The alarm clock was ruthlessly torturing my brain at 6:00 AM. No matter how good a song is, once it becomes an alarm, you just want to blacklist it.
I struggled to sit up and swiped the alarm off, then spaced out for a while. Ah, I'm in Japan. It took me a moment to accept this fact.
Classes actually start at 8:00 AM, but there's a reason I'm up so early today.
Last night, Mrs. Kuroki invited me to dinner. I couldn't refuse her enthusiasm, but halfway through the meal, she went to heat up some soup and accidentally burned her right hand. As a medical student, I reacted quickly, telling her to rinse it under cold water immediately, then applied a thick layer of burn ointment, which prevented it from blistering.
Since Mrs. Kuroki couldn't cook after the burn, I decided to take over the meals for the next few days. It would be a perfect chance to let the Kuroki couple taste some authentic Chinese dishes.
"Let me see what we have." I opened the fridge. Hmm, not bad. There are ingredients I can work with. Breakfast should be light. I'll grill some eel, make miso soup, and since there's rice and eggs, I can make tamagoyaki.
"Miss Nozawa, did you make breakfast?"
Mrs. Kuroki heard the commotion in the kitchen. I had just finished breakfast for four and stood there with my hands behind my back, feeling a bit shy.
"So extravagant?!" Mrs. Kuroki exclaimed, her face full of surprise. "Besides being skilled in medicine, you can actually cook? My goodness, is there anything Miss Nozawa can't do?"
I felt very embarrassed by her praise. After all, rinsing a burn isn't exactly high-level medical skill. I said bashfully, "It's nothing like that. I don't know if my cooking suits your taste, but if you don't mind, I can handle breakfast for the next few days."
"How could I impose? Miss Nozawa's studies are so busy." She held my hands and shook her head repeatedly. "My hand is much better today, really, don't worry about it."
"It's okay, let me do it."
Mr. Kuroki came out too. He looked at the table full of food with an expression of surprise, but upon seeing the four pairs of chopsticks, he said in a deep voice, "Thank you for your trouble, Miss Nozawa, but our daughter isn't home, so we'll accept her portion on her behalf."
Not home? I just saw her on the balcony last night. That arrogant girl with short hair.
It was hard to see clearly at night, only remembering the glistening, jade-white profile of her face reflected in the light.
Mr. Kuroki looked desolate when mentioning his daughter. "She doesn't come home often, even in a few months. She isn't close to us. Anyway, enough about that. Let's taste Miss Nozawa's cooking."
"It's especially delicious, with a very Chinese flavor." Mrs. Kuroki blinked. "Miss Nozawa has been in Japan for almost a month, and your Japanese has improved a lot!"
Mastering a language is truly difficult. After only a month, I know my own level all too well.
I could only smile awkwardly. "Really? That's great." Japanese people are just too fond of praising others. Whether it's good or not, they'll praise you, so it's hard to tell if it's actually good. Sigh, keep working hard.
Arriving at school in the afternoon, today was the first surgical simulation in the operating room. I was assigned to a new group with two boys. I heard there was another girl, but she didn't show up until the suturing was almost over.
A girl in a light red cinched dress appeared at the laboratory door in a rush. Her fresh, elegant, and soft appearance made all the boys present pause and look at her.
"Teacher Yamashita, I'm sorry! Everyone, I'm sorry! My bicycle was stolen!" The girl put her hands together, a look of misery on her face. "Does anyone know what to do when a bicycle is stolen?!" As soon as she spoke, I was amused by her Chinese-accented Japanese. It had a strong Northeastern accent—I could tell immediately she was from the Northeast.
"Student Li Shijia, please return to your seat quickly." Yamashita's face turned dark, but he eventually understood her special reason and warned her that this couldn't happen a second time.
The girl stuck out her tongue after hearing this and replied playfully, "Don't worry, Teacher Yamashita, next time I'll definitely give the bike thief ninety-nine stitches."
Yamashita, a professor, couldn't help but laugh, and everyone else followed suit.
"Hello! How far have you guys gotten?" This girl named Li Shijia sat over in a rush. She had a magical aura of approachability that made people want to interact with her.
"The next round is about to start. You're really lucky." I was sitting next to her and smiled, pursing my lips.
