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1.
This year’s freshman school play was put on by Class 1-4, led by the slightly new and relatively unburdened Oka-sensei. When it was first announced, he received many congratulations and comparatively more sympathetic pats on the shoulder.
Unlike previous years, where students had opted to perform more traditional, well-known stories such as ‘Cinderella’, ‘Momotaro’, ‘Hansel and Gretel’ and ‘The Battle of Dan-no-Uta and the Drowning of Emperor Antoku While Carrying the Grass-Cutting Sword’, this year’s choice of play was slightly different.
“‘Come Back, Rikako’,” Hoshi said, staring at the hand-painted poster.
“It’s based on a doujinshi created by two former Narimori students,” Oka replied. “One’s a published mangaka and the other’s a webtoon writer. They collaborated on this when they were in high school.”
Hoshi pointed to a figure on the poster. “There’s a sumo wrestler. Why is there also a sheep?”
“It was created during their experimental phase,” Oka explained wearily. One had the impression he had already explained this many times. “The selection of the work was straightforward, but it made everyone in class crave oden. Someone brought a pot. The class learned how to build a campfire from the Wilderness Survival Club members and cooked it at the area near the back of the school. By the time I found out about it, they had already turned a profit.”
“It’s easy to buy portable stoves these days, though? Ah, by any chance, is the mangaka’s name Matsuoka-san?” Hoshi said as the thought occurred to him, then caught sight of Oka’s expression. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard. What happened to the money?”
“Thank you for the sympathy.” Oka adjusted the poster board. “They spent the money on props. As for the mangaka, she’s writing under a pseudonym, so I’m not sure what her name is.”
They stared at the poster for a while longer.
“My sympathies as well,” Oka said, breaking the silence. “You’re welcome to hide out here for as long as you need.”
“Thank you,” Hoshi replied, as he straightened out the skirt of his maid uniform.
2.
The cornerstone of every successful school cultural festival, as everyone knew, was the maid cafe. Yoshikuni Senior High, a nearby all-boys school that Narimori girls loathed and also sought boyfriends from in equal measure, was particularly famous for theirs. Supposedly, a different club would be given the honour of hosting it every year, in accordance with which currently had the highest concentration of ikemen.
Unfortunately, as much as Narimori was filled with girls full of alternative ideas like organising a maid cafe entirely staffed by boys, it was a girls’ school and therefore lacked boys who could be sacrificed for such a concept.
The privilege of being hired as staff, naturally, fell to teachers and family members.
(In previous years, girls would volunteer a boyfriend or two, but that inevitably led to conflict, which always left the cafe shorthanded on event day. Therefore, guys who already had no choice but to attend or were blessed with the fortune of being related to a Narimori girl were a convenient solution.)
“It’s a shame we couldn’t get Suzuki-san’s brother to help us out,” Yoshida Kiko said, as she solemnly addressed her class and the cafe staffers. “He’s a swimmer, and athletes are usually handsome… If they aren’t, they can make up for it with their bodies. If you get an okay-looking guy with muscles to take off his shirt and put him in an apron with rabbit ears and a bobtail, we’d be able to make a lot of money.”
“Please don’t speak like that in front of your teacher,” Hoshi said.
“Sorry, sensei,” Kiko replied, unapologetically. “By the way, Hoshi-sensei, please work on your smile a bit more when you’re greeting customers. We want them to feel welcome, and happy customers will always spend more. That way, we’ll definitely win against Kobayashi-sensei’s class.”
Asumi frowns. “Do we have to? We already lost to them during the sports festival and at Para Para… I don’t really want to go through all that again.”
“You know how my sister’s as terrible at losing as she is stubborn,” Kimio, Kiko’s twin brother, volunteered. “So even if you have your own ideals, it’s always better to go along with her plans.”
“I see,” Hoshi said, feeling no stress at all as he looked at Kimio’s absurdly handsome face, currently framed by an equally absurd cat headband. “Actually, why don’t we get Kimio to stand out front instead of me?”
Kiko made a face. “You might not mind losing, Hoshi-sensei, but it’s war between us and Class 3-1. Kimi-chan’s ugly face is just going to scare them all away.”
