Chapter 4 This Definitely Isn't a Stage an Introvert Should Be On

“...Ahem. Right then. It’s settled. Our class’s attraction for the festival will be... a maid cafe.”

“Whooooooo!”

“Yeah, baby!”

It was after school.

Under the direction of our class representative, Goto-kun, we were holding a meeting to decide on our contribution to the upcoming Shirayanagi Academy Cultural Festival—better known as the “Shirayanagi Festival.”

At first, the suggestions were fairly standard: a crepe stand, takoyaki, things like that. But then...

『It’s gotta be a maid cafe! I won’t accept anything else!!』

Thanks to Renji’s relentless—and frankly, overwhelming—insistence, the decision had been more or less forced through.

Naturally, the girls had met the idea with a chorus of boos. However, their resistance crumbled under the combined weight of the boys' terrifying enthusiasm and...

『—I don’t mind wearing it.』

One word from on high from Mizuki, and the matter was settled in an instant.

...Incidentally, the moment the maid cafe was officially decided, Kashiwagi-san’s eyes went distant, as if she had suddenly given up on life itself. Poor girl.

“Alright, settle down!”

Goto-kun tried his best to bring the class back to order, his face still a bright shade of crimson.

He had the unmistakable air of an eldest son about him. I couldn’t help but think he was destined for a life of constant hardship.

“We still have more to decide! We need our candidates for the Miss and Mr. Shirayanagi contests!”

He slammed his hand onto the lectern for emphasis.

The Miss and Mr. Contests.

At the mention of the festival’s main event, everyone finally snapped back to reality.

“I mean, it’s basically already decided, isn't it?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Each class could nominate up to two people per gender.

Unsurprisingly, every eye in the room immediately turned toward our class’s undisputed Number One and Number Two.

—Yukimura Mizuki and Kashiwagi Kotoha.

Seeing the collective gaze, Goto-kun gave a wry smile. “Well, I suppose that was inevitable. Still, for the sake of procedure... Yukimura-san, Kashiwagi-san, what do you say?”

He asked tentatively, just to be sure. The two of them responded in turn.

“Sure,” Mizuki murmured, nodding with a look of complete indifference.

“Yes... I’ll do it,” Kashiwagi-san added, stealing a brief glance at Mizuki before hanging her head in a gesture of quiet resignation.

Goto-kun let out a sigh of relief. “Great. Thank you. That settles the girls’ side. Now, for the boys...”

“Heh.”

A certain brown-haired individual stood up from his seat, dramatically running a hand through his hair.

The rest of the class met the display with cold, dead stares.

“No need to say another word, Class Rep. You need me, don’t you? The man, the myth, the legend.”

Renji shrugged with a “what can you do?” expression. The looks in the classroom shifted from exasperation to something bordering on homicidal.

“Oh, r-right. Miyama. Yeah... I mean, I think you’re a good fit, but what about everyone else?”

Goto-kun’s face twitched, clearly trying to make the best of a bad situation.

The other boys in class pulled similar faces, their lips curling in distaste.

“I guess it’s fine.”

“Yeah. He’s annoying as hell, but I can't deny he's got the face for it.”

“God, he’s so irritating, though.”

They grumbled and complained, but ultimately gave their grudging approval.

I knew exactly how they felt. It’s one thing to recognize someone’s looks; it’s another thing entirely to actually admit it.

If I could have performed a shoulder throw on the idiot next to me who was currently muttering about how “it’s tough being popular,” my heart would have felt a lot lighter.

“Alright, so Miyama is our first candidate. We need one more. Any volunteers?”

The room fell into a heavy silence.

No one raised their hand. And why would they?

Volunteering for the Mr. Contest was essentially equivalent to stood up and announcing to the world, “Behold! I am a handsome man!” Unless you were a special breed of weirdo like Renji, no one was going to do something that stupid.

Goto-kun nodded, seemingly expecting as much.

