● April 12 (Tuesday) Yuuta Asamura

During the third period lecture, a group of upperclassmen strode into the lecture hall. A tall man’s voice boomed through the room.

“Social Data Science underclassmen! We’re here to announce the new student welcome party. Interested? Grab a flyer!”

With that, he began distributing flyers at the door. A welcome party, huh? I hadn’t expected something like this. As students trickled out of the lecture hall, only a few paused to take a flyer. It made sense when I thought about it. The Social Data Science Department was small, and since university courses were credit-based, not everyone here was a first-year major.

“If you got one this morning, no need for another—the info’s the same!” a senior girl called out, her voice clear and carrying across the room. She had a confident air, likely one of the event organizers.

So they’re timing this for lectures packed with new students, I realized.

“Location, time, and fee are all on the flyer,” she continued. “If you can make it, join the LINE chat and let us know! No shady solicitations here—nice to meet you all!”

The seniors waved their flyers with enthusiasm. Most students had already left, and the upperclassmen were tidying up to head out. Before I could second-guess myself, my feet carried me forward.

“Can I have one?” I asked.

“Of course! Here you go,” the senior girl with the crisp voice replied, handing me a flyer. “It’s a casual get-together, so come by!”

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

Her smile widened, and the seniors beside her chuckled as if I’d said something amusing.

“That’s the textbook response to a solicitation!” one of them teased.

“Better than ‘I’ll handle it appropriately’—more honest!” another added.

Was that supposed to be a compliment? “Think it over,” a burly, bear-like senior said with a grin, reminding me faintly of Maru. “That’s what students say. But we’d love to see you there!”

Walking down the hallway, I skimmed the flyer. The event was at an izakaya near the station, with a note that students under twenty couldn’t drink. The time slot was short, likely because it was outside the city center, and I’d be home before it got too late. The fee seemed reasonable too. I’d said I’d think about it, but the moment I took the flyer, I was already leaning toward going.

University wasn’t like high school’s class system. If you didn’t make an effort to connect, you could easily go without making a single friend.

Outside, I crossed the courtyard toward the next lecture building. The cherry blossoms’ vibrant pink had vanished, replaced by deep green foliage after the petals scattered in the rain. The morning had felt warm, but I hadn’t expected the high to climb past 25°C. Walking under the sun, I felt sweat prickling my skin. The seasons shifted fast—Golden Week would be here soon, and by then, the campus atmosphere would likely settle.

I thought back to the graduation trip, where I realized how much I’d relied on chance encounters. That day after Suisei High’s entrance ceremony, what if Maru hadn’t noticed the book I was reading? What if the mood hadn’t sparked conversation? What if our tastes in genres hadn’t aligned? Our friendship was born from a fragile string of coincidences.

I glanced at the flyer again before folding it into my pocket. Seeking out connections like this might matter more than I’d thought. A spark of excitement flickered in my chest.

After the fifth period, I messaged Ayase-san to cancel dinner plans.

[I’m joining the welcome party, so I’ll be home late.]

Her reply came instantly—she was attending a welcome party too. Quite the coincidence. That left Dad eating alone tonight. Was there food ready? I checked with Ayase-san again. Apparently, Akiko, our stepmother, had stocked canned mackerel in miso. I shot Dad a quick message about my late return and the prepared dinner. All set.

At the izakaya, a group of about twelve or thirteen students—guys and girls from Ichinose University—gathered near the entrance. For a new department consisting of roughly sixty students, it wasn’t a bad turnout. Wait, a new department? That’s right. So who were these senior organizers?

“Welcome, you made it!” the crisp-voiced senior girl greeted me.

“Ah, yes. Um…” I hesitated, unsure how to ask who they were without sounding rude.

“What’s up? Got questions? You’re… uh…”

“Asamura,” I offered.

Her eyes lit up with recognition. “Oh, so you’re the one!”

“Huh?”

The bear-like senior joined us. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Asamura-kun,” she said. “The one who toyed with Kudō-san alongside Professor Mori.”

I blinked at the outrageous claim.

“Oh, you got into our school—congrats!” the bear-like senior said. “Professor Mori was thrilled, saying he’d recruited another promising student to Social Data Science. Kept your name quiet, though. My bad friend overheard at the café.”

“Walls have ears, sliding doors have eyes,” the girl added with a grin.

It clicked. The Social Data Science Department was new, so there weren’t true seniors. These must be Professor Mori’s students from his previous department, maybe seminar members or grad students, organizing this out of goodwill for us clueless newcomers. It spoke to how much they respected the professor.

At the reserved time, our group of twenty-five filled a partitioned corner of the izakaya. My first time in one. Everything felt fresh. The senior who’d organized the event kicked things off with a line that hit me like a legend: “First, who’s having draft beer—!”

The fabled “torikaezu nama” moment. I was awestruck. Then, a bearded guy who looked like a ronin samurai raised his hand. A new student? “Turning twenty-three this year!” he declared with a grin, admitting to five failed entrance exams before anyone asked.

The senior confirmed his age, then addressed the rest of us. “For the all-you-can-drink, pick what you like from the menu, but let’s start with the same drink. Oolong tea by the pitcher work?”

No objections. The seniors and the ronin student got beer; everyone else, oolong tea. After a toast, the welcome party began. No formal introductions—just food arriving and everyone digging in. Was this just a regular drinking party?

“Not bad, but just okay,” a voice remarked, tinged with a familiar accent, not quite Kansai.

