“Excuse me—isn’t our order ready yet?”
“Taki! Go take table twelve’s order!”
“This isn’t what I asked for.”
“Taki! I told you, we’re out of the truffles!”
“Is our check ready yet?”
“Taki, you’re in the way! Move!”
“Taki, you idiot, do your job!”
“Taki!”
The place is a dauntingly ritzy Italian restaurant.
It’s a two-story building that’s open all the way up, atrium-style. The ceiling is hung with sparkling chandeliers, and there are big propellers up there, too, spinning slowly. I’ve seen something like them in a movie. Taki Tachibana is a bow tie–wearing waiter, and at dinnertime, the restaurant is hellishly busy.
I’m being swept this way and that by a muddy torrent of confusion, getting orders wrong, serving them wrong, getting tsked at by customers and yelled at by the chefs. Come on, people, I’ve never worked here before! Actually, I’ve never worked a part-time job before, period! This is a total nightmare! Waaaah, seriously, when am I gonna wake up?! This is all your fault, stupid Taki Tachibana!
“—’Scuse me. You. Boy.”
“Huh? Uh, yes?!”
I’ve already gone a little ways past the customer who flagged me down, and I turn back hastily. How am I supposed to know to respond to “boy,” huh?
Wow. The man’s an obvious thug, complete with open-collared shirt, gold chain, and lots of clunky rings. Still, if you go to the next city over from my town, there are a lot of guys like him hanging out in front of the station. His type feels a little more familiar to me than the celebrity-esque luster of the other customers. When he speaks, there’s a thin smarm in his voice:
“Listen. There was a toothpick in my pizza.”
“Huh?”
Mr. Thug picks up the very last slice of basil pizza with his fingertips. There’s a toothpick sticking out of the edge where it was sliced, basically screaming that someone jabbed it in there after the fact. Maybe he’s joking around with me. I’m bewildered, unsure how to respond, and Mr. Thug continues with a seemingly fixed smile.
“It woulda been bad if I’d eaten that, right? We’re just lucky I noticed it. What’re you gonna do?”
“Huh…?”
I get the feeling I really can’t afford to say, You really stuck that in there yourself, right, sir? I give a noncommittal smile instead… Conversely, his fades.
“I’m asking you what you’re gonna do about it?!”
Crash! All of a sudden, he kicks the table up with his knee and starts yelling. Instantly, the murmur of conversation freezes. I tense up, too.
“—Sir! Is something the matter?”
A woman appears and pushes me out of the way. She glances at me and whispers, “I’ve got this!”
Someone else grabs my arm from behind and drags me away—a waiter who’s probably worked there longer than me. “You’re acting pretty weird today,” he says, looking concerned.
“I’m terribly sorry about that, sir!” Out of the corner of my eye, I see the woman bowing deeply to the thug.
The background hum returns, as if someone’s twisted the volume back up.
I’m pushing an industrial vacuum cleaner that’s as big as a lawn mower over the floor. The restaurant’s finally closed. The lights in the chandeliers have dimmed, and all the tables have been stripped. One employee polishes glasses, another checks the stock in the refrigerator, and somebody else is doing something with the computers at the cashier counter.
The woman who rescued me is wiping down the tables one by one. For a little while now, I’ve been trying—and failing—to find an opportunity to speak to her. Her long hair has a soft wave to it. From the side, it hides her eyes, and I can’t read her expression. Still, her lustrous, glossy lips are curved into a gentle smile. Her arms and legs are slender, and her waist is very small—and yet she’s got big boobs. She’s just incredibly cool somehow. Passing her, I catch a glimpse of the name tag on that proud bosom. It reads Okudera. Perfect!
“Miss Okudera?”
Just as I take the plunge and speak, somebody pokes me in the back of the head.
“That’s senpai to you!” The guy who poked me sounds like he’s joking. He goes back into the kitchen, a stack of menus in one hand. I see, so she’s got seniority on me. Okay!
“Um, Okudera-senpai! That was really…”
“Taki. You had a rough day today, didn’t you?”
