Sixteen Flavors

The students sitting below, who had been quietly eavesdropping, all wore expressions that seemed to say, “Is that all there is to it?” The classroom soon returned to its usual noisy chatter. I glanced toward the door once more and gave the health committee member, who was struggling to hide his unease, a businesslike nod.

“Thanks for your hard work. I’ll head over now.”

“No, no problem. Go ahead,” he replied stiffly.

I stepped down from the podium, handing the signature sheet to the student in the front row before leaving the classroom.

Yamamoto Takeshi instinctively stepped back to make way. His friend retreated several steps in a row, looking bewildered as he glanced between Yamamoto and me.

I approached them and asked, “Which teacher is it?”

The culprit’s smile suddenly bore a frank, apologetic tone.

He brought his hands together in front of his face and whispered confidently, “Sorry, actually, I came looking for you.”

I couldn’t help but widen my eyes slightly and looked up at him.

Just last week, Yamamoto was quite self-aware, yet today he had genuinely called out to me in front of everyone—ordinarily, I would have found this awkward, unpleasant, and would have felt my scalp tingle with embarrassment.

But perhaps because I had anticipated this possibility, even knowing he would be straightforward, I found I had no anger at all. More than that, a thought flickered through my mind: “So this day has finally come.”

What was this feeling?

I almost mocked myself inwardly, bewildered.

Could human relationships really change so easily?

Back then, I avoided him like some terrifying beast, vowing never to interact again and prepared to pretend nothing had happened until graduation. But soon enough, I was swept up in a strange and anxious coincidence. When yesterday’s turmoil faded and a new day dawned, I suddenly realized this person’s significance had changed. Was it always like this?

There was no doubt—Yamamoto was a good person.

His instincts were sharp, but his personality was rough and carefree, as if everything in the world could be interesting; he was cheerful, brave, and passionately persistent. Compared to someone like me, whom society only valued for being good at exams, he truly had a free and intelligent mind.

Even though our first meeting felt like the world had shattered to pieces, even though I had been so angry I kicked the blanket before going to bed—

Now, after hearing his sincere words and seeing those always lively eyes, I had no reason left to blame him.

Anyone could see that Yamamoto was a good friend.

So why was I, who repeatedly tried to turn away and refused to say more than half a sentence, still running from something, hiding with my head in the sand?

Was it myself?

But I already knew what kind of person I was.

Or was I afraid of being seen more deeply?

…Was I afraid that someone would glimpse the lazier, more negative, more insignificant version of me?

…

Abruptly, I reined in these frantic thoughts. Only a few seconds of reality had passed.

I hoped my expression hadn’t changed much, so I blinked slowly and, with genuine curiosity, asked:

“Is that so? What is it, Yamamoto-kun?”

“Um…” Yamamoto scratched the back of his neck, still looking embarrassed. He glanced toward his friend and spoke with a mix of guilt and determination, “Atsushi, sorry, could you go to the home economics room first? I’ll be there soon.”

“Huh?” The boy called Atsushi froze for a moment. “No problem, then I’ll just…”

Following his gaze, I formally fixed my eyes on the brown-haired student who was nearly pressed against the wall.

But at that instant of eye contact, Sawada’s words cut off abruptly. He suddenly stiffened, his tousled hair betraying his nervousness, embarrassment, and helplessness.

It was the expression of a shy child at a party who only knows one person there—who suddenly sees that person off in the spotlight alone and is left to face strangers, feeling awkward.

Mixed with a touch of awe and envy toward the familiar face.

Many boys, having rarely interacted with females other than their mothers, easily feel shy.

Having worked with students for a long time, I was no stranger to this type.

I nodded at him skillfully, smiled gently, and gave a soft wave.

“Goodbye, Sawada-kun,” I said.

Sawada Atsushi snapped back to reality. He looked so relieved and surprised someone remembered his name; then, as if realizing something else, he blushed deeply and bowed repeatedly, “I-I-I’ll leave right away!” Raising his hands in surrender, he laughed awkwardly, “Don’t mind me!… I’ll head over first, Yamamoto!”

Yamamoto responded steadily, “Oh!”

Just as I hurriedly bowed back and looked up again, the figure before me vanished in an instant. Instead, a heavy thud sounded behind me.

Turning, I saw the brown-haired boy sprawled face-down on the floor, having tripped textbook-style with his left foot catching his right.