I turned left and met the gaze of a tall, athletic guy with blond hair streaked with black mesh. We’d sat near each other on the first day. Before I could place him, he spoke.

“We meet again. Uh, you were…”

“Asamura,” I started.

“Wait! Hold on. Your name was… Takashimaya!”

“That’s a department store in Nihonbashi.”

“Huh? Takashimaya’s main store is in Namba, not Nipponbashi.”

“Eh. ‘Nihonbashi,’ not ‘Nipponbashi.’ Wait, the main store’s in Osaka? Anyway, I’m Asamura Yuuta. Nice to meet you.”

“I see, I see. Didn’t expect such a serious retort to my joke. Can I call you Asamura?”

“Yeah. Asamura Yuuta.”

“I’m Nakamura Hironobu. Call me Nakamura or Hironobu, whatever. ‘Naka’ and ‘mura,’ got it? Hironobu’s written as ‘widely proclaim’—parents wanted me to spread good vibes, but I ended up spreading laughs.”

His rapid-fire introduction left me stunned. The guy had lung capacity—probably an athlete. Before I could respond, another voice cut in from my right.

“If you get surprised, you’ll lose your chance to talk forever. Interrupt Hiro’s chatter and jump in.”

I turned to see a guy with long black hair tied loosely, sipping oolong tea like it was fine whiskey. His pale face and drowsy eyes gave a “don’t bother me” vibe, though he glanced my way as if daring me to speak.

“Yūma’s face always looks grumpy… Don’t mind it—sleep deprivation.” Nakamura said.

Sleep deprivation? That’s the excuse?

“I’m not sleepless,” the guy muttered. “I just don’t waste energy on Hiro’s pointless cheer. …What?”

“Uh, nothing. Just thought you two seem like friends,” I said.

“Huh!?” they said in perfect sync, making me flinch.

I pointed out how they’d nearly fought last time but were now on a first-name basis. The sleepy-eyed guy, Yūma, stayed quiet before muttering, “Hiro introduced himself like that earlier.”

So Nakamura had forced the familiarity, but they were already calling each other Hiro and Yūma without honorifics. “We overlap in a lot of credits,” Yūma added.

“Fate, you could say,” Nakamura chimed in

“Fellow enthusiasts, huh,” I said.

They both shot me the same look, and I faltered. “Did I say something weird?”

“Not really,” Yūma said.

“Yuuta’s got a straightforward personality,” Nakamura added.

Was I? I thought I leaned sarcastic, so the comment surprised me. “People usually see me as an introvert.”

“Introvert’s more like Yūma,” Nakamura said.

“I won’t deny it,” Yūma admitted.

“Compared to me, who hasn’t had a real talk with a classmate in a week, you two seem sociable,” I said.

“Kikuchi Yūma,” he offered.

“Asamura Yuuta. I think you’re better at making friends, Kikuchi-kun.”

He averted his gaze, sipping his oolong tea like it was a lifeline. “That’s not true,” he muttered.

Nakamura laughed. “From my view, you’re not that different. Yū-Yū combo!”

“Don’t make us a comedy duo,” I protested.

“Compared to you, Hiro, everyone’s an introvert,” Yūma said. “Your positive energy’s blinding.”

“That’s why you sat at a comfortable distance,” I added casually.

Yūma’s eyes snapped to me, a flicker of fear in them before he dropped his gaze back to his drink. “Do you always observe people like that, Asamura?”

“I don’t know what ‘like that’ means, but… probably?”

“Weird guy,” Nakamura said. “I wondered why you sit one seat away. Thought you disliked being close, but does it hurt? Sorry.”

“It’s not bad,” Yūma said. “If it were, I wouldn’t sit nearby.”

Relieved I hadn’t overstepped, I nodded. “Whether coincidence or not, sitting nearby means some connection. Nice to meet you both—yoroshiku onegai shimasu.”

“Don’t force standard Japanese, Hiro. It’s creepy,” Yūma said.

“What’d you say!” Nakamura shot back.

“Now, now,” I mediated, wondering why these two got so combative with me in the middle. Still, my hunch felt right—the “stormy premonition” I’d mentioned to Ayase-san. At the same time, it felt like a fresh start.

“By the way, Nakamura-kun’s from Osaka, right? Where’s home for you, Kikuchi-kun? I’m Tokyo-born, Shibuya area.”

“Sendai,” Kikuchi said. Miyagi’s capital. Osaka, Tokyo, Miyagi—university really pulled people from everywhere.

“Shibuya’s the place with the dog, right?” Nakamura asked.

“Loyal Dog Hachikō, yeah.”

“Isn’t the commute far?”

Over two hours round trip, so yeah, it was. “I manage. I can read books.”

Kikuchi asked what I read, and the conversation flowed from there. By the mixer’s end, I’d somehow clicked with both of them.

At home, I opened the door with an “I’m home” and caught Ayase-san putting away her shoes. She looked up, startled. “Surprised. We got back at the same time.”

“Welcome back, Saki.” I caught myself—Dad might be asleep, but I needed to stick to her first name. Maybe living at home kept me defaulting to “Ayase-san.” Moving out might make calling her “Saki” easier, with fewer chances of slipping up around our parents.

“I’m home, Yuuta, Nii-san,” she said, tacking on “Nii-san” like an afterthought. She was better at the name thing than me.

“You seem tired?” I asked. Her welcome party shouldn’t have involved alcohol, but she looked drained.

“I’ll be fine after sleeping,” she said, retreating to her room.

…Did something happen?