2.47: The Fallout

2.47: The Fallout

A stick of chalk squeaked against our homeroom’s chalkboard as Kurosawa-sensei finished writing the last name.

For a heartbeat, the room held its breath.

Then it exploded.

“Yessss—!”
“No way, seriously?!”
“This was one hell of a twist!”
“Noooo! I wanted Shinohara-san to be our princess!”
“I told you she’d get this part!”
“Wait, I think I missed something… Who got the princess role again— Wha!?”

The air turned fizzy with voices and chair-legs scraping against the floor. Hands slapped against desks with varying emotions. Someone whistled. A few of the boys started chanting my name like it was a sports day and not… this.

I sat there with my pencil still hovering above my notebook, staring at the board like if I stared hard enough, the letters would rearrange themselves into something less terrifying.

Prince Phillip: Shinohara Sumire
Princess Aurora: Tachibana Riko
Maleficent: Arisugawa Yuna

Riko turned just enough to glance over her shoulder at me. Her smile was calm, too perfect, and absolutely smug. It was like she was playing at being a prince after having just landed the princess role.

Aoi-chan didn’t look at me at all. She stared at the board hostilely like it was filled with lies and deceit.

Kurosawa-sensei clapped her hands twice loudly. “Okay! Okay, everyone, settle down. Anyone who keeps screaming gets assigned the toughest backstage tasks.”

That cut the volume in half instantly.

“Prince Shinohara,” Megumi sang out, leaning in my direction with both elbows resting on her desk, her eyes sparkling like she’d just discovered a new toy. “Say something princely.”

“Please don’t…” I mumbled, my face heating so fast it felt like I’d been shoved into a dryer. “I’ve never played this kind of role before…”

Daichi Kondo, already sweating like the play itself was a natural disaster to be managed, tried to talk over all the chatter. “We need a schedule to handle the production of our sets, costumes, and writing the script. Who’s handling those last two? Is anyone in this class even halfway decent at writing? If we don’t plan these things now, rehearsals will—”

“No one cares about your schedules,” someone declared immediately.

Daichi’s soul left his body for a full second.

Kurosawa-sensei’s gaze slid toward the offender.

The offender went silent, like a mouse realizing the cat had noticed it.

“Kondo raised some important questions. Regardless, class will start,” Kurosawa-sensei said brightly, as if nothing had happened. “The cultural festival changes nothing for now. You’ll be focused on learning today. Your cultural festival enthusiasm does not exempt you from studying.”

A collective groan rolled through the room.

“We’ll discuss specifics at the end of the day. We’ll need to decide whether we’re writing an original script or adapting an existing one.”

“As for that, Sensei…” Megumi winked. “I don’t mind doing it. I dabble in writing online. I’ve even written a few romantic stories that went over pretty well. What if we take a yuri angle on the story, since they’re both girls?”

The boys stared at her.

“What?! The prince is a guy… even if Shinohara-san’s a girl!”

“Who says we have to do it the boring, normal way?” Megumi laughed.

“Recent experiences have opened my eyes. Gender doesn’t really matter when it comes to love.”

“Princes are male!”
“Yeah!”

“Amamine-san… does that mean that you’re a—”

“Nah.” Megumi winked at her questioner. “Not me.”

“You’re not?”

“I just find yuri interesting, is all. Some girls like yaoi. But as for me, I like watching these sorts of relationships from afar.”

She didn’t look at me or Aoi-chan.

But I knew exactly who she was talking about.

I sank back into my chair, feeling numb.

She’s turning this into a yuri play… that’s even worse!

This is crazy!

I could already feel the weight of my situation settling on my shoulders like a costume I hadn’t tried on yet.

When the first period finally began and the white noise of a normal day at school took over, I found myself glancing at Aoi-chan frequently whether I meant to or not.

She had her chin resting in her hand, staring at the teacher like she was being forced to watch a documentary about paint drying. The faintest line sat between her brows. Every time she exhaled, it looked like she was swallowing something sharp.

I couldn’t stand seeing her like this. I reached across the aisle separating us and placed a hand on hers. She blinked like she was coming out of a trance and studied my hand for a moment, following my arm up to my face and her lips twisted.

By lunch, my brain felt cooked.

I grabbed my bento with a kind of desperate relief and followed Aoi-chan as she stood, like we’d done over a hundred times, without even needing to talk about it.

The rooftop door clicked shut behind us and the wind hit my face, feeling clean and cool. Above Tokyo, the sky was a pale, open blue, and the sun had already warmed the concrete enough that sitting down didn’t feel uncomfortable.

We claimed our usual spot, tucked just out of sight behind the door, safe from the immediate scrutiny of anyone who might come up.

Aoi-chan sat close enough that our shoulders brushed, as usual. No matter how used to skinship I became, her presence still felt precious and special to me… Because I loved her.

She was exactly where she belonged.

I opened my bento, and she opened hers, and we slipped into our usual exchange, though her mood only brightened by a touch.

I offered her a piece of my tamagoyaki. She leaned forward greedily and wrapped her lips around my chopsticks. Those indirect kisses were almost the best part, plus I loved feeding her.

It continued like that… this bite for that bite.
Her pickled plum and pieces of karaage traded for my tamagoyaki.
Our quiet ritual.

Aoi smiled as she chewed, clearly enjoying the time away from class and our worries. On impulse, I brushed my lips against hers while she was mid-bite. Her eyes widened just a fraction, and a faint flush crept across her cheeks. I couldn't resist rubbing my nose against hers gently.  

Then a shadow fell over us.

“Mind if we join in?” Riko’s voice chimed in, sweet as honey, and twice as dangerous.

Aoi-chan’s shoulders tightened and I sighed.
We jerked slightly apart.

