Chapter 2: The Snow Woman Wants to Be Scolded
Musashidai Academy High School. That’s the name of the school I attend.
It only offers a general curriculum, with nine classes per grade. Its deviation value is decent, as is its local reputation.
It’s one of those typical prep schools established during the baby boom and geographically located right in the heart of Tokyo—but to be honest, it’s more like a semi-suburban area far from the city center.
The only famous landmark nearby is a racetrack, making it a sort of “Derby” region, but thanks to that, the city’s finances seem prosperous enough. Whether or not our school benefits from that influence, its admission ratio keeps rising aggressively, defying today’s declining birth rates.
“Wow, it’s super crowded… Wait, did our cafeteria really have this many menu options before?”
Standing at the end of the lunch line, I asked while staring up at the price list taped to the counter.
“It definitely expanded after spring break,”
replied Takizawa. Since I usually skip lunch and buy bread, I hadn’t noticed.
“Look, ramen alone fills an entire column…”
“Our school’s pretty generous, huh? The principal’s loaded, so we’re rolling in dough.”
“So we’re just reaping the benefits?”
“Yeah. Some students even apply here just for this reason.”
“No kidding. You too?”
“Me? I instantly fell for the girl’s uniform and decided on the spot!”
Choosing a school just based on the uniform? That’s impressive. I’d actually respect someone who does that.
“So what about your reason for choosing here, Komori?”
“Because it’s close.”
“Talk about ‘go with the flow.’ By the way, where did you go to middle school?”
“…Kitashiraito Academy.”
“Kitashira?! That’s elite! A top-tier junior high/senior high combo, right? Did you actually apply separately?”
“Not at all… Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”
While exchanging this bland conversation, the cafeteria worker called out, “Next in line, please!” Our turn had come. Takizawa ordered tonkotsu ramen with gyoza and half rice (classic athlete combo), while I went for cold soba.
When we finally got our trays, there wasn’t a single free seat in the packed cafeteria. Just as I braced myself for the awkward wandering of a cafeteria refugee…
“Ah, Senpai Takizawa. This seat’s open, please.”
“Oh, thanks.”
Two guys nearby stood up, letting us take their spot.
“Soccer club juniors?”
I asked while mixing wasabi into my soba dip.
“Nah, just went to the same middle school.”
Takizawa replied, shoveling through his mountain of ramen sprouts.
What a difference between us—he’s the friendly type who knows everyone, while I’ve got that stupid nickname following me like a stubborn rumor. Since arriving here, I’ve repeatedly heard whispers like “bat” mixed in the noise. Even though eating with someone called that should be unpleasant, Takizawa looked oddly amused.
“Speaking of clubs, I heard from Maon. Your literature club’s doing something cool, huh?”
“…Not even a little.”
Two weeks into the new school year, clubs were finally getting serious.
Saku-senpai’s ridiculous demands—make a banner, get a TV commercial, land a big sponsor—thrilled Shishihara, who was already making posters herself and naturally excelling as the cheerfully loud promoter thanks to her artistic talent and outgoing personality.
In contrast, there was exactly one indifferent member.
“Isn’t that Komori’s club?” “What’s in those parentheses?” “Saku-senpai’s good at fortune-telling too?”
Every time someone asked, I’d quote, “A sparrow never understands the swan’s ambition.” Most classmates with common sense figured out my irritation by just looking at my expression like a broken record.
“Confessing sins to Succubus-senpai in a locked room… Just imagining it makes my balls tingle!”
This crude guy never reads the room. So that’s why he suddenly invited me to lunch.
“It’s definitely not that shady a club.”
“Eh? No extra options? I’d pay plenty, y’know~”
Watching Takizawa genuinely disappointed reminded me of Saku-senpai trying to put up signs like “[Free Guidance]” or “[One Hour Flat Rate]” outside the club room. She abandoned the idea after I gave her a serious scolding.
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“Anyway, I’m not involved in any of that.”
“Riiiight. Even though you gave Maon such a harsh scolding?”
“…I scolded her because she misunderstood the facts.”
“I think it was cool. Like, strictness out of affection, y’know? I say modern society needs more edge. They say more young people secretly want to be scolded.”
“You mean an urban legend, right?”
