It happened yesterday—the note from Kitazawa in the contact book. "Would you have a few moments after tomorrow's parent orientation meeting?" Just one sentence. Yet Saaya read those characters three times that night. To receive a message like this, the day after she'd reported on Rihito's math and had a consultation with the teacher. Had something gone wrong? Or—— (No, the teacher said he'd make time for me. It shouldn't be bad news.) She told herself this while gazing toward the Nishina River from the window of Room 305, Building C of the Kasumigaoka Housing Complex. The river's surface reflected the night light, wavering and dancing. And now, today. Kasumigaoka Elementary School—a fifty-year-old reinforced concrete three-story building positioned at the southern edge of the Kasumigaoka Housing Complex—had its gymnasium arranged with neat rows of parent chairs. On this late April afternoon, sunlight streaming through the windows had begun to slant. Saaya sat on a folding chair, the distributed printout resting on her lap. Around her were only unfamiliar faces. Mothers in suits with better tailoring than hers. Families who'd come as couples. People searching for seats while chatting. Saaya was alone. She was always alone. Two women in the row ahead were whispering. "The principal seems kind of scary, doesn't she?" "Really? I thought she seemed serious." Listening to their voices, Saaya looked toward the platform. Etsuko Miyazono—the fifty-eight-year-old principal—stood before the podium. Her black hair, streaked with white, was pulled back firmly, and she wore a navy suit. Behind her glasses, her eyes were calm, yet possessed a sharpness as if seeing through everything. Her voice was measured, carrying the weight of someone who'd spent decades in education. "We look forward to your continued support this year." After her greeting, Miyazono paused briefly. "At our school, we always value 'appropriate distance' in the relationship between teachers and parents. We believe that in an educational setting, such propriety leads to sincerity toward our children." Those words struck Saaya's ears. The other parents listened with casual nods. Of course they did. There was nothing to catch on for them. But Saaya—for some reason, her chest went cold. (Appropriate distance.) The words echoed in her mind. There was something that pricked her. She suddenly remembered herself from last night, reading Kitazawa's contact book message three times. That unsettled feeling when she'd simply made an appointment for a consultation. (What was I expecting?) She almost laughed bitterly. Wait, I wasn't expecting anything. It's a consultation for Rihito's sake. There's nothing strange about it. Except there was. "...Appropriate distance, huh," she murmured without thinking, and the woman in front suddenly turned around. "Did you say something?" "No, nothing." She hastily shook her head. Her face felt slightly warm. (What am I doing?) * * * The orientation ended just after 4 p.m. As the parents filed out of the gymnasium, Saaya stood up a moment later. Where was Kitazawa? As she searched for the teachers, a voice called from down the hallway. "Tsugawa-san." A low, measured voice. Saaya turned around. Taisuke Kitazawa stood in the hallway. Thirty-two years old. Behind his black-framed glasses, his eyes regarded Saaya quietly. A beige shirt and navy slacks. Nothing flashy about him, yet his bearing possessed a strange presence. "Do you have a moment? In the 3-2 classroom." "Of course." As they walked down the hallway, Saaya started to ask quietly, "Is this about Rihito?" but stopped herself. She could ask once they arrived. The 3-2 classroom was at the eastern end of the second floor. When you opened the windows, you could apparently see the Nishina River's riverbed—Rihito had told her that. That the teacher's desk faced the river. Inside the classroom, the evening sun slanted through the windows. Orange light cast long shadows across the floor. The classroom without children felt quiet and somehow larger. The blackboard still bore today's lesson: "Social Studies: How to Read Maps." Kitazawa didn't stand before the teacher's desk. Instead, he pulled out one student desk and stood beside it. "Please, sit." Saaya pulled out the chair across from it. A small child's chair. Her knees sat slightly higher than usual. It was oddly amusing, and she wanted to laugh, but she held it back. "Regarding the matter you contacted me about the other day." Kitazawa withdrew a B5-sized notebook from the drawer. On the cover, written in ballpoint pen: "Observation Record 3-2 Rihito Tsugawa." "This is what I've compiled about Rihito." He opened the notebook on the desk. Saaya leaned in to look. At the top of the page: a date. Below it, dense handwriting. "4/12 Math Word problems—tendency to skip ahead while reading. Improves when read aloud." "4/15 Focused time: first 15 minutes. Later, gaze drifts toward window. Possibility of stability when close to neighboring student." "4/18 Day after receiving mother's support, morning concentration noticeably higher. Particularly evident in arithmetic drill accuracy." Page turned. Another date. Another record. "Carrying over—counting on fingers is effective. However, becomes confused when fingers are out of sight. Visual aids may be effective long-term. Requires observation." "Response when anxious: easier to recover when tasks are broken into smaller pieces. Voice confirmation after each problem is effective." Another page turned. "Likes: higher concentration in Japanese than math. Voice comes out during reading aloud." Another page. "4/26 Had seconds at lunch today. Expression was good." Saaya's hand stopped. There, written alone