Kusanagi mulled over the word for a moment, and suddenly understanding dawned on her. Her ears flushed red, and she fell silent.
This girl is usually quite sharp; why is she drawing a blank at such a critical moment?
"Kyoko sent a Line message saying they've finished packing and are downstairs. She's asking where we are." Momozawa typed rapidly, finishing off her banana in a few bites. "Let's go down and meet up with them."
"Let's go." Kusanagi suddenly snatched all the bags from my hands and walked off with forced energy.
Not only did she take them, but she also walked incredibly fast, her slender, pale figure darting off like a cat.
I couldn't bear to let her carry them and was about to chase after her, but Momozawa stopped me, smiling calmly. "Let her carry them. You have to give her a chance to show off."
A chance to show off? I blinked in confusion.
Two girls, one tall and one short, were sitting on a stone bench by the teaching building. The petite one was humming while opening envelopes, while the cool, aloof one stared at her phone with an expressionless face.
In the next second, her expression did a complete 180-degree turn, her eyes instantly softening with a touch of charming affection.
"Kusanagi, over here."
"Is the venue all set? Good job. Have something to eat." Kusanagi set down the bags, looking visibly relieved.
"Why did you buy so much? It must have been heavy, right?" Inohara reached out, distressed, wanting to see Kusanagi's hands, but Kusanagi quietly avoided her.
"It wasn't heavy. Miss Nozawa bought all of this."
Inohara's eyes met mine, and her defensiveness had melted away considerably compared to last time.
"You've spent quite a lot, Miss Nozawa. And this outfit...?"
"Stop asking so many questions. The fried noodles will get cold if you don't eat them now." Kusanagi pulled out paper boxes from the bag and handed one to each person.
I took it, my fingers lightly brushing against hers, and a warmth welled up in my heart. She had noticed my discomfort with this outfit and was acting as a shield for me, both overtly and subtly.
"Food!" Kyoko couldn't take her eyes off the treats. "Thank you, Big Sister Nozawa!"
"Alright, thank you." Inohara stopped questioning and began to eat quietly.
The fried noodles were fragrant, mixed with some kind of sauce that made them particularly savory and chewy, though they were quite filling after just a few bites.
Sitting in a row, they finished the fried noodles and chocolate bananas. The full bag was now empty, and everyone felt stuffed.
"...I'm a bit full." "Me too." "Me as well..."
"It's all because Miss Nozawa bought too much. We need to maintain our figures before going on stage."
"I didn't hear you saying that while you were eating. Didn't you have two chocolate bananas?"
"Only two! I could have eaten them all!"
I smiled helplessly.
"I'm just saying, Kyoko, do you really open and read every single one of those letters? Where did all the previous ones go?"
"Each one represents someone's feelings; of course I have to read them." Kyoko's eyes sparkled with the charm of a heartthrob. "I have a cabinet specifically for these letters. I cherish every single one."
"Terrifying. You're practically like the Mother of the Nation."
"Annoying." Kyoko punched Momozawa's shoulder as she stacked the envelopes. "Kusanagi is the same; she receives so many love letters every year."
Kusanagi receives love letters?
My ears perked up. So people really do write love letters to Kusanagi? Even more than that huge pile in Kyoko's hands?
Kusanagi coughed lightly and waved her hand dismissively. "I don't keep them. They all disappear after a while anyway."
"You haven't read a single one? It's truly tragic to be your fan." Momozawa clicked her tongue in amazement. "I think someone who dislikes you probably throws them all away. After all, a mountain of letters would be an eyesore for the city."
Inohara said faintly, "Maybe."
"One treasures them like jewels and responds to every request, while the other doesn't even look and throws them straight away. You two are a complete contrast."
After some laughing and playing around, the group walked through the brightly lit campus streets toward the busiest part of the market.
The place was crowded and bustling with a down-to-earth atmosphere. Unlike the food fair by the teaching building, there were many families with children playing, middle-aged men with white ropes tied around their heads shouting their wares, and balloons popping with a "bang," followed by waves of cheers from the crowd.
Colorful ribbons occasionally drifted overhead, and the aroma of takoyaki filled the air. Almost every child running past had one in hand.
