Yahari Ore no Seishun Love Come wa Machigatte Iru - Volume 5 - Chapter 4

4

Unfortunately, nobody knows where Shizuka Hiratsuka’s red thread went.

What is the greatest food of all? Is it curry? Shabu-shabu? Sushi? Soba? Sukiyaki, BBQ, or sweets?

It is none of these. Ramen is the greatest. Ramen.

For a solitary high school boy, it’s one of the nearest and dearest. When you’re pondering what to eat, ramen is the first thing that comes to mind. You can stop by your usual haunt on the way back from school. You can discover a new place while you’re out shopping and wander on in. If you get hungry in the middle of the night, you can boil some water and slurp that cup ramen down.

But to all you couples who go to a ramen shop for a date…

…you guys suck.

Don’t take forever blathering to each other at the counter. People are lining up to get in. Do all your mushy stuff at the Starbucks, since you guys love that place so much. Don’t share how in love you are at the ramen shop counter. Consider all the people you’re forcing to watch as they wait in line right behind you.

Ramen is, at its core, a solitary meal. If you chat, the broth gets cold and the noodles get soggy. That’s why Ichiran’s “flavor concentration system” is the great invention of the ramen world. They have divisions between every seat at the counter, and they even hang up curtains in front of the kitchen so they can’t see the customers from in there. They used to have patent pending written on those division things… I wonder if they got that patent.

I’m getting sidetracked.

Basically, ramen is the food most appropriate for someone of my stature. It is a supreme dish that heals the noble souls of those who persist in the principles of isolation.

That is ramen.

As often happens in summer, I woke up at an awkward time and missed a meal. Some may be of the opinion that, at times like these, one who aspires to be a stay-at-home husband should make something to eat himself. But that is sheer naïveté. A real stay-at-home wife hands her husband a five-hundred-yen coin for his lunch and then treats herself to an extravagant lunch with his money. You might call this view narrow-minded, but that’s the kind of househusband I want to be. Also, when we divorce, I want a huge settlement.

So, since I aspire to be a stay-at-home husband, I played out the ideal and headed out for an extravagant lunch. I’ve recently received a windfall, thanks to my alchemy scheme of pocketing the scholarship money from prep school. I’m a full-wallet alchemist. And for lunch that day, I settled on ramen. Once I’ve made the decision, my stomach will hardly accept anything else.

Chiba is a competitive market for ramen. Matsudo, Chiba city, Tsudanuma, and Motoyawata—every station has its hotspots. And lately, the fancier types like Takeoka-style and Katsuura-style tantanmen have gone national. Well-known shops are an exceptionally safe choice, but once you get used to their food, you really do start wanting to find new places yourself.

When you go out to eat with another person, you compromise and go for what they like. It also makes you want to show off. I know a pretty good place, you know; isn’t that amazing? Heh-heh-heh. You can’t make a proper adventure of it. But when you’re alone, you’re not concerned with obligations—you can just march into a shop. This proactivity leads you to new discoveries and helps you develop as a foodie. What I’m saying is, a loner is ever overflowing with that pioneering spirit. We are modern adventurers full of the vigorous desire to take a challenge.

That is why, that day, I decided to go to a ramen shop in my own neighborhood, where I had not yet done much trailblazing. It’s always darkest under the lighthouse, as they say, so braving my personal blind spots in the local area was a fantastic strategy. It was an intellectual move, overturning the logic that prevents Tokyo residents from visiting Tokyo Tower.

After a long, jerky bus ride, I arrived near my destination at Kaihin-Makuhari and set forth. My stride was full of determination.

I would wander around this area on my way home from school, so I’d had my eye on a certain shop for a while now with the intent of giving it a try eventually.

Roasting in the rays of the summer sun, I steadily walked along. The humidity and heat were grating on my nerves, but then a clear sound rang through the area to dispel my irritation. It was the sonorous ding-dong, ding-dong of a church bell.

The area was lined with tall hotels and a large number of wedding venues. The church was one such venue, so it was probably hosting a wedding now. Merriment filled the air, and even out in the street, I could hear voices beyond the fence shouting their congratulations. It was the first time I’d ever seen something like this, so I took a little peek. What I saw was a joyous scene like something out of a photograph.

