That quiet Saturday afternoon felt impossibly distant now. The woman with flaxen hair he'd met at Café Harbor Bell. Her words—"I'll be in your care at your school next week"—had been echoing in Nishikata's head ever since. No way she was a student teacher. And on top of that, she knew about his school days. Monday. The faculty office at Kasumigaoka High was stirring to life a little earlier than usual. The humid June air drifted in through the open windows. Nishikata stood before three long desks newly arranged by the window. Desks for the student teachers. He checked each one for wobbling legs, then went through the drawers one by one to make sure the necessary documents were properly stocked. *(I was in the same spot three years ago, huh.)* Straightening a stack of handouts, Nishikata let out a small sigh. Back when he was a student teacher, he'd just been desperate. Scrambling to prepare lessons, stammering in front of the students, every day rushing past like a storm. Now, he was the one doing the guiding. "It's a real responsibility, isn't it." His murmur echoed faintly through the quiet faculty office. Starting today, three student teachers would spend a month at this school. One of them was that woman, Houjou. Just thinking about it made his stomach feel a little heavy. He couldn't quite figure out why. It was just that the sensation of being seen straight through to the depths of his heart—when those blue eyes had fixed on him—still lingered vividly. Nishikata shook his head. *(No, I need to focus.)* He picked up the bundle of teaching materials. First period today was classical literature. How to teach the students the next part of *The Tale of Genji*. This was work. He didn't have time to dwell on unnecessary things. With that thought, he turned his back to the faculty office entrance and readjusted the materials in his arms. That was when it happened. "[whispers]...It's been a while." A voice came from behind him. A faintly trembling sound, yet one with a nostalgic ring—tucked away deep, deep in Nishikata's memories. Nishikata's heart stopped for an instant. The feeling of every bit of air being forced from his lungs. *(Huh?)* There was no way he could mistake that voice. But there was no way it could be. After all, she was so far away now. His body turned, stiffly. His neck moved slowly, like a rusted machine, and his gaze caught the entrance to the faculty office. Standing there was— Glossy black hair reaching down to her waist. Gentle eyes, slightly downturned at the corners. Those eyes, a little more narrow than they'd been back then, were now looking straight at him. A face he hadn't forgotten once in ten years. An adult Takagi-san was standing there. "Wha—!?" The shock was so great that the bundle of teaching materials slipped from his hands. *Flap-flap-flap-flap!!* With a spectacular noise, the photocopied handouts scattered across every inch of the floor. A pitiful mess of *Tale of Genji* worksheets. The few other teachers in the faculty office all turned to look at Nishikata at once. Silence. And then. "Pfft..." Takagi-san pressed a hand to her mouth. Her shoulders trembled slightly. She was desperately trying to hold it in, but she couldn't. That was the kind of laugh it was. "Ah, ahaha! N-Nishikata-kun... you really haven't changed." She laughed. As if she'd time-slipped back over a decade. The way she narrowed her eyes mischievously and laughed out loud—that face instantly reverted the woman who was supposed to be an adult back into the second-year middle schooler, the Takagi-san of those days. "Ah, uh... um..." Nishikata felt his already scrambled brain turn into a complete mess. What *was* this situation? The first thing he showed someone he was reuniting with after ten years was the blunder of dropping all his teaching materials. And on top of that, she was laughing at him. *(So much for having changed... I'm just...)* Nishikata unconsciously scratched behind his ear. This habit only came out when he was truly at a loss. Seeing that, Takagi-san's laughter stopped abruptly. Her gaze was drawn to the spot behind Nishikata's ear. "Ah..." Takagi-san's cheeks flushed redder by the second. It wasn't just from laughing too much—there seemed to be a different kind of warmth there. She looked down in a fluster and began fidgeting with her hair. Just moments ago she'd been laughing so much, but now her lips were pressed tightly together. "...S-sorry. For laughing." Her voice was much smaller than before. "N-no... I'm the one who was surprised. I never imagined you'd be a student teacher, Takagi-san." Nishikata crouched down and desperately gathered the scattered handouts. Even as he did, his mind remained completely blank. His heart, belatedly, began to pound like a frantic drum. Ten years. For ten years, he'd been filled with regret. Why couldn't he have put it into words properly that day? His past self, who could only manage to say "Take care." *(And yet.)