Several days had passed since the morning she'd wiped the windows alongside Sensei Sakuma. It was when she'd been called to the staff room because of Rikuto's trouble. That brief exchange. The way he'd said, "That's only natural," and turned his gaze away toward the window — that profile. Shiori found herself dragging it along with her. Though she wasn't even sure if "dragging it along" was the right way to describe it. The day of the PTA cleaning activity dawned unusually clear for early summer. In the gymnasium of Ushio Wind Elementary School, some fifteen parents had gathered. In gym clothes, in aprons, and among them a meticulous mother who'd carefully folded her own cloth and brought it along. Shiori wore an old T-shirt she'd washed the night before, her black hair tied back in a single knot. Vice Principal Ozaki Noriko stood with a roster in hand. A thin woman in her fifties, wearing a beige cardigan and glasses. The type who always spoke with precision, in a slightly businesslike tone. "Now I'll assign the areas," Names were read off in a flat, steady rhythm. Gymnasium floor polishing group, schoolyard trash collection group, window wiping group— "Mizunatsuki-san, I'll have you do the hallway B block windows," "Yes," She felt nothing in particular about it. She remembered doing hallway windows last year too. She took the cloth and water bucket and was about to head toward the assigned hallway — when it happened. The mother next to her leaned in with a hushed voice. "[whispers]Oh, Mizunatsuki-san. I heard the teacher assigned to hallway B is Sensei Sakuma. That must be tough, being alone with that teacher," It was a voice that mixed sympathy with curiosity in equal measure. But before Shiori could even answer "Is that so," her gaze caught something — at the entrance to the hallway, Tsubasa Sakuma was already standing there. Black hair, neatly trimmed short. The sleeves of his navy shirt rolled up properly, the cloth already wrung out in his hands. His gray eyes were directed toward the hallway windows, completely unhearing of the parent's hushed voice from moments ago — or rather, even if he heard it, he didn't seem to care. Shiori let out a wry smile. (Tough? He's already started working.) She gripped the cloth again and headed toward the hallway. --- Window wiping was a strange sort of task. It didn't require conversation, or any particular thinking. Just moving the cloth, wiping away the dirt from the glass. Two people doing the same thing, side by side. The first five minutes or so passed in silence. From a distance, she could hear the voices of other parents. Someone laughing. The floor polishing group sounded lively. But this hallway was quiet. Only the sound of Shiori wiping glass with her cloth, and Sakuma doing the same, echoing back and forth. After a while, Shiori noticed something. (…Wait.) Sakuma glanced over at her. His gaze returned to the window immediately. But then, a moment later, he looked again. As Shiori wiped the corner of a window, Sakuma's hand suddenly reached out right there — and smoothly filled in what she'd missed. Not praising. Not correcting. Just — filling in. It happened a second time. Then a third. (Was he watching me the whole time?) The moment that awareness bloomed, Shiori's hand wavered. The cloth fell to the floor. A soft, clumsy *pat*. She hurried to pick it up, crouching down — and Sakuma crouched at the same moment — their hands came within a distance of almost touching. Sakuma quickly pulled his hand back. "[gentle]Go ahead," Short, low voice. No emotion in it, just a single word. But Shiori's face grew warm. There was no reason for it. It just grew warm. "S-sorry," She picked up the cloth and stood. Sakuma turned back to the window as if nothing had happened. That profile of his, quiet again, serious again — Shiori deliberately turned toward the opposite window and began wiping that instead. (Calm down. It's nothing. Just a cleaning activity.) She told herself this while moving the cloth. Beyond the window lay the schoolyard. The early summer green glowed vivid in the sunlight. --- Silence continued for a while. Shiori made sure not to look at Sakuma anymore, steadily wiping the windows. When she'd grown accustomed to the silence — Sakuma spoke. Still looking out at the schoolyard beyond the window, in a low voice. "[serious]I heard from Rikuto-kun," Shiori's hand stopped. "That your homemade lunches are delicious even when they're cold," "You wake up early every morning to make them," Cloth still in hand, Shiori froze. (Rikuto told the teacher… something like that?) Lunches made from leftovers in the refrigerator. Every morning at four-thirty, she'd wake up, cook rice, make tamagoyaki, pack the simmered vegetables. Rikuto had never complained. But that was just "not complaining," and honestly, she'd never known for certain whether he actually thought they were delicious. "…Why do you know something like that?" Her voice rose slightly. "[serious]He told me himself during lunch period," With just that answer, Sakuma resumed wiping the windows. Shiori couldn't respond. Her chest was full of something warm, something unsettled — a sensation she couldn't quite explain. That Rikuto had said such a thing. That this man had remembered it properly, and