But wait, what was that? Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something like a black stain… I rubbed my eyes vigorously and gave the area a hard look. I was not preoccupied with a single spot. I saw everything in its entirety…effortlessly. That is what it means to truly “see,” or so I hear. Following the teachings of Oshou Takuan, I gazed intently at the black shadow. Whoever it was, was swathed in garments of black, the sole source of negative energy. The darkness was absorbing all the light around it, bending even the rays of the sun. It was the one spot of wrongness, clinging to that happy display like a grudge and quietly muttering, “Drop dead, amen…”

Oh… I definitely know that person…

“I hope you get married soon, too.”

“It’ll be your turn next, Shizu!”

“Shizu, Aunt, I found another good one! I think it’ll go well this time. Why don’t you try meeting him, Shizu?”

“I’ve started saving for grandchildren, Shizu.”

With each comment, the black stain twitched and swayed. The spiritual pressure…disappeared…?

I think I just saw something I shouldn’t have. I quickly averted my eyes, pretending to be none the wiser, and began walking away. But you must never forget…When you gaze into the void, the void will gaze back at you…

All of a sudden, the one I was watching yelled, “H-Hikigaya!”

The nearby middle-aged couples peered in my direction. I found myself bowing, and they bowed back. What the heck are we doing? Does this count as meeting the parents? Do I have no choice now but to take responsibility, marry her, and have her support me?

The dark blemish on the proceedings turned to the couples and rapidly explained, “Th-that over there is one of my problem kids! Th-this is work! J-just so you know!” Heels clicking on the sidewalk, the shadow ran toward me. “Hikigaya! Perfect timing! What a relief!” said the black stain—who was actually a pretty lady in a black dress, now that I saw her up close—as she grasped my hand, gleefully vacating the premises.

“Huh? Hey, um…” When a pretty older woman grabs your hand, can you do anything besides obediently following along? We walked for a while until we rounded a corner, entered a park, and stopped.

The lady breathed a visible sigh of relief. “I managed to get away for now.” Her black party dress hugged the smooth curves and contours of her body, and a fur collar brilliantly decorated the white nape of her neck. Her hair, in an updo, was a glamorous pitch-black that could have been made for that dress. Her hand, grasping mine through black gloves that matched the dress, was surprisingly soft.

“Um…,” I said.

“Hmm? Oh, sorry to do this out of the blue.” The posh beauty gave me a broad smile and drew me to a bench, taking out a cigarette and tapping it to pack the tobacco inside. It was jarring, considering her appearance. Like something an old man would do. The cigarette sizzled as she ignited it with a hundred-yen lighter. Smoke slowly trailed upward from the tip.

I’d been really confused before since she looked so different from usual, but seeing her in this state, there was no mistaking Shizuka Hiratsuka, the teacher advisor for the Service Club.

Whoa. When she gets all dressed up, she’s really pretty. “Um, was it okay for you to slip out?” I asked. “That was a wedding, right?”

“I don’t care,” she replied. “I already gave my gift.”

“But won’t there be an after-party and stuff?”

“What’s gotten into you? You’re being surprisingly considerate.”

“No, I mean, it’s an important event for meeting men—”

Miss Hiratsuka snorted. “It’s my cousin’s wedding, so it’s not like I’m a guest.” She averted her eyes sadly and, with her cigarette still in her mouth, muttered, “I didn’t really want to go in the first place. My cousin is younger than me, so I knew he’d be walking on eggshells and my aunts would be constantly making a fuss about getting married. My parents won’t shut up about it, either… Seriously, paying money to go to a wedding just to have your family rag on you isn’t worth it…” She blew out smoke with a long, long sigh and crushed the cigarette in her hand.

I don’t really have anything to say to that…

An odd moment passed before she spoke again, as if she was attempting to pull herself together. “What were you doing around here?”

“I was thinking I’d go have some ramen.”

“Ramen! Do people do that?” Suddenly, Miss Hiratsuka was sounding enthusiastic, and her dead eyes sparked with life. “Now that I think of it, after I checked in and everything, I totally didn’t get a chance to eat… Perfect. I’ll go with you.”

“Well, if you want, I guess. It’s this way,” I said, taking the lead at a steady pace. Miss Hiratsuka followed, heels tapping. C’mon, she’s dressed way too fancy for this! Everyone’s looking!

We came out at a fairly crowded street and encountered a storm of furtive glances from our fellow pedestrians. Miss Hiratsuka’s clothing was so fancy, and I mean, she was pretty, so I guess people just couldn’t help it. The woman in question didn’t seem to care, though, and talked to me the same way she always did. “I’ve heard you were advising a future Soubu High student,” she said. “I’m impressed to hear you’ve been continuing your Service Club activities during the break. Quite impressed indeed.”