“Well, I suppose that makes sense. I would have volunteered myself, but alas... I have zero confidence in my looks! Therefore, I’d rather leave these glamorous events to someone else!”

“...”

His declaration was so bold and unabashed that it carried a certain intimidating weight.

Even Renji was left with a look that said, “Oh... okay then.”

The atmosphere turned slightly awkward. I mean, sure, his eyes were a bit narrow and his face was a little round, but he had a sort of friendly charm to him. I didn’t think he needed to disparage himself that much.

Sensing the mood, Goto-kun gave a self-deprecating chuckle.

“It can’t be helped. We’ll do it fairly and take nominations from the floor. Ladies! Any suggestions?”

At that, a chorus of “Huh!?” erupted, mostly from the boys.

What the hell is this guy saying?! The silent screams of my fellow male classmates were practically audible... and I was right there with them.

There is nothing more terrifying to a high school boy than an evaluation by the girls in his class.

If you were judged harshly here, there would be no recovery. It was effectively a death sentence.

And yet, he had suggested it so casually. Of course, since Goto-kun had already declared himself hors de combat, he wouldn't be subject to the judging.

How incredibly shrewd. Though, knowing him, he probably hadn't even calculated it.

“Hmm, what should we do~?”

“Is there even anyone in our class...?”

The girls began scanning the boys’ faces with mischievous, knowing grins.

The rest of us sat in a cold sweat, maintaining a desperate silence.

We felt exactly like prisoners waiting for a final verdict.

The only one who looked relaxed was Renji, who was currently preening and checking his hair in a hand mirror. He was so incredibly annoying.

“Hey, Kashiwagi-san, what do you think?”

“Eh?! M-me?”

Kashiwagi-san, who had been watching the scene with a pained smile, jumped as she was suddenly pulled into the conversation.

“Yeah, yeah! Is there anyone? Someone... decent in our class?”

“D-decent? That's a bit harsh...”

She’s really laying it on thick, I thought, as if it didn't involve me.

Then, Kashiwagi-san’s eyes darted around for a moment before she timidly turned her gaze toward me.

(Wait. Hang on.)

Why was she looking at me?

A sudden, nasty sweat broke out all over my body.

Renji shot me a wicked grin. I really wanted to punch him.

No, wait. Kashiwagi-san, what are you thinking? Calm down, that’s not it. What would even happen if I went up there? I can only see a future filled with embarrassment. Please, anything but that...!

“I-I think... um, Amano-kun should...”

—You’ve got to be kidding me.

As my name was called, all the strength drained from my body.

But for some reason, the other girls in class started laughing.

“Right?”

“I knew you’d say that.”

Wait, what? What was going on?

Everyone was looking back and forth between Kashiwagi-san and me with knowing smiles.

I just stood there, bewildered, watching Kashiwagi-san bury her face in her hands—her face red all the way to her neck—while the other girls teased her. This was not the reaction I had expected.

“Amano?!”

“Hey, hold on! What’s the meaning of this?!”

The boys kicked back their chairs and stood up in an uproar.

It looked like they were about to charge at me, but Goto-kun clapped his hands loudly.

“Quiet down! We’re in the middle of a meeting!”

The boys grudgingly returned to their seats at his command.

However, they continued to glare at me with murderous eyes. Seriously, what did I even do?

Renji, meanwhile, clapped me on the shoulder.

“Oho! Well look at you, lover boy!”

He sounded like he was having the time of his life.

“Shut up,” I muttered, brushing his hand off.

But wait. Just because Kashiwagi-san nominated me didn't mean it was official.

If the other girls disagreed, then...

“I mean, realistically, if we're picking from this class, it has to be Amano-kun.”

“Mm-hmm! His mom was a famous actress, wasn't she? He’s got such a refined face; he’ll totally be fine!”

...The moment I heard that, I froze.

Wait, how did they know about my mom? Renji? It was Renji, wasn't it?

