Source
https://kakuyomu.jp/works/2912051603008595869
During lunch break that day—the day I’d walked to school holding hands with Himuro—I set the paper bag she’d given me that morning on my desk, trying my best not to notice the stares coming from all around me. Even though we’d let go of each other’s hands just before the school gate, the students on their way to school had seen us clearly enough, and by the time the first period started, it had turned into a rumor—one I didn’t even have the energy to correct—that “the student council vice president had fallen.”
The paper bag in front of me was filled with neatly shaped sandwiches. Himuro had said it was part of her health management routine, but considering she’d gone out of her way to wake up early just for me, prepare the ingredients, and even take the time to cut them into bite-sized pieces, it was a bit too elaborate to dismiss as mere nutritional guidance.
“Kasugai-kun.”
When I heard my name and looked up, Himuro was standing next to my desk. She was holding her own lunchbox; though she usually ate with the female students, today she took it for granted to borrow the desk next to mine and sit down.
“I’d like to hear your impressions, so please eat it here.”
“Can’t I do that after I finish eating?”
“Changes in your facial expression are also part of the evaluation.”
“I’m not a judge on a cooking show, you know.”
The students around us were chatting, but they were clearly eavesdropping on our conversation. Himuro, however, didn’t seem to mind and waited quietly until I opened the lid of the container.
The first thing I picked up was an egg sandwich. The bread wasn’t dry, and the eggs had a subtle saltiness and a faint sweetness. While not as elaborate as what you’d find in a store, it had a careful, thoughtful flavor that reflected the personality of the person who made it—the kind of taste you could eat every day without getting tired of it.
“It’s delicious.”
When I told her that frankly, the tension in Himuro’s shoulders eased slightly.
“Could you be more specific?”
“The egg isn’t too strong, and the bread is soft. You made this this morning, right?”
“I finished the prep work last night.”
“You went to all that trouble?”
“Kasugai-kun’s diet requires ongoing intervention, after all.”
Although Himuro answered calmly, her fingertips holding the lunchbox seemed restless, shifting their position repeatedly. It seemed she really was concerned about my reaction. That fact struck me as strangely endearing, and when I smiled unconsciously, she furrowed her brow in displeasure.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking that even Himuro gets nervous.”
“I’m not.”
“You just breathed a sigh of relief, didn’t you?”
“I was just relieved that you didn’t have a taste disorder, Kasugai-kun.”
It was an obvious attempt to put on a brave face. The Himuro of the past might have cut the conversation short the moment she realized her emotions had been noticed. But today, she didn’t get up from her seat; instead, she watched as I picked up the ham and vegetable sandwich next, her eyes unable to hide her anticipation.
“This is delicious, too. Though it might be a little spicy.”
“Is it the amount of mustard?”
“Probably.”
“Then I’ll use less next time.”
“So you’re really going to make it again?”
“Are you unhappy about that?”
“No. I’m looking forward to it.”
It was something I said offhand.
But Himuro stopped what she was doing, stared at my face for a moment, and then slowly lowered her gaze. Her cheeks were turning red just like they had that morning, but this time she even added the gesture of tucking her hair behind her ear, as if to hide her embarrassment.
“…Please don’t say things like that so casually.”
“What?”
“That you’re looking forward to the next one.”
“If you’re going to make it, of course I’m looking forward to it.”
“It might be normal for you, Kasugai-kun, but it’s different for the person making it.”
Himuro offered no further explanation and opened her own lunchbox. The contents were simpler than the one she’d given me, containing only a small rice ball and a few side dishes.
“Isn’t that a little light for you, Himuro?”
“I didn’t have enough time.”
“Because you made my sandwich?”
“I won’t deny it.”
Deep in my heart, a sense of guilt and a separate, warm feeling spread at the same time. Someone had spent their own time for my sake and settled for a simple meal themselves. It didn’t feel right to take that act for granted, so I picked up one of the egg sandwiches left in the container and tried to place it on the lid of Himuro’s lunchbox.
“Eat half of it.”
“I made this for you, Kasugai.”
“The person who made it should eat it to check, right? Don’t you need that to improve it next time?”
When I threw back the same argument she’d used that morning, Himuro faltered slightly. Eventually, as if resigning herself to it, she reached out—but instead of taking the sandwich from my hand, she simply leaned her face toward mine.
“Himuro?”
“My hands are full.”
“Just set down your lunchbox.”
“It’s fine like this.”
Himuro, her face flushed all the way to her ears, gently touched her lips to the edge of the sandwich I was holding. Her lips didn’t actually touch my fingertips. Still, I was so captivated by the closeness of her face and the intensity in her eyes as she looked up at me that I couldn’t move.
After taking just one bite, Himuro slowly pulled her face away.
“You’re right—it is a little low on salt.”
“…I see.”
“Kasugai-kun?”
“It’s nothing.”
I’d tried to feign calm, but I couldn’t hide the pounding of my heart. Perhaps Himuro felt the same way; for a while, she avoided making eye contact with me, her cheeks still flushed as she looked down at her own rice ball.
An uncontrollable murmur rose from around the classroom, and I heard one of the male students groan, “This isn’t just a girl’s enemy—it’s a public execution,” but I didn’t have the time to correct him right then.
“Kasugai-kun.”
Himuro called out in a soft voice.
“Would it be okay if I made some again tomorrow?”
“You don’t have to force yourself.”
“It’s not a burden. I want to make them.”
It was the same phrase she’d used that morning when they held hands. She wasn’t acting for someone else’s sake, nor for the sake of her health—she was acting because she wanted to. She, who had once been crafting a persona to win Chairman Kuze’s favor, was now gradually beginning to voice her own desires.
“Well then, I’ll leave it to you.”
“Yes.”
“But make sure to make one for yourself, too, Himuro.”
“In that case, I’ll prepare it with the expectation that we’ll eat it together next time.”
“In the classroom?”
“I’ll figure out a place. Somewhere we can be alone.”
Before I could even react to her offhand remark, Himuro closed her lunchbox and stood up. Her expression had returned to that of the usual, composed vice president, but just before she stepped away from my desk, she leaned in close—making sure no one could see—and whispered softly into my ear.
“I’ll count that bite from earlier as an indirect one.”
“What?”
“If you don’t understand, I won’t tell you yet.”
Himuro said only that, gave a faint smile, and returned to her seat.
Left on my desk were the lunch she’d prepared for me that morning and the egg sandwich with just one bite taken out of it. Unable to look directly at that tiny toothmark, I couldn’t even bring myself to close the lid of the container for a while.
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