As she speaks, she turns and looks me right in the eye. Her long eyelashes curve toward the ceiling, her perfectly shaped almond eyes are the epitome of beauty, and her sexy voice sends a tickle down my back. I instinctively feel compelled to tell her I love you! My cheeks flush a little, and I hastily look down.
“Uh, no, it wasn’t really ‘rough,’ just…”
“That guy was totally full of it. I handled it according to the manual and let him have his food for free, but…”
She doesn’t seem all that angry. She flips the rag over and starts wiping down another table. Just as I’m about to try to prolong the conversation…
“Eek! Okudera-senpai!”
Another waitress cries out.
“Your skirt!”
“Hmm?”
Miss Okudera twists to inspect her rear, and her face rapidly flushes. Now that I’m looking, I can see a rough, horizontal slash just above her thigh. With a shocked little shriek, she pulls her apron around to hide the tear.
“Are you hurt?”
“Geez! Nasty. Was it that one dude?”
“I think something like that’s happened before…”
“Was someone harassing you?”
“Do you remember the guy’s face?”
Several staff members gather around Okudera-senpai, chattering worriedly. Eyes downcast, she’s gone very still. I stand motionless, like an idiot, with the words I’d prepared still on my tongue. Her shoulders tremble slightly. I think I see little tears welling up at the corners of her eyes.
This time, I need to rescue her.
The thought seems to burst inside me, and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve grabbed Okudera-senpai’s hand and started walking. I hear voices at my back (“Hey! Taki, you little…”), but I ignore them.
The green can be a field. The orange is flowers and butterflies. I want at least one more design element. The brown is— Sure, it’ll be a hedgehog. The cream is for its nose.
Pinching the edges of the tear in the skirt, I deftly whipstitch it together. For some reason, there were several colors of embroidery thread in the changing room sewing kit, so I’m taking the opportunity to make this a bit of an elaborate repair job. Gran trained me in needlework, and it’s something I’m particularly good at.
“All done!”
I hand the skirt to Miss Okudera. It’s only taken me about five minutes to finish.
“…Huh? This is…”
The dubious expression she’s worn since I dragged her to the dressing room quickly shifts to surprise.
“This is amazing! Taki, wow! It’s even cuter than it was before!”
The tear in the skirt was a straight, horizontal line about six inches long, so as I stitched it together, I turned it into a scene of a hedgehog playing in a field. The skirt is dark brown, so the little decoration acts as an accent, my thought being a cute motif would look especially good on a sophisticated beauty like Okudera-senpai. She has an even-featured, gorgeous, magazine-model face, but when she smiles, she’s more approachable, like an older girl from the neighborhood.
“You really saved me today. Thank you very much.”
I finally managed to say it.
“Heh-heh!” Okudera-senpai’s large eyes narrow softly when she smiles. “To tell you the truth, I was a little worried back there. You’re weak, Taki, but you’re always so quick to fight.”
As she speaks, her slim fingers lightly tap her left cheek. Oh. Vaguely, I grasp the reason for the bandage on Taki Tachibana’s face.
>
“I like this version of you better,” Okudera-senpai says, a bit mischievously. “You’re surprisingly in touch with your feminine side, Taki.”
My heart leaps with a bo-yo-yoing. Her smile is absolutely unbeatable. It makes me want to give her everything I have for free. I think it’s the most precious thing I’ve seen in Tokyo today.
The yellow train I take to get home is empty.
By now, I’ve realized that Tokyo is filled with all sorts of scents. Convenience stores, family restaurants, the people I pass, the edge of the park, construction sites, the station at night, the inside of the train… Almost every ten steps, the aromas change. I never knew human beings had such pronounced smells when gathered in one place.
And for every lighted window that skims past my vision, there’s a person living in this city. My heart is strangely stirred by the ranks of buildings that stretch as far as the eye can see, by their dizzying numbers and the overwhelming weight of them, almost like a mountain range.
Taki Tachibana is one of the residents here, too. Softly, I extend a hand toward the boy reflected in the train window. His face annoyed me a little, but I guess I don’t hate it. I’m starting to feel a sense of camaraderie with this guy, as if he’s a fellow soldier who endured this rough day with me. But you know—
“Y’know, this is a really impressive dream, if I do say so myself.”