Kimio made a lazy clawing motion. “Nyan. As if.”
3.
Class 2-2, led by a certain Kobayashi-sensei, had none of the hangups that Hoshi-sensei’s Class 2-3 had. What they struggled with, though, was making a decision about what to do for the cultural festival. Much research was undertaken during silent study period, where students read manga, watched movies and anime episodes, then were forced into a choice by Kobayashi when the date to start preparing was long past.
Of their many choices, this won out:
“Your wig is crooked, Watanabe-san,” Kobayashi pointed out. Someone hurried over, adjusting the wig before pulling a tube from her waist bag and applying a glue-type product to Watanabe’s wayward sideburn.
“I still think Kana-chan should have been blond,” Futaba commented.
“Is there a rule prohibiting more than one blond wig in a genderbent host concept?” Kobayashi asks.
“You can’t have more than one light-haired character,” Suzuki said calmly. “It gets confusing, and Mika’s skin tone is better suited to it.”
“It’s true, Mika’s more of a Tamaki.”
“Did you know that Mika grandparents are fruit sellers, too?”
“Wait, how is this relevant? Why are we talking about selling fruit?”
“It’s still better, Kana-chan has protagonist syndrome and we really shouldn’t be encouraging that…”
“Potential customers are coming,” Kobayashi announced, relieved for an excuse to put an end to the conversation.
“I’ve got it,” Ito, the volleyball club’s middle blocker, said lazily. She sauntered past them to intercept the group of girls about to pass their classroom.
“Hello, beautiful ladies,” she said, one hand on her chest as she bowed.
“Huh? I-Ito-senpai?”
Ito pulled a rose from god-knows-where (up her sleeve) and placed it between her teeth. “Keh tuh join uth?” she said, the (thankfully, de-thorned) rose still clutched between her teeth.
“Huh? Er, huh? Huhhhh?” The girls exclaimed, as they were forcefully swept into the classroom and forced onto couches scavenged from around the school and buried under layers of velvet fabric loaned from Hashimoto’s mother’s sister-in-law’s best friend’s wholesale fabric supply business. Unfortunately, not every class was as forward-thinking and enterprising as Oka-san’s; instead of buying props with the profits from running an illegal oden stall that led to a revision of the existing school rules and an emergency morning announcement banning unsanctioned student-led food sales, especially since they lacked food and hygiene certifications from the relevant authorities, Kobayashi’s class had spent two weeks passionately trying to sell him on their proposal for a haunted house battle royale-themed cafe where entrants had to fight for the right to eat.
“That’s not a very good idea,” Hoshi remarked when Kobayashi shared that fact. “Especially when the point of a cultural festival is to convince potential students to enrol.”
They sat in silence and watched a group of first-years as they encouraged their blushing friend to sit next to Hasegawa-san.
“That’s a good hair colour on Hasegawa,” Hoshi said.
“Hoshi-sensei has a good eye for this,” Kobayashi replied.
They lapsed into silence again.
“Actually, a haunted house battle royale-themed cafe would’ve been cool,” Kobayashi said regretfully. He caught Hoshi’s eye. “And very effective if the goal was to boost enrolment,” he added hastily, having accrued a certain wisdom from having taught high school girls for almost a decade.
“Even so, it’s still not the best idea,” Hoshi—who had almost as many years of experience in addition to having many, many sisters and being the father of a girl but also privately thought of himself as marginally more practical than his colleagues—replied.
In all, for a fairly half-baked concept (the wigs were discarded by the second hour, joining the moustaches and sideburns that had mysteriously vanished by the first), their class was making a respectable profit. It probably wasn’t comparable to 2-3’s maid cafe, but Kobayashi felt very content not having to wear a maid apron like Hoshi was.
4.
The silent hit of the festival turned out to be Class 1-3’s skewers stand, which had totally sold, like, over two thousand skewers (according to their class’s Riko-san, who, despite her enthusiasm, was never really good with math—and why she was relegated to greeter instead of cashier). Even now, students were on emergency runs to the supermarket for additional sticks, meat and spices.
