Yui Yuigahama is perpetually glancing around furtively!

"So, what, you have some cooking-related trauma, then?"

I'd been assigned a make-up report for home economics because I'd

skipped cooking class, and for some reason, I got called to the faculty office

after I handed it in. This was giving me some serious déjà vu. Why must I

have your lectures inflicted upon me, Ms. Hiratsuka?

"Aren't you supposed to be teaching Japanese?"

"I'm also responsible for guidance counseling. Mr. Tsurumi foisted the

job off on me." I glanced at a corner of the faculty office to see the

aforementioned Mr. Tsurumi watering a potted plant. Ms. Hiratsuka regarded

the other teacher before turning back to me.

"First, I'll ask why you skipped

practice. Make it brief."

"Well, you know… I don't really see the point of practicing cooking with

the whole class."

"I don't see the point of that excuse, Hikigaya. Is group activity that

painful for you? Or did none of the groups let you join?" Ms. Hiratsuka

studied my expression with fairly sincere worry.

"No, no, what are you talking about, Sensei? It's supposed to be practice

cooking, right? In other words, there's no point doing it unless it closely

resembles the real thing. My mother cooks alone, you know? In other words,

cooking alone would be the correct way to do it! Paradoxically, it's

practicing cooking in groups that's wrong!"

"Those are two completely different things."

"Sensei! Are you telling me that my mommy is wrong?! That's going too

far! There's no point in continuing this conversation! I'm leaving!" I retorted,

turning on my heel and attempting to leave.

"Hey. Don't try to confuse the issue by flying off the handle when you're

clearly in the wrong here."

So she could tell. Ms. Hiratsuka stretched out her arm, tugged the collar of

my uniform from behind, and spun me around by the scruff of the neck, just

like how you'd pick up a kitten. Nghh. Maybe going Tee-hee! I'm so

naughty! and sticking my tongue out would have been a better strategy to

get away with it.

Ms. Hiratsuka sighed, thumping my report with the back of her hand.

"You're fine up to 'How to make good curry.' The problem is the part

after that. 'First slice the onion into wedges. You slice them thinly and then

season them. Just as the shallower a person is, the more easily they are

influenced by their environment—the thinner you slice the onions, the more

the flavor will soak into them.' Who told you to make it so salty? You're

ruining the dish!"

"Sensei, please stop being so smug and acting like you said something

witty. It's embarrassing to watch."

"And I don't want to read this kind of essay. I shouldn't have to say this,

as it should be obvious to you already, but you're doing it over." The teacher

put a cigarette in her lips with an expression of utter disgust.

"Can you cook?" Ms. Hiratsuka asked me as she flipped through reports.

The look on her face said she expected the answer to be no. That was unfair.

High schoolers these days could all make curry, at least.

"Yes. Thinking about my future, it's obvious that I should know how."

"So you've reached the age where you're thinking about moving out?"

"No, that's not what I meant."

"Oh?" Then why? Ms. Hiratsuka asked with her gaze alone.

"Because cooking is a vital skill for a househusband," I replied.

Ms. Hiratsuka's large eyes, bordered moderately with mascara, blinked

twice, three times. "You want to be a stay-at-home husband?"

"I see it as one of my future options."

"Don't give me that rotten look while you talk about your dreams for the

future. Your eyes should be sparkling, at the very least. Just for my

knowledge, what exactly do your plans for the future entail?"

I had a hunch it would be a bad idea to reply with something like Actually,

you should be worrying about your own future, so I resigned myself to giving

her a reasoned answer. "Well, I'll go on to some decent university."

Ms. Hiratsuka nodded and made listening noises. "Mm-hmm. What about

your career following that?"

"I'll pick out a beautiful and talented girl and marry her with the intention

of having her support me in the end."

"I said career! Give me a career for an answer!"

"I said househusband."

