I organized various books in the bookstore, handled checkouts and change, and cleared loose coins at the register.
Yen coins come in different sizes, making it easy to make mistakes when giving change, so it took some time to organize them properly.
Soon after, I received a message from Alex: [Miss Nozawa, which department are you reporting to next Monday?] He must be quite busy normally, considering doctors work three shifts day and night.
I replied politely: [Thank you for your concern, Senior. I'll be reporting to the Cardiothoracic Surgery next Monday.]
My phone buzzed; he replied instantly: [I'm currently assigned to the Emergency Department. If you need any help, just let me know.] He was overly enthusiastic.
I wasn't very fast at typing, and I used honorifics and humble language: [Thank you, Senior. If there's anything I don't understand in the future, please point out my shortcomings.]
[No need to be so formal, just call me Alex. "Senior" makes me sound too old~ You'll officially be starting your internship next Monday, Miss Nozawa. Congratulations!]
I was amused by his bluntness. [Alright, Senior Alex. Thank you.]
There weren't many people in the bookstore, just a few middle-aged men reading. The elderly man was dozing in a rattan chair nearby. The air conditioner hummed in the corner, and the sound of cicadas outside was loud and clear.
It was a simple and pleasant afternoon. I spaced out for a bit, reading Japanese Kabuki: Noh and Kyogen. I had an hour left until work ended, and the high school across the street finished in two hours.
High school students aren't allowed to use phones during class, right? I wondered if Kusanagi was paying attention.
I opened the Line chat with Kusanagi; the last message was still her saying I was dead meat.
Since I told her I had touched her underwear, Kusanagi had been treating me like I didn't exist for the past few days, completely ignoring me. She would slam the door and leave in the morning and eat dinner as usual in the evening, but she absolutely refused to teach me japanese.
"Why are you breaking your word?"
"I don't feel like teaching." Kusanagi curled her lip in a mirthless smile.
This really worried me. With the internship approaching, the results of my self-study were minimal. I knew nothing about the various japanese dialects, colloquialisms, or common medical terms used during treatment.
That kind of knowledge isn't in books. How could she just quit on me now!
It was a real headache.
The person who could give me the answers was right there. Even though she sat there with a cold, expressionless face, I decided to give it a try.
I hovered in front of her, wandering through the living room and then the kitchen.
Kusanagi's long black eyelashes were lowered. She was staring intently at her phone as if something particularly captivating was on it, completely unmoved.
As I opened the refrigerator, I sighed loudly, "I opened the 'bing-xiang', and there's so much food in the 'bing-xiang'!"
The girl lazily propped up her legs and reclined on the sofa. The sharp line of her jawline extended down toward her collar. No reaction.
"When turning on an appliance, how do you say 'close'? Is it 'guan-bi' or 'guan-bi'?"
"Should'shua-zi' be pronounced'shua-zi' or'shua-ju'?"
She rolled over and covered her ears with her slender white hands.
She still wasn't reacting. I couldn't believe it! I cleared my throat and finally used my trump card: telling a joke in a Kansai accent.
"Once upon a time, there was someone who taught herself japanese, but she ended up with a Kansai accent. She was mocked by people from Tokyo, and her teacher stopped teaching her the Tokyo dialect. Her dream of becoming a doctor was shattered..." I recited with great emotion, glancing at Kusanagi's reaction.
As expected, the corners of her mouth twitched upward, and she touched the bridge of her nose, but she quickly returned to her usual expression.
"Self-study means reading out loud. Don't be shy, don't be 'hai-pa'..."
"Hey." Kusanagi finally couldn't help but speak, her cold voice tinged with mockery. "How did you manage to come study in Japan with that level of skill?"
"Tests and speaking are two different things," I said in a faint tone. "Without a teacher, any language is extremely difficult. If you study on your own, you'll never learn it. You'll just keep running in place, and then—"
The girl turned her head from the sofa, her eyes narrowing into black crescents.
Me: "Some people promised to be my teacher but went back on their word halfway. Sigh, I only have myself to blame for trusting the wrong person..."
Kusanagi's eye twitched.
She walked toward me. Her long legs under her high school uniform looked as slender as willow branches, yet she walked with long, arrogant strides.