Back at his house, I throw myself onto the bed where I woke up this morning.
I’ll tell Tesshi and Saya about all this tomorrow: Listen to this dream I had! Isn’t that amazin’? Aren’t you awed by my fantastic imagination?! It’s like I actually went to Tokyo! I bet I’m gonna be a manga artist—or no, wait, I’m not so great at art, but I bet writin’ novels would be a cakewalk. I’ll probably make a ton of money! You wanna be my roommates in Tokyo?
Fantasizing about this and grinning to myself, I roll over onto my back, pick up Taki Tachibana’s smartphone, and start skimming through it with my fingertip. Oh look, he keeps a diary.
[9/7 Ate at KFC with Tsukasa and Co.] [9/6 Movie in Hibiya] [8/31 Architecture Tour—Bayside Edition] [8/25 Payday!]
As I scroll backward through the headers, I’m impressed in spite of myself. “He’s real thorough.” Then I tap the photo app. Most of the pictures are landscapes. After those, the majority are of him with Tsukasa and Takagi. Eating ramen together, going to the park together… They sure are close. A beef bowl place, a soba shop at the station, a trendy hamburger joint. The road home from school. Sunset through the gaps between the buildings. His friends’ backs. Jet contrails in the sky overhead.
“Lucky him, livin’ in Tokyo…”
As I murmur, a yawn slips out. Starting to get sleepy, I go to the next photo.
“Oh, it’s Okudera-senpai.”
The picture is of her back as she’s cleaning the restaurant window, and it feels like a candid shot. In the next, she’s noticed and turned to face the camera, beaming and flashing a peace sign.
…Maybe he likes Okudera-senpai, I think out of nowhere. It’s bound to be unrequited, though. She’s in college. To her, high school guys are still just kids.
I sit up on the bed and create an entry in his diary app. Then I start typing in everything I experienced today. About how I made a lot of mistakes but connected with Okudera-senpai at the end. About how, on the way home from work, we walked from the restaurant to the station together. I capture all of it in the entry, wanting to report it—or brag about it—to Taki Tachibana. Once I’m done, I yawn again. Then, out of nowhere…
Who are you?
For some reason, I remember the line scribbled in my Japanese notebook. Vaguely, I can picture Taki Tachibana in my body, writing that note in my room in Itomori before he falls asleep. What a bizarre idea. Still, there’s something oddly persuasive about it. I take a felt-tip marker from the desk, and on the palm of my hand, I write:
Mitsuha
Yaaaawwn…
That’s the third yawn. Unsurprisingly, today wore me out. It was a colorful, thrilling day. It feels as if I spent all of it getting pelted by a rainbow-colored shower. Even without background music, this world dazzled me from start to finish. I imagine how startled Taki Tachibana’s going to react when he sees the writing on his hand, and, smiling a little, I fall asleep.
“…What is this?”
I say the words aloud, despite myself. I’m staring at my hand.
Finally, I let my eyes drop from the letters on my palm down to my wrinkled uniform and necktie… So, what—I fell asleep without changing?
“—Wh…wh-what is this?!”
This time, I actually yell. We’re having breakfast, and my dad glances at me but promptly loses interest and returns his attention to his bowl. I stare at my phone, stunned. There’s a really long journal entry on it that I don’t remember writing.
…And on the way home from work, Okudera-senpai and I walked to the station together, just the two of us! It’s all because I’m in touch with my feminine side.
“Taki, want to hit another café today?”
“Uh, sorry, I’ve got work after this.”
“Ha-ha. You know where to go?”
“Huh? …Hey! Tsukasa, you jerk, was that you?”
I raise my voice without meaning to. Actually, I wish it was him. Tsukasa’s puzzled expression tells me it wasn’t, though. Even I know there’s no reason somebody’d go to all that trouble for a prank.
Getting up from my chair, I reluctantly excuse myself:
“…Nah, never mind. See ya.”
As I leave the classroom, I hear Takagi’s voice behind me. Dude’s back to normal today.
