"My name is Speedrunner Yoru."
In the quiet classroom of Class 12E, most of the students were slouched over their desks, asleep in the warmth of layered jackets. Only one remained awake, gazing out the window while faintly paying attention to the lecture. Outside, the wind howled against the windows, a reminder of the biting cold.
Age: 20. Blood Type: O. Height: 5'7". Favorite Food: Fat Cakes.
The bell rang, triggering a chaotic shuffle as everyone began packing their bags with the urgency of escape.
"Sit."
The single word cut through the noise, halting the students in their tracks. Groaning, they sank back into their chairs. At the front of the classroom stood a man with unruly orange hair and a long black coat. His square glasses rested crookedly on his nose, and his pants were a size too long, swallowing his shoelaces. A plastic watch clung to his wrist, and two uneven ponytails stuck out behind him. That was Speedrunner Yoru.
"…And I'm a chemistry teacher," he muttered to himself.
He scanned the room and pointed. "Nanami Sora, you can leave."
An hour later, the class was finally dismissed. "Thank you, learners. You may leave," Speedrunner said flatly.
As the students filed out sluggishly, Speedrunner followed behind, locking the classroom door. He checked his watch. 17:03.
In the staff room, the lights were off. As he stepped in, a warm breeze brushed past him. "Looks like no one's here but me," he muttered. On the couch, an old Nokia 6110 caught his attention. He placed his keys on the holder and stared at the phone for a moment before picking it up. "Guess I'll hang onto this."
He exited the building and headed toward the car park. "I wonder what Cream Tart would like…" he mused aloud, chuckling to himself—until he saw someone waiting by his car.
"Hello, Sensei," said a girl.
"…Sugimoto," he replied, voice tinged with sarcasm.
Standing next to his vintage Ford Cortina Lotus was a petite girl in a sailor-fuku uniform. She stood at 4'9", her black hair pinned short, her socks slouching lazily around her calves. No jersey, no extra layers—just her uniform and a mischievous grin.
She leaned in close, voice teasing. "Why are you talking to yourself?"
(Just when I thought I was free…) Speedrunner groaned internally and placed a hand on his forehead. "Huh… I thought you were walking with your friends today."
"Are you trying to get rid of me?" Sugimoto asked, frowning.
(Is this becoming a daily thing?)
He sighed. "No, no. You just seem to have grown fond of me."
Sugimoto blushed and lightly punched his shoulder. "No… no! It's not like that!"
She pouted, her voice small. "A girl like me could be in danger at times like this."
"Really," he replied dryly. "Come on, let's go. Before your parents get worried."
They got into the car—Speedrunner in the driver's seat, Sugimoto in the back. He buckled up, turned the key, and then frowned. Something was off.
"Is there a problem, Sensei?" Sugimoto asked.
He stepped out and checked the tire. "My tire's flat!"
Groaning, he circled around. "Sugimoto, the tire's flat. We're gonna have to walk."
"Nani?!" she shrieked.
So they walked, Sugimoto now wrapped in Speedrunner's black jersey. He checked his watch again. 18:13.
"Sensei, don't you have your phone?" she asked.
"I left it at home," he replied casually, though the truth was that one of his students had stolen it.
She gave him a skeptical look. "Sensei, you're always on your phone at lunch."
Speedrunner grinned. "Oh, I've changed... Hey, there's a place we can eat."
They stopped outside a small wooden Sukiya. The smell of warm broth and simmered meat filled the air, laughter and clinking bowls coming from inside.
"And?" Sugimoto raised an eyebrow.
"Aren't you hungry?" he asked.
She blushed. "No, I'm not."
"Then I'll have to force you," he said with a smirk.
Inside, she was already digging into her food. "You were really hungry," Speedrunner laughed.
With food in her mouth, she mumbled, "Waa maa ma hungry."
"Yeah… sure," he said, blinking.
"You didn't understand anything I said…" she muttered, glaring.
He waved over the waiter. "Can I get two takeaways? Also… can I use your phone? It's an emergency."
"Sure," the waiter replied.
Sugimoto frowned. "Takeaway? For who?"
"I'm staying with someone," Speedrunner answered offhandedly.
She froze. (He's staying with someone? He's not married, doesn't have friends... Is it a girlfriend? No, I'm overthinking it.)
Her eyes drifted to him. He was staring back. Her face went red.
(Ahhh! Sensei's looking at me!)
She reached for a glass—perhaps to hide her face—but it was empty.
"That glass is empty," he said.
She slammed it on the table. "So what?! I was thirsty!"
Speedrunner raised an amused eyebrow. She turned away, red-faced.
"You've been on the phone forever," she grumbled.
"That's your distorted perception of time," he replied. "It's only been a minute."
"You seriously don't know what figurative speech is, do you?"
He stood up. "Come on, the taxi's here."
Returning the phone to the waiter, he grabbed the takeaway bags. "Thanks."
As they exited, Sugimoto took off his jersey.
"Here's your jersey."
"It's fine. Give it back on Monday," he said, rubbing the back of his head with a smile.
She hugged the jersey to her chest, smiling faintly.
A taxi honked outside. A Toyota Carina idled at the curb.
Speedrunner opened the door for her. She tugged the coat aside and climbed into the back seat. He paused, catching a glimpse of her legs as she ducked in. Handing her the takeaway, he sat beside her.
They sat close—closer than usual. Sugimoto blushed. (I'm sitting next to Sensei! We're so close… What should I do?)
Speedrunner leaned against the window, eyes drifting shut. She inched closer. (What if he gets mad? What if he puts his arm around me?)
Smooth jazz played on the radio. Smiling shyly, she rested her head against his shoulder.
The horn blared.
The music cut.
"We're here," said the driver.
Sugimoto jolted upright. "What?! We just got in!"
She blinked, realizing she'd been leaning on him. Speedrunner opened his eyes, recognizing the small motel she called home.
"Like always," he sighed, "I drop you off at your place."
She smacked one of the takeaway boxes against his chest.
(Oh yeah… she has anger issues.)
She stomped out with the other box and slammed the door.
"Sorry about that," Speedrunner muttered to the driver, embarrassed. (That witch took my dinner too.)
He watched her trudge up the stairs, takeaway clamped between her teeth. She reached her door, pulled the key from her bra, and noticed his neatly folded jersey on her bag.
Dragging everything inside, she slid down the door with a sigh, completely drained.
She sniffed the jersey and smiled.
"Idiot."