I looked over to see Renji whistling poorly. I kicked him in the shin, and he let out a muffled groan.

“Tch... that damn bookworm. Stealing our Kashiwagi-san...!”

“Miyama is annoying, but Amano is worse because he acts like he doesn't even realize it.”

The resentful glares from the boys intensified, and my cold sweat wouldn't stop.

...Wait, is this really happening? Is it actually settled?

The atmosphere in the room made it feel like withdrawing was no longer an option.

“Subjectivity and objectivity are two very different things, for better or worse,” Renji remarked.

“...Renji.”

“Just suck it up, Iori. Let’s show 'em that our tag-team is the strongest in all of Shirayanagi.”

Despite the fact that he was groaning in pain just a second ago, Renji gave me a mischievous, bratty grin.

A few seats away, Kashiwagi-san was pressing her hands together in a gesture of profound apology.

The girls were looking at me with fond, encouraging eyes, while the boys looked like they wanted me dead.

And then, there was my childhood friend, watching me with those same unreadable eyes as always.

Finally, Goto-kun looked at me with a wry smile.

“Well, there you have it. What do you say, Amano? Will you give it a shot?”

It seemed there was no longer any escape.

“...If you’re okay with me,” I sighed, finally giving in.

◇

“Sigh.”

After school, I let out a heavy breath as I washed the dishes.

“My, my. A sigh? That’s rare for you. Did something happen?”

“Manager.”

The manager, who had been busy at the register, walked back into the kitchen.

Damn. I shouldn't be sighing on the job. I need to keep it together.

“Sorry. I was just spacing out for a second.”

I tried to refocus on the dishes, but Manager just gave me a knowing smile.

“I’m not scolding you. You just looked unusually down, so I was a little concerned.”

“It’s not exactly that I’m ‘down,’ but...”

“Is that so? Well, we don’t have any customers at the moment anyway. Why don’t we take a short break?”

“Wait, I still have these dishes to—”

“Now, now. Don’t worry about it.”

He practically forced me to stop and ushered me over to a stool at the counter.

“Hmm. I think a Darjeeling would be appropriate?”

“Oh, uh, sure.”

Wait. How did this turn into a counseling session?

I hadn't even said anything yet. This man could be surprisingly pushy sometimes.

While I was thinking that, Manager was already expertly preparing the tea.

He warmed the cups and the pot with boiling water, discarded the water once the pot was heated, and then added the measured tea leaves.

He poured in more boiling water, covered it, and let it steep for a minute or two. Then, he poured the finished tea into the warmed cups through a strainer.

It was a standard British-style brew, but when Manager did it, every movement was fluid and elegant.

I’d been taught how to do it, but I could never make it look that graceful.

“Here you are.”

“Thanks.”

I took the offered teacup with a reluctant nod.

The steam carried a rich aroma.

Manager was very particular about his leaves and had them imported directly from overseas. Apparently, by bypassing the usual distributors, he could get high-quality tea for a better price.

I took a sip, and the fragrance and flavor were so good that I couldn't help but let out an appreciative breath.

“How is it?”

“It’s good. Same as always.”

“I see. Now then, let’s hear your story.”

I wasn't sure what he meant by “now then.”

Looking at Manager’s smiling face, I stared up at the ceiling.

So, because I drank the tea, I was obligated to talk? I figured that’s where this was going, but is that even allowed? Tea Harassment. Tea-haras. That’s a new one.

But I knew he wouldn't let me leave until I spoke. Resigned, I reluctantly opened my mouth.

“—And that’s basically it.”

I skipped the details and simply told him that I’d ended up as a candidate for the Mr. Contest. Manager stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“The Mr. Contest, eh? I see. That sounds wonderful.”

“How is it wonderful? I’m completely out of my element here.”

“Now, now. You might be surprised at how well you do. You have quite a few fans among the ladies who frequent this shop, after all.”

“Fans...?”