"You want me to teach you?" She crossed her arms and tilted her head, eyeing me.
I nodded vigorously. "Yes!" Not just because the internship was near, but mainly because there was no one else.
Seeing my eager expression, she slowly leaned in. "I won't."
...
The photo I had hurriedly taken at Senso-ji Temple—that graceful, beautiful face—now looked more and more like leverage in my hands.
Hmm, I felt like her face could use a little something extra. How about drawing her as a cat?
At the same time, I could test if she was paying attention in class and studying hard.
I opened a photo editing app, uploaded the photo, and then drew some cat whiskers on her cold, fair face, adding some comical patterns with "masterful" strokes.
Now she looks like a high school girl—it has that cute purikura vibe. I cropped the photo into a small square, specifically framing her face, and hit send.
I added a message: [Miss Kusanagi, what do you want to eat tonight?]
One minute, two minutes, five minutes passed, and I still hadn't received a reply.
I raised an eyebrow, feeling a bit surprised. Was she actually paying attention in class and not checking her phone?
Just as I was starting to be impressed by her, the phone dinged, and a Line notification popped up.
[You. Are. Dead. Meat.] She sent it character by character in japanese.
I blinked. Why was she always talking about "death"? She probably doesn't even know how to make a real threat, does she?
That photo was clearly very cute.
I could imagine her expression right now.
[Where did you get that photo?] She was demanding an explanation. She also sent an angry sticker of a little person punching a sofa cushion.
I thought of the brutally mangled cushion on the sofa at home; the culprit was obvious.
[I took it at Senso-ji Temple. Did you forget, Miss Kusanagi? It was so cute that I saved it secretly.]
I wasn't telling the whole truth there. I didn't take it because I thought it was cute, but because I felt it would be a pity if I couldn't see it again.
Why I felt it would be a pity, I didn't know myself. Was it because she was too beautiful, an appreciation of beauty? Or...
In short, it was a strange, elusive feeling.
[You're not allowed to save it! Delete it!] The girl seemed to be fuming with embarrassment, though she probably had to restrain herself during class.
Only then did I reveal my true colors, replying with a smile: [If Miss Kusanagi is willing to teach me japanese, I might consider it.]
In class that afternoon, Kusanagi stared at the message on her phone screen.
On the screen, her own face was intentionally scribbled on with silly cat whiskers, yet the person in the photo was smiling brightly with soft eyes, looking surprisingly happy.
She hadn't even realized she'd made that expression. Seeing the photo reminded her of the moment she held hands with the woman.
Miss Nozawa's hand had been warm and soft, deftly wrapping around hers and gently pulling her forward.
Kusanagi had never held hands with anyone. Growing up, only her biological mother had held her hand, holding her in her arms and whispering stories about Tokyo, gently placing her hand on books to show her Senso-ji Temple, Tokyo Tower, and the blooming cherry blossoms.
Momozawa liked to link arms with her, but that felt completely different from holding hands.
Holding hands was an intimate, private thing—at least, that's what Kusanagi thought.
Why could Miss Nozawa hold her hand so naturally? Was it common in China?
She instinctively felt angry, but it wasn't just anger; a strange sense of bashfulness made her feel even more irritable.
The girl frowned, her dark, lustrous pupils flickering as if trying to confirm something, but she couldn't find the answer to her confusion.
Sitting next to her, Inohara noticed her strange behavior and whispered, "Kusanagi, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," Kusanagi said, quietly putting away her phone, her dark eyes deepening. "By the way, let me borrow your lipstick."
The afternoon sun could not withstand the grinding of time and fell toward the distant horizon. The mountain peaks swallowed the last rays of twilight as the city lights came on and the neon signs began to flicker.
The night was not yet deep, but the area outside the apartment was already crowded. Tokyo in the evening was plunged into the bustle of early night.
I twisted the seasoning bottle to marinate the pork belly, feeling cheerful. I had prepared some beef rolls, ramen, and scallion onion rings, planning to make two main dishes: beef roll Rice bowls and Beef Ramen.
I also prepared fresh sushi. It was expensive, so I didn't want to buy too much; I just bought the caviar and salmon sashimi that Kusanagi liked, arranging them neatly on the plate. It looked delightful.
