Fujiwara Chika loved talking about romance, but in reality, she understood nothing about it.
As she herself would admit, she was completely incapable of reading the mood.
In her original story, when the student council president and Kaguya finally confessed their feelings, she was the only member who hadn't seen it coming—she was the "baka" of the group.
So, the ambiguous atmosphere that had just flickered between them went entirely unnoticed by her.
She simply tilted her head, puzzled, before her hand darted toward the garlic.
Right now, her mind was occupied with one singular purpose: enjoying her ramen.
The ramen shop provided whole, unpeeled garlic cloves—the freshest kind, which promised the most potent flavor. Pre-peeled or pre-sliced garlic would have dried out, becoming a pale imitation.
As for minced garlic? That was strictly for dumpling dipping sauces.
Their furious noodle-slurping pace slowed, and they entered a comfortable halftime break.
As he worked on peeling his garlic, Masao stole glances at Chika.
She was humming a cheerful tune, her feet swinging freely beneath the stool, her entire attention focused on the garlic clove in her hand with endearing seriousness.
The last traces of his earlier heart-pounding feeling finally faded, and Masao breathed an internal sigh of relief.
'That was close. Is this the power of a natural airhead? They can ambush your heart without even trying.'
Distracted, Masao was peeling his garlic rather slowly. Chika, having finished her own to her satisfaction, noticed his struggle. She shook her head in mock despair.
"My, my, a kouhai will always be a kouhai," she sighed theatrically. "Your garlic-peeling technique needs serious practice."
Then, with a magnanimous air, she extended her hand, offering him two of her own perfectly peeled cloves.
"Here, you can have these."
Masao looked at her outstretched palm. Two ivory-white garlic cloves lay cradled on skin even fairer than they were.
"Oh, thanks, Fujiwara-senpai." He didn't hesitate, reaching out to take the garlic from her hand.
'Behold, garlic peeled by a beauty's own hands. Jealous'
(Imaginary Audience: A-absolutely not! It was so hot eating ramen... her hands must have been sweaty... that's just gross…)
As he retrieved the garlic, the tip of his finger unavoidably brushed lightly against the center of her palm.
Chika pulled her hand back a heartbeat later. She tilted her head, a new thought dawning on her.
'That... felt a little ambiguous, didn't it?'
The spot on her palm where he'd touched tingled strangely, and a weird fluttering bloomed in her chest.
She sneaked a quick glance at Masao, only to find him already wincing from the pungent spice of a raw garlic clove, his head bowed over his bowl as he ate more noodles.
'I'm overthinking it. More noodles! More noodles!'
The fleeting, odd feeling was promptly shoved aside as she dedicated herself once more to the meal.
Bolstered by the garlic, the remainder of their ramen was swiftly vanquished. In perfect unison, they lifted their bowls and tilted their heads back.
Gulp~ Gulp~
Their movements synchronized, they drained the last of the rich broth.
"Haaah~"
They set their empty bowls down on the counter with a solid, final thud.
"Thank you for the meal!"
"Another bowl, please."
Chika, her face glowing with satisfaction, surfaced from her culinary bliss and turned to him, confused.
"Masao-kun, what did you just say? 'Another bowl'?"
"Yep," Masao confirmed, raising his voice slightly for the ramen master. "Master, another one of the same, please."
The master gave a single, curt nod.
"One moment," he said, already starting on the next order.
He wasn't fazed; customers who ordered second bowls were common. Besides, Masao had polished off every last drop—the ultimate compliment from a true ramen lover. The master was always happy to cook for a connoisseur.
Watching the master prepare the second bowl, Chika patted her slightly rounded stomach with a sigh of envy.
"It's so unfair. How can you eat another one? I'm completely stuffed."
A smug grin spread across Masao's face. "Heh heh, jealous? I get to experience that deliciousness all over again."
"Tch, as if!" Chika retorted, taking a sip of water to clear the rich, salty aftertaste from her palate. "It's not about quantity. The true joy is in savoring the flavor and being happy. That's what matters."
"Oh, that reminds me, I never asked," Chika began, settling back into her seat.
She made no move to leave, instead choosing to continue their conversation. Even though they'd just met, she felt an easy camaraderie and decided she wanted to be friends.
"What school do you go to, Masao-kouhai? And you said you're from Chiba, right? Do you come to Tokyo often?"
"Often is a strong word. I've just had some business here lately, so I'm in town on most weekends."
"Oh, I see! In that case..." She pulled out her phone, waving it enticingly. "Should we exchange contact info?"
Their social circles were worlds apart, and this meeting was a complete coincidence. The chances of them randomly bumping into each other again were slim.
Even if they exchanged info, they might never talk, but at least there was a possibility, a thin thread connecting them.
Masao didn't hesitate, pulling out his own phone. "Sure."
As they exchanged Line IDs (Japan's WhatsApp), Chika's eyes casually scanned his contact list. She let out a small, surprised gasp.
"Masao-kouhai, you have so many girls' numbers in here! Don't tell me... you're actually a secret playboy?"
Masao's entire contact list consisted of six people: his parents, Jahy, Yukinoshita Yukino, and the Sawamura mother and daughter.
He pointed a thumb at his own chest, his expression deadpan.
"Do I seriously look like a playboy to you?"
Chika pinched her chin, giving him a thorough, appraising look before shaking her head.
"Not even a little. You radiate more of a 'standard-issue otaku' vibe than 'smooth ladies' man.' vibe"
Masao shrugged. "Well, there you have it."
As they chatted, Chika idly scrolled through his social media feed. Her eyes widened as she noticed a pattern.
"Hey, Masao-kouhai... are you on a diet?"
Masao glanced at her screen. It was displaying one of his posts—a photo he'd taken after a morning run.
He had several similar posts, all documenting his weight loss journey. He thought it would be motivating to look back on this struggle after he finally reached his goal.
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