Chapter Six: I Didn’t Even Wanna Make Karaage

“So, uh… just the two of us, huh?” Natsukawa says, her usually obnoxiously cute face twitching nervously.

The next moment, click—the room’s lights go out.

“Eek!” she yelps, jumping.

We try the door, rattling it desperately, but it won’t budge.

“…We’ve been had,” I mutter.

“…Yup,” she squeaks.

Trapped in a dark, locked room. Just me and Natsukawa.

We’re stuck in the cooking prep room.

It all started when some club member I barely know came up and said, “President asked me to pass on a message—can you two grab a spare cutting board from the prep room?” I’ve been in the cooking club for two months and never set foot in there. Natsukawa, who’s been here since middle school, says she’s only been once.

We should’ve known something was up, but we brushed off the weird vibe, thinking it was President Miyase’s orders. So we trotted off to the prep room, found the cutting board, and—bam—someone locked the door from the outside and killed the lights. I thought the hazing was over, but apparently, we’re still targets.

We yell for help and bang on the door, but no one responds. The prep room’s at the edge of the school—no one’s just gonna stroll by.

This is bad. No windows, no light. I can barely make out shapes if I squint.

I don’t even know where Natsukawa is. Gotta get out of here, but…

“Natsukawa, you got your phone? Mine’s in the cooking room,” I say.

“…I don’t have mine either,” she replies.

“Then we’re stuck waiting for President to notice we’re gone…”

We don’t usually keep phones on us during club. They’re too heavy in apron pockets, and with dishcloths, there’s no room.

No way to call for help. We just have to hope President Miyase realizes we’re missing.

“We’ve never been late or skipped club, and, well, no offense to ourselves, but we kinda stand out. President’ll notice we’re not there, right?” I say, slumping to the floor. Standing’s just gonna tire us out.

I check my pockets—nothing but a chocolate cookie I bought as a snack but didn’t eat. Not exactly a survival kit.

“You got any food on you?” I ask.

“…,” Natsukawa stays silent.

“Natsukawa?”

She’s weirdly quiet. Normally, she’d be all, “I don’t stand out, I’ve got presence!” Something’s off.

“…Um, senpai,” she says, voice small.

“Yeah?”

“Can I… come closer?”

Phew. That’s the Natsukawa I know.

“No way, it’s too hot,” I shoot back.

“Hah… yeah, right,” she mumbles.

…Is that really her?

Suddenly worried, I stretch my arms out slowly, feeling for her in the dark. I crawl forward, groping around, and brush against something.

“…H-Hi!” she squeaks.

“Natsukawa?”

“Hh… s-senpai…”

I reach toward where her voice is coming from and touch something soft and curled up.

“Is that you, Natsukawa?!”

“…S-Sorry… I-I can’t handle… dark, tight places like this…”

“…My bad for earlier. What do I do?” I ask, softening.

“…H-Hold my hand. It’s… been cold since earlier.”

I grab the hand reaching out slowly. Natsukawa’s hand is ice-cold and trembling faintly. She’s genuinely scared.

I wrap both my hands around hers, then, not knowing what else to do, slide closer and sit beside her.

“Natsukawa, it’s gonna be okay. President’ll find us for sure. You’re safe,” I say.

“…Right,” she replies weakly, taking shallow breaths. After a moment, she seems to calm down a bit, squeezing my hand back with a faint grip.

“You feeling better?” I ask.

“…A little. Your hands… they’re warm,” she says, her voice far from its usual sugary tease.

She adds, “Senpai,” and continues.

“…Can we talk? It helps me feel less scared.”

“Of course. I’ll listen to anything, and I’m not going anywhere,” I say.

“Such a gentleman,” she murmurs.

She takes a deep breath and starts.

“…I got locked in a place like this before. Back in elementary school. I was alone, and it took half a day for anyone to find me. Ever since, tight, dark places freak me out.”

“…That’s rough,” I say.

My hand brushes the chocolate cookie in my pocket from earlier.