Yuna stood beside Riko, her hands folded neatly in front of her, her expression gentle. “It’s a nice day, isn’t it? So warm.”

Aoi-chan’s eyes narrowed, like she was measuring the distance between them and the edge of the roof.

“We were in the middle of something,” she said flatly.

Riko smiled. “Yeah. Something unsafe.” She settled down across from us with her bento, her movements unhurried. “If you’re feeling that self-conscious about kissing in front of others…”

“Do you think I care if we’re caught?” Aoi-chan shot back, scowling.

Riko tilted her head, mock-considerate. “What about Sumire-chan?” she asked lightly. “She might lose some of her popularity. And you’re fairly popular yourself.” Her smile sharpened. “I’m sure the boys would probably be heartbroken if they found out what’s going on between you.”

Before Aoi-chan could say something that would escalate their cold war into something louder, I shrugged.

“Uh—I couldn’t care less about what the boys think. But there’s some room, I guess,” I said shrugging. “I was just getting a bit of egg that was clinging to her cheek anyway.”

Yuna giggled softly.

Riko’s lips twisted. “Sure,” she said. “I’m sure it was tasty.”

Aoi-chan’s head snapped toward her.

I met Aoi-chan’s eyes, giving her a look that was half apology, half plea for her to relax.

She wants me to get rid of them… I know that.
What can I even do? Riko at least always seemed to show up whenever we tried to kiss… This was the first time that Yuna had eaten on the rooftop. I imagined that she probably went to the nurse’s office for hers until now, getting some work done with the time around bites of her own bento.

Last night, after the GariGari-kuns, we’d been mostly alone with no one around to stop us, and things had heated up quickly between us.

Maybe we need to spend more time outside school, I thought. Somewhere we can be closer. Just us.

This was the first time either of them had joined us for lunch. Usually, Riko hovered nearby, close enough to watch us and far enough to pretend she wasn’t.

Yuna sat beside her now, calm as a shrine maiden.

The moment the four of us formed a small circle, the air shifted from normal.

It wasn’t exactly hostile, just… charged.

Riko opened her lunch. What she was eating was fragrant and rich, the scent of ginger bursting into the air. Yuna’s was neat and balanced, with little portions arranged carefully like she’d thought about color, arrangement and texture. Her lunch looked exactly like something that she would make.

On the other hand, Aoi-chan’s bento had the blunt simplicity of someone who packed food the way she packed punches. Blunt and direct. I wondered if she made them herself.

Riko leaned forward, offering her chopsticks toward Aoi-chan with a piece of something glossy and sweet. “Try mine.”

Aoi-chan paused, suspicious like she was being offered poison by a political enemy.

“It’s not a trap,” Yuna said softly, watching Aoi-chan with amused eyes. “Sharing lunches is normal between friends. We became friends at Shirasuna, didn’t we?”

Aoi-chan’s chopsticks hovered midair.

Riko’s smile widened, like she’d already won.

I watched Aoi-chan’s jaw flex. Then, very reluctantly, and almost too quick to follow, she snagged the offered bite with her own chopsticks from Riko’s, the motion precise enough to look like it was a martial arts technique.

“Indirect kisses aren’t,” Aoi-chan said as she dropped it onto her tongue.

I gaped, impressed by Aoi-chan’s precision.

Riko’s lips twisted wryly. “Impressive move.”

“Thanks,” Aoi-chan muttered.

She chewed and swallowed.

Her expression didn’t change, but her eyes flicked away, like she didn’t want anyone to notice that she couldn’t find anything wrong with Riko’s lunch.

“Hmph.” Aoi pouted.

She took another bite from her own bento, like she was reclaiming territory.

Riko turned her attention to me immediately, her chopsticks already poised.
“Sumire,” she said lightly. “Open up.”

She lunged with a bite of her food, fast and decisive. There was something almost predatory about her movements… something like killing intent without any real desire to hurt me.

My face flared hot. Ah—an indirect—

CLACK

Aoi-chan’s chopsticks snapped up, intercepting Riko’s midair with a sharp, clean strike. The sound rang between us. For a split second, it really did look like culinary sparring.

I sucked in a breath and Riko blinked.

Aoi-chan’s expression didn’t change.

She held Riko’s chopsticks in front of me, unmoving, her gaze hard and unwavering.
“Sumire is off limits, Riko,” she said flatly. “She’s mine.”

DOKI—DOKI… BADUMP

My heart hammered so hard I felt it in my throat.

“Amazing…” I whispered.

It reminded me of the first time I’d seen her crush a smartphone in one hand… effortless, absolute, like force was just another language she spoke fluently.

Even Yuna’s eyes had widened a fraction… but then she giggled quietly into her hand, genuinely amused.
“That’s very hard to compete with.”

Riko stared for a long moment, stunned. She leaned forward, straining against Aoi’s vice-like grip on her chopsticks with her own, stubborn as a fighter testing Aoi’s guard.
“Why did you do that?! Let go. You’re crazy! It’s just delicious food.” She frowned at her bento. “Was my cooking really that bad?”

Aoi-chan didn’t blink. “It’s not that. It was an indirect kiss as you well know,” she said evenly. “No one else gets to kiss my Sumire.”

DOKI—DOKI… BADUMP

My jaw dropped.

Riko surrendered the bite of food, letting it fall to the rooftop, yanking her chopsticks free like it was Excalibur in the stone, hastily snagging another bite of hers and lunged again with another hastily grabbed bite with her chopsticks.

CLACK

Blocked.

Her eyebrow twitched. Then her mouth did.
“You’re treating my chopsticks like a katana,” Riko snapped. “Damn it, stop doing that, Aoi!”

“These chopsticks are,” Aoi-chan said, dead serious.