Work Text:
Every now and then, after a bout of rain, it’s normal to observe mushrooms growing in the school field. Keiji hasn’t thought too hard about what happens to the mushrooms afterwards. Do they just wither and disappear? Are they eaten by birds? Are they removed by a gardener from the same company as the janitorial staff they employ?
He’s still contemplating all this when Hoshi approaches him. “I had a question, but it seems like you’re busy,” Hoshi says.
“Mushrooms,” Keiji murmurs.
“It’s not urgent,” Hoshi continues, in that straightforward and even way of his, and walks away. “Don’t forget to submit your lesson plans for the remedial summer program by today.”
“Oh no, my lesson plans,” Keiji says unhappily.
The school bell rings.
“Oh no, my lesson plans!” he repeats, slightly relieved, as he makes his way to his first class.
The mushrooms are still there during lunch break, accompanied by four girls, who seem to be having a picnic.
Ordinarily, Keiji would leave them alone, but it’s almost five minutes to next period and he is a teacher, after all.
“Will plucking the mushrooms release spores?” he hears one of the girls asking seriously, as he approaches them. “What if they take root in our lungs and we die? I don’t want to be the world’s first victim of mycological hanahaki.”
He stops. Mycological hanahaki? he thinks, then, Huh? Hanahaki?
“Hanahaki only happens when the person you love doesn’t love you back… Say, if you’re in a one-sided love with Rei Makoto, why aren’t you coughing up mushroom stalks?”
“That’s not hanahaki, though? Hanahaki involves coughing up flowers, it’s literally in the name. Maybe what Itsumi-chan would face is kino-haki?”
Ah. It’s probably an urban legend, like those that originated from the cell phone stories Keiji’s classmates used to read.
Chihiro—the only one of the group Keiji recognises, as she’s a volleyball club member—shakes her head. “If that’s the case, I think I’d want to have enoki-haki if I’m suffering from a one-sided love. The stems are thinner, so they’ll be less painful.”
One of them clears her throat. “Hanahaki doesn’t exist, you guys. It’s all tropes, tropes!”
“My point still stands,” the first girl continues. “I don’t want to be a human incubator of mushroom spores.”
“Lunch period is almost over, time to head back to class,” Keiji says, and the girls jump at his voice.
“Hello, Kobayashi-senseiiiiiii,” they greet in unison, then with some reluctance, begin to pick up their things.
“The ground isn’t that dry, so why choose today of all days to have a picnic?” he asks.
“Ah, we agreed on it last week and it seemed like today would be the best day… See, we’re from the same class in middle school, but we’re not in the same classes or clubs now, so we wanted to establish a new tradition,” Chihiro explains to him.
“That’s nice, but why not picnic in a sheltered area?”
Another girl looks at him, slightly exasperated. “It’s not the same, sensei. Have you not gone on a picnic before? Not even for hanami? Are you that unromantic? What does your girlfriend think?”
After many years of teaching in a girls’ school, never mind his years alive, Keiji knows all the tricks teenage girls will pull to get you to confess things. “Class,” he repeats, firmly.
“Yes, senseiiiiiii,” they chorus. As they shuffle away, he hears someone murmur, “Men really are so unromantic.”
“Yeah,” her friend drawls. “I’m never going to date.”
“See you during remedial summer lessons, sensei!” Chihiro calls.
Ah, Keiji thinks dejectedly. My lesson plans.
Keiji is in the process of opening a word document, planning to make the most of his free period, when Torii leans over and says, “Did you hear that Oka-sensei got a new nickname?”
“Oh?” Midorikawa, who also has a free period, turns to her. “What managed to dethrone Yakisoba Sommelier?”
“Ah, it’s not Oka-sensei who teaches Literature. He’s still Yakisoba Sommelier.”
Keiji stares at the blank document. The cursor blinks back at him.
Midorikawa sits up. “Social studies Oka-sensei?” she says.
From the corner of his eye, Keiji can see Torii nodding furiously.
“What is it?” Keiji looks away from his computer. The lesson plans won’t take more than half an hour, and he can copy some things from what he submitted last year.
“Oh,” Torii says. “Class One-Three had a debate, but everyone agreed on Yakuza Pen Pal in the end.”
“Yakuza Pen Pal?” Keiji wonders out loud.
“It’s like this,” Torii starts.
Two periods ago:
Oka-sensei, with the flat, unblinking eyes of fishes you see at the market, picks up the worksheets he’s printed and starts handing them out.
“Please tackle this assessment as honestly as you can,” he says. “I will not strictly enforce exam conditions, but you won’t be allowed to consult your textbook or classmates. Does anyone have any questions?”
Futaba raises her hand.
“Futaba-san?”
“Oka-sensei, who is that man who gave you a lift to the station today?” The class, half-asleep and on their way to failing the assessment, immediately snap to attention. “The car was so nice, too, my sister said she’s never even breathed near a Rolls Royce before. Previously, the closest she’s ever been to a Royce was the Royce in Royce Chocolate.”
“Sensei, why are you getting lifts in expensive cars?” Suzuki exclaims. “Is your family rich? Most importantly, why did he not drive you to work?”