I suspected those were more like grandmothers doting on a grandson, but I didn't say it out loud. Even if they weren't here, it was a cardinal sin to talk about a woman’s age.

“And this Kashiwagi-san who nominated you... I don’t believe I’ve heard that name before. She’s not the childhood friend you always talk about, nor is she your friend Renji-kun. A new character has appeared, I see!”

“A ‘new character’...?”

“And I’d wager she’s quite a beautiful young lady!”

“How could you possibly know that?” I asked, deadpan.

I’d only said she was a girl from my class.

Manager just gave me a smug, self-satisfied look.

Seriously, what is this guy? Is he some kind of mind reader?

“I gather the girl has feelings for you... but are you actually aware of that?”

“...Well, sort of.”

“Oho? Oho ho?”

Manager peered into my face with a meaningful look.

I don’t know why, but he was being incredibly annoy... No, he was definitely being annoying.

First Renji, and now Manager. Why are the people around me so meddlesome? Is the problem with me? I think Mizuki once told me, 『Iori, you’re just a little too... defenseless.』 I still don't quite get what she meant by that.

“As expected of our star employee. I shall have to make sure I go and see this Mr. Contest for myself.”

“Please don’t. I’m begging you.”

I already regretted telling him. Five minutes into the conversation, and I was already miserable.

This man was cut from the same cloth as Renji. He was clearly enjoying my discomfort.

As I groaned, Manager’s mischievous smile suddenly vanished. He set his teacup back onto its saucer with a soft, clear clink.

“...But, you know. Perhaps this will be a good opportunity for you.”

“An opportunity?”

“It’s something I’ve thought for a while now. You’re a little too quick to give up on yourself.”

Manager took another sip of tea and spoke with a wry smile.

I was taken aback by the sudden change in topic, but Manager waved a hand, as if telling me to just listen.

“Living within your means—was that your life philosophy? I don’t think that’s wrong, and I can certainly sympathize. But I don’t think you truly know what your ‘means’ are yet.”

“...What do you mean by that?”

“I suspect you’ve never really had the experience of giving your all to something, even if you thought it might be in vain.”

His words struck a chord, and I found myself unable to respond.

...Because he was right.

Well, technically, I had done it once. But ever since that competition, I’d stopped trying to challenge myself.

I still worked hard. But only for goals that felt within my reach.

I’d learned to distinguish between what I could and couldn't do, and focused only on the former.

Somewhere along the line, that way of life had become second nature to me.

“Once you become an adult, you start to see your limits whether you want to or not. But you’re still young.”

Manager looked at my stunned face and continued, a nostalgic look in his eyes.

“—I think it wouldn't be such a bad thing to try being serious about something, just once.”

With those words, he concluded the conversation, saying, “And that’s enough meddling from an old man for today,” with a laugh.

(...Just once, being serious, huh?)

Could I even do something like that anymore?

I hadn't expected anything of myself for such a long time.

Just then, the shop bell chimed, and a few regulars walked in.

“Welcome!”

“...Welcome!”

I quickly switched gears and returned to work.

◇

“Welcome back.”

“Yeah... I’m home.”

When I got home after my shift, I found Mizuki lounging on the living room sofa in a camisole and short-shorts.

Her bare white arms and legs were an absolute assault on the eyes. And, unusually, she was snacking on a bag of potato chips.

She usually never ate junk food; I wondered what had brought on this change of heart.

And because it was her, even a simple bag of chips looked like some kind of high-end confectionery. It was practically fraud. I was speechless.

(Don’t eat potato chips like they’re financiers. I feel bad for the chips.)

I offered that nonsensical critique in my head.

Thinking I was jealous, she held out the bag to me.

“I don’t want any. Where’d you even get those?”

“They were handing them out at the shopping district, so I took some.”

Mizuki apparently decided she’d had enough, because she folded the bag in half and secured it with a rubber band.

“I’ll make dinner right away. I bought some roast beef.”

