Chapter 4: The Student Council President and the Club Alliance Representative Are Still Close Today

 

January, a tumultuous month filled with various incidents as if foretelling a chaotic year, has finally come to an end.

Even as February begins, the cold remains relentless. In fact, today is supposedly the chilliest day of the school year so far.

A few minutes’ walk from home, I stand waiting in front of a certain house’s gate when two familiar faces emerge from the front door.

Fuuko lets out a “Brr, so cooold!” sounding oddly delighted for some reason.

Raiko, on the other hand, grimaces the moment she steps outside, hurriedly buttoning up her peacoat.

“Good morning, world!”

“Say good morning to me before the world.”

“Hehe, morning, Makita!”

Fuuko, as usual, gives me an energetic shoulder punch.

Meanwhile, Raiko stands in front of me, rubbing her sleepy eyes and hugging herself as she mutters.

“Good morning, people of Japan. It’s very samui (cold).”

“Say good morning to me before the people of Japan.”

“Good morning. It’s very samui.”

Even the ever-composed Raiko seems to have no choice but to rename herself in this cold.

“And over here, we have very nemui (sleepy).”

“Oh, hi. Very nemui here.”

There’s another one. The fact that she can instantly play along with this weird vibe just proves how amazing twins are.

“Morning, Raiko.”

“Morning, Makita-kun. Sorry for keeping you waiting.”

And so, the three of us head to school.

Walking to school with the Sorasaki twins has been a habit since elementary school.

For me, it’s just another day, but it often sparks jealousy among guys in our grade. These two do have annoyingly good looks, after all.

By the way, Haruko, who lives under the same roof as them, usually leaves the house before the twins.

“We’re running a bit late today, so let’s pick up the pace.”

“It’s ‘cause Fuuko-chan wouldn’t get out of bed until the last second!”

“Sorry about our Fuuko~”

“Fuuko’s you, isn’t she?”

“Fuuko, huh~”

Why do you sound so disappointed?

“But, but! Raiko took forever too! She was fussing with her hair!”

“It’s long, so it can’t be helped. Maybe I should cut it short like Fuuko-chan’s.”

“That’d make it even harder to tell you two apart.”

While waiting at a traffic light, I notice the twins holding hands and fidgeting.

“Oh, Makita~ Stick out your hand.”

“What for?”

As I extend my right hand, Fuuko grabs it with both of hers and starts rubbing.

“I put on too much hand cream, so I’ll share some with you.”

“You do that sometimes, don’t you?”

“It’s brand new, so it went bryuu when I squeezed it.”

“Your choice of words.”

The hand cream spread across Fuuko’s hands transfers to mine. When I sniff my right hand, a sweet fragrance, one you’d never expect from a guy, wafts up.

Seeing this, Raiko gives a mischievous grin and holds out her hand.

“Then I’ll share mine with Makita-kun’s left hand. Here.”

“Oh, thanks.”

The twins split up, one on each side, rubbing my hands. Passersby give us odd looks.

Fuuko and Raiko are childhood friends, both naturally friendly and physically affectionate like puppies, so they often do things like this when we’re together.

Still, three teenagers holding hands in the middle of the sidewalk probably isn’t the best idea.

Just as I’m thinking that—

“…What are you doing?”

Watching us from a distance is Uzuki, her face a mix of exasperation.

“Morning, Uzuki.”

“Good morning, world!”

“It’s very samui.”

“What’s with the last two?”

Confused by the twins’ bizarre greetings, Uzuki presses further about the situation.

“What are you doing… Student council officers holding hands in public like this?”

“We were just sharing some hand cream with him!”

“I squeezed out too much, bryuu bryuu, hehe.”

“Stop phrasing it like that!”

Uzuki, lips pursed, steps closer and slices through our linked hands with a chop.

“I keep telling you, President, even if they’re childhood friends, you need to mind your distance!”

“Sorry. By the time I noticed, they were already rubbing my hands.”

“Predict it, future.”

Don’t be unreasonable.

“As the student council president and officers, you should act in a way that’s never embarrassing, no matter where you are! You’ll end up getting photographed by the Nakayoshi Newspaper Club again!”

“You got photographed yourself, didn’t you~?”

“T-That’s why I’m saying this! To make sure it never happens again!”

“Was it really that embarrassing, though?”

“Yeah~ We were just putting hand cream on both his hands.”