"That just makes you a leech! And that's an absolutely terrible way to

live. Men like that dangle marriage in front of women like bait, and then

before you know it, they've crawled into your house and have even made a

duplicate key, and soon enough they start bringing in their things, and once

we broke up, that useless good-for-nothing even went so far as to take my

furniture!" Ms. Hiratsuka's rant contained way too many specifics. She got so

into it, she ran out of breath, tears welling up in her eyes.

Too sad… She looked so pitiful, I just had to say something to make her

feel better.

"Sensei, it's okay! I won't be like that. I'll do housework properly and be

the best leech ever!"

"What kind of super-leech logic is that?!"

My aspirations for the future denied, I was forced to stand at the

crossroads of my life. On the brink of having my dreams crushed entirely, I

scrounged up a good argument with which to arm myself. "It does sound bad

if you call it being a leech, but I don't think being a stay-at-home husband is

such a bad decision."

"Mm-hmm?" Ms. Hiratsuka shifted in her chair, making it creak, and

glared at me. Her posture said, I'm listening. Try me.

"Thanks to the gender equality movement and all that, it's already taken

as a given that women will go on to have careers. You being a teacher is

proof of that, Ms. Hiratsuka."

"Well, that's true." It looked like she had accepted that much. Now I

could take it a step further.

"But now that a large number of women have joined the workforce, it's

only rational that an equal number of men are going to be crowded out. In

any given time and place, there have always been a limited number of jobs,

isn't that right?"

"Hmm…"

"For example, let's say that fifty years ago at a given company, there were

a hundred workers, and they were one hundred percent male. If they then hire

fifty women, obviously fifty of the men that were originally there have to go

elsewhere. This is a simplified analogy, but you get the idea. Add in the

recent recession, and it's becomes quite apparent that the number of positions

available for men has decreased dramatically."

At that point, Ms. Hiratsuka put her hand to her chin, adopting a

thoughtful posture. "Continue."

"There's also the fact that companies don't need as much personnel as

they did in the past. With the spread of computers and the development of the

Internet, we've become more efficient, and the productivity of a single

individual has grown by leaps and bounds. In fact, from a societal

perspective, you start to get the message that Yeah, I know you badly want to

work, but we can't manage that. Look at stuff like work sharing."

"True, those concepts do exist."

"Plus, with the remarkable development of consumer electronics, anyone

can do the same work and put out a standard level of quality. Men can do

housework."

"Wait, hold on a second," she said, interrupting my fervent argument. She

cleared her throat quietly and peered at my face. "Th-those things can be

pretty hard to use, though… Men might not necessarily manage, you know."

"No, that's just you."

"What was that?" Spinning her chair, she kicked my shin. It really hurt. I

carried on with my reasoning, hoping she'd forget that last bit.

"I-in other words! We've desperately endeavored to create a society

where you don't have to work, so it's completely absurd to be saying things

like, 'You have to work!' or 'There's no jobs!'"

A flawless conclusion. Work and you lose; work and you lose.

"Aaagh. You're still rotten to the core." The teacher unburdened herself of

a massive sigh but then smirked as if she'd thought of something. "If a girl

were to cook for you just once, maybe you'd think differently," she said,

standing and shoving me along from behind, pushing me out of the faculty

office.

"H-hey! What are you doing? Ow! That hurts, I said!"

"Go to the Service Club and learn the importance of labor." With a

viselike grip, she tightened her hand on my shoulder before following up with

a strong whap to shove me out of the room.

I turned back to voice a protest of What was that for? or something of that

nature, only to find the door slamming shut cruelly in my face. That was the

aforementioned rejection of any "arguments, disagreements, objections,

questions, or back talk."

I considered for a moment perhaps skipping out of club time, but the

instant the thought crossed my mind, the shoulder she had just been

squeezing throbbed with pain. She'd probably punch me again if I ran away. I

couldn't believe she'd managed to imprint that delayed-action agony in my

body within such a small window of time. What a terrifying woman.

I decided to show up at the mystery club I'd recently been forced to join

—the Service Club or whatever it was called. That was its name, but I had no

idea what we actually did. I was even more perplexed by the head of the club.

What the hell was her deal?

Yukinoshita was reading a book