Episode Ninety-Nine

We checked out, the awkwardness lingering, and boarded the local bus to the station. After changing trains on the regional line, we alighted at Atami Station.
Before us lay a spacious station square with a footbath, flanked by two arcade-covered shopping streets running along the slope.
The Shinkansen journey from Atami to Tokyo takes just under forty minutes. We could afford to linger a while. Both streets bustled, as befits a tourist destination.

“Shigure-san, gelato!”

“Right, right,” I said, choosing ice cream from the vending machine.
By the time she’d stuffed her cheeks with fluffy hot spring manju, Ibara had mostly regained her good humour.
From the long line-up, I chose rum raisin and mikan. Ibara chose chocolate mint and melon.
　The chocolate mint wasn’t the familiar mint green, but rather dark chocolate ice cream with mint kneaded into it.
Ibara held the cup ice cream up beside her face. She was adorable in every way.

“Shigure-san. Look, look, chocolate mint.”

“It looks delicious.”

“Do the thing, do the thing.”

“Which thing?”

“Choco mint, or~?”

“…Rum raisin?”

“Why?!”

“It’s delicious.”

Even after taking a bite, she looked dissatisfied.
I wondered what was wrong, but it turned out to be a trendy meme. I’ve always been clueless about that sort of thing. Not exactly something to be proud of, given my profession.
We watched a video together, and I tried again. I was surprised by how adorable she was. When a cute girl does something cute, it’s adorable.

“Shigure-san, do it too, do it!”

“Absolutely not.”

As we marched resolutely through the shopping street, the weather suddenly clouded over.
The moment I opened my folding umbrella, raindrops began to fall.
Ibara grabbed my arm tightly. The scent of the newly fallen rain mingled with the fragrance of citrus lemon.
　We left the shopping street and entered the mall attached to the station.
I pressed a handkerchief to Ibara’s cheek. Then to her shoulder, damp with droplets, and the tips of her hair.
While being wiped, Ibara pouted her lips, a ticklish expression on her face.

“Shigure-san, you’re so cool.”

“Dummy.”

Large eyes peered around from beneath the cap’s brim. Drawn in, I scanned the surroundings too.
As expected of a tourist spot, the mall’s ground floor was dominated by souvenir shops.
Perfect. For the company, and for Runa and Shizuku. I made a mental note of the individually wrapped hot spring manju and prawn crackers. Though I’d buy them just before heading back.
　Ibara was also browsing various items.
Probably for Aki-san. If so, I should buy something too. She’s been so kind to us.

“Does Aki-san like sweets?”

“She likes sweet things, but she’d be happier with savoury ones. They go well with drinks.”

“Eh? Aki-san drinks alcohol?”

“She drinks loads. Doesn’t get drunk though.”

I didn’t know that.

“You and Aki-san are cousins, right?”

“Yeah.”

Nodding, I picked up a matcha-flavoured langue de chat. Sweet after all.
Aki-san is quite the enigma.
That peculiar café, open only at night, was clearly deserted. Yet she didn’t seem to be struggling to make ends meet.
Perhaps her family was well-off? Or maybe she had a side job?
　Speaking of family homes, I don’t know where Ibara comes from.
All I know is she became an idol to leave home and come to Tokyo.
It’s been several months since we met. Ibara hasn’t returned home once. Not even for New Year.
To say I’m not curious about it would be a lie.
I want to ask. But it felt wrong for me to be the one to ask.
I didn’t want to pry. Knowing she’d tell me if I asked made me even more hesitant.

　The second floor of the mall was a food court.
Having walked all the way here, I entered a chain café to catch my breath.
Casually opening my phone, I found a discreet reminder from Momono-chan. It was for Koi Horo material.

“Shigure-san, you look troubled.”

Keen-eyed.

“Got a nudge from a junior about something.”

“That love story bit you mentioned before?”

“Yep.”

Nodding, Ibara pulled out her phone. She tapped away furiously.

“Ibara?”

“Watch my account.”

As instructed, I opened the SNS app.
　A message had been posted on the account I followed (her former secret account).

‘I love it when you’re troubled by work and hold your head in your hands. I love your profile when your hair’s all tousled and you’re staring blankly at the ceiling. I could watch it forever. #LoveFlutter’

“Whoa—”

Before I could protest, “What is this?”, the next post appeared.

‘The way you’re always so put together when you go out, but your loungewear is usually pretty tacky. That gap is adorable. #LoveFlutter’

Cute, wait, hold on.

“Tacky? Which ones?”

“About seventy percent of them. Like that T-shirt with the salmon and ikura sushi on it, for example.”

“It’s… cute, right?”

“Eh? Are you seriously saying that?”

Well, yes. It is cute, that sushi T-shirt.
Hang on. Could it be… my taste is just off? That would be fatal as a designer.
Ping. The timeline refreshed. A new post appeared.

‘I absolutely love it when you sometimes dry my hair with the hairdryer. The way you properly brush it from the ends. #LoveFlutter’

“If you like it that much, you should just tell me.”

“It’s because it’s only sometimes that it feels special. I’ll do it for you next time.”

It’s a bit frustrating that I’m actually looking forward to it.

‘You’re so cool drinking black coffee. #LoveFlutter’

It’s getting more and more random.

“Ibara, you can’t drink it, can you?”

“It’s cute, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah, cute, cute.”

“Rude!”

Ibara tapped the screen again.

“Your gentle side. #LoveFlutter”

I couldn’t help but look up.
Ibara was hiding her mouth with her phone, looking bashful.
Her slender fingers moved rapidly, adding a reply to the last post.

‘Thank you for always putting up with such a troublesome person. I love you.’

Gotcha, I thought. My face definitely grew hot.
Wanting to cool it down even slightly, I reached for the sweaty glass. The half-melted ice rattled hollowly.
Just my luck, I’d ordered a syrup-laden café latte instead of black coffee, and it was sickly sweet right down to the last drop.