“That’s not really what happened. And how did you know?” She does the scariest stuff with zero hesitation…

“Your sister told me.”

“Since when are you two best friends?” Komachi has encircled me with a net composed of every single one of my acquaintances. It’s staggering. Does she have a full ABCD encirclement going on here? Am I gonna be okay? A: Asinine Yuigahama. B: Bonk-to-the-Head Hiratsuka. C: Cute Komachi. D: …Damn, what was her name again? Something-nokawa? In absence of a trade bloc, I must resist them with a mental block.

“She’s a good sister,” said Miss Hiratsuka. “I almost wish I had a little sister like that. Oh, and I’m not trying to imply anything by saying that, of course.”

“Considering the age gap between you and Komachi, she could be your daughter,” I cackled.

“Hikigaya…”

Oh, crap. She’s gonna punch me! I reflexively closed my eyes shut and braced myself. But the expected fist never came. Curious, I opened my eyes to see a very dejected Miss Hiratsuka.

“Those jokes are a little too much right now.”

“I-I’m sorry!” Hurry! Hurry, someone! Marry this woman! If someone doesn’t do it fast, I’ll end up marrying her myself. Someone do something. Please.

August was coming to a close, but it was still too hot to be out and about. The rays of the sun streaming down gradually heated my skin. But the area was facing the coastal road, and the breeze blowing through offered some relief. Even lining up outside the ramen shop wasn’t too uncomfortable.

It would probably take a little longer before we could get into the shop, but I had no trouble, since I’m good at wasting time. I’m also good at wasting other peoples’ reputations and laying waste to bubble wrap. These facts would probably lead you to predict I would also be good at wasting office noobs once I’m employed, but noobs are cute, so no way am I getting a job.

I started people-watching. Like the guy in front of us who had been chatting at high volume like his life depended on it for a while, or the two guys behind us who looked like university students and reminded me of a guy and a girl on a date. When I got bored of that, I started fantasizing about what would happen if I opened up a ramen shop and it got popular and I ended up on TV, and how I would respond. First of all, when I drained the noodles, I would whirl them around, call the move Tsubame Gaeshi, and then tell everyone it was a family trade secret. When my shop got even more popular, I’d open up a ramen academy and extort money out of white-collar workers dreaming of leaving the rat race. As I was busy zoning out and weaving my ridiculous fantasy, I heard a soft sigh that could have been a chuckle.

“What?” I asked.

When I directed my attention to the source of the sound, Miss Hiratsuka spoke with a wry smile. “Oh, I’m just surprised. I thought for sure you’d hate crowds and lines.”

“I do hate them. Chaotic crowds, anyway. Lines, though, they’ve got a proper system. Some idiots out there like to cut in, though.”

I actually don’t really mind lines. I think the reason most people hate them is because they feel they’re wasting time. When you consider all the urban legends about couples who break up during dates at Destiny Land, you can only presume that frustration with the lines and the ensuing difference in values must have surfaced and driven them to it. But I always have a ludicrous amount of time on my hands, and my abundantly overflowing power of imagination staves off any boredom. Besides, typically, I’m on my own. A steel heart like mine does not waver in the face of a mere queue. But disorderly mobs? They’re full of people who can’t follow the rules and have no manners. I can’t stand looking at them or having them come near me. I just can’t.

“You’re more fastidious than I imagined,” Miss Hiratsuka commented with surprise.

“Not really. I’m not good at cleaning up and stuff.” My room is actually pretty dirty. If you labeled it Urbanization or The Future of the World and displayed it at an art gallery, it would be highly valued after my death.

“I’m not talking about cleanliness or hygiene,” she said. “I’m talking about your ideals. Though ultimately, they all revolve around you.”

“That’s just a technical way of saying I’m a selfish, egocentric bastard.”

“It is a compliment. Cultivating a proper internal standard of judgment is a good thing.”

The amiable gaze she leveled at me was uncomfortable. That hadn’t been my intent at all, of course. I turned away from her, quietly muttering, “I just hate rowdy people.”

