Chapter 8:
The Phone Call
WHEN WE GOT TO THE RETRO-STYLE CAFÉ, Shinohara sat down in a chair in the back. The dark-brown chair creaked slightly. As I sat down, mine was even louder.
Shinohara looked tired as she hung her coat up, which led to me blurting out something stupid. “I’ll treat you.”
“Huh? That’s not necessary,” she said with a surprised look. It almost annoyed me how she refused without even thinking about it.
“Okay, well, I insist. That’s what I’m going to do.”
“Why? Didn’t I promise to treat you earlier?” She looked a little taken aback.
When people offered to treat me, I usually graciously accepted without a second thought. It seemed she was different in this regard.
“You let me back on Christmas Eve. Why not today?”
“Are you gaslighting me? I was the one who paid then.”
That made me remember that she’d originally hired me to help take revenge against Motosaka. Apparently, my brain had gaslit itself to protect my dignity as the older one here. Maybe my sudden need to pay for her meal was an unconscious impulse to take my stupid dignity back. It didn’t really matter much either way, though.
“Joining a circle out of nowhere, the whole manager business… You must be tired. Let me, I dunno, appreciate you, or something.”
The word “appreciate” seemed to convince her somewhat. So having a reason makes it easier for her to agree, huh?
“In that case, I graciously accept,” she relented. “But let me just say that you were cute when you were in the zone playing basketball, so it was a fulfilling time for me too, okay?”
“I’d appreciate a manlier word than ‘cute.’”
“Aww, why?” she pouted a little. “I think a guy needs to have a pretty high score with a girl for her to call him cute.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Why the cold response?!” She snatched the menu away from me with both hands.
I shuddered with regret. I hadn’t considered that she might take advantage of this opportunity and order an expensive lunch. However, I was proven wrong when the employee brought over food that was surprisingly gentle on my wallet.
By the time we’d eaten half the meal and chatted a bunch to boot, I apologized.
“I feel bad. Did I make you worry about my funds?”
“No. I was in the mood for this dish.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Shinohara confirmed and swirled her fork around to gobble up more pasta.
Despite her usual rudeness, she still had a way of being considerate. This was why her typical cheek didn’t bother me. Heck, by now, I almost found it comforting.
I’d only known Shinohara for two months, but it was becoming clear that I liked our relationship.
“Ahh… Today was full of nostalgia,” she said. “It reminds me of when I was in basketball clubs.”
“Huh? You were in basketball clubs?” I was stunned. Her ball handling was too clumsy for me to believe it.
“You were just thinking I’m too clumsy to believe it, right? Well, a long time ago, I was actually pretty good!” Shinohara made her displeasure apparent. “But I paled in comparison to Ayaka-senpai.”
“Ayaka? She was in the club too?”
“Huh? You didn’t know?”
“Of course not…”
Back in high school, Ayaka was in what we called the going-home club. I’d heard it was the same in middle school too, because she “didn’t like having her personal time eaten away.” I didn’t doubt she was telling the truth, so Shinohara’s claims seemed dubious-at-best right now.
“Hmm? So she hasn’t told you after all?” Shinohara’s face turned cold for a moment.
“‘After all?’ What does that mean?”
“Oh, noooooothing.” Apparently unbothered and ready to leave it at that, she called a waiter over.
She knew Ayaka’s past, and I didn’t. I wanted to pry, but I stayed quiet now that we had company.
“May I take your order?” the waiter asked.
“I want matcha au lait and cheesecake! Do you want anything, Senpai?” She’d totally changed the subject now. Her intentions were unclear, but I could tell she wasn’t about to open up here.
Doesn’t matter. If I want to know Ayaka’s past, I can just ask her. With that, I gave up and decided to join her for dessert.
“I’ll take an iced café au lait, then.”
“Yes, sir.” The waiter bowed lightly and left us.
The uniform was simple, but stylish enough combined with the vibe of the restaurant. I could tell why this was a popular place for female students to work.
“Rarer for people to dress up as Santa, huh?” I mused.
“Santa’s cute! It’s perfect for the season too,” Shinohara said in a sweet tone, also watching the waiter leave.
Indeed, she’d stood out quite a bit when she wore that outfit, especially so close to Christmas. I couldn’t imagine that a university student who’d willingly choose such an attention-grabbing part-time job would go for a gig at a café next.
Given Shinohara’s features though, she’d probably look good in anything.
“You love your café au lait, don’t you?” she said. “I pegged you as the kind of guy to like your coffee black, so it surprised me when I first found out.”
Was that a compliment? I didn’t mind it, at least, because I considered black coffee the kind of thing that mature people drank.
“No, I still can’t handle that stuff. Tastes awful.”
“I just figured you’d drink it to try and act mature. You are an adult, but you’re surprisingly childish.”
“Wh-who are you calling childish?!” I stammered. Contrary to expectations, it was no compliment at all—it was pretty much an outright insult. “Unfortunately, I don’t have money to waste on appearances.”
That answer seemed to placate her. She nodded and muttered, “I guess it does come down to that if you’re poor…”
Now you’re just being rude.
She sure dressed like she had plenty of money. The beige trench coat on the hanger next to us looked expensive, and the black turtleneck and fine necklace under it no doubt cost a good chunk of change as well.
“Speaking of, how did you get so flush with cash?”
Despite my impolite question, Shinohara readily answered, “I work part-time a lot. The Santa gig was a second job, y’know.”
“Ah, I see. Maybe I should ask for more shifts.”
As for me, I only worked once or twice a week. That was on the lower end of the demographic of liberal arts students not participating in any clubs. Back when I’d dated Reina, I worked five shifts a week and built up a decent amount of savings. Currently, I was living off of those savings. They were about to run out soon, though.
Shinohara looked dissatisfied by my ponderings. “I’ll be bored if you’re out more days.”
“Hey, you’re the weird one for coming over three to four days a week. At least let me have a job.”
“I work as a salon model, so you can just mooch off of me financially, okay? I’ll pay for your food, how about that?”
I struggled over whether to respond to the model part or the idea of her being my sugar mommy first, but in the end, I chose to press her on the former. After all, the average university student would know nothing about modeling.
“Is modeling that lucrative?” I asked.
“It depends on the person, but I make about 40,000 yen a month. It’s not bad.”
“What?!”
Including her other jobs, that meant she was making several times what I made in a month. I felt dizzy. Still, that didn’t mean I was willing to let her pay my way. It’d be horrific if word got out.
“No, no, I’m fine. There’s nothing as pathetic as a younger woman paying for your expenses.”
“There we go. That’s the Senpai I know.”
My mouth fell open at her answer. “You were testing me? Now that’s just awful!”
“I-I didn’t think you’d take me seriously!” She put her fork down and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I’ll just have to make you my own special dinner for tonight as a treat. I’ll put all my skills into it.”
Shinohara flexed her bicep exaggeratedly. I frowned back at her. That was apparently amusing, because she burst out laughing.
“So, what do you want to eat tonight?” she asked.
I crossed my arms. Her cooking was pretty high-level, so I was frankly fine with anything, but I knew that answer would be the most troublesome one possible to the chef.
Instead, I said the very first thing that came to mind: “Tiramisu.”
“Why a dessert?”
“Is that a no?”
“N-no, it’s not… I guess I should grab groceries, then?” She stood up.
“For sure,” I said.
“Okay. Thanks for the meal.” Shinohara bowed politely and left.
I then paid for our meal, thinking of tiramisu all the while.