After they had walked for a bit, Kyoko's phone started beeping. She looked down and said flatly, "Bad news. The Homeroom Teacher called us to the venue. The sound equipment is malfunctioning."
"We just tested it before leaving; it was fine." Inohara frowned. She wanted to browse the market with Kusanagi; why did a problem have to crop up now? "Which equipment is it?"
"The connection cables for the guitar and drums are acting up. We might need to replace the connectors. They want us back to fix it." Kyoko said, "Forget it, let's go fix it first and then come back. I won't have time to come to school tomorrow, and I have to sing the day after."
Inohara still wanted to resist. She looked at Kusanagi hesitantly. "Do both of us have to go? Kyoko, do you know how to change the drum set's audio cables..."
Kyoko shook her head helplessly. "Forget the drum cables; I even have to go to a shop to change my guitar strings."
You don't know how to change guitar amp cables? Inohara's eyes lit up. Kusanagi played guitar; she would know! Her gaze landed on Kusanagi with eager anticipation.
"Kusanagi, why don't you come with me—"
"Don't look at me, I don't know how either." Kusanagi quickly interrupted Inohara. "Besides, I need to accompany Miss Nozawa. She came all this way just for this."
"You don't know how?"
Kusanagi shook her head solemnly. "I don't."
Inohara gritted her teeth. Like hell you don't know. Do you just play the guitar randomly? It's not that you can't; it's clearly an excuse! What's there to accompany? Just let this woman wander around by herself! Fine, I'll leave Momozawa here for now, finish up, and rush back.
"...Then you guys go ahead. Kyoko and I will be back in a flash."
"Okay. Send a Line message if anything happens."
Inohara shot a few unwilling glances and looked at Kusanagi longingly before finally striding away with Kyoko.
Once their figures had disappeared, Momozawa suddenly slapped her forehead. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I think I left my keys at home!"
"What keys?" Kusanagi frowned. "Doesn't your house have an electronic fingerprint lock?"
"It's that key! You know, that one!" Momozawa winked and gestured at Kusanagi.
"Which one?" The girl looked like she had three question marks floating over her head.
"Anyway, I need to go grab the key. You two enjoy yourselves!" After saying that, Momozawa prepared to slip away. She quickly hooked an arm around Kusanagi's neck and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear, "Opportunities for dates need to be created."
Kusanagi froze, a bashful heat rising to her pale skin. "What nonsense are you talking about!" the girl cried out in embarrassed annoyance, making a move to punch her, but Momozawa nimbly dodged.
"I'm off! Have a good time with Kusanagi!"
I waved in the direction Momozawa was running. "Okay, come back as soon as you get your keys."
"She won't be coming back. She doesn't have any keys." Kusanagi pulled my hand, her ears turning red for some reason.
"No keys? Then she..." I didn't probe further, simply subconsciously enjoying the cool softness of Kusanagi's palm.
The crowds came in wave after wave. The scene felt familiar, except this time it was her leading me through the layers of people.
I suddenly realized it was just the two of us. Just us. How long would she keep holding my hand like this?
As the crowd ahead grew denser, she tightened her grip slightly. The calluses on her palm felt cool and slightly rough against my hand.
This girl really has many faces—one for her friends, one for me, and yet another for strangers.
I couldn't help but smile.
Not far away was a stall for Goldfish Scooping, a common sight in Japanese anime.
Colorful little fish swayed in the water. The children, restless and impatient, struggled to catch them. The fish kept jumping on the paper nets, quickly tearing through them and escaping amidst the children's disappointed cries.
These scenes, which I had only ever seen on a screen, were now vividly unfolding before my eyes.
I couldn't help but stare for a while. A wooden board hanging at the Goldfish Scooping stall read: 500 yen for 3 tries.
500 yen. That's a bit expensive.
Seeing me staring intently at the goldfish, the girl's cool, long eyelashes curved slightly.
"Boss, one thousand yen worth of nets, please." "Coming right up! Six nets for this young lady!"
I took the paper nets, slightly surprised. Was 'I want to play Goldfish Scooping' written all over my face? Although I really did want to play, I felt a bit embarrassed since it was mostly children here.