I tilted my head in confusion as she stood up.

“Roast beef? Why?”

“To celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?”

Mizuki gave me a mischievous smile.

“Your participation in the Mr. Contest?”

“...”

At those words, I collapsed onto the sofa.

(God, life really is a mess, isn't it?)

Why did things never go the way I wanted?

I just wanted to live a quiet, unassuming life.

As I heard the sound of my childhood friend heading to the kitchen with a small laugh, I lamented the injustices of the world.

—After finishing the roast beef Mizuki had gone out of her way to buy, I sat on the sofa, nursing my full stomach.

“The Mr. Contest, huh...”

I wondered what I was going to do.

I’d given the rules for the Shirayanagi Festival Miss and Mr. Contest a quick scan.

Technically, the rules only required you to go up on stage and give a greeting... but every year, the boys in particular tended to go all out with their self-appeals.

There was no set time limit, but they were asked to keep it to around five minutes.

Lately, the girls had been putting more effort into their self-appeals as well, and many people in the audience looked forward to them.

If I was the only one who did nothing, I’d end up standing out for all the wrong reasons.

(Seriously, what kind of punishment is this? Are they trying to kill us introverts?)

This kind of thing should be left to people like Renji and the rest of the party-loving extroverts.

I truly wished they’d leave me out of it. But since the decision had been made, I had to go through with it.

“Do you really hate it that much?”

As I lay sprawled on the sofa, Mizuki leaned over and looked down at me.

Her soft black hair fell onto the sofa, brushing against my cheek.

The sensation, combined with her beauty being so close, made my heart skip a beat. I tried my best to hide it and put on a blank face.

“Well, yeah. Obviously.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’?”

It should be obvious, I thought, turning my face away.

It was something I thought would never have anything to do with me. To think I’d end up participating in this way.

“I think it’s a good thing,” Mizuki said with a smile.

“What is?”

“The Mr. Contest.”

Before I could complain, she stared directly into my eyes.

“Because you’re handsome, Iori.”

She whispered the words, her hand gently stroking my cheek.

For a moment, I felt like I was being sucked into her eyes—those eyes that were like a work of art. I scrambled to get away from her and ended up sliding off the sofa.

“Ow...”

Mizuki watched me with a blank expression as I sat there on the floor.

I looked up at her from my pathetic position.

“You think... I’m handsome?”

“Yes.”

“...”

Well, that was news to me.

I’d been her childhood friend for over a decade and I didn't remember ever hearing that compliment. I couldn't help but look at her with suspicion.

Mizuki gave a light laugh, got up from the sofa, and walked toward the corner of the living room.

Sitting there was a large, imposing object.

Mizuki gently stroked it, her touch almost affectionate.

—Seeing that, a memory suddenly flickered in my mind.

Oh, right.

I guess I had heard something like that once before.

“Iori, I don’t think you’re as hopeless as you think you are.”

With those words, Mizuki grabbed the black cloth covering the object and pulled it down.

With a dry whoosh, the object beneath was revealed.

There it stood—a grand piano, radiating a deep, obsidian luster.

A special object for the both of us.

(...Ah. I see.)

I gave a self-deprecating laugh. So that was her reasoning.

“Hey, Iori.”

“...Yeah.”

“Play for me. It’s been a while.”

It was exactly the request I’d expected. I slumped my shoulders. Mizuki was looking at me with expectant eyes.

Ever since we were little, she’d used that look to get whatever she wanted.

And I’d never once been able to say no to her.

“Do I really have to?”

“Yes. You have to.”

She spoke with such certainty that I gave up and stood up.

“...Fine.”

“Mmhmm.”

I walked over to the grand piano.

Thanks to Mizuki’s constant care, there wasn't a single speck of dust on it.

I opened the fallboard and ran a finger over the black and white keys.

—It had been a little while.

The last time I’d played was... two months ago?

I sat down and let out a small breath.

