“At the Hino mansion?”
“Where else can we get free drinks? Well, I guess there’s Nagafuji’s place too.”
“Okay, then, I’ll take you up on that.” I didn’t get many opportunities to chat with Hino now that we were out of school, so I figured, Sure, that works.
I’d only ever been to Hino’s house once. Even then, I’d never set foot inside—but the surrounding scenery was truly unforgettable. There was so much bamboo! As we walked among the trees, the sunlight streamed down in a soft green that seemed to peel away all my impurities. When I told my mother about it later, she said she’d once had a similar experience—“I went exploring in there and nearly got myself arrested,” as she put it. Free-spirited as she could be, there were times she really needed someone to rein her in. Do your job, Dad.
“Is Nagafuji around?”
“Don’t be stupid. It’s my house.”
Yeah, that’s why I asked.
The road to Hino’s house was as breezy as I remembered. The very air felt different there, almost as if I’d wandered into a tourist resort—it was quiet and pleasantly chilly, like an invisible blanket of powdered snow. The wind carried a faint aroma from somewhere beyond the trees, and I breathed in a lungful. Ahead of me, Hino walked along idly, like it was all perfectly ordinary—because to her, of course, it was.
As it turned out, ten minutes was an exaggeration, but still, it did take a full five minutes to reach the front door. Beyond the expansive front yard, which could only be described as “picturesque,” I saw several parked cars. Without a word or even so much as a glance in their direction, Hino walked into the house, and I followed suit.
“I’m hooome!”
“Back so soon, my lady?” A middle-aged woman cleaning the shoe cupboard, presumably a household assistant, looked over her shoulder at Hino. She noticed me standing there and quickly rose to her feet. “Forgive my impropriety.”
“It’s fine—she’s just a friend. Carry on, carry on.”
Hino patted her shoulder. Smiling wearily, the woman knelt back down. With a quick nod to her, I removed my shoes, moving to add them to the cupboard—but the woman took them from me and did it herself. I bowed to her again, to be polite.
“It feels like a whole different world here. A world with maids,” I remarked quietly as we walked down the hall.
“Dude, you said almost the exact same thing last time.”
“Did I?”
When I frowned in confusion, she snickered. “Sheesh. Your memory’s as bad as Nagafuji’s.”
“Whoa.” As we passed an open door, a little head peeked out, and I stopped short reflexively. The baby looked up at us, barely a tuft of hair on its head. “Is this your…sister?”
“Really?” Hino responded wryly. “Better that than my daughter, I guess… No, it’s my brother’s kid. He didn’t move out after he got married, unlike our older siblings.”
Crouching, Hino reached out a hand, and her niece (or nephew—I couldn’t tell) crawled over. She lifted the baby into her arms, where it seemed perfectly content to stare at me over her shoulder.
“Hiii,” I greeted it, raising a hand. No reaction. I lowered my hand back down awkwardly.
“Tons of big-sister energy, but no mommy vibes yet, it seems.”
“I’m not sure I want to know what either of those things mean.”
Given my relationship with Adachi, I surely had a bit of a mommy vibe—not that Adachi liked it much. What made the big-sister schtick any different? Evidently, it was a fine line.
The next thing I knew, a woman—probably the baby’s mother—joined us in the hallway. “I’m so sorry, Akira-chan!”
“Eh, it’s fine.”
When Hino tried to hand the baby over, however, it flared its nostrils like it was about to cry. She hastily took it back, but it scowled grumpily.
“You’re popular, huh, Auntie?”
“I guess…”
Under her self-deprecating grin, I could see that she was a tiny bit pleased.
Once the baby was taken care of, Hino led me to her bedroom. It was my first time ever setting foot inside. The room was easily much bigger than the one I shared with my sister, and as I glanced around, I couldn’t help wondering how one person could possibly use all the space.
Just then, an indigo floor cushion flew in my direction, spinning horizontally. I reflexively smacked it to the ground.
“I’ll go brew some tea.”
“’Kay.”
“Feel free to read my manga.”
“Will do.”
Hino disappeared back down the hallway. Across the room from the opaque fusuma sliding door was a shoji-style lattice door; when I slid it open, I found an open-air corridor surrounding a spacious courtyard.
“Whoooa,” I murmured, admiring the bright-white pea gravel. No wonder Mom almost got arrested for trespassing—this place really is like a resort.
Next, I scanned Hino’s bookcase, which contained five shelves in total. The bottom two were packed with manga, the center shelf was reserved for novels, and the second-highest held a set of thick hardcover books. At first, I thought they were encyclopedias, but not quite; I realized from the titles on their spines that they were how-to books on the art of tea ceremony and other topics pertaining to Hino’s family business. Judging by the poor state of their bindings, each had been read and reread many, many times.
As for the highest shelf, it was stuffed messily with textbooks, from elementary-school books all the way to those for the last year of high school. Oh man, I used to have the same music book! That takes me back. Crouching, I peered at Hino’s manga collection, running my finger along their spines.
“Asagao to Kase-san1… Sure, that works.”
The books were organized in alphabetical order by title—not by the author’s last name, which struck me as unusual. Grabbing one at random, I slid a floor cushion to the center of the room. Someone had once told me that they didn’t feel comfortable unless they sat in the corner—who was that again? My eyes were on the pages in front of me, yet I dug through my memories for the answer… But before I came up with anything, Hino returned, carrying a tray.
“Your books are organized weird,” I remarked, pointing at the shelves.
“Oh, yeah, Nagafuji got bored and rearranged them a while back.”
“Gotcha.”
Hino sat down across from me, placing the tray between us, then slid a teacup in my direction. “And here’s our teatime snack.” She picked up an open box lined with small metal tins—konpeito candies, if the labels were any indication—and gave it a shake.
“How very…luxurious.” Particularly the tea. The scent that rose with the steam had a deep richness. Personally, I would’ve been fine with stuff bought from a regular store.
“This was all we had in the kitchen, other than booze.”
“Oh, I’m allowed to drink. Today’s my birthday.” Not that I’d ever tried any alcohol.