"Huh?! A fellow Chinese?" Li Shijia was pleasantly surprised. "I'm Chinese too, I'm from Liaoning. How about you?"
"I'm from Hunan. Just call me Nozawa." I winked at her.
"I've been to Hunan for a trip! Zhangjiajie, right? I super love Hunan rice noodles!" Li Shijia shouted while putting on medical gloves. "And spicy crayfish!"
"I've been to Liaoning too. I really like the spicy mixed noodles there, as well as cold noodles and suantangzi."
Northern people are just so enthusiastic. It's very easy and relaxed to get along with them.
"Ahhhhh, spicy mixed noodles! The GOAT!"
The Japanese male classmates nearby heard our chattering, but since we were speaking Chinese, they couldn't understand and just shrugged helplessly.
"Some students have delayed the time by being late. Don't be influenced, continue."
Li Shijia and I looked at each other. She raised her eyebrows, signaling to zip our lips. Since we were both compatriots and in the same experimental group, we exchanged contact information. Li Shijia became the first friend I made in Japan.
Afternoon classes ended. At the busy school gate, Li Shijia waved at me. "Nozawa, I'm going back first! Let's hang out next time!"
"Okay!" I waved back at her. "I'm going to my part-time job first."
It was 6:00 PM. The faint, warm light of the sunset draped a layer of cicada-wing-like color over the bookstore's storefront. The books seemed to possess life, a very vivid life.
Words like "vivid" and "cute" are originally used to describe girls, for example... Miss Kusanagi, whom I met the other day?
The girl's rebellious, upturned, vivid eyebrows and eyes, and her soft, dense, curly black short hair. Even though she was so beautiful, she was quite perverse.
Perhaps this is the saying, "Don't judge a book by its cover"?
Thinking of her smoking, I couldn't help but sigh. Kids just think smoking is cool; it seems this kind of thing knows no nationality.
The weather was cool and comfortable. There were no customers in the shop for the moment, so I picked out a book I liked and sat at the entrance to read.
"The Japanese New Year is on January 1st. Before New Year's Eve, there is a big cleanup, and straw ropes are hung at the door."
"Cross your hands over your head to make an 'X' shape to mean 'no', and make an 'O' shape to mean 'yes'."
I gestured it myself. Like this is 'yes', like this is 'no'. Hmm, remembered.
Just as I was engrossed in reading at the door, my train of thought was interrupted by a burst of noisy laughter. Students were walking by in groups of two or three with their school bags. I packed up my book, getting ready to work, when I suddenly spotted a few girls smoking in the crowd.
I thought I had seen it wrong, so I looked carefully a few times. Several slender girls in high school uniforms were gathered together, very conspicuous in the crowd.
Good heavens, the most eye-catching one was Kuroki Kusanagi. She was carrying a black guitar on her back, and there were a few friends around her, also holding cigarettes like her, laughing and wearing headphones, chatting about something.
Kusanagi was smoking, the smoke spreading from beneath her sharp, elegant nose bridge. The black high school uniform intensified this rebellious, delinquent feeling; it actually had a kind of flamboyant, unrestrained beauty.
My gaze was soon discovered by her. Kusanagi paused, her expression turning noticeably ugly. She cursed under her breath, threw the cigarette butt on the ground, stepped on it, and walked towards me.
"Why are you here?"
I pretended to be calm and closed the book. "Because I work part-time at this bookstore."
The girls who had been gathered together smoking all crowded over. They were wearing beautiful smoky makeup, some had their school skirts altered to be very short, revealing two sexy long legs. One girl with chestnut-colored hair stared at me curiously.
"Kusanagi, a new friend?" "Where did you meet this pretty sister?"
I blinked. Are they teasing me?
"What's so pretty about her? At most, she's passable." Kusanagi's anger had nowhere to go. She glared at me. "You are not allowed to tell the Kurokis about the smoking!"
"I can not tell your parents, but smoking, um, is bad for your health." I thought for a moment, not knowing how to say "harmful to the body," so I gestured at my chest to indicate the body.
"..." A terrifying silence.
"Hahahahahahahaha!" As soon as I finished this action, the girls gathered around suddenly burst into violent, hysterical laughter. They covered their mouths while laughing, almost gasping for air, causing people around to look over.
"I'm dying of laughter, hahaha!" "I'm dying, I'm dying, I'm actually dying!"