“Depending on how you look at it, this could seem way worse than that photo!”

Uzuki fumes, while the twins exchange glances, grinning and nodding mischievously.

They’re clearly planning some kind of prank.

“What do you mean, ‘seem worse’?”

“W-Well… like the student council president is leading you two astray, or something…”

“Oh, so it’s accurate, then~?”

“Yeah~ I mean, Makita and us, we’ve got that kind of relationship, right~?”

“Huh…?”

In that moment, the color drains from Uzuki’s eyes. Instead of looking at the culprits, she freezes, staring at me.

Come on, realize it’s a joke.

“That kind of relationship… You don’t mean, President, with both of them…?”

“Last night was fun too, wasn’t it~?”

“Makita’s so strong, always handling both of us at once~”

“Wha—!?”

The conversation takes a suggestive turn, and I consider putting a stop to it. But Uzuki’s flustered expression is, unfortunately, too hilarious, so I stay silent.

“You’re kidding, right…? You’re just teasing me, aren’t you…? Or maybe, ‘handling both’ means, like, playing games or something…?”

“Nah, it’s sex.”

“SE———!?”

Uzuki looks like she’s about to leap into traffic, so I quickly grab her.

Her face resembles a botched fukuwarai game.

“No-N-N-N-No way…… I always thought the three of you were too close, but…… to have such a wild relationship……”

“For the three of us, this is just normal~ It’s half like a game, you know~”

“Wanna join next time, Uzuki-chan?”

“WH-WHAT!?”

Uzuki’s face turns so red it looks like blood might burst from every pore.

Side note, but how are these two planning to wrap this up?

“M-Me too…? I’d need to mentally prepare…”

“Uzuki-chan.”

“Y-Yes…?”

“It’s all a lie.”

Wow, they just dropped that super casually at the worst possible moment.

“A… lie…?”

“Yup. We’re not in that kind of relationship—me, Fuuko-chan, and Makita-kun.”

“We’re not having sex. Makita’s a virgin, and Raiko and I are too.”

Immediately after, Fuuko gets smacked on the head by both me and Raiko, letting out a “Gweh!”

Uzuki, finally realizing she’s been teased, collapses limply to the ground.

“Thank goodness…”

“Sorry, Uzuki. I should’ve shut it down sooner.”

“No debauchery in the student council… no orgy parties…”

“None. So never say those words again.”

In her panic, Uzuki’s spouting words she’d never normally say. We definitely went too far. I’ll have to give the twins a stern talking-to later.

“Come on, Makita-kun, help Uzuki-chan up. Give her a hand.”

“While you’re at it, rub some hand cream on her too.”

Urged on by the twins, I take Uzuki’s hands, who’s still sitting on the ground, and pull her up.

Even after she’s standing, I keep holding her hands, rubbing them.

“I-I’m fine now, President!”

“Right. Sorry.”

When I let go, Uzuki, for some reason, looks reluctant.

She brings her palms to her nose and gives a soft smile.

“Smells nice? Makita’s hand sweat?”

“Y-Yes… I mean, no, the hand cream! The hand cream smells nice!”

And so, the four student council officers continue to school, lively as ever.

Among them, Uzuki gets teased by the twins repeatedly, her face turning bright red each time.

After school, I finish my student council duties, but there’s still about an hour until it’s time to head home.

So, I head to the study room alone. With this much time, I should be able to finish my homework.

Someone’s already in the old school building’s study room. As I sit next to them, a note arrives immediately.

‘I thought you weren’t coming today.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because Fuuko-chan was heading toward the student council room.’

As it happens, Nishimaru and Fuuko are classmates. Does Nishimaru keep track of Fuuko’s after-school movements to figure out if there’s student council stuff going on?

‘I finished my quota. I’ll do my homework before heading home.’

‘The classic “can’t study at home” type, huh?’

‘Home’s for resting. No way I’m bringing annoying stuff there.’

‘I get that.’

As usual, Nishimaru gets a bit more casual in written notes. It still feels surprisingly fresh.

The note exchange pauses there, and we both settle into study time… or so I thought, until Nishimaru adds another line.

‘Something smells nice.’

The charismatic club alliance representative, ever sensitive to scents.

‘You hungry?’

‘Not food. It’s like… cosmetics. You wearing something?’

That morning hand cream’s effect is unreal. Total must-buy.

No point lying, so I answer honestly.

