Seishun Buta Yarou Series - Volume 10 - Chapter 1.1

Chapter 1 - Adolescence Doesn't End

1

Sakuta Azusagawa wondered how much oolong tea it would take to justify the 1,200 yen it had cost him for the two-hour all-you-can-drink deal.

As he finished his third glass, he flagged a passing waitress and ordered another.

The rest of the table started piling on, ordering beers, highballs, lemon sours, and oolong-hais.

“I’ll be right back!” she said with a smile. She vanished into the kitchen.

While they waited, Sakuta filled his mouth with the leftover ice. Before it melted, the waitress came back with a tray laden with glasses and mugs.

“Your oolong tea,” she said, placing the glass in front of him. It had a straw sticking out of it, so he took a sip. It had the faint bitterness of oolong tea, no different from what they sold at the local grocery store.

A two-liter would cost him two hundred yen. The price of entry here would get him twelve whole liters.

Trying to drink that much in two hours was just torture. He’d live longer if he abandoned all hope of making it worth his while.

As these thoughts ran through his mind, a girl asked, “Mind if I sit here?”

He looked up to find her standing across the low table from him. She wore a long dress tied at the waist with a ribbonlike belt. On her shoulders was a military jacket with the sleeves rolled up.

Her hair was lightened just a tad, and half of it was pulled back in a loose knot—casual without looking clueless.

But her body was thin to the point of frail. She was smiling but didn’t look all that confident—but maybe the teardrop mole just gave that impression.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Sakuta admitted.

“……”

The teardrop girl held his gaze, blinking slowly. Like it had never occurred to her he might say no.

“Why is that?” she asked after a full three seconds.

She sat down across from him, brushing her skirt to keep it from wrinkling. Clearly, his attempted rebuff had been ineffective.

The girl put a half-finished drink down on the table. The ice was melting, and the sides were damp. She pulled over an appetizer plate, clearly settling in.

“I can feel the glares boring into my back already.”

He didn’t even need to turn around. She’d come from another table, leaving behind a short-haired female friend—and three men. When he’d ordered his tea, he’d spotted them with their phones out, pulling up contact info.

“They started sharing IDs, so I bailed.”

His table was apparently a refuge.

“You could just refuse.”

“Would that I could.”

The teardrop girl seemed a bit at a loss, but that might just have been her default expression, so he couldn’t tell if she actually was.

“You got a reason you can’t?”

“…I just don’t own a phone.”

It took her a second to admit it.

“You’re one of the few,” he said.

“No one ever believes me.”

The truth did not always sound true. Sometimes, it sounded like a bad lie. To make the truth convincing, she’d have to explain why, and she’d probably rather not.

“What, did you have a bad day and fling it into the ocean?”

“People actually do that?”

He had, but since she’d laughed, Sakuta elected not to volunteer that information.

“But how do you live without a phone?”

“Do people die without one?”

“So I’m told. The source is this high school girl I know.”

“…A high school girl?”

That was definitely a note of contempt. Were college students not allowed to know anyone younger?

“A kohai at my old school,” he tried to explain, before she reached any untoward conclusions.

“I guess that’s kosher. Cheers.”

The transition between those phrases was lost on him, but she held up a glass, and he tapped his to it. Each took a sip on their respective straws.

“Whatcha drinking?”

“Oolong tea.”

“Me too.”

“Yeah?”

“How many glasses to justify this tab?”

“Someone did the math. You’d need at least twelve liters.”

“No one can drink that much.”

“Pretty much what I thought.”

Such a vapid conversation. They might legitimately be better off talking about the weather.

Keeping up the empty banter with a girl whose name he didn’t even know seemed depressing, so Sakuta followed the spirit of the gathering and introduced himself.

“Sakuta Azusagawa, freshman. Statistical science major.”

“Where’d that come from?” she chuckled, taking a bite of edamame. “These are good!” she muttered, then washed it down with tea.

The way she held the glass, the way she pinched her straw, even the way her lips wrapped round it—each gesture was weirdly feminine. Sakuta could see why the boys had flocked to her. The regular dude inside him deemed her pretty cute. And he understood why they’d been eager to get her contact info.

That body language, plus the way the teardrop mole made her look permanently frazzled, stimulated the protective impulse. It was like she had a spell cast on her that made people fall in love at first sight.

“You watching me eat is pretty awkward,” she said, glancing up at him. She didn’t look the least bit put out, though. She was already on her next edamame.