Why was it so lavish today?
After sending that message, Kusanagi didn't reply. From the brevity of that short exchange, I could keenly sense that she would come back aggressively to settle the score with me.
So, I decided to cook a few dishes she likes. For one, I have the leverage of the photo, which I've already secretly backed up to the cloud; for another, I'll take the opportunity to coax her into teaching me japanese. It's a win-win—just as planned.
My phone vibrated. It was Mr. Kuroki, whom I hadn't heard from in a while, initiating a video call.
I tapped on the video and gave Mr. Kuroki a gentle smile. "Mr. Kuroki, it's been a while."
My attitude toward him had changed. After learning he wasn't a fit father, I found his display of concern for Kusanagi quite baffling. Yet, there was nothing I could do to help.
Mr. Kuroki looked a bit tanned; perhaps the sun in Osaka is quite strong. He adjusted his phone for a moment before replying, "It has been a while, Miss Nozawa. I've been so busy during my time in Osaka that I haven't had much chance to contact you. I finally have some time today, so I thought I'd check in on you and Kusanagi."
"Thank you for your concern, Mr. Kuroki. Is everything going smoothly for you in Osaka?"
Mr. Kuroki said in a deep voice, "The matters here in Osaka are being handled quite smoothly. Miss Nozawa, how are you getting along with my daughter?"
"Miss Kusanagi has been eating a bit more lately and is very healthy, so you don't need to worry, Mr. Kuroki." I gave him a faint smile. "She goes to school on time every day and should be home very soon."
Am I getting along well with Kusanagi? I don't know; it probably wouldn't be considered 'well' in the truest sense.
An hour ago, your daughter was still threatening me, saying I was "dead meat."
The middle-aged man's gaze was warm. "That's good. I was worried that because she's so rebellious, there might be conflicts between you. If she does anything offensive, please bear with her, Miss Nozawa."
I didn't quite agree with his words, and my brow furrowed slightly. Although Kusanagi is rebellious and prickly, she is a good child with an extremely sensitive heart. Mr. Kuroki's preconceived notion that she must be in the wrong is quite unfair. You can't judge a person based on appearance or a single incident; he really doesn't understand his daughter at all.
He doesn't even know she has Asthma.
"Mr. Kuroki," I paused, choosing my words carefully. "Miss Kusanagi is actually a very good kid. She isn't as rebellious as she appears on the surface; she's a very soft and delicate girl inside. You shouldn't unilaterally assume she's done something wrong. It's very hurtful and acts as a subconscious rejection, which is quite terrible."
"I know it's not my place to say this, so please forgive me if I've offended you. Miss Kusanagi is an exceptional person. Whether in terms of talent or knowledge, I believe she is far ahead of her peers. If things aren't harmonious with her family, I think the reason might lie more with the parents."
I didn't speak too bluntly because I didn't want to reveal Kusanagi's secret; I had made a pinky promise with her.
Mr. Kuroki seemed very surprised by my words and fell silent for a while.
"It's fine. What you say makes sense, Miss Nozawa. Parents naturally bear responsibility for a child's issues."
"It's great that you think so. Oh, I happen to be preparing dinner for Miss Kusanagi. Would you like to see?"
With my phone propped up on the counter, my hands were free, so I showed Mr. Kuroki the table.
Mr. Kuroki seemed to still be processing what I had just said. He replied, "Oh, alright."
The sound of a key turning came from the living room door, and soon it was opened with a "bang."
Kusanagi was back. The sound of footsteps in white socks grew louder and heavier, and the youthful aura that belonged only to her drew closer.
She didn't even put on slippers, just stepped around in her socks, and flopped onto the sofa without any regard for her skirt—that was so like her.
The girl seemed to have rushed home; she was panting slightly and rummaging through her school bag for something. Books and pens could be heard clattering onto the floor.
"Miss Kusanagi, I'm on—" I turned my head, hands full of kitchen utensils, but before I could finish, the girl lunged at me.
I was completely encircled by her.
The girl's soft chest bumped right into me, and the strands of hair on her head brushed against my chin.