When they’re all like, Ohh, this is sooo much fun or This is the best time of our lives! or whatever, who exactly are they trying to convince? To the introvert, who knows how to enjoy himself quietly through reading or gaming at home, their emphasis on fun, fun, fun sounds groundless, in a way. I disagree that the volume of your voice and the number of people in a gathering is a good metric for fun, and I hate people who are deluded into thinking it is. Maybe they see crowds and events as the ideal time to emphasize that belief, since that’s when they’re at their worst. I can’t stand to watch how fake and phony it all is. How come you can’t prove you’re having fun—prove that you’re right—all by yourself?

If they’re going to take pride in that attitude, they need that validation because they lack conviction. Somewhere, their rational selves are asking, Is this really fun? And in an attempt to erase that doubt, they deny it verbally. This is so much fun! What a party! This is awesome! So epic! They say it out loud. They raise their voices and yell it.

I don’t want to be a part of that crowd. I don’t want to turn into a phony hypocrite.

“I guess you won’t be able to go to the fireworks show, then,” said Miss Hiratsuka, cutting my train of thought short.

“Fireworks?”

“Yeah. You know the one I mean, right? At the Port Tower. You’re not going?” she asked.

I remembered, now that she mentioned it. The Port Tower fireworks display was a big event synonymous with summer. I’ve gone before when I was a kid. I don’t think I cared much about the fireworks. I’d totally been in it for the food stalls. They don’t feel that important when you live around here, since there’s fireworks at the stadium when they do night games, and Destiny Land has fireworks all year long. “I don’t have any particular plans to go. Are you going, though?” I asked her in return.

She breathed a long sigh. “It’s part of the job during summer vacation. It’s more like I’m going there to watch people, not fireworks.”

Wondering what she was talking about, I silently prompted her to explain.

“I’m being sent out to keep an eye on the students,” she said. “I do it for festivals, too. They always make the young teachers handle that sort of legwork. Well, they got me there! Ha-ha-ha-ha! You know, because I’m a young teacher.”

“Someone sure sounds happy,” I muttered, but I guess she didn’t hear.

Seemingly in a good mood, Miss Hiratsuka continued. “We can’t have any of our students getting out of control. It’s a municipal event, so a lot of bigwigs attend.”

“Oh? Bigwigs?”

“Yes. Yukinoshita’s family will probably be there.”

Yeah, I suppose you could call the Yukinoshita family regional celebrities, what with her dad being in the prefectural assembly and having a local business. Maybe they’re even backing the event in some way or another. It would be natural to invite them, in that case.

“Speaking of which,” I said, “was Haruno your student?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah. You guys entered just as she left, huh? She’s a Soubu High School alum. I’m impressed you remembered.”

If she had left just as we entered, that meant she was three years older, which would make her nineteen or twenty. So she graduated two years ago, huh…?

“Her grades were top-notch, generally speaking, and she excelled at everything she tried. And with those looks, most of the boys treated her like a goddess.”

That sure reminded me of a certain someone. Well, that one is more like a witch than a goddess, though. A goddess and a witch… While they were fundamentally the same thing, you’d see one as good and the other as evil depending on your religious view, I bet. The idea fit my image of them perfectly.

“But…” Miss Hiratsuka trailed off, pausing for a moment. With a bitter expression, she continued, “She was not a model student.”

“She got good grades, didn’t she?”

“She did. But it was only her grades that were good. She was loud in class, she would hike up her skirt and unbutton the top of her blouse, and I’d always see her at fireworks shows and festivals, like I just mentioned. She was always running from place to place looking for fun. Which means she had lots of friends.”

Yeah, I could easily imagine her being like that. She was cheerful and willful, and her free nature would most certainly draw people to her.

“But even that was…” Miss Hiratsuka failed to continue, so I finished her sentence.

“You mean that was a mask, too?”

“Oh, so you noticed.” Miss Hiratsuka was impressed. Or rather, she was smirking like she was sharing a naughty secret.

“You can tell just by looking at her.”

“You’re quite insightful.”

I guess. It’s the boon of my dad’s special training for nurturing useless bastards.

“That facade is part of her appeal, though. People who figure out that it’s a mask start to like her schemes and stubbornness.”

“So she’s got charisma,” I said.

Miss Hiratsuka nodded. “When she was on the committee for the cultural festival, we had the most participants in school history. She didn’t just get students involved; the teachers got in on it, too. They dragged me out and made me play the bass.” She grimaced as if the memory was unpleasant. Huh, I guess she does have a similar hairstyle as that other bass player. I thought we were talking about something-On for a moment there…

“For sisters, those two really are different, though,” I said. If Yukino Yukinoshita was like a graduate student who threw herself into her studies, Haruno Yukinoshita was like some university-going thought leader (LOL). Just so you know, I really hate terms like thought leader and lifespiration and networking guru. Normies (LOL) love words like these. Don’t use such strong words. They just make you look weak.