‘Fuuko and Raiko gave me some hand cream. Probably that.’

I write it and pass it to the seat next to me.

Then, silence falls. For some reason, I feel uneasy.

It wouldn’t be weird for the conversation to end here. There’s nothing to worry about. So why am I gripped by this indescribable sense of dread?

The answer comes in the form of words from the seat beside me.

‘Did the twins say they put on too much hand cream and rub it onto your hands?’

You saw? Was Nishimaru there at the scene this morning?

I hesitate over my response. Telling the truth shouldn’t be a problem, but for a few seconds, some primal instinct makes me waver.

That unnatural pause seems to have been a mistake.

‘I see.’

The scrap of notebook paper, briefly withdrawn and returned, had those words written on it.

That was quick, wasn’t it? Not much of a pause, huh? Well, yeah, that’s what happened.

‘Does that kind of thing happen often?’

Before I can even write a response, another question comes flying in.

I try to grab the loose-leaf paper to deny it, but it slips away from me and disappears…

‘So it does happen, huh.’

She’s jumping to conclusions. I haven’t even said anything!

The paper comes and goes at a speed that suggests she’s not even interested in a real conversation anymore, each line written and returned in a flash.

It feels like being interrogated, like getting spammed with one-line messages in a chat. The heavy pen pressure makes it feel even more menacing.

Flustered, I scribble a quick defense.

‘The twins have always been like that with personal space, so it can’t be helped.’

That’s just how Fuuko and Raiko are. Their sense of boundaries is completely off.

Maybe this excuse will get me some leniency.

But wait, why do I even need to make excuses? What’s with this situation?

While my mind races, no response comes. There’s no sign of her writing anything either.

If this topic ended with Nishimaru just giving up in exasperation, that’d be fine, but this silence is making me uneasy again. The hum of the air conditioner’s warm breeze somehow stirs my anxiety.

Suddenly, I hear a rustling sound from beside me, like someone rummaging through a bag.

When it stops, a response finally arrives.

‘I put on too much hand cream too.’

That was unexpected. She’s really doubling down on this?

I don’t know what Nishimaru’s intention is with that line, but my response is obvious.

‘Shall I take some?’

I write it and pass it to the seat next to me. A second later—

A hand reaches out from the right, quick as a flash.

Her face stays forward, her right hand diligently writing English vocabulary in her notebook. Impressive multitasking.

Well then, here goes.

“…”

I take Nishimaru’s glossy, hand-cream-slathered left hand in both of mine, rubbing it gently.

And Nishimaru’s reaction…

“…Pfft…”

She’s laughing.

Is it ticklish, or does she find this bizarre situation hilarious? Her cheeks and ears flush bright red.

Up close, her hand is slender and pale. Is this a doll’s hand or what?

But it’s far too warm for a doll’s, its skin so delicate and pristine that I feel almost guilty just touching it.

What am I even staring at?

‘Thanks. My hands are nice and moisturized now.’

Having received a generous amount of hand cream, I write this oddly formal thank-you on the loose-leaf and pass it back.

‘(^ ^)’

Stop with that emoticon.

It’s like we’re some lovey-dovey couple, just like me and the twins this morning. Especially since she obviously put on too much hand cream on purpose.

I wish the charismatic club alliance representative would tone down the antics a bit.

Just as I finally open my textbook to start on my homework—

‘I put on too much hand cream again.’

That line appears before me once more.

What the heck? How many times are you using hand cream in such a short span? How paranoid are you about dry hands? And learn how much to use already!

A storm of retorts races through my mind. It’s probably just another prank, though.

From experience, if I don’t play along, she’ll keep pestering me. I’ve gotten used to handling Nishimaru in the past month or so.

‘Shall I take some?’

So, I write the exact same words as before.

It’s probably something like this, right? She’s got some emoticon like (^─^) written on her palm to make me laugh. I know your tricks, Nishimaru. Bring it on.

But then, something completely unexpected happens.

“…!?”

Suddenly, my chair is yanked ninety degrees toward Nishimaru, and something lands with a thud between my thighs.

It’s Nishimaru’s left foot.

She’s somehow already taken off her shoe and sock, and her bare, pale foot is now planted in the space between my legs.

On closer inspection, it’s indeed glossy with hand cream. But come on, it’s not even hand cream anymore! She slathered it all over her foot! What is she doing!?

“…Hehe.”