“People need to work, too.” Oka-sensei says, and then presses his mouth together when the class sits up even straighter.
“So it’s not a family chauffeur,” Shimura, their level’s second-top student, says seriously.
“Quiet, all of you!” Oka-sensei’s voice booms. “If you do not finish this assessment—” The lenses of his glasses gleaming menacingly. “You will forfeit your chance to escape being entered into the battle royale for students on the brink of failing social studies.”
“Huh?” Keiji says.
“That was what I overheard,” Torii says patiently.
Keiji stares at her. “It seems like we’ve changed genres entirely? Also, this seems very uncharacteristic of Oka-sensei?”
“I did hear about this, too,” Wada comments. “It seems like Suzuki-san’s brother discovered their father’s DVD of Battle Royale, and it’s been a hot topic in their class for a week now.”
“Is there a point to this flashback?” Hoshi, who appeared in the middle of Torii’s retelling, asks. Keiji blinks. He’s never noticed it before, but it seems like more teachers than usual have this period free?
“Anyway,” Torii says seriously. “So—”
Two periods ago (again):
“He wore a suit,” Futaba declares. “I couldn’t see his face clearly, but he didn’t seem to be that ugly for an ojisan.”
Oka-sensei’s brow twitches.
“A suit?” Another student exclaims. “Is he a businessman?”
“He looked a bit scary, though less scary than Nakamura-sensei.” Futaba replies. “Maybe it’s an illegal business?”
In addition to Battle Royale, Suzuki had also been loaning out her father’s Kitano Takeshi DVDs to her classmates, which might have contributed to their overactive imaginations. The teachers would not learn of this fact.
Two periods ago (continued):
“Class,” Oka-sensi says. “If there aren’t any questions relating to the assessment, we’ll begin soon.”
Oka-sensei studied to be a teacher, but there was a difference between education and field experience, and handling a classroom of high school girls was only something that would come with time for most.
“Sensei, we’ll do the assessment diligently if you tell us who that is,” Suzuki declares.
“Who is it? What does he work as? Why can’t he drop you off at school every day? When did you meet?” Futaba’s rapid-fire questions would have fazed the average person, but fortunately for Oka-sensei, he was immune to harassment.
“If you finish this assessment, I’ll reply to one of your questions,” he said, which successfully shut the class up.
“And then?” Hoshi says.
“Then, they began to take the assessment,” Torii says.
“Huh?” Hoshi’s brow furrows. “So how did Yakuza Pen Pal originate?”
“That’s all I heard,” Torii explains cheerfully.
Hoshi looks at her in disbelief. Midorikawa and Keiji both share a laugh, then sigh.
“I’ll look forward to the rest of the story in the future, then,” Keiji says.
Hoshi leans back in his seat. “In any case,” he says, “at least Oka-sensei finally has a new nickname.”
Midorikawa smiles. “You were quite bothered by the old one, weren’t you?”
“To be honest, I thought more people would question it.” Hoshi grimaces. “I didn’t expect it to last as long as it did.”
Keiji scratches his chin. “Was it something we were supposed to question?”
“Well, I was expecting more people to have said, ‘Why Hoshi Two?’ or something along those lines.”
“Hmm?” Keiji says. “I suppose it’s because it’s clear…?”
Hoshi continues to look troubled. At that very moment, the Oka-sensei in question enters the staff room to retrieve a book from his table before departing again, a polite but frazzled air about him.
“That’s why,” Torii says.
“Yeah,” Midorikawa agrees. “Oka-sensei is young, and their glasses frames aren’t the same, but it’s a similar vibe?”
“Our shirts are different,” Hoshi protests.
“A flat collar and a stand-up collar are different, that’s true,” Torii agrees.
“Kobayashi-sensei,” Mizuhara says, as he enters the classroom for final period, “is it true that Oka-sensei who teaches social studies is from a yakuza family?”
The students’ eyes are fixed on Keiji.
“Class Four’s Riko-chan said that he grew up in Osaka,” she continues, her expression serious.
“What rumours have been going around again?” Keiji says, feigning stupidity.
The class sits straighter. Mizuhara clears her throat. “So,” she begins. “It’s like this…”
“Good work today,” Oka says, as he packs his things.
“Good work today,” Keiji echoes. “Ah, I’m looking forward to not doing anything tonight. What about you, Oka-sensei?”
Oka checks his phone. “We’re going to have dinner at this new ramen place Kyouji-san’s ex-colleague’s daughter’s fiancé’s parents just opened. It’s supposed to be good, but we’ll see.”
Keiji makes a noncommittal sound. “Let me know how it is. If it’s good, I might visit it in the future. Oh! I haven’t managed to talk to you today, but Narita-san upsized my drink for free when I visited his tapioca tea store over the weekend, so help me thank him again.”
Oka nods. “I will. I’ll go first, then. His car is almost here.”
“See you,” Keiji says.
He begins closing the windows on his work computer, ready to head home, when a blank word document appears before him.
“Oh no, my lesson plans,” he says unhappily.