“You know what this gathering is about?” Sakuta asked, glancing pointedly around the room.

They were inside an izakaya bar. Specifically, inside a room built for large parties, with tatami floors and dugouts beneath each table. Six tables in all, each seating four.

One table with just guys.

One table with just girls.

And four with a mix of genders—including the one the two of them were occupying.

They’d rented the room out. The twenty students here all went to the same college as Sakuta and were busy laughing, clapping, and pulling out their phones to exchange IDs.

It was the last day in September, Friday the thirtieth.

The new term had started that Monday, and everyone here was from the same class—a standard subject, part of the core curriculum, which was why students from a variety of majors were taking it. They’d be stuck together for the rest of the year, so they had planned a party to get to know one another better.

The bar itself was close to Yokohama Station. It was part of a chain and located in a shopping district a few minutes from the west exit. The all-you-can-drink ticket included, the price of admission had been 2,700 yen.

The mixer had now been going for a solid hour and a half, and everyone not at Sakuta’s table was fairly buzzed. Their voices and laughter were getting louder and louder.

The party’s organizers had planned for everyone to introduce themselves in due time, but everyone had long since forgotten that and wouldn’t care if anyone brought it up. They were here for a good time.

“Miori Mitou, freshman. International management major.”

“Thanks.”

“Naturally, I knew you already.”

“I’m kinda famous that way.”

Or rather, his girlfriend was. Everyone in Japan knew and loved the famous actress Mai Sakurajima. She made movies, TV shows, commercials—even worked as a fashion model. If that weren’t enough, she’d spent the back half of last year on a morning soap called I’m Back. Since Mai had first risen to stardom on a morning soap, it really had been a comeback. And had absolutely made her a household name again.

And their relationship had not stayed a rumor for long. It was quickly something everyone on campus knew for a fact.

Mai was also a student here, so there’d been no hiding it. Miori’s naturally was only natural.

Six months after Sakuta enrolled, people had stopped bugging him about it. In fact, almost no one had ever asked him to his face if they were dating. He could count the number of times it had happened with his two hands.

He figured everyone was curious. But they also didn’t want to act like a bunch of groupies. A regular vibe had developed on campus, like everyone was warning one another off.

“Must be nice dating someone pretty. I wish I was!”

“Mai’s mine, and you can’t have her.”

“Jealous!”

That look went beyond envious into outright baleful.

“If you’re looking to hook up, grab someone. Seems like you’ve got options.”

He jerked his head at the table behind them. Another girl had joined in, and they were happily chattering away. But the volume in the room was high enough that he couldn’t make anything out.

This time Miori really was glaring at him. “That’s just mean,” she said. “Why were you sitting all on your own anyway?”

“I didn’t start that way.”

“I know. I had a view from the other table.”

Sakuta had been sitting with another dude from his major, Takumi Fukuyama. That guy had moved to another table a while back, having spent the first hour looping through the same unproductive conversation.

“I want a girlfriend!”

“Then go talk to a girl.”

“Too awkward.”

“Then I’ll talk to one.”

“I’ll come with!”

“Go on ahead.”

“I can’t!”

Eventually, Sakuta had gone to the bathroom and come back to find him sitting at one of the girls’ tables. A tribute to the power of alcohol. It had even scored him some contact info.

He relayed this to Miori, who took a bite out of a chicken nugget and said, “You could have moved to another table, too.”

She didn’t look like a girl who ate such high-calorie food a lot, but she was really savoring it. There was a look of bliss on her face. She swallowed, and her chopsticks reached for another. There’d been four on the plate to start with—the idea being to split the plate among the four people at the table. Since only the two of them were sitting here, this was still her share. But given the total number of occupants in the room, it was depriving someone of chicken.

But even as he crunched those numbers, Miori helped herself to a third nugget, clearly staking a claim to the whole plate.

“Azusagawa, why are you even here?”

“Mostly the food.” He reached out his chopsticks and grabbed the last nugget before she could. “The other tables have too many people, so there’s less food to go around.”

Sakuta hadn’t planned to come at all, but Takumi had been so insistent, he’d given in.

“Everyone’s starving,” Miori said, glancing around. She was clearly referring to the desperation driving their social interactions.

“You’re different, then?”

College wasn’t like high school. No one had an assigned classroom. No single place where everybody met on a daily basis. No designated seating. All classes were held in various places, and people grabbed seats as they came in.

The biggest change was that you no longer really had “classmates.”