Nishimaru, with her signature sly smile, presses down her skirt with one hand while provocatively wiggling her foot on my chair.

It’s like she’s saying, “Lick my foot.”

Well, not literally, but close enough. She’s telling me to rub the hand cream from her foot onto my hands.

What a perverse girl. This isn’t even lovey-dovey couple stuff—it’s straight-up weird couple territory.

It’s kind of unhygienic and uncomfortable, so the normal response would be to shut it down.

But I decide to step into Nishimaru’s game.

“…!”

I grab her defenseless foot with both hands. Nishimaru’s body jolts with a twitch.

I’ll make her regret underestimating me.

I rub her foot deliberately, sometimes boldly, sometimes softly caressing sensitive spots like the sole or Achilles tendon, as if… no, just taking the hand cream.

“…Hng… Nhg…!”

Nishimaru’s lips tremble as she desperately tries to stifle her laughter. Her whole body shakes, letting out strange noises.

The school’s charismatic star is writhing under my hands right now.

She makes a brief move to pull away, but I grab her ankle to stop her.

She brought this on herself. She’s always teasing me, so it’s about time she felt some embarrassment.

I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just taking the excess hand cream she asked me to, that’s all.

“…!”

Finally reaching her limit, Nishimaru tries to forcefully pull her foot away.

Her ankle slips free, so I instinctively reach under to grab the back of her knee.

But either I misjudged the distance or she moved too fast, and my hand goes deeper than intended—

“Ahh…”

I accidentally touch the inside of her thigh.

In that moment, a sound I shouldn’t have heard echoes through the study room.

“…………”

“…………”

Nishimaru and I lock eyes. Her face is slightly flushed. I can’t help but grimace.

Silently, we both return to our seats.

I hold my head in my hands.

I must’ve lost my mind. It was supposed to be payback, but somewhere along the way, it got weirdly intense.

Still, my hands smell amazing.

Suddenly, a piece of loose-leaf catches my eye.

‘I let out a naughty sound.’

You’re admitting it yourself!?

I almost say that out loud but catch myself. I’m the one who made her make that sound, after all.

So, I scribble a single word—‘Sorry’—and pass it back.

‘|ω･`)’

I said sorry!

＊＊＊

Nishimaru and my ultimate goal is to end the conflict between the student council and the club alliance.

The plan is a long-term one, gradually softening the relationship between the two through careful, subtle interactions during regular meetings, without causing any friction.

For now, we’re not considering any approaches outside of those meetings. Something might come up during future school events, but there’s nothing planned for at least the next month.

So, there shouldn’t be any need for Nishimaru and me to meet secretly until the next regular meeting… or so I thought.

‘It’s supposed to rain tomorrow, huh.’

‘Seriously? Winter rain is the worst.’

‘For real. Makes you not want to leave the house at all.’

‘Your hand freezes just holding an umbrella.’

‘Why not buy some gloves?’

‘Speaking of, you’ve got those handmade gloves from the Sorasakis, don’t you?’

‘Pretty cool, right? Jealous?’

Nishimaru’s been showing up at the study room a lot lately.

I initially thought she was approaching me for some kind of secret deal, so I didn’t expect her to keep coming back.

And she always sits right next to me, too.

We mostly study or read quietly, occasionally chatting via notes like this. We’re allowed to talk about conflict-related stuff, but since private conversations are banned, we’ve been sticking to written notes after meetings.

That said, the content is just aimless small talk.

Stuff like things that happened in class, what we had for lunch, or the new shop that opened near the station.

It’s the kind of stuff not worth writing down, like the pointless chats you have with friends on LINE when you’re bored at home.

You might think, why not just use LINE? But we can’t.

If anyone saw our names in each other’s chat history or friend lists, it’d be a big deal.

You never know who’s watching, so we can’t leave any digital traces. My phone’s basically an open book to Fuuko and Raiko anyway.

So, in this modern age, Nishimaru and I communicate solely through written words, like some old-fashioned pen pals.

Honestly, meeting up repeatedly just for small talk is risky and probably something we should stop. You never know who’s watching.

But there’s one reason I can’t tell her to stop coming.

‘You know how in manga, some characters take off their glasses when they get serious?’

‘Yeah, I’ve seen that.’

‘I can’t stand it. Like, what, are glasses just for show? You need them to see when you’re serious, right? Are they mocking our kind or what?’

‘I don’t have that much passion about it, but yeah, now that you mention it, it’s weird.’