“Hey, I’ve got a cookie. Wanna eat it? Something sweet might help you relax.”

“…Is it… opened?” she asks.

“Nah, still sealed, I think.”

Her question reminds me of that time she wouldn’t eat the ice cream I’d taken a bite of.

“Wait, are you, like, a germaphobe? Sorry, I keep saying dumb stuff,” I say.

“N-No, it’s… um…” She falters, gripping my hand tighter. “Senpai, it’s not your fault. It’s just… back then, someone messed with my food. Put stuff in it. Since then, I can’t eat anything someone else made or anything that’s been opened.”

Her voice shakes. I squeeze her hand back, firm and steady.

“…That’s awful. And you still joined the cooking club?”

“That’s why I joined. Otherwise, I’d never eat warm food again… and I thought, maybe it’d be like exposure therapy or something.”

The club’s all about division of labor. At first, she couldn’t eat anything, but after watching the cooking process closely and seeing everyone else try it, she started being able to eat.

That’s gotta be tough. I always knew she was a bit of a mess, but I didn’t realize she was carrying this kind of baggage. It makes sense now why she latched onto me so hard, just because I wasn’t interested in her drama.

Natsukawa keeps talking, pausing for deep breaths.

“I was an outcast in the club from the start. I wouldn’t eat what I made, and I was so paranoid I acted all sketchy.”

“You stuck with it, though,” I say. “That’s impressive. Facing your fears like that? That’s how you became the Natsukawa you are now. That’s badass.”

“…You think? Heh,” she giggles softly.

Her hand’s starting to warm up.

“There’s another reason I kept at it,” she says. “You moved around a lot as a kid, right, senpai? Ever promise to marry some super cute girl when you grow up?”

“Whoa, random much?” I laugh.

“C’mon, it’s a classic trope!”

“Too much TV. Maybe I did, but I don’t remember,” I say.

“Hmph,” she pouts.

What’s this got to do with staying in the cooking club?

“So, I’ve got an older brother, like, five years older. He’d ditch me at the park ‘cause I couldn’t keep up. But there was this boy who’d play with me. Sometimes he’d play my favorite songs on a toy piano… He was my first crush.”

“So that’s why your type’s guys who play piano,” I say.

“Yup. We played house once, and when I served him food, he got so excited. I don’t remember much else, but that stuck with me.”

“Got it. You promised to marry him, so you wanna get good at cooking for him.”

“Exactly. But he moved away right after, and that was that.”

“You ever try tracking him down?”

“I moved too, right after. My parents split. I was, like, four, so this place is basically home now.”

So Natsukawa’s been in the cooking club all this time for a first crush she doesn’t even know the whereabouts of?

“You’re something else,” I say, impressed.

“Right? If that kid was you, would you fall for me?” she teases.

“Hell yeah,” I say.

“What if it really was you?”

“I’ve got a girlfriend, so…”

“Right…” she sighs.

She’s sounding more like herself. Not sure whose fault it is, but our hands are getting sweaty.

“Hey, senpai, you really don’t remember?” she presses.

“…Dunno. Your story’s ringing a faint bell, though.”

“What?!”

“My mom mentioned I was close with a girl when I was little. Her name was… something tasty-sounding. Ama… something?”

Natsukawa squeezes my hand hard.

“Such a shame,” she says. “If you’d waited for her, she might’ve grown up into a super cute girl right in front of you.”

“If she turned out like you, she’d be perfect,” I say.

“Even you’d fall for her?”

“Maybe. Hope you find that guy, Natsukawa.”

“…Yeah,” she murmurs, her voice tinged with longing.

Her wistful tone makes me sentimental too.

Where’s the girl I was close to back then?

Even if we crossed paths, I doubt I’d recognize her. But maybe she’d remember me and say hi.

We keep talking—about the time I dropped a knife and chipped the floor, about Natsukawa’s family—when hurried footsteps echo outside. The door flies open.

“You guys okay?!” It’s President Miyase.

