Today, Kiyono is so reliable again… the gloomy girl thought silently. Recently, she had been observing and peeking at Kiyono, hoping to find an opportunity to repay him for his previous help. Perhaps in Kiyono's eyes it was nothing, but to her, it was definitely a major event in her life!
However, she couldn't find any way she could help.
This made the girl admire him, and also made her think of herself with a hint of shame… During her time working, she hadn't changed much—still as withdrawn as ever.
Just then, a colleague from the front hall rushed over, shouting, "Table 9 needs more corn kernels!"
As she shouted, she went to get the dishes, but accidentally brushed against Kiyono. In that moment of distraction, the handle of the steaming ladle slipped from the wet cloth, and mushrooms and carrot chunks spilled onto the floor.
"I—I'll do it!"
Komari, who had been on standby, moved as fast as the splashing mushroom chunks. She grasped the astonished Kiyono's wrist. "You… you're not wearing gloves, you'll get burned."
Although their hands were clasped, it couldn't be called intimate—Kiyono's hand was still dusted with cornstarch, and she was wearing gloves; they could only faintly feel each other's warmth.
Kiyono was stunned for a moment, then smiled and nodded. "Then I'll leave it to you, Komari."
It wasn't a big deal—no need to keep refusing.
He looked down at the girl squatting to clean up the mess and noticed a small piece of onion stuck to her fair neck. But pointing it out might draw complaints, so he decided to pretend he hadn't seen it.
As soon as break time arrived, Komari stealthily slipped into the break room, clutching two ice packs she'd just taken from the refrigerator. The cold made her palms red.
"Th-this should be fine here."
She placed the ice packs on Kiyono's table—these were for his fingers, which had been scalded by steam. Too embarrassed to hand them over directly, she could only show her care in this silent way.
Only after confirming that Kiyono would see them first did she nod in satisfaction and shrink back into the small gap between the cabinets as usual.
Click.
The door opened.
Kiyono rubbed his waist and sat down in the chair, only then noticing the two blue ice packs in front of him.
"Hmm? Whose are these?"
He picked them up, and a soothing coolness spread through his fingers, reminding him he'd been scalded earlier—a commonplace occurrence in the back kitchen he hadn't even noticed.
Could these be… for me?
At that moment, the first person who came to mind was a certain blue-haired girl, but he dismissed it the next second. If it were Yanami, she'd definitely press the ice packs onto his hand by force. This delicate, subtle way of caring was—
His gaze shifted right, toward the cabinet. He knew a certain girl liked to hide there.
Komari… Kiyono pressed the ice to his fingers, a strange feeling stirring inside. He never thought he'd one day enjoy the treatment of a protagonist.
Before, his impression of Komari was largely that of a larger Bocchi. After all, she was introverted, never initiated conversations, fled in embarrassment if eye contact lasted more than ten seconds, and rarely interacted with anyone. Getting to know her was very difficult.
Of course, her work ethic was impeccable: diligent, hardworking, meticulous, and never complaining. Since Komari started helping him, his work had become much easier—but few noticed, attributing all the credit to him.
"But… isn't this always observing others carefully?"
Details he hadn't even noticed were discovered by the girl.
Kiyono smiled and muttered, "Hm, much more comfortable."
He knew Komari was listening in, but he didn't expose her or say thank you. For a girl with social anxiety, rather than an awkward conversation, letting her know she had indeed helped him was enough. That was the way to truly make her feel comfortable.
Hearing this, Komari—hugging her knees in the gap—revealed a relieved smile. Kiyono was right; she didn't need him to remember her. She was satisfied as long as she could repay him a little. It felt… it felt just like a cool hero!
The gloomy girl giggled foolishly.
"Little Senior… shouldn't you buy a phone?" Yanami put down her pen and looked at the boy reading on the other side of the table, speaking nonchalantly.
"No."
"Why? In modern society, without a phone, are you a caveman, or do you have a setting as an electronics idiot?!" The blue-haired girl slammed the table.
"Because it's too expensive." Sitting directly opposite, Kiyono didn't even lift his head, speaking calmly.
His meager savings couldn't support buying a phone, and a phone would bring a series of other troubles.
"Eh, just buy an older model."
Yanami's legs swung under the table, the atmosphere inexplicably like a school library.
To this, Kiyono merely scoffed.
Silence fell. Yanami looked up at him, one hand instinctively slipping into her uniform pocket, fingers stroking the casing of something. She wanted to take it out—but hesitated.
Finally, she decided.
"Here, this is for you. It's my old phone from middle school two years ago. My mom just found it yesterday while cleaning my room. I turned it on and checked—besides being a bit slow, everything works, and the SIM card still works…"
Yanami set the item on the table and pushed it toward him. Kiyono put down his book and looked down: a phone with a silver case. From its appearance, it was well-maintained—hardly distinguishable from a new-ish old model.
"No, this is too valuable." Kiyono pushed it back without hesitation.
"It's fine. If my mom hadn't asked me today, it would've been recycled as e-waste. Giving it to you is also a kind of recycling, and…"
The blue-haired girl felt her ear tips burning.