‘You wouldn’t do that, right, Higashiguchi-kun? You don’t take off your glasses when you get serious, do you?’

‘I’m not sure when I’d “get serious,” but I take them off in the bath.’

‘( * ノωノ)ｷｬｰ’

‘Don’t “kya” me.’

‘( ･ – ･ )’

‘Don’t suddenly go deadpan.’

‘(     ･ – ･     )’

‘Why’d you get chubby?’

Chatting with Nishimaru like this is actually pretty fun.

The study room is supposed to be for studying or reading, a place to escape the world and enjoy your own time, so someone writing to you could easily feel annoying.

But for some reason, it’s not.

Maybe because our exchanges only last about ten minutes, it’s a nice change of pace.

More than that, Nishimaru and I just click. Or rather, I click with the note-writing Nishimaru.

Our word choices are similar, and our conversational rhythm matches. You might think it’s weird for written notes, but there’s a certain tempo to it that only works because it’s written.

Plus, it’s not just fun—frequent chats let us share useful info.

‘By the way, during lunch today, I got hounded by the Nakayoshi Newspaper Club’s president.’

‘Yamada Mamare, right?’

‘How do you know her full name in kanji?’

‘How could you not remember a name like that?’

‘Even if I remember it, I don’t exactly want to write it. She doesn’t leave a good impression.’

She’s subtly but clearly showing her dislike. That’s rare for Nishimaru.

‘So you really don’t like Yamada Mamare, huh?’

‘Not a fan. About as much as I don’t like people who call glasses “eyewear.”’

No idea what that means. That’s a weirdly specific measure of dislike.

As expected, Nishimaru seems annoyed by the Nakayoshi Newspaper Club too.

I think they once posted an article suggesting Nishimaru was hinting at a boyfriend on SNS. It turned out to be her brother, but it was still pretty rude.

‘Can’t the student council do something about them?’

‘You know it’s not that simple, especially as the club alliance representative.’

‘Yeah, I get it. But if they cause any more trouble than they already have, we should carefully scheme behind the scenes to deal a real blow to the Nakayoshi Newspaper Club.’

‘True. But on the surface, you’d have to oppose that decision as the club alliance rep, right?’

‘┐( ･ ω ･ )┌’

She sure loves her emoticons. How many does she even have in her repertoire?

We’ve come together under the grand cause of ending the war between the student council and the club alliance, but for now, there’s nothing particularly urgent to deal with.

Until the next regular meeting, let’s just indulge in some pointless note-passing in the peaceful study room.

＊＊＊

‘You’ve got bedhead.’

One day, as usual, the moment I sit down in the study room, a note with that line arrives from the seat next to me.

I check my phone’s camera, but from the front, I don’t see any hair sticking out.

‘Where?’

I write back, and suddenly, I hear a click of a camera shutter from behind me.

As I turn around, the culprit quickly ducks back to her seat. For a split second, I catch a glimpse of her grinning face.

‘No sneaky photos.’

‘(⬤  ‘ ･ △ ･ ) =3’

‘Don’t sigh at me.’

‘ε=ε=ε=┏( ￣◇￣)┛’

‘Don’t run away.’

The conversation with emoticons goes on, but she doesn’t show me the photo. Didn’t she take it so I could see it?

As I’m wondering, I hear a suspicious mechanical noise from next door, like a printer in action—definitely not a sound you’d expect from a high school girl’s seat.

The moment the noise stops, a sheet of paper slides through the partition gap.

It’s a photo of the back of my head.

‘Wait, the one you just took? You already printed it?’

‘I bought a mobile printer.’

A hand reaches out from beside me, holding a sky-blue device that looks like a power bank, waving it proudly.

‘It’s tiny. So you can print photos right after taking them?’

‘Pretty cool, right? It’s cute and handy.’

As I fix my bedhead, I can’t help but think how Nishimaru Nanna, excitedly showing off her new purchase, is just like any other high school girl.

It’s been about a month since we started hanging out in the study room, but I still find myself struck by these ordinary moments, probably because my impression of Nishimaru Nanna, the student council’s archenemy, was so intense.

Suddenly, I hear another camera shutter, followed by the printer’s hum.

Another photo arrives.

“…………”

It’s a selfie of Nishimaru, her expression ridiculously flirty, eyes practically sparkling.

‘I can print super cute photos like this right away.’

