Volume 3 Short Story

 1. Shiori Miyagi

I know.

'I might go see Miyagi.'

The words I heard after school, as usual, were obviously a joke. The proof? Even today, the second day of the cultural festival, Sendai-san hasn’t shown up.

“Shiori, smile!” Maika says, and I shift my gaze to the tray holding two pancakes and two cups of tea.

This is the third time I’ve heard that today.

Being told the same thing three times means I’m failing to smile enough.

“I know,” I reply.

I try to force a smile in front of the makeshift kitchen in the classroom—a simple space for warming fried chicken or pancakes in the microwave and brewing tea or coffee—but the corners of my mouth won’t cooperate.

Even if Sendai-san appeared here, all I can imagine is her laughing at my awkward smile. If that happened, I’d want to erase the concept of smiling from existence. It’s better that she doesn’t come.

I carry the tray to the designated table.

The café is bustling—almost worthy of the word “thriving”—but the more customers arrive, the worse my mood gets.

I’m not cut out for customer service.

Being forced to smile while doing something I don’t want to do is impossible.

I weave through the tables made from desks, deliver the pancakes and tea to the well-mannered customers, and return to the kitchen. Maika passes me, balancing a tray of takoyaki for another table.

It’s busier than I expected.

The café’s success is great, but I’d rather it was slow.

“Shiori, nice smile,” Ami teases, apparently watching me.

“I can’t smile when I’m not having fun.”

“I get it,” she nods repeatedly.

“You don’t look like you do. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Ami is smiling more than usual today, completely unlike me.

“Well, it’s kinda fun. Like playing shop when we were kids. You did that too, right, Shiori?”

“I hated it. Having to act the part was the worst.”

Shopkeeper and customer.

Playing assigned roles is expected, and no one objects. If you say you don’t want to, you’re the bad guy and get scolded to “do it properly.” It’s a hellish game.

This café is similar—forced to smile, even when I’m not enjoying it. If I said smiles don’t matter as long as I take orders and deliver correctly, I’d probably be locked up.

“What’re you talking about?” Maika asks, returning to the kitchen.

“About how Shiori’s smile is the best,” Ami laughs.

“A smile worth recording,” Maika giggles, looking at me.

“I’d hate you forever if you did that.”

“Instead of hating, just smile like usual. Pretend the customers are me or Ami.”

“If I could, I would.”

“Right?” Maika says.

“Your smile’s great, Maika,” Ami adds.

Maika has been in a good mood since morning, cheerfully and efficiently delivering orders.

“I realized it’s pretty fun,” Maika says, smiling brightly.

“I’m bad at this,” I mutter.

Once this ordeal is over, I never want to do customer service again—or work at all. Even as a college student, I’m never getting a part-time job. If I had to, I’d avoid customer service. Jobs that force you to smile when you’re not happy aren’t for me.

“It might suck for you, Shiori, but if we’re doing a café, a maid café would’ve been better,” Ami says, something Sendai-san would love.

“That’d be fun,” Maika agrees.

“If it was a maid café, I’d only do behind-the-scenes work.”

“I think you’d look good in a maid outfit,” Maika says cheerfully.

Before I can respond, a dull voice cuts in: “Miyagi-san, take the melon sodas.”

I reluctantly reply, “Sure,” grab the tray, and head to the customer.

I walk through the classroom overflowing with “cute” pastel paper and fabric decorations.

Someone enters through the door.

My gaze naturally shifts.

It’s not Sendai-san, just another student.

—That’s all.

I look toward the table where I need to deliver three melon sodas. Careful not to spill, I walk quietly and place them down.

Sendai-san isn’t among the many customers.

I’m not someone who takes her lies seriously, nor do I want her to see me doing something so ill-suited. Her words just stuck in my head.

Yesterday, while warming food or pouring drinks with Maika and Ami in the kitchen, I didn’t see her.

Yesterday and today are the same.

Sendai-san’s in Class 3, not Class 2.

Even covered in bright, soft decorations and wrapped in festival excitement, this is just Class 2’s classroom. It’s only natural that Class 3’s Sendai-san isn’t here. Since becoming third-years in different classes, we no longer share spaces at school. That has continued into the festival.

She has plenty of places to go, probably no time to think of me. I hurry back to the kitchen. I play my assigned role. Force a smile, deliver food, return to the kitchen.

Repeating it over and over, I finally hear the words I’ve been waiting for: “It’s about time, let’s switch.”

Maika, Ami, and I trade places with three classmates, leaving the classroom filled with voices other than Sendai-san’s.

“The light music club yesterday was awesome, right?” Maika says as we walk down the noisier-than-usual hallway.

The performance we saw in the gym was indeed lively. They played songs I knew, so I reply, “Yeah,” and Ami turns her sparkling eyes to Maika.

“The guitarist was so cool. Uh, who was he? Maika, remember?”

“If you think he’s cool, at least remember his name,” Maika retorts.

“I’ve got Sugikawa-kun,” Ami says.

“No lovey-dovey talk,” Maika snaps, walking beside me.

Ami, on the classroom side, lets out a loud “Whaaat?”

“Let me brag! You want to hear, right, Shiori?”

“Only if it’s new info beyond Sugikawa-kun being smart and kind.”

“You’re both mean!” Ami’s voice echoes down the hall.

Maika cuts in, “Where should we go, Shiori?”

“You just ignored me! That’s harsh, so harsh!” Ami yells even louder.

I burst out laughing.

“Ami, too loud. You can pick where we go, just lower your voice.”