* After ten years, this was their reunion. Nishikata couldn't stop his hands from picking up the handouts. It was easier that way—he didn't have to look at her face. Takagi-san crouched down too and began gathering the papers. Their hands, on the floor, came perilously close to touching several times. *(She's close.)* Nishikata pulled his hand back. Takagi-san also flinched and stopped her hand for a moment. And then, an awkward silence flowed between them. The murmur of the classrooms, the distant shouts from club activities—everything sounded like noise from a faraway world. It was as if time had stopped only in the space between Nishikata and Takagi-san. "...Um." "...Hey." Their voices overlapped. And then, silence again. *(What is this...)* Nishikata held his head in his hands internally. That was when it happened. "[gentle]Good morning." A quiet voice, one that slipped smoothly through the membrane of the air, cut in between them. When Nishikata looked up, the woman he'd met at the café on Saturday was standing there. Loose, wavy flaxen hair reaching down to her waist. Deep, blue-tinged eyes that looked somewhat drowsy. In her hands, as before, she carried a small sketchbook. It was Houjou-san. "Ah... huh!? Y-you're..." Nishikata stopped picking up the handouts entirely and stared up at her blankly. Why was she here? No, of course she was here—she was a student teacher. *(But... pretending not to know me?)* Despite how much they'd talked on Saturday, Houjou's demeanor was perfectly composed, as if she were meeting Nishikata for the first time. No, not for the first time. Her eyes were fixed squarely on Nishikata. But her gaze contained none of the familiarity that said, "I know you." It was simply the look of a student teacher regarding her supervising instructor. "I'm Houjou, and I'll be in your care during my teaching practicum. I'm in charge of art. It's a pleasure to meet you." She gave a deep bow. It was such a smooth and perfect greeting that it was hard to believe this was a first meeting. "Y-yes... likewise. I'm Nishikata, Japanese literature department." Nishikata bowed his head, still in a state of confusion. Houjou lifted her face. That gesture, too, was as quiet as a painting. Then her gaze slowly turned toward Takagi-san, who was crouched down beside Nishikata in the same manner. "...Do you mind if I sit next to you?" "Huh? Oh, yes. Of course." Takagi-san stood up, looking a little flustered. Her face was still slightly red. As Houjou placed her sketchbook on her own desk, she spoke with an incredibly natural flow. "[gentle]You two were classmates in middle school, weren't you." It wasn't a question. It was a statement of confirmation, spoken with near certainty. "Huh?" Nishikata nearly dropped the handouts again. How did she— "[surprised]Did you already know that I'm an alumna of Shiomi Middle School, Nishikata-sensei?" Houjou's blue eyes fixed on Nishikata. Those eyes unmistakably said that she knew about "what happened on Saturday" and was deliberately hiding it now. "N-no... th-that's not..." Nishikata stammered incoherently. *(I didn't tell her. She told me on Saturday. But I can't say that. Then how would I know about it...?)* Nishikata's mind was in full-blown panic now. Beside him, Takagi-san wore a complicated expression, her gaze cast downward. "Classmates in middle school." Those words seemed to gouge out the ten-year gap between them and all the feelings left unspoken. Houjou quietly compared the flustered Nishikata and the silent Takagi-san. Her gaze wasn't so much piercing as it was gently enveloping. The corners of her mouth softened, just barely. It was a pensive, yet all-accepting, tender smile. *Something more than just classmates.* From the painfully awkward atmosphere flowing between the two of them, Houjou was now certain of it. Nishikata couldn't understand why the woman in front of him was pretending not to know him. Nor could he understand how she could so easily see through what existed between him and Takagi-san. Unable to comprehend either, all he could do was stand there rooted to the spot. His hands, picking up the handouts, stopped completely. The humid June wind blew in through the window, rustling a few sheets of paper on the floor. The reunion after ten years—with misunderstandings, awkwardness, and the new, quiet wave that was Houjou—had begun with a stiffness no one could have predicted.