrance and head to the kitchen.

I turn on the light and the air conditioner, and Sendai-san starts unpacking the bag. It’s not awkward, but there’s nothing to say. She seems so normal, it’s hard to believe she hugged me in the prep room.

She always acts like nothing happened, which usually annoys me, but today it’s a relief. If she acted like something happened, it’d be hard to be around her.

I wait for her to finish unpacking and hand her a five-thousand-yen bill.

“What if I said I don’t need it?”

She looks at the bill like it’s her first time seeing it. But this is our ritual. Without the five thousand yen, our arrangement doesn’t work. If she started cooking without payment, it wouldn’t be an order, and it’d look like I was swayed by her silly talk about eating together after graduation.

Having her cook today is a separate matter.

I just want to eat something someone made.

That’s all.

“If you want to go home, don’t take it.”

As I start to put the bill away, she snatches it.

“Thanks. So, I’m cooking dinner?”

“Yeah.”

“Cook and eat first, then study?”

“Fine.”

“What should I make?”

“Whatever.”

I say lightly, and she glances at me from the fridge.

“Whatever? You bought all this, so don’t you have something in mind?”

“Anything’s fine. I don’t cook, so I didn’t know what to buy and just grabbed stuff.”

“Too unplanned.”

“I didn’t know what to get.”

I answer honestly, and she groans, closing the fridge and standing.

“I’m not great at cooking either. Buying random stuff and telling me to make something is tough.”

“Then just heat up what I bought.”

I point to the retort food on the counter.

“You can heat that up… but that’s not really ‘making dinner.’ Should I make curry? We’ve got potatoes and meat. No onions or carrots, but that’s fine, right?”

I’m the one who gave the order, so just heating up retort food would be easier. But Sendai-san, with her odd sense of duty, doesn’t settle for that. I don’t dislike her serious side, but it’s sometimes a hassle. If she just did things casually, she wouldn’t meddle in my college plans. That would save me from overthinking.

“Up to you,” I reply shortly.

“What about rice?” she asks.

“There’s some in the freezer. Use that.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll be over there.”

I have plenty to say, but for now, I let her make what she wants and leave the kitchen. Sitting on a chair at the table, I watch her from the living room side. Once she decides something, there’s no changing her mind.

Proof of that: even before I said “up to you,” she was already setting out a pot and a knife. Now she’s washing potatoes.

I don’t think “eating together” includes her cooking, but watching someone cook isn’t unpleasant. Having someone else in this house is comforting.

And I think it’s ideal that it’s Sendai-san, and it would be ideal if this became routine. But the normalcy she creates could vanish one day on a whim.

That thought weighs on me.

Watching her, it feels like she’s just going along with me, like when she reads magazines to keep up with Ibaraki-san. There’s no clear benefit for her, but it seems natural to think that way.

I speak to Sendai-san, who’s frying peeled, chopped, transformed potatoes.

“…Aren’t you staying here?”

It’s not exactly courage.

Still, it was hard to ask, so my mouth hesitates, and my voice comes out hoarse. It sounds like I said something crucial, and I slightly regret it.

She doesn’t respond. I didn’t speak so softly that she couldn’t hear me, but she keeps making curry.

I’m not going to press for an answer. I thud my forehead on the counter, and her voice reaches me.

“Is that you saying you want me to stay?”

“I’m the one asking.”

I look up, and she’s holding cabbage, maybe for a salad.

“I’m not going to a university here.”

My vague question got through clearly, and the expected answer comes back. I knew it, but her refusal to budge makes me want to complain.

“…You could live alone here.”

“I don’t want to here.”

She answers shortly, chopping cabbage. Her voice blends with the tap-tap sound of her knife.

“How much longer will we eat together, Miyagi?”

She asks deliberately.

“Figure it out yourself.”

“Graduation’s in March, February’s mostly off, so December and January?”

“Probably.”

Graduation isn’t that close, but thinking she might stop coming in February makes eating now feel dreary. When I’m in this house, an empty side feels cold. It’s just that—but I think she should be beside me. It’s become normal, so it’s a problem if she’s not here like it’s normal.

For a moment, I think it would have been better if something had happened that day in summer. I concluded we shouldn’t do that, but if something had, I might have told her about applying to the same university as Maika without overthinking.

But reality’s different.

Nothing happened, and I still can’t decide my future. I don’t even know if I’ll pass university exams, so I keep avoiding choices, thinking I’ll decide if I get in.

The only thing that seems certain is that I want to leave this house, filled with too many moments spent with Sendai-san.