I watched them laughing hysterically, not understanding what happened.
Only Kusanagi didn't laugh. Her face became increasingly ugly, and it showed signs of turning redder and redder. The cold, beautiful face was flushed with extreme shame and anger.
AI Model: gemini-3.0-flash
Later, I realized that I had accidentally said "poor figure" instead of "poor health." Combined with the gesture I made at my chest, they thought I was saying Kusanagi's figure was bad and her chest was small because she smoked.
Kusanagi left after dropping a "You just wait."
I scratched my head in confusion. Smoking really does deteriorate one's health—bronchitis, pulmonary heart disease, coronary heart disease, COPD... it's the biggest culprit for chronic respiratory diseases. Surely she knows about nicotine?
A dreamless night.
If it weren't for the young girl's fierce glare, I would have slept quite well.
Mrs. Kuroki's arm was better. She no longer let me into the kitchen, saying, "Miss Nozawa, don't worry!" before pushing me out.
I didn't have to prepare breakfast anymore, which meant an extra hour of sleep, but getting up was still painful. I tossed and turned before finally struggling out of bed and going downstairs to the living room for some water. Mrs. Kuroki was busy moving about, wearing a very form-fitting kimono.
"Miss Nozawa, why don't you have breakfast before heading to school?"
Her hair was tied in a special knot, and her face still wore that kind smile. "It's rare for Miss Kusanagi to be home today, so let's do a proper introduction."
Kusanagi was actually home? That really was rare... A proper introduction?
I recalled her threatening gaze... I was afraid an introduction wouldn't be necessary; your precious daughter had likely already sliced me into a thousand pieces in her mind.
Although I didn't know exactly how I had offended Kusanagi, I still managed a very dignified and generous smile. "Miss Kusanagi, is it? I'm looking forward to meeting her, too."
The sound of zori slippers came from the entryway. Mr. Kuroki, as usual, was dressed in a deep black kimono and sat formally at the center of the table. Behind him was Kusanagi. She looked like she had just showered; her black hair was wet and clung to her porcelain-white face, and even her eyelashes were damp.
It was the first time I'd seen her in loungewear. It gave her a softer, more feminine aura, weakening that rebellious and unruly vibe. The next second, her gaze landed on me, filled with warning.
My brain must have short-circuited to think she looked soft.
"This is the first time you've met, right? Let me introduce you. This is our daughter, Kuroki Kusanagi. And this is Miss Nozawa Mizuki, an international student from China. You'll be living under the same roof from now on, so please look out for each other."
Mr. Kuroki gestured for Kusanagi to shake my hand. In China, it's customary to shake hands upon meeting; he was clearly being considerate of me.
At this moment, Kusanagi and I were surprisingly in sync, both acting as if we had never met. She extended her slender, pale hand and said in a neutral tone, "Hello, Miss Nozawa."
She was a good actor. But why pretend it was our first meeting?
"Hello, Miss Kusanagi." Seeing her reach out, I naturally shook her hand in return.
The girl's hand was as fair as jade, but there seemed to be slight calluses on her fingertips. She gripped my hand with a gentle strength, her skin brushing against my palm.
I remembered the black guitar she carried. The calluses on her fingertips were likely from playing an instrument. A guitar certainly suited her personality.
"Alright, alright, now that everyone knows each other, let's sit down and eat," Mrs. Kuroki called out from the side.
"Thank you, ma'am," I replied with a nod. Just as I was about to withdraw my hand, I caught Kusanagi eyeing me out of the corner of my eye. She tightened her grip on my hand, showing no intention of letting go.
...I tried to pull my hand away, but failed. I tried again, and Kusanagi's grip only grew tighter.
"...Miss Kusanagi?" My smile was a bit stiff. With the Kurokis right there, I couldn't just abruptly shake her off. Why was she holding on so tight!
Kusanagi's lips curled slightly. She leaned close to my ear, her cold voice dripping with a threat: "If you dare say anything, you're dead."
I was stunned. I was being blatantly threatened—threatened by a minor in a foreign country?
"I won't say anything, Miss Kusanagi." My smile must have looked terrible.
Kusanagi slowly released my hand. "Good."
An itchy sensation from where her callused fingertips had brushed against my palm still lingered. My palms were extremely sensitive, and they were already turning red. Are Japanese high schoolers all this dangerous? I instinctively shook my hand, trying to get rid of the discomfort.