"And if you don't have a phone, it's super troublesome to contact you! Every time I have to call the store and get misunderstood by the seniors! They ask if I'm having a long phone chat with you, so, to avoid these situations, please take it!"
But Kiyono remained unmoved, pushing the phone back again.
"If there are misunderstandings, I can explain for you. But I really can't accept something as valuable as a phone."
"It's just a broken old phone—how is it valuable!?"
"To me, anything I can't afford is valuable."
Ah, you're super difficult to deal with… Yanami's headache even overshadowed the shyness of giving away a personal item that had been with her for two years.
If a direct approach doesn't work…
Yanami's aquamarine eyes darted. She paused the pushing and pulling, picked up the old phone, and pressed the power button.
Soon, the screen lit with the lock-screen wallpaper she'd specially set—a side profile of Kiyono dozing, with Photoshopped cat whiskers. This was the first little surprise she'd prepared for him.
She swiped and opened a small application.
"Ahem," she said clearly into the phone. "What do you do if your owner doesn't want you?"
"Please adopt me, meow. Please adopt me, meow."
The speaker emitted an emotionally rich synthesized voice.
Kiyono couldn't help but look up—just as Yanami raised the phone with a beaming smile, letting him see the screen: a pixelated kitten squatting in heavy rain, an electronic wooden tag with Kiyono's name hanging from its neck.
He silently averted his gaze.
"This child is crying, you know," the girl continued, still talking to the phone. "If it's not needed by its owner, it'll surely be cruelly broken down in the end."
Kiyono's mouth twitched.
Seeing his resolve waver, Yanami quickly intensified her offensive. "If not, I'll just sell it to you! An old phone like this, when recycled, is worth at most a yakiniku meal. I'll give it to you for 5,000 yen! You can pay me when you get your royalties!"
…
This time, Kiyono was silent for a long while.
"Multiply that price by ten. Otherwise, I won't feel at ease taking it."
"No problem, no problem." Yanami cheerfully pushed the phone in front of him.
Seeing he finally agreed, the girl also felt relieved. She took her own phone and walked behind him.
"Kiyono, you probably don't have a LINE account yet, do you? Hurry up and create one." Yanami opened the app, her pretty face full of eagerness.
"Don't rush—let me study it first."
Kiyono's finger glided across the screen, feeling its smoothness. Deep down, there was a strange feeling—this was something Yanami had carried for years; it seemed to have her scent imprinted on it. He could feel the girl's presence.
After fiddling for a while, he finally created an account. Under Yanami's hands-on guidance, he opened his QR code.
Scan successful.
Ding-dong—an instant message arrived.
"So fast!?" Kiyono's eyes widened. Her profile picture was a photo of her family's puppy, and the message was a simple "Ah."
Unsure how to reply, he sent a single period—by the way, I'm right next to you; just say what you need!
After he replied—ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong—Yanami launched a barrage: cute pet stickers, strange emojis, and long, unclear rambles.
Are you an elementary schooler who just made a friend…
From behind him, Yanami sent another message.
"Kiyono, close the chat interface and open your friend groups."
Puzzled, he did as told.
His list was empty—Yanami was his only friend.
"It feels like, right now, I'm the only one in your world."
Accompanied by a fragrance like orchid and musk, a warm, moist breath brushed his ear; a charmingly teasing tone made his heart itch.
"Because it's a newly created account, I guess…" His heartbeat skipped.
Yanami chuckled and sat back opposite, lowering her head to fiddle with her phone, bangs covering half her cheek. Where he couldn't see, her face flushed like a peach blossom.
That night, Yanami lay on her side in bed, hugging her quilt. Under the soft lamplight, her delicate, smiling face and long lashes fluttered slightly.
She held her phone.
On the screen was today's chat history with Kiyono. She scrolled to the top, then slowly down, rereading every message.
They'd had conversations like:
"Kiyono, for cold noodles, do you prefer them more sour or less sour?"
"I like cold noodles with extra sourness."
"What about tomatoes?"
"I prefer regular tomatoes over cherry tomatoes."
And conversations like:
"We can see a big full moon tonight—how about your side? [Moon.jpg]"
"[Full Moon.jpg]"
"Such terrible photography skills!"
Or, for example:
[Yanami: 'Kiyono, what time do you usually go to bed?']
[Kiyono: 'Around 2 AM.']
[Yanami: 'So late! That's not good for your health!' — [Arms-crossed.jpg]]
[Kiyono: 'Hmm… what about you?']
[Yanami: '11:30 PM.']
[Kiyono: 'Hasn't that already passed?']
[Yanami: 'That's your fault, Kiyono.']
Most girls like chatting online, and she was no exception. Online, there was no awkwardness or insincerity that might arise face-to-face. Before sending each sentence, there was time to think—to consider her own feelings, and his.
Some things could only be said online.
Moreover, with online contact now, they could truly talk anytime, anywhere—a big step closer.
She continued typing.
"Hey, Kiyono, tap the chat box, then tap the third icon in the second row below. This is a hidden LINE feature."
It was past eleven, but she was still too excited to control her feelings.
"…You want to 'open my box,' don't you?"
This icon was for sending current location information.
She typed the message, deleted it, then typed it again.