‘Doesn’t this look nothing like you?’

Another shutter sound, printer hum, and the sound of a marker scribbling. Then, another photo arrives.

This time, it’s a selfie of her holding a textbook, sticking out her tongue and winking, with bold red text scrawled across it.

‘I’ll split your forehead with the corner of this! ♪’

Terrifying.

‘By the way, both of these are stickers, so you can stick them anywhere you want.’

‘Stick them where?’

‘Like on your fridge at home.’

‘What am I, a plumbing service magnet?’

Shutter sound, printer hum, rinse and repeat.

‘For all your water troubles, leave it to us!’

Another photo of Nishimaru, this time holding a wrench in her left hand and giving a thumbs-up with a smug look.

Yes, yes, this is the vibe. Straight out of a fridge magnet ad. You’re killing it with the energy. Also, why are you carrying a wrench?

‘By the way, this one’s not a sticker. My bad.’

‘Not a sticker? So I can’t stick it on the fridge? Don’t mess with me.’

As we engage in this utterly brainless exchange, a thought crosses my mind.

Nishimaru Nanna is the school’s ultimate charismatic figure, with tons of fans, both guys and girls.

To them, these photos would probably be priceless treasures. Well, one has a threatening message, and another’s basically a plumbing ad, but still.

She’s undeniably a beauty, eccentricities aside.

That first photo could honestly pass for an idol’s signed polaroid.

Obviously, I’m not going to stick them anywhere. If the twins found them, it’d be a disaster.

But throwing them out feels wrong, so I’ll stash them in a locked drawer where the twins will never find them.

“?”

Suddenly, I feel a tap on my right shoulder.

Reflexively, I turn toward it.

“Whoa!”

By the time I notice a phone lens pointed at me, the shutter’s already clicked. Nishimaru giggles and ducks back to her seat.

My second candid photo of the day. And this time, it’s a bold move.

As expected, the printer starts whirring.

I stand up, looming behind Nishimaru to scold her, and we both watch the photo print out.

Out comes a picture of me with a stone-cold, villainous glasses-wearing glare, completely devoid of charm.

“Kufu, kufufu…”

Nishimaru picks it up, letting out an annoying snicker.

I try to snatch it, but she deftly dodges and slips it into her blazer’s chest pocket. She puffs out her chest, smirking as if daring me to take it.

“…Haah.”

I’m not shameless enough to reach into a girl’s chest pocket over something like this. With an exaggerated sigh, I return to my seat.

Then, I hear the sound of a pen scribbling, followed by her comment.

‘Yup, glasses really don’t suit you.’

‘Shut up.’

For a while, I can faintly hear Nishimaru’s “kufufu” giggles from the next seat.

＊＊＊

My routine when heading to the study room after school usually involves grabbing a canned coffee from the vending machine.

That day, too, I worked on homework with my coffee by my side, then spent the remaining time before curfew immersed in a paperback novel.

When I return from a bathroom break, I find a piece of loose-leaf paper on my desk.

It reads:

‘A man drinks coffee every day. But on that day, every time he drank his coffee, he felt embarrassed. Why?’

The message is cryptic, but one thing’s clear: it’s from my neighbor.

Nishimaru Nanna, as always, is sitting in the seat next to me.

‘A riddle?’

I jot that down on the loose-leaf and slide it through the partition to Nishimaru.

Her response comes back.

‘Lateral thinking.’

Got it. I cross my arms and lean back in my chair.

The text alone doesn’t give much away, but this is one of those lateral thinking puzzles where you ask yes-or-no questions to reach the answer.

I don’t know if she found it online or made it up herself, but fine, I’ll bite. It sounds more fun than reading right now.

The twins got hooked on these for a while and made me play along, so I know the drill.

My goal is to solve it within fifteen questions. Let’s get started.

‘Does it have to do with the man’s past?’

‘No.’

‘Does it have to do with the man’s clothing?’

‘No.’

‘Does it have to do with the man’s health?’

‘No.’

Ugh, three misses in a row. I tried approaching it from the angle of “embarrassment,” but I might’ve rushed in too quickly.

Let’s slow down and build the man’s profile from the ground up.

‘Is the man employed?’

‘No.’

‘Is the man an adult?’

‘No.’

So, he’s a minor. That opens the path a bit.

Next, let’s figure out the setting. Embarrassment often comes from the presence of others, so there’s probably someone else around.