“Then let’s eat chocolate bananas in the courtyard and see the first-years’ magic show!” Ami says, speeding off.

I move my feet to keep up, glancing out the window. Sendai-san has probably forgotten her words to me, enjoying herself somewhere at school with Ibaraki-san and the others. That’s how it must be.

2. Hazuki Sendai

The second day of the cultural festival has turned into a tour of crowded classrooms. That’s the result of following Umina to the places she wanted to visit, and the “House of Fortune” we’re heading to now apparently has a line as well.

Next to me, Umina is hyped about asking about her boyfriend, and beside her, Mariko is excited to get her love fortune read.

“Does a school festival fortune-telling even hit the mark?” I ask the obvious question as we climb the stairs to the second floor, where our destination is.

“Who knows? But even if it’s off, it’s fun, right?” Umina says, her voice lighter than the festival posters on the walls, and Mariko agrees with a “Yeah, yeah.”

I expected that response.

Open a magazine, and there’s almost always a horoscope. Turn on the TV, and you get daily fortune segments. Not all my friends check them, but plenty do. Whether they’re accurate doesn’t seem to matter much.

“What’re you getting read, Hazuki?” Umina asks, still in high spirits since morning.

“Hmm, not sure.”

I’m not into it.

The fortune-teller is a vaguely familiar schoolmate, not someone I’d spill my guts to. Plus, in a non-soundproof classroom, I’d have to be careful of eavesdroppers.

The conditions are surprisingly tricky, and I can’t think of anything I actually want read.

Unable to match Umina and Mariko’s enthusiasm, we reach the second floor. As we walk down the hall, I glance out the window, catching sight of the building across.

It’s packed with people, looking lively.

“Pick something classic like love if you can’t decide,” Umina’s upbeat voice cuts in.

“I’m not really in a love-reading mood.”

“You’re always saying that, Hazuki,” Mariko says, exasperated.

I step closer to the window, shifting my gaze to the courtyard. Like the building across, it’s full of students, and I pause. 

Everyone looks like they’re having fun, caught up in the festival vibe.

The stalls are especially crowded.

Oh.

I wasn’t looking for her.

But I see her.

—Miyagi.

She’s with Utsunomiya and others.

I don’t have opera glasses or a zoomed-in phone camera, so I can’t see details, but she seems to be enjoying herself.

“Hazuki, spot something interesting?” Umina calls my name.

She’s leaning so close to the window, her forehead almost hitting it, trying to see some nonexistent “interesting thing.” Beyond her, Miyagi is laughing—or so it seems.

“Maybe I’ll get next week’s fortune read,” I say, pulling my gaze from the window to distract her.

“That’s not worth reading,” Umina says, looking at me.

“Yeah, get something like love or romance,” Mariko adds, stepping closer to the window and tapping my arm.

But my focus isn’t on my tapped arm—it’s back outside.

She’s gone.

In the moment I looked away, Miyagi must’ve blended into the crowd of uniforms, and I can’t find her.

Umina starts walking, and we move down the hall.

“Love and romance are fine, but I’ve got an important test at cram school next week,” I say, directing my gaze to Mariko and making up a test as an excuse to avoid looking outside.

“Wow, so studious,” Mariko says.

“Fits an exam-taker, right?” I reply, as Umina points ahead and says, “There’s the end of the line.”

The line stretching down the hall is clearly for the “House of Fortune.” We join the back.

“I’ll get my next week’s fortune read too,” Umina says, leaning against the classroom-side wall.

“Got something happening next week?” I ask.

“Nope,” she says firmly, and Mariko laughs. “Of course.”

We chat about nothing important while waiting.

My gaze occasionally drifts to the window.

But the line’s on the classroom side, so I can’t see the courtyard well.

Three, four minutes pass, and the line inches forward.

The courtyard’s out of sight, and so is Miyagi.

Ten, then fifteen minutes pass.

“They say we can go in,” Mariko says, and we enter the makeshift “House of Fortune.”

We’re led to a serious-looking fortune-teller at the far end of neatly arranged desks.

Asked what I want read, Miyagi pops into my mind.

But I don’t have specific questions about her, and I can’t ask about her in a classroom with just partitions, where Umina and Mariko might overhear. Her name’s off-limits.

I end up asking for next week’s fortune, get a vague answer, and leave. Soon, Umina and Mariko come out, and we start walking down the hall aimlessly.

“Anywhere you wanna go next?” Umina asks.

Class 2 flashes in my mind, but I dodge with, “Not really,” and Mariko adds, “Anywhere’s fine.”

“How about the gym?” Umina suggests.

“Oh, yesterday! The light music club was awesome, right?” Mariko says loudly.

“They’re performing today too. Wanna see?” Umina adds.

“Totally!”

“That cool with you, Hazuki?”

I can’t go to Class 2.

There’s no point.

Even if I went now, I wouldn’t see Miyagi doing something as ill-suited as waitressing.

She was having fun with Utsunomiya and others in the courtyard.

I don’t know where she went after, but she’s probably not in the classroom.

“Sounds good,” I say.

Umina’s decisions are rarely overturned, and I don’t feel like challenging her.

But I regret it.

The last day I saw Miyagi before the festival.

I shouldn’t have said I might go see her. Those careless words are binding me.

“If we want good spots, shouldn’t we hurry?” I say, wanting to push Miyagi out of my mind.

“Then let’s dash!” Umina laughs and takes off.

I follow, rushing to the gym as if to shake off the image of Miyagi I just saw.