She noticed I wasn’t there, scarfing down food like the loud, happy glutton I am, and knew I’d never skip out without a word. Thank god I’m a noisy eater.

She even caught the culprit and promised to report it to the school for proper punishment. Since Natsukawa wants to stay in the club, that should make things safer.

President’s so dependable, it’s hard to believe she’s the same age as Suzu. She’s gonna be a total boss someday.

“…You good, Natsukawa?” I ask.

“I’m okay. You stayed with me the whole time,” she says.

“Glad to hear it.”

Her face has some color back, but she’s still gripping my hand. I figured it was just fear at first, but even back in the cooking room and now at the school entrance, she’s holding on tight.

I lift our joined hands. “…What’s this about?”

“Huh?” Her eyes dart to our hands, and her face flushes redder by the second. I thought it was her usual flirty nonsense, but she seems totally unaware.

“N-No! It’s not like that! It makes it look like I’m into you or something!” she stammers.

“Aren’t you?” I tease.

“…!” She freezes.

“Whoops, clammed up,” I say, grinning.

I grab her hand again as she tries to bolt, and her face goes full tomato. It’s fun flipping the script on her for once.

“Let go!” she yelps.

“Nope,” I say.

“Are you mad at me?! I’m sorry! For everything!” she pleads.

She’s too cute, finally steeling herself to look up at me.

“Thank you so much for today! I’ll tell you everything someday, I swear! Get ready!” she declares, bowing quickly before sprinting through the ticket gate and slipping into a closing train door. Textbook last-second boarding.

What a whirlwind. What am I supposed to be ready for?

Is she plotting some crazy revenge? Wouldn’t put it past her. I’m thrown for a second but shake it off—standing here’s just gonna hold people up. I hurry through the gate, wait a bit on the platform, and hop on my usual train.

Luck’s on my side—I snag a seat. Letting the train’s sway lull me, I close my eyes. The chatter and creaking of the cars fade, and I must’ve dozed off.

“When we grow up, I want you to marry me!”

A child’s high-pitched voice jolts me awake. I’m one stop before mine, the train’s announcement snapping me back to reality.

“Was that… a dream?” I mutter.

Must’ve been from talking about the past with Natsukawa. I saw a memory from when I was, like, six, living in Ishikawa. There was a big playground at the park, and I’d play a toy piano under the slide. Some younger girl I got close to would beg me to play every day. I don’t remember how we started hanging out, but I loved being relied on as an only child. I’d secretly practice trendy songs at home, then play them like it was no big deal, just to see her big, round eyes light up when she gasped, “How do you play it so fast?!” That memory’s still crystal clear.

The day I moved, she showed up at my house with puffy, tear-streaked eyes. We made some kind of promise, I think, but even after hearing it in the dream, I can’t recall it.

Dragging my foggy brain off the train, I check my phone for the time and see a LINE from Sakuraba. 《Just got off work!》 Sent five minutes ago. Crap! Gotta pick her up.

I rush out of the station, skipping home, and head straight to her workplace. Sakuraba’s standing alone at the family restaurant’s back exit, somehow looking like she belongs in a painting just by standing there.

“Yo, let’s get outta here,” I say.

“Thanks, Midoriya-kun. Again,” she says.

“No prob. It’s for the food, right?” I grin.

With all the chaos today, I missed eating at the club, so I’m starving.

“No grocery stop today, right?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah. We’ve got enough from last time,” she says.

“Leftovers” doesn’t ring a bell. I still can’t keep track of my own fridge, so Sakuraba knowing what’s in it makes her a godsend.

I shoot her a secret respect beam, but she lifts her head, looking hesitant. “So, I heard from Aoi-chan. The day you came to get me, you had plans with her, didn’t you?”

“Uh… did I?” I say, playing dumb.

“You did. I know I’m the one you helped, but ditching’s not cool. At least give her a heads-up, y’know?”