“Yeah.” Miss Hiratsuka nodded, but then she folded her arms in thought. “But I’m not saying she should be like Haruno. She just needs to develop her own fortes.”

“Fortes?”

“I said it before, didn’t I? That’s she’s kind and generally in the right.”

Miss Hiratsuka had indeed appraised her as such in the past. I think she had also said that it would make her life difficult because the world is unkind and full of wrongs. And Yukinoshita is indeed right in most cases. I’m still a little skeptical about the kindness part, but, well, just because someone isn’t gentle doesn’t mean they’re unkind.

I don’t need kindness, though. I’d rather be coddled. Maybe strictness is its own form of kindness, but I don’t want any of that, no thank you. I guess Miss Hiratsuka is the tough-love type, too, huh? I thought, glancing at her.

She was watching me with a warm expression. “You’re the same.” She flashed a smile at me, but I couldn’t figure out what she meant.

“The same as what?”

“You’re also kind and accurate with your judgments. Those qualities in you tend to clash with hers, though.”

That was the first time anyone had ever told me that. But I wasn’t really happy to hear it. I’ve always believed in my own kindness and correctness. S-so i-it’s not like this makes me happy at all, okay?!

“Two truths running counter to each other? Isn’t that contradictory? Like Conan always says, ‘There is only one truth,’” I said, in an attempt to hide my embarrassment.

“Unfortunately, I’m more into the future boy than the boy detective.” Miss Hiratsuka warded off my remark with a cold smile.

How old is she, seriously?

We finally got into the ramen shop and went to buy food tickets at the vending machine. In the spirit of ladies first, I let Miss Hiratsuka go on ahead of me. When you’re going somewhere dangerous or unfamiliar for the first time, you have to let the lady go first to make sure it’s safe!

Miss Hiratsuka pushed the tonkotsu button with zero hesitation. It was so manly of her, I almost fell in love right there. After making her purchase, she turned back to me, still gripping her wallet. Come on, hurry up and get out of the way.

“What do you want?” she asked.

Oh, so she was planning to pay for me. Now I even want to call her “Bro.” I was flattered, but I felt like it would be a bad idea to accept. “N-no, I’ll pay for myself.”

“No need to be polite.”

“I’m not trying to be polite. There’s just no reason for you to treat me,” I said.

Miss Hiratsuka tilted her head curiously. “Hmm? I thought you were a rotten, sleazy guy who’d expect the woman to pay as a matter of course.”

What a cruel thing to say. “That would make me a leech! I don’t want to be a leech. I want to be a stay-at-home husband!”

“I—I don’t understand the difference.” Miss Hiratsuka was astonished.

Actually, I don’t really understand the difference, either. But stay-at-home husband sounds better than leech, doesn’t it? Besides, it seems unwise for a teacher to buy meals and stuff for a preferred student. Fortune would favor refusing.

I copied Miss Hiratsuka and chose tonkotsu, then went up and took the seat next to her at the counter. No sooner had I produced my ticket than she was specifying to the staff the firmness of the noodles. “I’ll take it semiraw,” she said.

“Oh, then I’ll take mine extrafirm,” I added. But, like…do women normally do this cool ordering routing at ramen shops?

There’s a deep charm to the image of a modern beauty at a ramen shop. Miss Hiratsuka was receiving an unusual amount of attention, but she didn’t seem bothered by it as she cheerfully set up the paper apron provided at the counter and scouted out the black pepper, white sesame, leaf mustard, and pickled red ginger. Whoa, she’s getting way too into this.

The boil time for both our noodles was quite short, so the ramen came right away. Miss Hiratsuka took a set of disposable chopsticks and put her hands together.

“Thanks for the food.”

“Thanks for the food.”

First, the broth. The film of oil floating on the surface was smooth like white porcelain. You could see the creaminess. The seasonings canceled out the stink of the thick, rich broth that defined tonkotsu. Next, the noodles. As thick as the soup was, the noodles were thin and straight. The slightly firm texture gave each bite good balance.

“Yeah. This is good.” I voiced my simple impression, and then we both slurped our noodles in silence, drinking the broth with relish. The cloud-ear mushrooms and green onions were a beautiful complement, with the texture of a flounder dancing on your tongue.