If you shared a major, you also shared a list of required classes and were more likely to run into the same crowd there. But the bulk of the freshman year was taken up by core curriculum stuff, and less than half the classes he was taking were major specific. There was not much pressure to connect to those around you—at least, there was a lot less than in high school classrooms.

There, all relationships were defined by that room. And Sakuta was finally free of that stifling oppression.

Liberty abounded.

But that also meant newcomers to college were not guaranteed a natural home.

Which was why people who happened to be in the same class were voluntarily gathering, forming makeshift communities, and trying to create their own home ground. Hungry for good times and social ties. Or maybe just saying a prayer in the hopes that they might leave here with a new girlfriend or boyfriend.

“I’m pretty famished myself,” Miori said, polishing off that third nugget.

She chewed away, eyes on the party around her, but despite what she said, she didn’t seem to be after anything in particular. This was simply a passing opportunity to watch them all whoop it up from a distance. Her gaze neither warm nor scornful.

Miori might not even care if she was starving or not. He didn’t think she even intended her words to carry much meaning. It was like they were just filling space.

“Uh, so only five minutes left,” the dude who’d set this up said, using his hands as a megaphone. “Let’s start wrapping up. After-party’s karaoke, so please do come.”

Only half the crowd even heard him.

“There’s an after-party. Azusagawa, you going?”

“Nope. Got work after this.”

“This late? You work nights?”

It wasn’t really late enough to call night. It had only just turned six. The party had started as the izakaya opened, at four—pretty early for drunken revelry.

“Doing private tutoring for a cram school today.”

“Today?”

“I also wait tables at a restaurant.”

Sakuta finished off his tea. The last drops spluttered against his straw.

“Teaching junior high?”

“First-year high school,” he said, picking up his backpack.

“Showing high school girls all the tricks. Naughty.”

“I’m teaching ’em math tricks, and I’ve got male students, too.”

At the moment, he was actually only teaching two students—one boy, one girl. Since the students picked their teachers, his pool would increase only if someone chose him. His student quantity and classes taught directly affected how much he made, so he certainly would like a few more, but that was clearly gonna require patience.

The party was still going strong, but he slipped out, putting his shoes on first. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Miori tying the laces on her sneakers.

“No after-party?”

“Can’t stand karaoke.”

She made that face again, but this time it seemed genuine. Maybe it wasn’t. He didn’t know her well enough to be sure.

“Let’s go before anyone spots us,” Miori said, glancing back at the hall. “It’ll be a pain if anyone tries to drag us along,” she added, winking at him. Then she led him out of the bar.

Outside, they were hit with a wave of humidity. September was on the way out the door, but these days, summers just didn’t wanna leave.

It being a Friday, there were huge throngs pouring out of the station into the shopping district.

Likely bound for dates, mixers, and parties.

Pushing against the tide, Sakuta and Miori crossed the bridge over the Katabira River, then followed the bank to avoid the crowds. Miori wasn’t a fast walker and sometimes had to trot to catch up, but she never yelled at him for walking too fast.

Sakuta slowed his pace a bit anyway, glancing at her over his shoulder.

“You kinda ditched your friend.”

“Manami?”

“I dunno her name.”

“I’m good. If I’d stayed longer, she’d have been pissed.”

Miori caught up with him and sighed.

“Ah…don’t want the boys your friend likes coming after you, right?”

She probably hadn’t expected him to understand, and judging by her vague answer, she never intended to explain further. That explained her somewhat awkward smile.

“Very perceptive,” she managed.

There was genuine surprise in her glance.

“Knew a high school girl in similar circumstances.”

She’d been asked out by a friend’s crush, and it had not gone well.

“You know too many high school girls.”

Miori took a step away from him, her tone suddenly guarded.

“Don’t worry, it’s the same one.”

And she’d be in college in another six months.

“Let’s say I believe you.”

“Scout’s honor.”

“Taking the JR, Azusagawa?”

The conversation changed without the waters clearing. If he dug his heels in, that would probably just dig him into a hole, so he let the sudden segue pass without comment.

“Tokaido Line to Fujisawa. You?”

“To Ofuna.”

She sounded pleased with herself, likely because it was one station closer. And closer to Yokohama Station meant closer to the Keikyu Line they took to college.

Their school was at Kanazawa-hakkei Station.

“You grow up there?” he asked, pretty sure she hadn’t. Miori didn’t seem like the Ofuna type. It was a city-run university, so most students came from Yokohama or at least this prefecture. Those who came from out of town had a different air about them somehow.