My hands were both holding utensils, so I was forced to hold them high, a look of bewilderment on my face.
Fearing I might break free, the girl wrapped one arm around my neck while her slender fingers firmly pinched my face. Ignoring my stunned expression, she began to draw lines on me with a smooth lipstick.
She was so close that I could smell the scent of body wash on her glossy short black hair. Her slender, pale body under the black school uniform was almost entirely leaning into my embrace.
Her long, dark eyelashes, her cool yet soft arms, her skin so pale it was almost translucent—on closer inspection, there was even a tiny mole at the corner of her eye.
This is... too close. My whole body went stiff. I didn't know if it was because of the girl's actions or because Mr. Kuroki was watching right there, but I was breaking into a cold sweat from the awkwardness.
Her eyes shifted intensely as she mercilessly applied the lipstick to my forehead and cheeks. As if that wasn't enough to vent her frustration, she also drew on my chin and neck, though she pointedly ignored my lips.
The girl seemed quite satisfied with her "artwork," working with bold strokes.
I held my breath, letting her draw on my face for a long time. Then, she pulled out her phone and took a photo with a "click."
"Now we're even." She tucked her phone away triumphantly, her dark eyes shining.
She finally let go of me, and the feeling of being surrounded by her softness vanished.
After a moment, I looked at the phone screen, petrified and stiff. With a face full of ridiculous bright red marks, I tried my best not to look too grim. "...Mr. Kuroki, let's talk another time. I'll get back to cooking."
The girl's cheerful footsteps came to a halt. I cut the video call, my scalp tingling with embarrassment.
Mr. Kuroki should be happy that his daughter and I are getting along so "harmoniously."
Um... for a moment, neither of us spoke. There was a subtle feeling of having been caught in the act.
From behind me came Kusanagi's slightly embarrassed voice: "...Were you on a video call with Kuroki?"
"...Yeah, he wanted to see how we've been doing lately."
"Why didn't you say so earlier!"
"I thought you saw. My phone was right here."
"It was placed so high, who could see it!" The girl shouted, her face flushed with shame and anger.
I had forgotten that she only reached my chin and couldn't see the phone on the counter.
"...It's fine, maybe he didn't see." A typical ostrich-burying-its-head move, pure self-deception.
We both tacitly remained silent as we prepared to have dinner.
Before eating, I went to wash my face. This girl had recreated everything from the photo on my face with high fidelity. I brought this on myself, but she was so vengeful for getting that close.
I washed off the last red streak, water dripping from my wet face, as I thought absentmindedly.
What brand of shampoo does she use?
When she was close, there was a refreshing, floral scent. Her hair always seemed to be in such good condition, with a dark, glossy sheen, naturally curving to frame her pale earlobes in delicate strands.
japanese shampoo...
I don't like being touched; shaking hands is the limit of my contact with people. Perhaps it's an occupational hazard of being a doctor, needing to be mindful of hand hygiene and disinfection at all times, let alone having other physical contact.
Yet, I had proactively held Kusanagi's hand, and I didn't find this accidental contact today unpleasant. I even felt a bit nervous.
She had bumped into me without any defenses, and the soft sensation of the girl was clearly transmitted. For a moment, my breathing stopped, and my mind went blank for about two seconds.
I'm not sure what this feeling is exactly, so I just tried to brush it off. However, I realized that I don't dislike Kusanagi's touch; in fact, I might even like it a little.
Who could possibly dislike a fragrant and soft girl? I'm no exception, right?
Back in the dining room, Kusanagi had already started eating. She chose the Beef Ramen, blowing on it in small puffs before picking up a large mouthful with her chopsticks.
Her slender white legs were tucked under her as she sat cross-legged on the chair, showing no concern for the underwear beneath her school skirt. She looked quite unruly, with no sense of proper posture.
I dried my hands, walked over, and patted her long leg. "Put your legs down. Sitting like that can easily lead to scoliosis."
"I won't." She propped them up even higher.
I gave her a flat look. "Fine. Your underwear is white. Now I know."
"..." The girl slowly lowered her legs.
Feeling refreshed, I took a spoonful of my Rice bowl. Mmm, it tastes really good; my cooking skills are getting better by the day.