Mizuki had taken a seat in a nearby chair and was watching me with a smile.

There was only one person in the audience. But it had been that way for a long time.

I didn't have any special talent, and I wasn't good enough to enter competitions.

So, my audience was always just one person.

But that was enough for me.

After all, the only reason I played the piano was for her.

I placed my fingers gently on the keys, feeling the sensation.

(Yeah.)

I hadn't forgotten.

I pictured the sheet music in my head and felt a wave of relief.

I’d been worried since I hadn't played in a while, but it seemed I’d be okay.

I took a deep breath and then quietly struck the first note.

—The song I chose was 『Pavane for a Dead Princess』.

The masterpiece by the legendary French composer, Maurice Ravel.

It was a special song for me... or rather, for the both of us.

Back in elementary school, I was average at both studies and sports. I’d practiced the piano desperately, wanting to somehow get Mizuki’s attention.

I wasn't particularly quick to learn, so I’d failed over and over again.

But finally, my teacher gave me the okay, and this was the first song I’d ever played for Mizuki.

『—Iori, that was amazing. You looked so cool.』

I could still remember the sense of accomplishment and the emotion I’d felt when she first said those words to me.

Looking back, that was my first ever experience with success.

I’d been recognized—if only for a moment—by the girl who was like a flower on a distant peak. The memory was still vivid.

I’d been so happy that I’d played it again and again.

And every time, Mizuki was delighted.

From then on, no matter how difficult the pieces I learned became, Mizuki always wanted to hear this one.

I didn't even know how many hundreds of times I’d played it.

By now, my fingers knew the way without me even having to look at the keys.

It was our song of memories.

“—”

I let my thoughts drift back to the past as I moved my fingers in a slow, graceful rhythm.

Finally, I played the last note.

The resonance of the sound echoed through the living room. I took my foot off the pedal, careful not to disturb the lingering vibrations, and let out a small breath.

I don’t think... I made any mistakes.

It had been two months, but something that was ingrained in you didn't just disappear.

The sound faded from the room. Then, I heard the faint sound of clapping.

I turned around to see my audience of one.

“—Such a beautiful sound,” Mizuki murmured, almost to herself.

She must have heard my playing enough to be bored of it by now.

And yet, every time, she always praised me.

I scratched my cheek, not knowing how to respond. Mizuki gave me a mischievous smile.

“See? You are handsome, Iori.”

She spoke teasedly.

“...Thanks,” I muttered, feeling more embarrassed than ever as I stood up from the bench.

Mizuki blinked in surprise.

“Oh? Is that it?”

“Your turn. You play something, Mizuki.”

“...I can only play easy things, though.”

“That’s fine.”

Mizuki looked surprised for a moment, then gave a wry smile and nodded.

I moved aside for her, and now I was the audience.

She sat down at the piano with the same elegant grace she brought to everything else.

Her long black hair swayed slightly as she placed her slender white fingers on the keys.

Her face, which was incredibly small and beautiful, faced the piano in silence.

The sight was like a fine painting.

...And then she began to play a clumsy rendition of 『Neko Funjatta』.

The contrast was so ridiculous that I couldn't help but laugh. Mizuki glared at me, pouting.

“...That’s mean. You’re the one who told me to play.”

“No, sorry. My bad.”

Suddenly, I felt like I’d been transported back in time to our childhood.

Mizuki was so capable that if she’d actually practiced, she would have surpassed my skill in no time.

And yet, she always wanted me to be the one to play. And on the rare occasions she did play, she’d pout and say her sound wasn't like mine.

But those interactions were incredibly precious to me.

To the young me, they were like jewels.

“? What is it?”

“Nothing.”

—Yeah. That’s right.

My one and only success from my childhood.

If there was even one thing about myself I could take pride in...

“Maybe I’ll play something... for the Mr. Contest.”

“...Mmhmm.”

It would probably be the piano, the one thing my childhood friend had always praised me for.