Her moral high ground leaves me speechless. I was desperate to help her that day, and Aoi-chan’s thing wasn’t urgent. Plus, she’s used to my flakiness—she just sulked a bit with an “Again?!” when I apologized later.

That’s just how we roll. Aoi-chan’s cool with me because I’m like that… but Sakuraba doesn’t know that.

“Did you tell Aoi-chan?” I ask.

“No way! I couldn’t!” she says.

“Then keep it between us. Our little secret,” I say.

Even if I had a good reason, Aoi-chan might get hurt knowing I picked Sakuraba over her.

I picture Aoi-chan’s shy blush from earlier. I don’t wanna lose that cute kouhai.

I hold out my pinky, and Sakuraba’s face twists like she’s holding something back.

“…You’re awful,” she mutters.

“Hah. If it’s bad, no one has to know,” I say.

That sounds familiar. Guilt. Shared secrets.

It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. We’ll take this secret to the grave together.

I touch my left ear, the memory of that day aching in my chest. The scars I gave Yuna, and the ones she gave me—they’re still there.

“You’ve got a girlfriend, huh?” Sakuraba says.

Her voice is so soft it almost melts into the air, but it hits my ears clear as day.

“…Wait, I didn’t tell you?” I say.

“Nope. Aoi-chan mentioned you’ve got a long-distance girlfriend. I was shocked.”

“No way. I told everyone at the club when I joined, so I thought I’d mentioned it.”

When did I stop talking about Yuna? I brush it off casually, but my bike creaks as I push it.

“Should’ve said something sooner. Would’ve put you at ease,” I say.

“Then why’d you keep saying I’m cute or would make a great wife? That’s so misleading!” she says.

“It’s true, though. You are cute, and you’d be an awesome wife,” I say.

Okay, yeah, those words could be misinterpreted. If she thought I was into her, that’d be scary. My bad.

I like Sakuraba as a person, no question, and I wanna keep this give-and-take going. So I need to make it clear: I’ve got a girlfriend, so she’s got nothing to worry about. We’re just partners in this deal.

“Besides, I’m not your type, right?” I say.

“…Yeah. It’s not like I got the wrong idea or anything. But you should’ve told me sooner. I was worried I’d upset your girlfriend,” she says.

I let out a relieved sigh. Typical Sakuraba, always considerate. Total opposite of Natsukawa.

I feel like an idiot for panicking. Like Sakuraba would ever fall for me.

“Is your girlfriend cute?” she asks.

“Super cute. Wanna see a pic?”

“…No way!” she snaps.

Guess she’s not that curious. Natsukawa’s always yelling at me for gushing about Yuna too.

I pocket my phone and pick up my pace. It’s kinda awkward, so we don’t talk much after that. But as we near my place, Sakuraba suddenly grabs my uniform sleeve.

“Actually, I wanna make something! Can we hit the supermarket? I’ll cook!” she says.

“Uh, sure,” I say.

What’s she craving?

Thinking it’s my lucky day to get her cooking, I toss ingredients in the cart as she directs, pay, and head home.

Soon enough, there’s a mountain of karaage in front of me. What the hell?

“…What’s with this amount?” I ask, stunned.

“Just eat it,” she says, glaring.

“No way I can finish all this…”

“Freeze the leftovers, it’s fine!”

Sakuraba’s frying karaage in my kitchen like a pro chef.

“But you’re always going on about how fried food makes you fat…” I say.

“It’s fine today! I got zero-calorie cola!” she insists.

“That stuff tastes the same as regular. Gotta have something sketchy in it,” I tease.

“Ugh, you’re so tactless!” she huffs.

“Ngh?!” I choke, dodging her playful swat.

A piece of karaage gets shoved into my mouth.

Holy crap, it’s good. Freshly fried, it’s scorching hot, but I bite in anyway, risking a burn. Juicy meat bursts with flavor, the crispy coating crunching perfectly.

“‘S delishush,” I mumble, mouth full.

“Told ya. I’m the best cook around,” Sakuraba says, smirking.

“No argument there.”