“Totally real. There’s a freshman this year who openly complains, ‘I want to be scolded more!'”
“Strict and enviable.”
“Probably because he’s a ‘Myudents.’ Big, curly-haired center defender—nickname’s Bomber Head.”
“Sounds like he could make the national team… But since he’s a Myudents, he wants even more scolding?”
“Exactly. You know Sensei Gouda, the club advisor?”
“The gorilla-looking one?”
“Yup. A former National Athlete teacher with a bodybuilder physique even near retirement age.”
“Right, right. But weirdly, that muscle-bound guy sometimes treats them like fragile glass… Maybe a ‘don’t touch a thing’ mentality?”
“Interesting.”
I nodded half-heartedly while slurping soba. Classic move.
Globally, Myudents’s occurrence rate is about one in ten—
about equal to left-handedness or AB blood type in Japan. Not particularly rare, but the key difference is this condition was only discovered about fifty years ago. Also, since genetics aren’t involved, anyone could develop it regardless of family ties.
Everyone maintains different distances. Teachers under public scrutiny probably can’t be blamed for playing it safe.
“Poor Bomber Head. Not exactly ostracized… but people keep their distance. Talking about Myudents’s basically taboo.”
“Funny how everyone follows suit… So you’re having trouble handling him too?”
“Nah, I bring it up constantly. Turns out he really looks up to me now! Hahaha!”
I genuinely respect this guy sometimes. This time, not sarcastically.
“Oh, speaking of, something reminds me.”
Takizawa, already finished his ramen, reached for gyoza.
“By the way, who’s the advisor for your literature club?”
“Uhh… Who was it again?”
“Why’re you asking me?”
Uncharacteristically reasonable retort. We’d hijacked that dying club a year ago. Even though we barely maintain club activities, there should be an advisor listed somewhere.
“Honestly, never thought about it.”
As I shrugged offhandedly,
“I think you should care a little more…”
A voice gently chided. It was Maihama, a classmate I recognized, giving me an exasperated look.
“Oh! Maihama-san!”
This flirtatious guy suddenly brightened, switching to a sugary voice.
“Hello, Komori-kun… and Takizawa-kun too.”
Adding Takizawa as an afterthought suggested she specifically came for me.
“I thought I should pass along something from the student council early.”
“…Good news? Bad news?”
Asking felt pointless—I already sensed the worst.
“More like bad news.”
Predictably, Maihama’s elegant eyebrows drooped as she touched her cheek.
“You probably didn’t know, but originally, the literature club advisor was Shiokawa-sensei from the Japanese department.”
“Never heard that name.” My reaction got “Me neither” from Takizawa.
“Well, she didn’t teach our grade, and she took maternity leave this year.”
“Congrats, but that means…”
“Right. So the advisor position’s vacant. Usually, someone would take over during leave… but the teachers seem unaware the club still exists.”
Makes sense. We secretly took over the club so quietly.
“Turns out that’s actually a critical issue, more important than activity reports.”
“So they want us to find a replacement ASAP?”
“Exactly. You okay with that?”
“Dunno. I’ll tell the other members first.”
“Real cold-blooded, huh? Sounded like ‘I’m not helping’ to me.”
“Eh? Of course not!”
“…”
Since she hit the nail on the head, I kept silent. “Anyway though!” Takizawa dramatically shifted gears, rubbing his hands together.
“Hey hey, Maihama-saaaan. Are you free this Sunday?”
He made zero effort hiding his flirtation. “Sunday?” Maihama answered smoothly without a single sour face.
“Maybe grab some delicious dessert together?”
“I’m sorry, I always work on Sundays.”
“Oh~? What kind of job?”
“Just regular customer service.”
“You’d totally suit that… Hey, what about next Saturday then?”
“Mostly busy with club and student council stuff. Seriously, sorry.”
She rejected him politely but firmly. As I smugly thought “Serves him right,”
“Aw, too bad… Oh, wait, actually, I wanted to ask you something, Maihama-san. Just curiosity, not anything dirty… Is your skin super smooth like a baby’s egg?”
“My skin?”
“Yeah! See, Komori was just saying how mermaid skin has all this water resistance or something… Ouch, why’d you kick me?!”
I kicked Takizawa under the table. Don’t drag people into your harassment!
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