◇

“Alright, everyone! The application for the maid cafe has been approved... approved... yeah, it actually went through... Anyway! Our figureheads and our strategy have been decided! With Yukimura-san and Kashiwagi-san at the center, we’ll use the maid cafe and the Beauty Pageant to draw in customers! The rest of us will be their support! Got it?!”

After school. In response to Goto-kun’s leadership during the planning meeting, a deep, masculine cheer of “Whoooooo!” erupted from the boys.

“This is a guaranteed win!”

“I don’t see how we can lose!!”

The boys were in full festival mode, practically dancing with joy.

The girls, meanwhile, watched them with cold stares, but they’d grudgingly accepted it with thoughts like, “Well, if Yukimura-san is okay with it...”

“Hey! More importantly, what are we doing about the maid outfits?”

At that question from one of our classmates, Renji jumped up.

“Leave that to me! I’ll use every connection I have to procure the highest quality outfits imaginable! ...Oh, by the way, ladies? If you wouldn't mind giving me your three-sizes—”

“Excuse me?”

“You wanna say that again?”

“Ah, never mind. It was nothing.”

Renji’s proposal was heartlessly crushed. The maid outfits would be handled by one of the girls whose parent worked in the apparel industry.

(Maid outfits, huh.)

I suddenly remembered my conversation from last night.

—I’d asked Mizuki if she had any qualms about wearing a maid outfit.

She’d just tilted her head.

『Not really. It’ll make you happy, won’t it, Iori?』

『Wait. Why me?』

『? You don’t want to see it?』

『...I mean, I do.』

『Mmhmm.』

That was how the conversation had gone. No, what do you mean, “Mmhmm”? What was with that “I already know” face?

From there, we continued to solidify the ideas for the interior and determine what supplies we needed. The structure of the maid cafe was quickly coming together.

Usually, this kind of thing was led by a handful of enthusiastic students, but with the added “perk” and the sheer destructive power of the words “Maid Cafe,” the boys’ motivation was incredibly high.

Before I knew it, most of the major decisions had been made in less than an hour.

“Hmm. However, we’re going to need to do a considerable amount of shopping. We should split up and...”

When the conversation reached that point, I raised my hand.

“Goto-kun.”

“Hmm? Amano. What is it?”

“Is it okay if I handle the shopping? In exchange, I’d appreciate it if you could let me leave a little early during the after-school prep...”

“Oh?”

It seemed Goto-kun was surprised that I’d volunteer for something. He looked at me with suspicion.

To anyone else, it probably sounded like I was just trying to get out of the manual labor.

But Goto-kun seemed to have an inkling of the situation.

“I see. Understood! Amano, the shopping is yours.”

“Oh! M-me too!”

Kashiwagi-san suddenly stood up and raised her hand.

“Can I help too? I... I also need a bit of time for myself.”

She spoke with a look of embarrassment and apology.

Her reason was probably the same as mine.

Goto-kun nodded magnanimously at her suggestion.

“Of course. However, Kashiwagi-san, you’re also one of our main attractions for the cafe. I’ll need you to participate in the service practice once the interior is finished...”

“Oh, right. That’s fine! I think I can make it work by then.”

“Alright then. I’ll leave it to the two of you.”

As Goto-kun nodded, Kashiwagi-san and I let out sighs of relief.

A few people in the class looked confused, but most of them seemed to understand.

And of course, he was one of them.

“Oh-ho, Iori! Look at you, all motivated and everything.”

Renji draped an arm around my shoulder with a grin.

“I’m not motivated at all. If I could, I wouldn't do it.”

“Heh heh. Well, I guess I can't slack off either. As the one who proposed the maid cafe, I gotta work hard on the prep too.”

Listen to what I’m saying, I thought. But Renji just kept grinning.

Must be nice to be having so much fun, I thought, staring off into the distance.

“Well, I’ll do what I can,” I said.