The walk home was quieter than before. Lily clutched her bag tightly, her mind spinning with fragments of the encounter—Rika's venomous tone, Arata's piercing gaze, and the faint, scornful word that lingered in her ears like a stubborn echo. Pathetic.
Her father's voice broke through her thoughts as they turned the corner toward their house. "You're quiet again," Kenjiro said, glancing at her with mild concern. "Was the bag rescue mission successful, or did it involve more war stories?"
Lily forced a laugh, shaking her head. "No war stories this time. Just… some familiar faces from school."
"Ah," he said knowingly. "Friend of Koji's?"
"Not exactly," she replied, her tone carefully neutral.
Kenjiro didn't press further, instead launching into a story about a particularly eccentric client from his photography work. His animated gestures and exaggerated expressions were a stark contrast to the storm of emotions brewing inside her.
Once they were home, Kenjiro rummaged through the fridge for leftover sushi, chatting all the while. But Lily only half-listened. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the shop, to the way Rika's words had dripped with condescension, the way Arata hadn't even bothered to acknowledge her beyond a single scornful glance.
Pathetic.
She sighed quietly, excusing herself and retreating to her room.
As she sat on her bed, the soft glow of the evening sky casting warm hues across her walls, her phone buzzed. A message from Koji lit up the screen.
Koji: So, how was sushi with your dad? Was it as good as you said?
For a moment, Lily hesitated. Then she typed quickly.
Lily: It was great! But you won't believe who I saw there.
Koji: Oh? Someone interesting?
Lily: Interesting isn't the word I'd use. It was Rika and… Arata.
The dots indicating Koji was typing appeared almost immediately.
Koji: Rika and Arata? Together?
Lily: Yeah. It seemed like… I don't know, maybe a date? She was being super flirty.
Koji: Hah, sounds like Rika. She's always hanging around him. But a date? That's surprising. Arata doesn't seem like the dating type.
Lily frowned at the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She thought of the way he had dismissed her with barely a glance, the single word that still weighed heavy on her chest.
Lily: He called me pathetic.
The response came slower this time.
Koji: He said that to you? That's harsh. You okay?
She stared at the message for a moment before replying.
Lily: Yeah, I'm fine. It's not like I expected anything different.
Koji: Still, that's messed up. Forget him. He's not worth your time.
Lily: Thanks, Ko-Ko.
Koji: Wait, are we seriously doing this? Ko-Ko?
Lily: Yep. It's official. Deal with it.
Koji: Fine, but only because you saved my ass on day one.
Lily laughed softly, setting her phone down on the bedside table. The evening light had faded, replaced by the soft glow of her desk lamp. She leaned back on her bed, staring at the ceiling as her thoughts began to settle.
Pathetic, she repeated in her mind, testing the word against the steady rhythm of her heart. It stung, but it didn't break her. If anything, it only made her more determined in thinking that he was the pathetic one.
For now, though, she closed her eyes and let the comfort of her small room wrap around her. She'd survived her first week. That was enough for today.
Downstairs, Kenjiro sat on the couch, half-asleep with the TV playing softly in the background. Two empty beer cans rested on the coffee table, their condensation forming small rings on the wood.
Lily crept down quietly, her footsteps light as she moved to tidy up. She grabbed a blanket from the armchair, draping it over her father's slouched form.
"Goodnight, Dad," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the TV. She lingered for a moment, watching his peaceful expression before heading back upstairs.
As she climbed into bed, the weight of the day finally eased, replaced by a quiet determination.
"Like I care" she murmured softly, her green eyes glinting in the darkness.
And with that, she drifted into a dreamless sleep.
ﾍ(￣▽￣*)ﾉ
The air in the sushi shop was warm, almost stifling, the scent of vinegar and freshly cut fish mingling with the faint tang of soy sauce. Rika sat perched on a stool, her elbows delicately resting on the counter as she swirled the tea in her cup, her perfectly manicured nails glinting under the dim light.
"So," she began, her tone light but expectant, "you didn't even hesitate when I suggested sushi. It's kind of cute that you agreed so quickly, Arata."
Her eyes darted to the red-haired boy sitting next to her. Arata Takashiro leaned back slightly, one arm draped over the backrest of the stool, his posture the picture of relaxed disinterest. His sharp features were partially shadowed under the soft glow of the hanging lights, his dark brown eyes flicking briefly to her before returning to the teacup he held loosely in his hand.
"Cute?" he repeated, his voice low, almost a murmur. The corner of his mouth twitched—barely enough to be considered a smirk—as he took a slow sip of his tea.
Rika, oblivious to his sarcasm, leaned in closer, her glossy black hair spilling over one shoulder. "Mm-hmm. Most guys would try to impress a girl with some fancy place, but you? You're real, you know? Down-to-earth. It's charming."
If only she knew.
Arata's gaze shifted toward the counter where the shop's owner was enthusiastically recounting yet another story about the hardships of sushi during wartime.
"And you know," the old man began, slapping his hand on the counter for emphasis, "back in my day, sushi wasn't about taste. It was about survival! You think you're eating luxury? Hah! Try eating fermented sardines on barley. That was our treat!"
Rika's polite smile faltered as she glanced at the man. "Wow. That sounds… tough," she said weakly, her voice trailing off as she stirred her tea.
Arata, meanwhile, didn't bother hiding the faint amusement in his eyes. He knew exactly what he was doing when he brought her here. She had been relentless in her pursuit of an "exclusive dinner" with him, practically cornering him in the hallway earlier that week. He hadn't wanted to go—what was the point?—but when she insisted she'd pay and he could choose the place, well… why not?