An uneasy shiver shoots through me, and my feet get cold. Something very weird is happening to me.
“…Wh-what?”
After I change into my work clothes, three of my senior coworkers are standing outside the changing room when I open the door, blocking my way. There’s one regular staffer and two college part-timers, all guys, and they’re glaring at me with eyes that look bloodshot or maybe teary… Either way, not good. I swallow hard, and the three of them start in on me in menacing tones.
“Taki, you scumbag, whaddaya think you’re doing, getting a jump on us?” “You’d better have an excuse, weasel.” “You two left together yesterday, didn’t you?”
“Huh… Wait, no way—seriously?! I did? With Okudera-senpai?!”
Meaning that journal entry was real?!
“What happened with you two after that?!”
“Uh, no, I…I really don’t remember much…”
“Don’t gimme that crap!”
Just as it looks like somebody’s gonna haul me up by my shirtfront, a cool voice echoes through the hall.
“Okudera, reporting for duty.”
Okudera-senpai arrives, her long, bare legs and the shoulders peeking out of her top gleaming in the light. She greets us with a smile, strappy sandals clicking pleasantly.
“Hello, everyone.”
“Hi!”
She’s sort of an idol at this place, and confronted with her stunning presence, the four of us reply in unison. For a moment, we almost forget about our problem. Then Okudera-senpai turns back and looks right at me.
“Let’s make it another good day. Okay, Taki?”
I can almost hear a heart symbol punctuating that sentence, so sweetly delivered, followed by a wink sent my way before she disappears through the door. I turn so red, it’s like somebody dumped boiling water over my head. This is way too much. I want to go polish all the glasses in the restaurant until they shine, right this minute.
“……Hey. Taki.”
The guys’ voices are so dark it’s as though they’re resounding from the depths of the Earth, and I come back to myself with a jolt.
—Not good. As the senior staff cross-examines me, almost wailing, I wonder:
What’s going on here? Are they pranking me? Is everybody in on it? …Nah, couldn’t be. What’d I do while I was out of it?
Wh
at the heck is “Mitsuha”?
The birds are energetically twittering away again this morning. There’s a newborn clarity to the early sun that streams in through the paper sliding doors, and the morning is peaceful, as usual. Even so, although I’ve just woken up, unfamiliar writing with a quality of pure, concentrated irritation is scrawled across my arm.
Mitsuha??? What are you? Who are you????
The letters are big and messy, written roughly with a super-thick Magic Marker, from my palm all the way up to my elbow.
“Sis, what is that?”
When I look up, Yotsuha’s standing in the open sliding door. I make a face that says, That’s what I want to know.
My little sister’s face replies, Well, it doesn’t really matter.
“You’re not feelin’ up your boobs today, huh? Break! Fast! Time! Hurry up!”
She shuts the sliding door with a sharp clack, just like always, and I watch her from my futon. Huh? Boobs? I’m “not feeling them up today”? …Excuse me? My mind produces a gratuitous image of myself happily squeezing my own boobs… B-but that’s so perverted and gross!
“Mornin’!” I say as I enter the classroom.
The minute I do, all my classmates’ eyes are on me. Eep! I give a little gasp. Wh-what? Trying to make myself small and inconspicuous, I cross to my seat by the window. I hear whispers.
“Miyamizu was really cool yesterday, huh.”
“Uh-huh. I didn’t think she had it in her.”
“Her personality’s kinda changed, though, yeah?”
“U-um, people are lookin’ at me…”
“Well, what did you expect? After what you pulled yesterday, they can’t help it,” says Saya.
“‘What I pulled yesterday’?” I ask, sitting down.
Saya peers into my face, looking puzzled and worried.
—You know…durin’ art yesterday, when we were sketchin’ that still life.
Huh? You really don’t remember? Again? Honestly, Mitsuha, are you okay? You and me were in the same group. We were supposed to be drawin’ the vase and the apples—y’know, the subject that doesn’t make any sense. Except you sketched a landscape instead. Well, that bit doesn’t matter. Anyway, Matsumoto’s group was behind us, and they were talkin’ nasty, the way they always do.
your name. Page 4