With about a quarter of the noodles left, Miss Hiratsuka ordered some more and then spoke to me. “About what we discussed earlier…”

“Yeah?”

“About how you’re fastidious.” When her extra noodles came, she added some leaf mustard. She was smiling. I guess Miss Hiratsuka was getting excited as her customized ramen approached her ideal flavor. “Eventually, I think a time will come when you’ll be more tolerant.”

“Uh-huh.” I gave her a noncommittal reply as I tossed raw garlic into my bowl.

“It’s just like ramen.” Miss Hiratsuka proudly showed off her completed Shizuka Special and continued. “When I was younger, I thought tonkotsu was the ultimate. Fat was true flavor, and I wouldn’t accept anything but rich soup. But then you grow, and you learn how to tolerate light salt and soy sauce broths.”

“I-isn’t that just you getting old?”

“Did you say something?”

“No…” She’s reeeally glaring at me now…

After a momentary scowl, Miss Hiratsuka caught me off guard with another smile. “Well, whatever. You don’t have to tolerate those things right now. If you can one day, that’s enough.”

I think she understands my conflicts and doubts. But even so, she isn’t pointing me toward any concrete answers. Not that I can answer anything right now, anyway.

“Not to say that you’ll be able to tolerate everything. I hate tomatoes, so I still can’t stand tomato noodles.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I can’t stand how squishy they are, and they kinda taste like grass.”

What a kid. But I get her point. For people who hate tomatoes, the gooeyness of the flesh and the seedy bits is its own form of torture. It’s a little gory-looking, too.

“I hate cucumber for similar reasons,” she added.

“I’m not so fond of them, either.” Nope, I don’t like kyuuri. I do like Kiryuu Bannanchiten, though, and Pepsi Ice Cucumber. “Plus, those damn cucumbers sneak into potato salad and sandwiches and make it all taste like cucumber…” I’m okay with them cut into sticks raw or dipped in miso. If they’re by themselves, you can avoid them. But the moment you cut them into round slices, that’s when they go on the attack… They marinate every single flavorful item in their cucumbery taste. And they’re not even that nutritious, either. They’re the predators of the vegetable world.

“They’re good as pickles, though,” noted Miss Hiratsuka. It was something a heavy drinker would say. “I could go for some right now.”

I could agree with that. “Yeah, I’d love a few.” Yes, indeed. Pickles are good. Very refreshing. Best of all, you can eat piles of rice accompanied by nothing but pickled vegetables. It’s heavenly.

“…”

For some reason, the conversation trailed off there, and silence fell upon us. Confused, I looked at Miss Hiratsuka. Had she misheard me or something? She looked totally dazed. When her eyes met mine, she sucked down her water in a sudden panic. “Oh, right, p-pickles. Mm-hmm. M-me too. I…l-love them.”

“Uh, it kind of makes me embarrassed when you stammer like that, so please stop.”

“…Wh-what are you talking about? More importantly…what was I talking about?”

Is she okay? Maybe she should do some brain exercises right now, like a multiplication sheet. Time for some antiaging magic! All I remember talking about are tomatoes and cucumbers, though.

Miss Hiratsuka’s chopsticks moved with nimble cheer. “I’ll give you some char siu.”

“Thanks. Then I’ll give you my menma.”

She chuckled. “Thanks.”

“At your age, you need the fiber.”

“Part of that sentence was unnecessary.”

“Ow!” I rubbed the new bump on my head as I ate.

It seemed Miss Hiratsuka had taken a liking to this ramen. She was smiling with satisfaction. “Now that you’ve found me such a good shop, though, I feel like I have to show you one, too.”

“Any recommendations?”

“Yeah. When I was a student, I knocked out most of the ramen shops in the Chiba city area. But as a teacher, I can’t really be going out a lot with a student. I’ll show you around once you’ve graduated.”

“Oh, no, I don’t need you to come. You can just tell me where it is.”

Crack.

The sound of something snapping struck me as particularly loud, even in this busy shop.

“Whoops, I broke my chopsticks.”

“Please, I’d love it if you took me…” I don’t think chopsticks usually break in your hands…

“Mm-hmm. Look forward to it,” she said. I think she was the one looking forward to it.

Ramen tastes all right when you’re eating it with someone else. It’s good when you’re alone and with good company.

It’s settled: Ramen is the greatest food. You can’t convince me otherwise.