“Nope, moved there on my own after getting in.”

“Then you could have picked somewhere closer.”

“It’s close to Kamakura.”

Sakuta had obviously meant closer to college, but the answer he got was certainly distinctive. To be fair, Kamakura was nice. He’d taken Mai there a few times.

“You’re from Fujisawa?”

“Feels like I am.”

He’d been living there for three years now, so he no longer felt like an outsider. The Yokohama suburb where he’d actually grown up would feel far stranger. He hadn’t been back since junior high graduation.

They reached the main drag and got stuck at the first light.

“Oh, right,” Miori said, pulling a little plastic case out of her tote bag. It rattled when shaken—filled with little mints. From the sound, it was still full.

She popped three at once into her mouth and handed the entire box to Sakuta.

“Does my breath smell that bad?”

“There was garlic in that chicken coating. And you’re teaching in a bit, right?”

“Yeah, sure, thanks.”

Sakuta popped three mints himself. His mouth grew frosty. The chill reached his nostrils.

“Not saying this in lieu of thanks…”

“Hmm?” she asked, giving him the side-eye.

“Careful what guys you do that to.”

“Why?”

“I mean, it seems like you don’t want them hanging all over you.”

“Then we’re safe. It’s only you here.”

“Am I being targeted?”

“I’m being relaxed. I mean, you aren’t ever gonna fall for me. You’ve got the cutest girlfriend in Japan.”

“The world, but otherwise true.”

This made Miori laugh out loud. “You would say that,” she said with a giggle.

The light still wasn’t changing.

“……”

“……”

As their conversation trailed off, both found themselves looking at the same thing. Across the street, a woman in a suit was handing out pocket tissues. She was in her early twenties. She’d taken her jacket off, but she must have been out here for a while, because her shirt was drenched with sweat. Her bangs were plastered to her forehead. She was likely a new hire, joining whichever company earlier that year.

She was handing out tissues with staunch dedication, but no one was taking any.

Everyone kept sailing right past her.

“Azusagawa, you ever worked a job like that?”

“I have not.”

“Nobody takes the tissues.”

“Nope.”

“Maybe only the two of us can see her.”

Miori dropped that bombshell without changing her tone of voice at all.

“No way.”

“What, you’ve never heard of Adolescence Syndrome?”

“……”

When had he last heard that phrase? Long enough that he didn’t react right away.

“People can’t see you, you can see the future, there are two of you—all kinds of symptoms.”

“Huh.”

“You didn’t hear stories about it at school?”

The light turned green.

“Stories, sure.” Sakuta moved out first, and Miori lagged a step behind. “But they’re just stories.”

Across the street, he took a tissue packet from the woman.

“Thank you,” she said. The tissues came with an ad for newly constructed condos. Sakuta didn’t think he looked like he could afford one. Maybe this lady was getting tissue tunnel vision and had forgotten what she was actually advertising.

As these thoughts ran through his head, another man walked by and took a tissue. He was in his fifties, definitely more her target demo.

Quite a few people were taking tissues now.

“Looks like it’s not just us.”

“What do you know,” Miori lamented.

“And that lady’s hardly the syndrome age bracket.”

She was clearly in her twenties.

“Does adolescence have a hard limit?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

It probably varied by the individual. There were no clear definitions. It wasn’t like everyone automatically became a grown-up the moment they turned twenty.

“Are you still an adolescent, Azusagawa?”

“I’d prefer to think I’m past all that.”

“You are in college now.”

“Are you free of it?”

“I think…it’s still got me.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I mean, I’ve yet to land a boyfriend.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Wow, you’re totally giving me that smug ‘already taken’ look.”

Miori shot him a frosty glare. Then she swiped the pack of tissues from him and started walking in the direction of the underground entrance.

“The gates are the other way.”

She’d been moving toward the stairs to the Yokohama Station underground mall.

“I’ve got shopping to do first. See you around.”

She fluttered a hand at him and disappeared below without looking back.

“Hmm.”

He wasn’t sure what to make of Miori Mitou. She was friendly and expressive, but it was like there was a line between them, and she would come no closer. She’d probably split up here because they’d otherwise end up sharing a train. Maybe he was overthinking it, but she seemed like the type who’d try to avoid that.

She’d taken the tissues (which were useful) and left him with the condo ad (which was not), so he shoved that in his backpack and headed into the station proper.

As he passed through the JR gates, he found himself wondering just how long it had been since he’d heard anyone mention Adolescence Syndrome.