At last, the cultural festival started the next day. Kagiura had mentally prepared to be at school for ages the night before the festival started, but under the student council’s rules, absolutely no one was allowed to stay late that day. (The lack of mercy for those who couldn’t finish the work within the stipulated time was the sort of thing one would only see at a school that prized individual autonomy as highly as this one.) Likewise, all club and sports activities were banned, in part to help police clandestine practices for the cultural fest. As such, Kagiura had nothing to do but fret. He decided to study in his room as an alternative to simply pacing, but he struggled to focus on English vocabulary, and mathematical formulas seemed even more hopeless. Finally, he settled on reading a basketball magazine he subscribed to. That was what he was doing when Hirano said, “Hey, Kagi, you like cookies?” His head snapped up. “I do!” “Great. I’ve got some left over from cooking-class practice today. Want it?” Hirano handed the cookies to Kagiura, muttering that he’d almost forgotten about them. It turned out to be more than just a little, round treat. It was a two-color cookie, the halves neatly separated. Practically worthy of a bakery. Fantastic. It looked delicious. “I’ll take it!” Kagiura exclaimed. Handmade snacks from a male student were rarer than home cooking. Kagiura himself had tried it only once, when his class had made a hard candy in grade school. “Sure, have it. There was this other one that Sasaki made, in the shape of a cat’s face. He did it to look like a black-and-white cat. It came out great. Wish I’d taken a picture.” “So you made this one, Hirano?” “Yeah. Well, we all made the dough together.” “I think it came out really well.” “Huh? Oh, ha, thanks. Think of it as comfort food… Even if I didn’t mean it that way.” “Wonder if I should eat it right now,” Kagiura mused. It would be dinner soon. “Ahhh… Well, just between the two of us… I ate one, too.” Hirano held a finger to his mouth in a hush-hush gesture. It caught Kagiura completely by surprise, and with the cookie already in his mouth, he coughed hard and started to choke. “Hey, you all right?!” Over the course of the last six months together, Kagiura had learned that Hirano was really soft underneath his appearance, but even so, this caught him off guard. “I th-think I inhaled some cookie,” he said. “Huh?!” He might really like this guy. He still wasn’t outside the realm of might…he thought. “I-it was so good I ate it a little too enthusiastically,” he said, trying to cover for himself and earning a gale of laughter from Hirano. He’s really quick to burst out laughing! “Ha-ha-ha! Yeah? That’s great, then. Ha-ha-ha!” “Bah. You laugh too much, Hirano,” Kagiura said, and attempted to conceal his embarrassment by hiding behind his magazine. Hirano apologized but was still chuckling. “Geez. If I ever get married, I hope I find someone who wears their heart on their sleeve like you do, Kagi.” Time seemed to stop. Kagiura went stock-still and dropped the basketball magazine. “Oh, hey, it’s dinnertime. Let’s get going,” Hirano said. Does he not realize what he said? Kagiura thought. Even though it had almost knocked him over! He was so frozen with shock that he was late to dinner. The long-awaited day of the cultural festival was bright and clear; indeed, almost hot. The school grounds were packed with people, creating a colorful display, for on this day of days students were allowed to wear casual clothing even at school. Kagiura was wearing a T-shirt the class had designed: the word yakitori emblazoned on an orange shirt along with an image of a skewer. The simplicity of it was eye-catching. Some of Kagiura’s classmates had complained that they wouldn’t know what to wear to school if they didn’t have to stick to the student uniform. Kagiura had dismissed them, thinking it was hot enough that everyone would just be wearing T-shirts anyway, but come the day, he started to understand how they felt. Seeing all these different outfits where he normally saw only a sea of student uniforms somehow felt reckless and wild and left him antsy and excited. And if Kagiura, who was used to wearing casual clothes around the dorm at least, felt that way, how much stranger must it have been for the students who commuted from home? A year ago at this time, Kagiura, whose school choices had been limited, was still struggling with where to go and what to do after middle school, and he hadn’t attended this cultural festival, although the weather had been perfect for it. So now everything he saw seemed fresh and new, interesting and exciting even though he’d seen the other students getting everything ready. Most of all, every bit of the food looked delicious. When Kagiura, armed with a pamphlet about the festival, went to Hirano’s class to find him, Hirano promptly emerged dressed in one of his favorite T-shirts over a simple white business shirt. Hirano let Kagiura choose where they went (“It’s my second year anyway”). They walked straight past someone holding a sign that read CHEESE YAKISOBA IN THE COURTYARD!! The yakisoba fried noodle guys were the yakitori stall’s rivals, but Kagiura still planned to try it eventually. The line for yakitori was good and long, longer than it had been during Kagiura’s shift in the morning. When they got to the front of it, they were handed a cup of yakitori skewers, and then they set off exploring, Kagiura practically dragging Hirano all the way.
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Hirano multitasked on his lunch break, grabbing some food with Kagiura while they checked out the festival, but as soon as he got back, it was his turn in the haunted house. Now he was made up as Oiwa. He was positioned near the exit, hiding behind a dummy made up to look like a post in an otherwise unremarkable hallway. It was an obvious place for someone to hide, but that was the point. Terrifying people by jumping out from somewhere too unexpected could cause them to tumble backward; instead, the students hoped people would appreciate the fine work they’d done on this otherwise expected monster. That was the idea anyway, and Hirano looked so monstrous that if he’d popped up out of nowhere, it might have been genuinely dangerous. They’d been letting people into the haunted house at two-minute intervals, and screams could be heard in two stages: first when Hirano jumped out and then when he slowly lifted up the wig covering his gruesome face. It was very satisfying. There was a thumping of footsteps. Hirano could tell someone was running and decided not to burst out in front of them. He guessed it was probably someone trying to run away, too scared to even make a sound. Indeed, a moment later someone else came along, jogging to catch up with the first person. “Hey, stop, Niibashi! No running!” Hey, I know that voice. Who should it be but Kagiura. Without quite meaning to, Hirano peeked out, to find Kagiura looking right at him. They both stopped. “Aw, geez. C’mon, get out of here!” Hirano said. And after I told him not to come! He found himself somehow uneasy being seen with long hair and started to reach up to take off his wig. It was a little early yet for him to go on break, but having someone he was this close to see him in a woman’s outfit… To his disbelief, though, Kagiura slapped a hand down on the wig. “Hey, Hirano, that looks pretty good on y—” He started to part the hair—then caught a glimpse of the horrific makeup and screamed at the top of his lungs. Tickled to see Kagiura playing what was usually his part, Hirano started laughing. What else could he do when a friend had seen him in such a humiliating situation? He began to shamble toward Kagiura. I’ll give you a good, close look! Kagiura had gotten over his shock and was laughing, too, and now he shouted again and charged at Hirano. Already on the edge of his balance in the yukata and tall geta sandals, there was nothing Hirano could do—he crashed to the floor, Kagiura and all. Kagiura landed on top of him right in the middle of the hallway of the haunted house. The next customers, who had caught up to Kagiura, screamed when they saw them tangled up together on the floor. “Whoa… Ack!” Startled, Hirano and Kagiura scrambled to their feet. The customers who found them were a couple of young women. The one in front cried out and grabbed her friend’s hand, dragging her back around the last corner. “W-w-we’re so sorry! We didn’t see anything!” she cried. “What’s going on?” asked the other, still not sure what had happened. “N-n-nothing! Nothing’s going on!” She’d sure screamed pretty loud for “nothing,” but who could blame her? She’d found a monster pushed down on the ground by another customer.