I was startled. “Are you okay?! Take your time, it’s alright. The floor is slippery from mopping!”

Yamamoto reacted too, “Atsushi?!”

Sawada, still moving slowly and wincing, immediately scrambled up in a messy flurry.

A streak of fresh blood hung from his nose, his face filled with the heartbreak of “I messed up big time,” yet he resolutely and considerately declined help while running off, “I’m fine, really! You don’t need to worry about me!”

---

Scattered second-year students leaned against the corridor walls, some quietly chuckling. This only made him more embarrassed, and like a guilty fugitive, he slipped away.

“…” I lowered my hand. “That was fast.”

This was hardly the speed of someone ranking last in gym class. Sawada must have been training in secret.

Yamamoto, who stayed by my side, sounded resigned.

“Really, that Atsushi guy,” he said with a tone reserved for close friends.

I never doubted the depth of their relationship. In fact, since confirming that the person who nearly fought someone in Group A was Yamamoto, their friendship seemed even more admirable.

Yamamoto didn’t care if that conflict cost him friends.

In other words, he didn’t value those friends who would scatter because of such fights.

From any angle, it was clear he was someone who boldly took control of choosing his social circle. Even if he risked being ostracized for it, a year ago he had unhesitatingly shown kindness, befriending classmates trapped in social outcast status.

And he hadn’t changed.

Sawada was equally admirable. If I were in his position, I might not have had the confidence to accept such kindness and instead would have betrayed it—

No, that wasn’t right.

I turned back. The tall boy nearby withdrew his hand, which had been reaching out to help, and stuffed it into his pants pocket.

Noticing my gaze, he looked down at me and then generously offered a somewhat bashful but genuinely bright smile.

My throat felt like it was clogged with burnt ashes; I held my breath with nowhere to hide. A cold, phantom-like sting pressed against my temple. I wanted to furrow my brows, but standing in the hallway where everyone passed by, my body reacted before my feelings could dissipate: I curved my eyes and smiled back, mirroring him.

Imagining someone else’s situation—

That was just like my own cowardly self now.

“You should probably check on him as soon as possible,” I said. “Yamamoto-kun, what did you want to talk about?”

Yamamoto’s smile dimmed slightly as he glanced around.

“Well, since I used the excuse that a teacher was looking for you just now, let’s not linger here,” he said, turning to lead me toward the office.

That was fine.

I took a couple of steps forward, almost walking side by side with him.

Keeping a normal distance for two teachers running errands, I tried to ignore the students on the corridor’s edge who looked either excited or curious, along with their hushed whispers.

Listening to the slowing footsteps beside me, I looked up at him with a puzzled expression, silently asking what he wanted to say.

Yamamoto glanced at me, paused, then looked straight ahead.

“The cookies you gave me last time—I finished them all,” he said solemnly, then brightened, “They tasted really good! Even the parts that accidentally got burnt didn’t taste too strong. That was impressive!”

I shifted my gaze back to him, replying, “Thanks, I’m glad you liked them—”

Ah, no, that was embarrassing. I suddenly recalled the moment I shoved the bag into his hands. I wished I could just die on the spot… What a fool I was. How could I still manage such formal pleasantries?

But then again, was he really just here to comment on the flavor? How did he even eat the burnt parts?

“…That’s good,” I said calmly, adding, “You didn’t get an upset stomach from the burnt parts, did you?”

“That little bit won’t hurt me at all. I even feel a bit healthier now. Yesterday, my batting felt especially smooth.” Yamamoto made a small swinging gesture, then looked at me. “How about you?”

“What?”

“The sushi from before,” he prompted, his brown eyes full of calm concern. “Did you try it? Did you like it? If there’s anything off, just tell me. Criticism helps me improve.”

We reached the corner near the office hallway and slowed to a stop by the wall.

During break, voices and footsteps echoed intermittently in the corridor, staff room, and stairwell.

Standing three steps apart, I looked at him. He really did look like a young chef waiting for a five-star review—his face shining with an expectation that seemed almost a sin to disappoint.

That kind of sincere energy seemed endlessly generous and overwhelming, like a dream with no clear boundary.

Ah.

Suddenly, I thought:

If, for someone as pitiable and deceptive as me, it takes courage just not to betray others’ constant kindness—

I really hope I’m the bravest person in the world.

…

“Um,” I confessed earnestly, “I ate it with my family. It was delicious—truly a rare treat.”