What’s she stating the obvious for? I nod seriously, and she blushes, muttering, “Really?” while twirling her soft, curly hair.

She looks so cute doing that, I can’t help but grin. “What’re you laughing at?!” she snaps. I almost say, You’re adorable, but I remember our talk on the way home and shake my head. “Nothing.”

Sakuraba, usually all about healthy eating, is stuffing her cheeks with karaage like a chipmunk. Something’s been off with her all day. What’s going on?

Man, this karaage’s unreal. Gotta ask for the recipe and write it down later.

Lost in thought, I don’t notice the mountain of karaage disappearing until it’s nearly gone.

Gulp. I swallow the last piece and clap my hands together. “Gochisousama!”

“…You ate it all,” Sakuraba says, staring.

“It was crazy good, as always,” I say.

“Oh no… I’m freaking out about the calories now,” she groans.

“It’s not like it turns to fat that fast,” I say, shrugging.

“So irresponsible,” she huffs.

She’s so hung up on it, I ask, “How do I make it up to you?” but she shuts me down with a cold, “You can’t.”

Yup, she’s definitely pissed. Did I mess up with something I said on the way home? Or something else? …Probably. Yuna’s always calling me tactless too. Hope she forgives me by next time.

As I’m mulling it over, Sakuraba lets out an “Oh.” She’s holding an empty zero-calorie cola bottle.

“It’s gone. Can I grab some tea?” she asks.

“Go for it,” I say.

Sakuraba—scratch that, she knows my place better than I do. Tea stock, fridge contents, you name it.

She checks the fridge, then the pantry, and tilts her head. “You’re out of tea. Did you drink it all, Midoriya-kun?”

“…Might’ve finished it this morning,” I admit.

“Ugh, seriously?” she says, puffing her cheeks and coming back over.

Guess I’ll hit the store later—

“Eek!” A dull thud interrupts my thoughts as I open my eyes to Sakuraba’s face inches from mine.

I don’t get this close-up view often, so I’m caught staring—her wide pupils, her surprisingly light irises, her long lashes. I can’t look away.

She’s frozen too, just staring back.

I’m not sure what’s happening, but somehow, I’m on the floor, and she’s on top of me.

Must’ve tripped over the charger cable or something. Doesn’t matter. Not the time to think about it.

Her face is this close. One wrong move, and we’d collide.

“…Ah,” she breathes, a tiny sound escaping her perfect, cherry-pink lips.

What happens next is a blur. Did I lean in? Did she? Or both?

A soft touch grazes my lips.

I could come up with a million excuses.

But none of them matter when Sakuraba’s looking at me like that—cheeks flushed, eyes glistening, trying to look away but failing. I’m probably red too; our eyes meet in her gaze, and I’m drowning in embarrassment.

We could’ve avoided it. We both could’ve. But we didn’t. So here we are, locked in this stare. It was intentional. The thought hits me.

But in a moment like this, who can say where accident ends and intent begins? Not unless we put it into words.

Yuna’s face flashes in my mind. I’m drawn to Sakuraba, no question. It’s undeniable.

But I love Yuna. She’s my girlfriend.

“…Accident,” I say, cutting in before Sakuraba can speak. It has to be an accident.

If she says anything, I won’t be able to pretend this didn’t happen.

“Huh…?” she murmurs.

Her mouth’s still open, stunned. She closes it, tracing her lips with her finger. I can’t stop watching.

“…Yeah, an accident,” she says, her voice trembling, eyes glistening like she’s about to cry.

Maybe it was her first kiss.

“Let’s… forget it,” I say.

It was an accident. Doesn’t count as a kiss, doesn’t count as cheating. No matter what we’re feeling or how we’re looking at each other, it’s an accident.

As long as nothing changes, I’m okay with that.

If it’s bad, no one has to know.

My own words from earlier choke me now.

Midoriya Shiki: 《Sorry, I’m kinda beat today.》

For the first time since living alone, I canceled my regular call with Yuna.