“You know, these are really good,” Hoshi said, slowly chewing on one. “I didn’t know that you cooked.”
“I’ve been taking lessons recently.” Tori flipped the skewers on the grill and brushed them with a glaze. To her right, three students were attending to customers and serving orders. Others were helping to manage the queue.
“Well, they’re a good teacher.” Kobayashi was already on his fifteenth skewer. Hoshi was used to his voracious appetite, as one does when one has to eat beside one’s deskmate in the teacher’s office often, but it was still a sight to witness.
“Hoshi-sensei?” Kiko’s voice suddenly rang out. “Has anyone seen Hoshi-sensei?” He’s supposed to be on shift now!”
Hoshi ducked; his regret came as swiftly as his actions were immediate.
“Hoshi-sensei?”
Hoshi looked up at Tori and Kobayashi. They remained silent while Hoshi nursed his pride.
Tori looked away, focusing on her skewers. Hoshi made up his mind to express his gratitude at a future opportunity. “If you don’t mind it, you should attend the alumni talk in the school hall,” she said. “They need more audience members, and Nakamura-sensei’s Music Appreciation Club will be performing after that, too.”
Kobayashi nodded. “Last I heard, Mugen-sensei and the student council members were staking out the area, and anyone unlucky enough to wander into that radius ended up getting kidnapped—ah, no, they were strongly encouraged to attend.” The pile of used skewer sticks on his plate had grown remarkably since the last time Hoshi paid it any attention. “The students are avoiding going anywhere near it for the time being.”
Hoshi didn’t answer.
“It looks like Yoshida-san’s headed in this direction,” Tori said.
“I'll check if Mugen-sensei needs my help right now,” Hoshi declared.
4.5
“Say, why doesn’t Hoshi-sensei just change out of that outfit? It’d definitely be easier than trying to hide.” Tori said, as she cleared the mountain of skewer sticks on Kobayashi’s plate.
“His wife’s bringing their daughter over later, and she wanted to see him in it because she helped make his apron.” Kobayashi drank his soda and looked at the can sadly. “The skewers would go well with a beer.”
“You could have put some in a sports bottle and drank it like that,” Tori pointed out.
Kobayashi’s face fell even more.
She placed more skewers on his plate. “Still, it’s not good to have a beer while we’re at school.”
“You’re right.”
5.
“Oh.”
“Oh.”
Hoshi and Nakamura reached up to adjust their glasses in unison, for lack of anything to do with their hands in this awkward situation, then realised the added awkwardness of the situation and lowered them.
“Nakamura-sensei looks, ah,” Hoshi paused. “Um.”
Nakamura smoothed the front of his frilly pink apron, which was embroidered with strawberries. “It’s not as straightforward as Hoshi-sensei’s.” He laughed awkwardly. “Performance outfits tend to be like that.”
Hoshi tried to avoid staring directly at the furry pink cat-ear headband on Nakamura’s head. “Yes. Of course.”
“You see, one of the students fell ill and nobody else really knew how to do her part…” Nakamura let out an awkward laugh again and reached up to adjust his glasses. Hoshi’s arm was halfway up to do the same; he froze, then lowered it.
“Of course.” Hoshi considered what the best thing to say would be. “It’s a relief you’re similar sizes.”
“A relief…” Nakamura smiled, but there was a blankness behind his eyes. “I suppose so…”
6.
“I think this year’s festival went rather well.” Kobayashi scratched his chin. “Say, I never knew Nakamura-sensei could sing this well? Although, why did the students choose to form a Strawberry Samurai cover band? Are they still popular? Didn’t they disband a few years ago?”
Tori nodded. “Yeah, they did. Komori-chan was totally depressed for an entire month when the news first came out.”
“I wonder if he’ll keep that maid outfit…” Kobayashi murmured.
“I believe he’ll need to return it to the student he borrowed it from,” Hoshi said stiffly.
“Oh.” Kobayashi sounded oddly disappointed. “I see.”
“To be honest, I think I wouldn't mind being in charge of the school play again next year,” Oka declared, his expression a strange mix of disbelief and incredible relief.