The four of us finally sat down and began our meal.
"By the way, there's something I need to mention."
We had been eating in silence when Mr. Kuroki seemed to remember something. He first spoke a few words to his wife, then kept saying something to Kusanagi. I was completely lost. They were speaking too fast, and their speech was peppered with loanwords. I couldn't make heads or tails of it, and thinking it was a private family matter, I just kept my head down and ate.
"This isn't up to you!" As they spoke, the atmosphere turned sour. Mr. Kuroki slammed the table hard, causing a bit of soup to splash out of my bowl.
I sighed inwardly. The parent-child relationship in this family was at an absolute freezing point.
"Whatever. Do what you want. I'm not coming back anyway." Impatience was written all over Kusanagi's fair face. She kept talking back to Mr. Kuroki, her tone sounding very disrespectful.
"Do you think you're all grown up now? That you don't need us anymore?" Mr. Kuroki's anger flared, his face instantly flushing red. "How did I raise such an undisciplined daughter!"
"I said, whatever!"
With that, Kusanagi tossed her chopsticks aside. Ignoring the Kurokis and me, she grabbed an umbrella with a cold expression and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
The atmosphere at the table became tense. No matter how delicious the food was, I couldn't swallow it now. I struggled to gulp down the last bit of soup, trying to act invisible. Being caught in the middle of a family dispute like this was incredibly awkward.
"I am truly sorry, Miss Nozawa." Mr. Kuroki let out a deep sigh, his large, thick palm constantly rubbing his brow. "My daughter is poorly disciplined. I've made a fool of myself in front of a guest from afar."
After some deliberation, I spoke up cautiously: "Mr. Kuroki, if there's anything I can do to help, please don't hesitate to ask."
"If Kusanagi were even half as sensible as you, I would be satisfied," he said, shaking his head helplessly. It seemed that no matter how successful an entrepreneur was, they were still at a loss when facing their own rebellious teenage daughter.
Being in his fifties, the anger had made him feel a bit unwell. Mr. Kuroki took a moment to compose himself before explaining the situation.
It turned out that Kusanagi had been frail since birth. She had been rushed to the emergency room and had narrowly escaped death, but the ordeal had left her with many health issues. She had finally managed to grow up, albeit with difficulty. After starting high school, she began boarding there. Now, he wanted Kusanagi to move back home so they could look after her daily needs. He was worried her health might take a turn for the worse again, which was why he had been so insistent on her coming home every day.
I listened carefully, thinking of the girl's thin frame and overly pale complexion. As a medical student, I naturally tended to look out for patients, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. Then, remembering she was also smoking behind her family's back—further damaging her health—I felt a headache coming on.
Still, I found it strange. Would she really get that angry just because she didn't want to move back home?
Mr. Kuroki saw my confusion. He picked up a cup of tea, his face full of melancholy. "I'm being transferred for work, so only my wife will be staying in Tokyo. Their relationship isn't very harmonious. That child says she wants to live on her own... I really don't know what to say."
Now I understood. Kusanagi was unwilling to come home; she would rather live alone than with her mother.
The chopsticks the girl had dropped lay lonely on the floor before Mrs. Kuroki picked them up and wiped them gently. My heart was stirred.
I had lived with my father since I was a child. For many years, I had very little contact with my mother and was surrounded only by men. Including my male elementary school teachers and my friends, I was like a tomboy myself. I had rarely experienced the gentleness and consideration of a woman. It wasn't until I became an adult at eighteen and lived with my mother that I slowly began to feel that warm female care. A child truly cannot be without their mother; it leaves a void in their heart.
Miss Kusanagi is still young. Mr. Kuroki shouldn't have spoken to her in that tone. Regardless of the reason, she's still so young; how could she understand?
I continued to listen to him.
"I'm also considering the best way to handle this, all for the sake of her health." I thought of Kusanagi's stubborn face. I understood their struggle, but there wasn't much I could do to help. I could only gently advise them to talk to Kusanagi again.
Mr. Kuroki promised me that the next time Kusanagi came back, he wouldn't pressure her so forcefully. Only then did I feel comfortable taking my leave. Rebellious girls and such are truly a handful. I wonder what kind of deep-seated grudge exists between this father and daughter.