Epilogue: The Taste of a Classmate’s Sin

They say the start of a cold is critical.

Yuna was a pro at playing nurse, but maybe because she gets sick often herself, she was tough on me. At a 38-degree fever, when I whined, “I’m dying,” she just said, “You’re fine. That’s not enough to kill you,” and sat by my bed, grinding through mock exam questions.

She’d checked my condition, decided it wasn’t serious, and relaxed, but it felt a bit cold for a girlfriend nursing her sick boyfriend.

She even went out to eat with her dad, leaving me to heat up instant porridge and eat alone.

If Sakuraba had taken care of me, maybe…

I shoved the thought away. Yuna came all the way to Tokyo because she was worried. That’s enough to be grateful for. I needed to focus on getting better, not overthinking. But being sick left me with nothing to do but think.

Was Sakuraba okay? Did her boss do anything worse? Did she quit her job? Does she… hate me now?

I checked my phone. Her message was still unread.

Figures. After what I did.

I couldn’t ask Yuna to leave in that moment, but if I’d been smarter, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out like this.

“Shiki, I’m back. Been good?” Yuna called.

I hid my phone, pretending to sleep.

I could’ve been upfront, but my body moved on instinct.

“…Asleep, huh? Must be nice, so carefree,” she muttered, heading to the bathroom. “I’m the one doing all the work.”

Carefree?

No way. Sure, Yuna’s got it tough with studying and coming to see me, but I’m busting my ass with solo living, cooking, dealing with her parents’ pressure, and no say in my future. I’m trying not to worry her, too.

Her hands are pristine. She doesn’t wash dishes or hang laundry. She doesn’t know how much time it takes to keep things clean or how a hangnail stings in water.

Does my effort even register with a pampered girl like her? I’m not comparing her med school prep to my struggles, but I don’t deserve that comment.

Normally, I’d guess she had a fight with her parents and comfort her, but being sick made her words grate.

I wanted to jump up and go for a run to blow off steam before I snapped at her.

Then the intercom buzzed. I dropped the sleeping act and checked the door. A delivery, finally?

Through the peephole… a neatly written note: “Get well soon.” A bag stuffed with health supplements, cooling pads, and a small insulated pouch.

“…Hamburgers.”

A sticky note on the Ziploc read, “Microwave for two minutes.” Two portions. I didn’t want to share with Yuna. I wanted them all.

She remembered I love hamburgers. Warmth spread through me, washing away my irritation.

“You opened it. What’s inside?” Yuna asked.

“Cooling pads and stuff. So overprotective,” I said, shoving the hamburgers into the freezer before returning to bed.

I hated myself for thinking of Sakuraba while Yuna was here, but I couldn’t stop.

That night, I dreamed.

In a big house, I was cooking with a grown-up Sakuraba.

Thanks to Yuna’s expert care—or maybe just some mental breathing room—my fever broke fast. Yuna grumbled, “You didn’t need me to come,” but I managed to soothe her and saw her off at the shinkansen station.

While I was out, Suzu and Natsukawa had dropped by with a care package. A huge bag hung on my doorknob, stuffed with jelly drinks and sports drinks.

Yuna, ever serious, told me to get back to school but suggested one more rest day. By Tuesday, I was back in class.

“Yo, Shiki!” Nikaido waved enthusiastically.

I gave a weak wave back. He pointed at my mask, looking sympathetic. “You good to be back?”

“All clear. Voice is back to normal.”

“Haha, sweet. They say a cold when you’re living alone is hell, right? If you’d missed tomorrow, I was gonna swing by with soup or something.”

“Love you, man.”

“Ugh, gross,” he said, faking a gag.

But seriously, I’m grateful.

If I’d been alone, my cold would’ve gotten worse. Suzu and Natsukawa’s supplies helped a ton, too. Since I’m not transferring anymore, keeping these connections matters.

“Thanks for sending me the notes,” I said.

“No biggie. Now hook me up with a cute cooking club girl!”

“That’s… a tall order.”

“Why?” Nikaido pressed.

My “deck” only has Suzu and Natsukawa, both a bit socially awkward. I couldn’t confidently introduce them.

…Wait, Sakuraba’s in cooking club, too.

She’d be the one to introduce, but I’d unconsciously ruled her out.

Right. I need to see Sakuraba and apologize.

I’ve got to return her stuff and tell her how good those hamburgers were.

Before class? Or catch her after school? What do I even say?

As I mulled it over, the classroom buzzed loudly.

I knew that vibe. Like when Natsukawa shows up.

Maybe she heard I was back and came to check on me.

I looked toward the noise. Softly curled hair swayed gently.

“Midoriya-kun.”

“…Sakuraba.”

She’d never approached me at school before. Caught off guard, my mind went blank.

“Sorry for springing this on you,” she said, her usual fragile smile in place. “About the other day… can I grab my clothes from your place today?”

The classroom erupted into chaos.

My peaceful days crumbled, and I knew it for sure.

“…Saying that in class? People’ll think we’re dating,” I said.

After school, I pulled Sakuraba into an alley, checking that no one was around.

I didn’t want to relive the details, but it was a mess. Half the school’s guys came to gawk at Sakuraba waiting for me by the shoe lockers.

I might get jumped and left in a ditch tomorrow.

“Rumors don’t matter. It’s what we think that counts, right?” she said, sounding oddly mature.

I wanted to know what she thought, not some general wisdom.

“And I’m not bothered,” she added, stepping in front of me. “Are you, Shiki-kun?”

“…Not bothered.”

Not bothered, but… isn’t this wrong?

Her radiant smile erased my doubts like blooming flowers.

“Good. Leaving the rumors as is would help me out. You know, to avoid… trouble.”

Her smile suits her. But it’s often misunderstood, leading to unwanted attention that clouds her face.

I can’t forget her that day, crouched in the pouring rain. No parents to rely on, no close friends—she’d have been lost without me.

Unlike Yuna, the pampered heiress, Sakuraba needs money. Balancing housework and studies is tough enough. If she’s misjudged or hurt at a new job, it’d be too cruel.

At school and beyond, I need to be there for her.

She needs me.

I can’t push her away.

“Got it. I’m on it,” I said.

“Hehe, yes! Thanks.”

Her smile was soft, radiant. Then she reached for my mask, tugging it down.

“Shiki-kun.”

When did she start calling me that?

Her hands cupped my cheeks, her trembling eyes echoing that day.

“I’ll take your cold as thanks.”

Her face drew closer. I closed my eyes slowly.

A soft touch on my lips. Her long lashes brushed my skin. A faintly sweet-tart scent, different from last time—her lip balm, maybe.