on a line: the characters for "seconds at lunch." (This teacher...) Something caught in her throat. Not a learning record. Not an academic evaluation. That Rihito had seconds at lunch, that his expression was good that day—he'd written even that down. It was no obligation. On the final page of the notebook, this week's date. "Concept of carrying over—not yet established, but shows caution the day after displaying anxiety. Risk of becoming timid if failure experiences accumulate. Want to establish the habit of 'slow and accurate' in coordination with home." In coordination with home. Those four characters sank slowly into her chest. "Teacher, to go this far..." Her voice wouldn't come out properly. Kitazawa observed this but showed no sign of alarm. "It's to understand Rihito. It's only natural." He said it briefly, simply. That word—"natural"—struck Saaya all the harder. Natural. Perhaps for this teacher it was natural. But for Saaya—it wasn't natural. That someone would observe Rihito so carefully. She'd thought she was carrying it alone. (Don't cry. If I cry, it'll be awkward.) She clenched her back teeth. But her eyes grew moist regardless. Hurriedly, she looked down, pretending to examine the notebook pages again. Wait, calm down, Saaya. If you cry here, it'll definitely be awkward. "...Thank you. Really." She tried to convey it properly, lifting her face to look at Kitazawa. She had to thank him properly. She had to bow deeply. Saaya bowed with sudden momentum. Thunk. Her forehead hit the edge of the desk. "Ugh...!" A dull pain. Tears welled in her eyes—for a different reason than before. She instinctively pressed her forehead and looked up, and Kitazawa was— laughing. Not aloud, but a small laugh. His mouth relaxed just slightly. Just a little. This teacher, who was nearly expressionless normally, was clearly suppressing a smile. "You laughed just now, didn't you?" She couldn't help but point it out. She could feel her face turning bright red from embarrassment and pain. "...Just a little." He admitted it. Then his face returned to its usual quiet expression. Saaya, still pressing her forehead, felt something indescribable. Embarrassed. In pain. But— somehow, it was funny. A laugh bubbled up slowly. She tried to hold it back, but the sheer absurdity of the situation—trying to bow earnestly and hitting her head on the desk—kept welling up, and eventually a small laugh escaped. "I'm sorry, I was trying to thank you sincerely..." "It came across." A low voice, brief. That single sentence felt strangely warm. The evening sun streamed straight through the window. The classroom was bathed in orange. A bird's call echoed in the distance. (That smile just now...) She suddenly realized it. That brief smile from Kitazawa. Just a few seconds. But she'd definitely seen it. So different from his usual quiet, serious face. That gap. (It was unfair, I thought.) Realizing she'd thought that, Saaya was inwardly startled. Unfair? What was unfair? A teacher's smile being unfair—what kind of feeling was that? Her face grew warm again. This time not from hitting the desk. "I'll continue to observe Rihito carefully. At home, please try the approach of confirming one problem at a time without rushing him." Kitazawa had already returned his gaze to the notebook, speaking matter-of-factly. That smile from before was apparently already finished for him. Somehow, that made it even funnier. "Yes. I'll try it." As she answered, Saaya thought: I might want to see this teacher's smile again. The moment that thought surfaced, the principal's voice echoed in her mind. "Appropriate distance." What terrible timing. Saaya took a small breath and stood up. "Thank you so much for today. Rihito will be happy." "Contact me if anything comes up." A brief reply. That was all. * * * Rihito was waiting at the entrance to the after-school care facility. He had his backpack on and was playing around with a boy who seemed to be a good friend, but when he spotted Saaya, he ran over. "Mom! You're late!" "There was the orientation. Sorry." The two of them walked toward the Kasumigaoka Housing Complex. Dusk in Ninagi City. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted from Nakajima Bakery in the shopping street. On the Nishina River promenade, an old man was visible walking his dog. "Hey, Mom." Rihito suddenly became serious. His round third-grader's face. "Was Kitazawa-sensei smiling today?" Saaya's step nearly faltered. "Huh...how did you know?" "I saw from the hallway." I see. He must have passed by the hallway. Rihito didn't seem to be thinking deeply about it, just swinging his backpack as he continued. "The teacher actually smiles, huh. That's cool." He said it innocently. Saaya paused for a moment, searching for words. "...Yeah. He's a good teacher." That was all she could say. She smiled vaguely and looked ahead. (Cool, huh.) What a third-grader meant by "cool" and what she was feeling were surely completely different. Completely different, they had to be. They went home, she made dinner, put Rihito to bed. An ordinary night. Yet when she sat on the living room sofa to catch her breath, she found herself gazing toward the Nishina River. Beyond the river. The Minagi District. The direction where Kitazawa's apartment apparently was. That smile was still in her head. The principal's words about "appropriate distance" still caught in her chest. (I want to see that smile again. What is this...?) The Nishina River at night was quiet. Scattered lights from the city floated beyond. Rihito's words—"that's cool"—still lingered in her ears. Saaya let out a small sigh. There was no answer. But the stirring in her chest continued quietly through the night.