His lips twitched again as he took another sip. If she wanted his time, she was going to get it—on his terms.
The old man leaned closer to the counter, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "And don't get me started on Pearl Harbor. You think this California Roll nonsense is bad? That was the real disaster!"
Rika's teacup clinked against the saucer as she set it down, her expression frozen in a strained smile. "Uh-huh. Fascinating."
Arata set his cup down with a soft clink, finally speaking. "You know, Rika," he began, his tone as smooth and unhurried as ever, "you said you wanted authentic sushi, didn't you?"
Rika blinked, caught off guard. "Y-Yeah. I mean, this place has a nice vibe…"
"Mm," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "Well, you're getting it. Right down to the history lesson."
The corners of his mouth curled into a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk, and for a moment, Rika couldn't tell if he was teasing her or genuinely pleased with himself.
The owner interrupted again, his voice booming across the small shop. "Back then, you'd be lucky to even smell tuna! And don't get me started on the rice shortages—"
Rika turned toward Arata, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"You know this guy, don't you?"
Arata shrugged, a nonchalant motion that only served to irritate her more. "Maybe."
"You did this on purpose," she accused, her voice dropping to a low hiss. "You brought me here knowing he'd talk our ears off."
Arata leaned forward slightly, his forearms resting on the counter as he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "And yet, you're still here."
Rika's mouth opened, ready with a retort, but the owner's voice drowned her out again.
"You kids these days don't know the value of what you have! Back in my day, we didn't have fancy sushi shops like this. We had to earn every bite!"
Arata let out a quiet hum, his fingers drumming against the counter. He was having fun, though he wouldn't admit it. Watching Rika squirm under the weight of the old man's never-ending monologue was far more entertaining than he'd anticipated.
"Is he always like this?" Rika whispered, leaning closer to Arata, her tone more desperate than flirty now.
"Every time," he replied simply, his voice devoid of any sympathy.
Rika groaned softly, her forehead nearly hitting the counter. "You're impossible."
Arata picked up his tea again, his expression unreadable as he swirled the liquid in the cup. "You're the one who insisted."
"I thought you'd take me somewhere… I don't know, romantic?" she said, lifting her head to glare at him.
"This isn't romantic enough for you?" he asked, his tone deadpan.
Rika shot him a look that could have killed, but before she could say anything more, the owner returned with a fresh plate of sushi. "Here! Special house roll, on the house! Because you kids look like you need some real sushi in your lives."
Rika forced a smile. "Thank you."
Arata reached for one of the rolls, his movements deliberate as he popped it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, his gaze locked on Rika the entire time, as if daring her to say something.
She sighed, picking up her chopsticks. "You're lucky the food's good."
"I know," he said, his voice smooth and unbothered.
The rest of the meal passed in relative silence—at least, as silent as it could be with the owner continuing to regale them with stories of wartime hardships. Rika tried her best to keep up appearances, but Arata could see the cracks in her composure. She wasn't used to being out of her element, and that, more than anything, amused him.
When they finally finished, Rika practically bolted for the door, muttering something about needing fresh air. Arata lingered behind, taking his time to settle the bill. As he stood, the owner clapped him on the shoulder.
"Come back anytime, Takashiro-kun!" the old man said warmly. "And bring your girlfriend again. She's a keeper."
Arata smirked faintly, slipping his hands into his pockets. "We'll see."
As he stepped outside, the cool night air greeted him, and he spotted Rika pacing a few steps away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
"Ready to go?" he asked, his tone as casual as ever.
She spun around, her eyes blazing. "Next time, I'm choosing the restaurant."
Arata's smirk deepened as he fell into step beside her. "Next time?"
Rika flushed, her words catching in her throat. "You know what I mean."
He chuckled softly, the sound low and
almost imperceptible. The streets stretched out before them, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows as they walked. For Arata, the night had gone exactly as he'd planned.
For Rika, however, it had been anything but.
Arata's phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking the rhythmic sound of their footsteps on the pavement. He pulled it out with a practiced motion, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he read the message on the screen.
S:
"Don't be late. See you in thirty minutes."
The corners of his mouth twitched faintly, the ghost of a smirk forming as he slipped the phone back into his pocket.
"Everything okay?" Rika asked, her tone feigning nonchalance, though her curiosity was evident.
"Yeah," he replied simply, his voice calm and detached. "Just something I need to take care of."
She raised an eyebrow, glancing at him sideways. "Something important?"
Arata didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked ahead, the streetlights casting a faint glow over his reddish-brown hair. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and clipped.
"Nothing you need to worry about."
Rika frowned slightly but didn't press further. She had learned long ago that prying into Arata's business never got her anywhere.
The two walked on in silence, the tension between them settling into the cool night air. As they approached the train station, Arata stopped abruptly, turning to her with a faint, almost dismissive nod.
"Go on ahead. I'll see you at school."
Rika blinked, clearly thrown off. "Wait, you're not—"
"Later," he said, cutting her off as he turned on his heel and started walking in the opposite direction.
She stood there for a moment, watching him disappear into the shadows, her lips pressing into a thin line. Whatever he was up to, she knew better than to ask.
Arata's pace quickened as he glanced at his watch. Thirty minutes. He had plenty of time.
But in the back of his mind, the message lingered.
"Don't be late."
And just like that, the night swallowed him whole.