By the way, where did she get her pocket money from?
AI Model: gemini-3.1-flash-lite
I was also very concerned about the matter of the love letters.
"Miss Nozawa, if you don't scoop soon, the paper will break." The young girl's cold, crisp voice reminded me as she tapped her paper net against mine.
With that nudge from her, the fish all darted away in a flash, leaving only one very beautiful, slightly clumsy little black fish lingering ambiguously near my net, coveting those few tempting bits of bait.
"Have you really never read a single one?" I nonchalantly extended my net toward the little black fish, which cunningly dodged left and right, its beautiful black dorsal fin rippling the water.
Kusanagi paused. "What?"
"You're certainly popular; the love letters have piled up into a mountain." My tone was light, my eyes fixed intently on that little black fish.
It was very beautiful, pure black, glistening with a clean, dark luster, standing out remarkably in the clear spring water. To catch it, one needed patience; one needed to approach slowly, then take it for one's own when it least expected.
"...They're all just repetitive things, like 'I like you' or wanting to go out, so I stopped reading them after a while." There was a hint of sullenness in the young girl's explanation.
"No one you want to go out with?"
"..."
Silent?
"Failing to live up to someone's feelings will bring punishment, you know."
"That can't be helped," she pursed her lips, "there are too many people."
"And you claimed you hadn't read them, you little liar."
"...I've opened them occasionally."
"And then? Did you throw them all away?"
"I threw them all away."
I pulled back my net, my mood inexplicably buoyant. "Want to have a competition? Whoever catches the more beautiful fish wins."
"Usually, people compete to see who catches more, not who catches the prettier one."
"Could it be that the young miss is afraid of losing?" I said, deliberately adopting a provocative tone; reverse psychology works every time.
Sure enough, she couldn't stand me calling her "young miss." Kusanagi picked up her paper net and started scooping, "You're going to lose."
"How about the loser has to shout 'I am an idiot' right here?"
"You're on. Who's afraid of whom?"
Look at us, how old are we, squatting here with a group of kids scooping goldfish? And that wasn't even the worst of it—we even made a childish bet. But as long as it was with Kusanagi, it seemed like everything was fun, and everything we did felt important.
That beautiful little black fish—I was determined to have it.
Calming my mind, the paper net became soaked by the water. I slowly moved it through the water around the fish. I was too impatient the first time, and the paper had been soaked for too long, so it broke the moment I tried to scoop.
I tried again, and it broke again. Only one scoop left. I glanced up and saw that Kusanagi wasn't having much luck either; she had gone from scooping with supreme confidence to scooping ferociously, the corner of her eye starting to twitch.
Pfft, cute. Even after her net broke, she wouldn't give up, attempting to pinch a poor unlucky fish, but with a vigorous leap from the goldfish, she still caught nothing and ended up splashed with water.
"It's actually this hard." She shook her broken net in disbelief.
The sight of the young girl unable to handle the goldfish was just too comical, and I couldn't help but laugh.
"Don't laugh!" She felt a bit unwilling to accept defeat. "You only have one left, too. If it breaks, it's a tie!"
"Hmm." I stifled my laughter. Such a childish nature, obsessively caring about winning and losing.
Since the slow, soaking method wasn't working, I decided to try a different approach: attack directly when it least expected. By scooping the little black fish without letting the net get too soaked, the paper would be able to support the weight to the maximum extent.
Overly rational thinking was the key to victory.
The little black fish, thinking it was all over after the last two rounds, gradually relaxed its vigilance. I aimed for a corner, and like a scalpel, I dove into the water with speed, precision, and ruthlessness, scooping it up entirely in one go.
The beautiful little black fish flopped in my paper net; it was pitiful yet charming.
"You succeeded," the young girl said, her pupils shining with surprise. "How did you do that?"
"Pretty impressive, right?" It was rare to get to show off in front of Kusanagi, so I raised my eyebrows and smiled triumphantly.
"I'm a good sport when I lose."
A promise is a promise; a loss is a loss. It's just shouting 'I'm an idiot,' right?
She stood up abruptly. There were so many people around, and uh, some classmates were watching her.