was telling her about it now. (This person… he really listens to Rikuto's words. Every day.) "…Thank you very much," That was all she could finally squeeze out. Her voice trembled slightly. Sakuma didn't say "not at all" or "please." He simply continued wiping the windows in silence. Shiori moved her cloth too. The windows grew clean. Beyond them, the schoolyard's green swayed gently. --- When the cleaning activity ended, everyone gathered back in the gymnasium. Vice Principal Ozaki offered words of appreciation, and they were dismissed. Parents filed out into the hallway and began preparing to leave. Shiori also stood at the edge of the group, returning her cloth while gathering her things. That's when she heard two mothers talking a little way down the hallway. "[whispers]Sensei Sakuma really is hard to approach, isn't he? I heard he didn't make any small talk at all today," "[whispers]Right. He's got a reputation for being cold. With a teacher like that as your child's homeroom teacher…" Shiori's hands stopped. (That's wrong.) She immediately countered in her heart. (He's not like that. He really listens to Rikuto's words. He remembered that his lunches are delicious even when they're cold. Someone like that can't be cold.) But she couldn't say it aloud. She had no reason to, no position to. Shiori simply picked up her things and walked away in silence. On the way home, she reached into her bag to get her bicycle key. It wasn't there. She tried again. Still not there. Side pocket, main zipper, inner pocket — on the third try, she finally found it. It had been in the inner pocket all along. "…What am I doing," She murmured to herself in a voice no one else could hear. --- She arrived back at Corpo Hamasaki late in the afternoon. As she reached for the door to the entrance, the door to the main house opened first. Kajiwara Yone, the landlady, appeared on the veranda with a canned beer in hand. Short white permed hair, fine wrinkles etched deep into her left cheek. At seventy-six, this woman's eyes were always oddly sharp. "[sarcastic]Welcome home. …What's this? Your face is all red. Do you have a fever?" "It's a sunburn," She answered immediately. A perfect, immediate answer. Yone slowly tilted her canned beer and took a sip. "[sarcastic]You get sunburned wiping windows?" "…Yes," "Indoors?" "The sunlight was coming in," "[sarcastic]I see. So, is it a man?" At the rapid-fire fastball, Shiori nearly made a strange sound. "[surprised]No! It's just that my homeroom teacher was assigned to the same area, and we just wiped windows together, it's not like that at all—" "Uh-huh," "Really! We were just doing the cleaning—" "Uh-huh, uh-huh," Yone nodded several times over, her face satisfied, and took another sip of her canned beer. "[sarcastic]Don't explain things nobody asked about. You're the one digging your own grave," "—" Words wouldn't come. Yone chuckled — *hihi* — and settled into a chair on the veranda, unfolding the evening paper. The air made it clear she had no intention of teasing further. "[sarcastic]There's leftover rice in the pot, so eat it. Pumpkin simmered dish," "Thank you," As she stepped inside, Shiori pressed both hands to her cheeks. Still warm. Even blaming it on sunburn, it was still a little warm. --- The next morning. As Shiori was toasting bread, Rikuto came into the dining area while changing into his school uniform. Short chestnut-brown hair with a slight wave, large dark brown eyes still a bit sleepy. "Mom, I thought Sensei Sakuma looked scary at first," "Mm-hmm," "But he talks to me a lot. During lunch, during cleaning…" "Is that so," "[gentle]He's a kind teacher. It feels like he really listens," The toast popped up. Shiori placed it on a plate, remembering the hallway from yesterday. Sakuma's profile as he spoke, looking out at the schoolyard. "You wake up early every morning to make them" — why did that single sentence linger so long? "Rikuto's words, he really listens to them, doesn't he," "Yeah. The teacher doesn't talk much, you know? But he remembers things," Rikuto took the toast and began putting on his backpack. "I'm going," "Be careful," The door closed. Shiori was left alone in the kitchen. She placed her hands on the sink and looked out the window. Early summer morning light filtered into the small garden of Corpo Hamasaki. The sound of the sea drifted from far away. The same morning as always in Ushio City. But something inside Shiori was different from usual. "Thank you" wasn't enough — that was the feeling. Every time she tried to explain it as "gratitude" toward Rikuto's homeroom teacher, the words slipped somewhere. When she tried to put it into more precise language — then, that terrified her. (What am I thinking?) She murmured it softly. The words were absorbed by the kitchen wall and reached nowhere. Tsubasa Sakuma was Rikuto's homeroom teacher. She was a parent. In this town, the story of a homeroom teacher and parent who'd gotten involved six years ago, resulting in the teacher's suspension, was still whispered about in PTA circles. Shiori understood that weight intellectually. But understanding something with your head and feeling it in your heart were apparently two different things — and realizing that was what had happened this morning.