Yamamoto looked startled.

When he didn’t respond, I recalled more and added, “I preferred the eel sushi inside because it was a bit saltier, the fish was soft, and there were no bones. But that doesn’t mean the others were bad… If I had to say something, maybe the rice could be a bit softer for my taste.”

“Of course, my dad loved it and said the rice texture was just right. Taste is personal. You don’t really have to change anything—the box you made before was already delicious.”

After finishing, I waited a moment. Yamamoto, who had brought up the topic, remained silent, almost absent-minded, tilting his brows and staring at me blankly.

After a second, I grew cautious.

Did I say something wrong?

Or was Yamamoto also the type who struggles with “different strokes for different folks” feedback?

Why couldn’t I ever read him?

I hesitated briefly, then said again, “Anyway, it was great. What I said wasn’t criticism. Thank you for treating me.”

Suddenly, his eyes widened.

“I—”

“Hm?”

“I,” Yamamoto’s expression suddenly took on a mixture of urgency and nervous surprise. His face and ears flushed, his gaze sparkling as if he’d finally been called up from the bench: his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his voice loud and decisive, “I’ll remember it, Nishiga. Really!”

…Whoa?! What’s he on about now?

No need to look around to know the students in the hallway were probably staring in astonishment.

Our duo was already noticeable enough. Saying that loudly—was he afraid of being misunderstood or did he think the rumored fan club might start a fight?

I felt my scalp tighten instantly. I had to force myself not to scowl at this dazzling figure who seemed to be swearing eternal loyalty in the realm of sushi, and instead smiled calmly.

“I said you don’t have to really change anything,” I reminded him helplessly. “Quiet, quiet.”

Luckily, the baseball player soon realized the awkwardness. He came back to himself, quickly dropping the pose. Then, embarrassed, he looked up, waved apologetically to the startled onlookers, and sincerely said, “Sorry, sorry.”

The passing students responded with reassurances.

I smiled at him and said nothing.

Yamamoto lowered his head, a drop of sweat appearing on his temple as he smiled faintly. He blinked and said, “Sorry, I was just too happy.”

I replied frankly, “It’s okay.” Hated him. Gigantically clumsy Yamamoto. Brilliantly clumsy Yamamoto. Dummy Yamamoto. Silly mountain.

Yamamoto begged softly, “Don’t hate me so fast.”

I immediately lost the will to speak.

No time now to wonder why his words struck so close to my heart. In any case, it wouldn’t be good if others heard this. Though he had spoken quietly enough.

Taking a deep breath, I prepared to steer the conversation back on track and asked if there was anything else.

But in the next moment, a familiar figure suddenly emerged from the office beside us.

Tall, ponytailed.

Usually not someone found on this floor.

“Huh?”

My attention shifted immediately. Surprised, I said, “Makino-senpai.”

Before I finished, the third-year senior, who had been lost in thought, looked up. Wearing a cardigan over her long-sleeved school uniform, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, she relaxed her furrowed brows slightly upon seeing me.

“Nishiga, what a coincidence.”

Makino stopped walking, glanced at me, then at the boy beside me. “I didn’t expect to run into you. That saves me the trouble of looking for you. Have you finished talking?”

Before I could answer, I caught Yamamoto’s quicker reaction.

He seemed well aware of the boundaries between public and private. Quickly gathering himself, his gaze locked on me as he raised his hand to say goodbye.

“No, nothing else. Thanks for your advice, Nishiga. By the way, I should get back to class now.”

The home economics room was downstairs.

Seeing the clear resolve in his expression, I nodded.

“Bye, Yamamoto-kun.”

“See you later.” The black-haired boy took two steps toward the stairs, then suddenly turned around one last time with enthusiasm.

“I’ll really remember everything. Trust me this time.”

Then, like any energetic student, he bounded down the stairs with a few strides, humming faintly, and soon disappeared around the corner.

I: “…”

Makino glanced at me. “Remember what?”

“Nothing, just something about sushi…” I said. “Senpai, is something wrong?”

She frowned thoughtfully at my words.

But break time was limited. Suddenly, the pre-class bell rang out.

Makino and I stood beneath the long, winding broadcast speaker, and the silence felt ever more desolate.

When the announcement ended, she finally spoke.

“Never mind. It’s nothing serious.” Makino sighed and patted my shoulder lightly. “Go to class. We’ll talk after club activities.”