Did she really have to shout it here? The young girl hesitated for a few seconds.
"Ah." The little black fish thrashed its tail hard, breaking free from its restraints. By accident, it slid down along the side's curve and returned once more to the clear water.
"It escaped." I shrugged with regret. "It seems I won't get to hear Miss Kusanagi call herself an idiot."
The young girl's black hair piled on her shoulders as she watched the black fish swimming in the water, her lips pursed in frustration.
"Did you let it go on purpose?"
"It escaped on its own. Black fish are generally smart and beautiful."
"..."
"This black fish was the most beautiful one in there; what a pity." I sighed, feeling very regretful.
The young girl paused, her black eyelashes fluttering constantly, her hands clenched.
"Lighter-colored fish are more beautiful," she said in a very soft voice, "like white ones."
White ones are more beautiful? I stared at the dark, soft whorl of her hair, thinking she was wrong. But if she wanted to prove she was an idiot, that wasn't impossible either.
"Miss Kusanagi is already an idiot; no need to specifically state it again." As soon as I finished, I ran away at the fastest speed of my life!
Sure enough, within two seconds, the young girl's furious roar came from behind me: "If you have the guts, don't run!"
The crowded, noisy throng made it hard to move, and the young girl quickly caught me, spitting out a threat: "You're getting bolder and bolder, aren't you?"
She couldn't win the argument, so she started using verbal suppression tactics. I curled my lips in amusement. "Looks like you're not convinced; let's compete again then."
"One more time, and I'll definitely win!"
Opposite the Goldfish Scooping stall was a plastic pellet gun shooting game. On the shelves were cute dolls of all sizes, along with some very small wooden plaques. If you knocked them down, the smallest and farthest ones were the grand prizes.
"Whoever knocks down more wins."
Goldfish Scooping was pure luck, but shooting was not. It depended on skill and talent, and a little bit of eyesight. Aiming—the most critical thing was a steady hand. As it happened, doctors made their living by having steady hands.
I had to win because there was something I wanted her to do.
"I'm very good at this, don't regret it." Kusanagi picked up the handgun, skillfully closing her left eye. A few seconds later, the target opposite fell with a clatter. She was actually really accurate.
The young girl fired shot after shot, each hitting the bullseye precisely, and the cute rag dolls kept falling. She lifted her palm-sized face and said casually, "When I was little, I often used stones to hit birds; I hit one every time."
A young miss shouldn't have such strange skills. Using stones to hit birds? Isn't that something only country bumpkins would do? I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Why did you use stones to hit birds?"
She pressed her index finger against the muzzle, her tone indifferent. "I was always confined to my room when I was sick; it was too boring. This gun isn't very good to use; I'd be more accurate if I threw them."
My laughter came to an abrupt halt.
Confined to her room, sick. How could this girl always say such things so easily?
The young girl exposed a segment of her fair jawline; her profile leaned against the gunstock as she focused on attacking the next target. The more indifferent she was, the more my heart ached faintly.
"Then let's use throwing." I simply poured out all the beads from the gun's magazine and, under the astonished gaze of the stall owner, threw them at the targets. The result was predictable: the force was too small, and not a single one fell.
"Hey, young lady, this is for shooting! What's the use of throwing like that? You definitely won't knock anything down!" The owner was a warm-hearted person and began to teach me how to test the gun. "Just pull the trigger!"
"That's how we play where I'm from." I said, speaking in awkward Japanese, looking at the owner innocently. "Is it not the same in Japan?"
"Oh, so you're a foreigner. This! Use it like this! Oh my, why can't you understand?"
I turned a deaf ear, threw with force, and unexpectedly, it hit the lightest front row perfectly. The small card doll fell down with a clatter.
"Knocked one down!"
The owner was confused. "Why are you foreigners so stubborn?"
The young girl watched silently with great interest. Seeing me tease the owner with my strange accent, she suddenly burst into laughter. Her watery black pupils overflowed with mirth, her fine hair dancing wildly by her ears, her red lips curving in a roguish way.
Seeing her laugh, I smoothed my own hair and laughed along with her.
Whether in the past or now, I always want to coax her. Happiness is the best solution.