The Kubishime Romanticist (Zaregoto Series #2)

Rokumeikan Private University, located in Kinugasa, in Kita Ward of Kyoto, has a total of three dining halls. Of the three, the Zonshinkan Chika Dining Hall (lovingly abbreviated to "Zonchi") was thought to be the most lively. This was probably because it had an extensive menu, and it was right next door to the co-op bookstore.

That day, since I had no class during the second period, I went straight to the Zonshinkan Chika after the first period. I'd had no breakfast that morning — I'd accidentally overslept by a whole hour — so I thought I might grab an early lunch.

"Man, it's empty at this hour. Risky business," I mumbled to myself, doubting all the while that I was using the phrase "risky business" correctly. I picked up a tray.

Now, what to eat?

I'm no foodie, so usually, I just eat whatever without much of a fuss. Be it spicy or sweet, I say bring it on. But lately, things have been just a little different.

It was only a month ago that I'd spent a hell of a week in a place where I'd been served three gourmet meals a day.

Now, as an aftereffect, my tongue was still stuck in Snooty-Ville. It had been a whole month since anything had made me say, "Wow, this is good." Every time I ate something, it always felt like something was missing, like some key ingredient was lacking.

It wasn't enough of a problem to merit being 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 a problem, but I sure was sick of feeling that way.

As far as solutions, I had already thought of two.

The first was fairly simple: Just eat tasty food.

"Can't hope for that to happen in a school dining hall."

But that first suggestion was impossible to follow. Not, anyway, without heading back to that strange, isolated little island. I won't say I was totally against the idea, but I certainly had my reservations.

"So that's no good."

Yes, I was talking to myself.

This left one other possible measure, and it was a strong-arm tactic. It was the "beat the child who doesn't listen" tactic. Most problems in the world are solved by either giving or taking.

I made my way to the donburi corner and placed an order.

"Excuse me. Large kimchee bowl, please. No rice."

The lunch lady gave me a quizzical expression and said, "That's just kimchee, son," but she dished it out all the same. As if it were nothing, she plopped it in front of me, displaying an admirable degree of professionalism.

A big, heaping, mountainous bowl of kimchee. I doubt there was a single tongue in this world tough enough to chow all that down and still preserve its sense of taste. I nodded with satisfaction, placed the bowl on my tray, and settled the bill.

The dining hall was so empty that I could hardly decide where to sit. In another hour, the place would be filled up with students who had cut out of the second period early. I was never a fan of crowds, so I considered myself under a time limit. I took a seat in the corner.

"Down the hatch," I muttered and took the first bite...

This. Was. Awful.

I really had to eat a whole bowl of this stuff? Wasn't this what was commonly known as suicidal behavior? What cruel fate had brought me to this pass? What had I done?

"Is this divine retribution?"

I guess they also say 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘱 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰𝘸.

From then on, I wielded my chopsticks in silence. If I kept on talking to myself, people would start thinking I was a weirdo. And besides, it's poor table manners to talk while you're eating.

And then, just as I hit my limit — my entire head had gone numb from the tip of the tongue up, I didn't know what the hell I was doing, or, for that matter, who I was, or what the word who meant, and even what the word 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 meant... Right, what am I even thinking...

"Yo."

She sat in the chair across from me.

"Pull that tray back a little, will you?" she asked rhetorically. Then, she pushed my tray towards me and placed her own tray in the newly opened space. Her tray was laden with a plate of spaghetti carbonara, some tuna-and-kelp salad, and a bonus fruit dessert for a grand total of three courses.

Oh, how bourgeois.

I looked to my right, then to my left. The dining hall was empty as ever. You could practically call it deserted. So why had she decided to eat her spaghetti directly across from me? Probably some kind of dare.

"Oh my God, what is that?! It's all kimchee!" she exclaimed at the shocking sight of my lunch. "Wow! You're eating a whole entire bowl of kimchee?!"

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She was wide-eyed, her hands up in the air like she was doing a banzai cheer. Maybe that 𝘸𝘢𝘴 what she was doing, or maybe she was surrendering. There was also the possibility that she was just Muslim. Any of these was fine by me, but in reality, she was probably just surprised.

Her shoulder-length hair had a reddish tint and was done up in a sort of bob. Her clothes were nothing out of the ordinary. They were ultra-plain, following the style of so much of the Rokumeikan student body. All of a sudden, when she sat down, she seemed much shorter — but then I realized most of her height had come from her extra-tall London boots.

She had a young face, so I couldn't tell if she was my senior or a peer. Judging by her demeanor alone, it would have seemed plausible that she was my junior, except that being that I was a freshman, that was pretty much impossible.

"Hey. Y'know, if you don't respond, I'll get lonely and stuff." She stared at me with puppy-dog eyes.

"Right," I finally said. "𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶?"

I was pretty sure this was our first encounter. But I'd learned one thing in the past month: This weird little pocket of space known as a "university" had an unusually large number of people who were friendly and genuine. These strange people would strike up conversations with you like you had been their close friend for the past ten years — even if you had never seen them before in your life. For a guy like me who's bad at even 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 personal encounters, this made things difficult from time to time.

And surely, this girl was another one of those types. Fearing the hassle of having to deal with a club invitation or, worse, some religious thing, I went ahead and posed the above question.

Doing so launched her into an over-the-top shocked pose. "Hwa?!" she said. "Oh my God! You mean you forgot? You've forgotten? You freaking forgot?! Ikkun, that's so cold!"

Huh.

Judging from her reaction, it seemed this was not our first encounter.

"Ohhh. I am shocked. But what are you gonna do, right? Yeah, nothing, I guess. You've just got a bad memory after all, right? Well, might as well introduce myself again." She flashed both hands at me and gave a full-faced grin. "I'm Aoii Mikoko!"

This might prove to be a painful encounter.

Whether it was our first encounter or not, this was, to be sure, my first impression of Aoii Mikoko.