‘Is the man outdoors?’

‘No.’

‘Are there multiple people around the man?’

‘No.’

Not a crowd, then. So, either there’s one other person, or it’s a self-contained kind of embarrassment that arises and fades within the man himself.

The latter’s hard to imagine. Let’s bet on the former and proceed.

‘Is the person with the man a woman?’

‘Yes.’

Oh, that’s a big one.

So, this man is indoors, probably in a room, alone with a woman.

With the situation this clear, the type of embarrassment he feels starts to come into focus. Now I just need to figure out how the coffee ties in and why it’s the trigger.

Eight questions so far. My goal’s fifteen, so I’ve got room to refine this.

‘Are the man and woman a couple?’

‘No.’

‘Are they classmates?’

‘Yes.’

Nice, I’ve got their relationship. Now I want to nail down their age.

‘Are they high school students?’

‘Yes.’

Got it. A high school boy and girl, alone in a room—pretty romantic setup.

“…Hm?”

Suddenly, I snap back from the puzzle’s world to reality. Or rather, I’m caught in the space between.

Nishimaru Nanna, who out of nowhere started this lateral thinking puzzle.

And the setting: a high school boy and girl, alone in a room.

“…………”

Is this about me?

‘Is the man Higashiguchi Makita?’

‘Yes.’

It’s me. The man is me.

A tremor of shock ripples through my brain.

When you realize the world you were observing as a third party through a screen is actually reality, and that gaze is turned on you, it’s enough to throw you off completely.

What is this? What am I being made to do? Is this world I’m seeing a dream or reality?

Trying to calm myself, I take a big gulp of my canned coffee.

“…………”

Canned coffee?

‘A man drinks coffee every day. But on that day, every time he drank his coffee, he felt embarrassed. Why?’

After rereading the problem a few times, I cautiously write my next question.

‘Did the woman do something to the man’s canned coffee?’

‘Yes.’

What did you do!?

What did you do to this canned coffee, Nishimaru!? I already drank it!

It was when I went to the bathroom. While I was out of the study room, she did something to my half-drunk canned coffee. And then she made me solve this puzzle about it.

“Kufu.”

“Ha…!”

I look over to see Nishimaru peeking from behind the partition, watching my frantic reaction with a blissful expression. What a twisted sense of humor.

More importantly, this canned coffee.

Every time he drinks it, he feels embarrassed. What’s going on? Did she slip some kind of aphrodisiac in it or something?

‘Did the woman put an aphrodisiac in the canned coffee?’

‘You think I’d have something like that?’

Nope, wrong guess. Of course. No wonder her tone shifted.

Besides, drinking an aphrodisiac wouldn’t make you feel embarrassed anyway. Calm down, me.

The “embarrassment” here is probably the kind that fuels Nishimaru’s amusement.

Sadly, I’ve been the source of her twisted joy plenty of times before. Think back. Recall the pranks Nishimaru’s pulled on me in this room and their patterns.

Something that makes your heart race with unease—

“…………”

Before I know it, I’m unconsciously staring at the rim of the canned coffee.

The answer I’ve arrived at is almost too embarrassing to face.

With a trembling hand, I write it down and slide it through the partition.

‘The man felt embarrassed because he was indirectly kissing the woman without realizing it.’

A few seconds later, a smaller piece of paper arrives, separate from the one we’ve been using for questions.

It looks familiar. It’s the back of a photo printed from Nishimaru’s new mobile printer.

My heartbeat echoes through my body. My breathing grows heavy, and my vision narrows.

“Haa… haa…”

I pick up the photo and cautiously flip it over.

In the picture, Nishimaru is drinking my canned coffee, looking like she’s in a commercial.

“…………”

I force myself to stay calm, writing my thoughts on the loose-leaf with steady hands.

‘An indirect kiss isn’t a big deal or anything.’

‘Your face is red.’

“Gh!?”

The moment I turn around, a shutter clicks.

Nishimaru’s phone captures my face. My face, right now.

“…………”

Nishimaru scribbles something on the loose-leaf and holds it up for me to see.

‘If you’re embarrassed, it’s okay to just say so, you know?’

“……I’m embarrassed.”

“Hehehe.”

When I admit it honestly, Nishimaru gives me a deeply satisfied smile and pats my shoulder.

From her seat, the sound of the mobile printer whirring fills the air.

There’s no need to say what color my face is in the printed photo.