137 - Story About Buying My Classmate Once A Week

Chapter 137 Keeping the promise I made with Miyagi yesterday is a simple task. Cooking dinner isn't anything daunting. However, I can't seem to decide on a menu. I wander aimlessly around the supermarket. Miyagi had told me to cook something I like, but nothing immediately comes to mind. "What should I do..." Pork, beef, chicken. I glare at the neatly arranged meat in the butcher section. It's probably not something I need to agonize over. Miyagi's suggestion of "anything you like" likely meant she wasn't picky. But, while I could make just about anything, there's no point in cooking something she won't eat. Despite our considerable time together, I still have no clue about Miyagi's dislikes and preferences. The first time I cooked dinner at her place, I made fried chicken. Back then, I barely considered her tastes, deciding on the menu with little fuss. "Fried chicken, huh." Miyagi said it was delicious when she ate it before, so it’s a safe choice. I rummage further through my memory. On that day, Miyagi cut her finger while slicing cabbage, leading to me having to lick her blood. She's always making me do strange things. Since then, no one else has tried to make me taste their blood. Only Miyagi would do something like that. Exhaling a long sigh, I bring my wandering thoughts back to the dinner menu. Now that I think about it, I've seen Miyagi heat up ready-made hamburg steaks a few times at her house. Since it happened more than once, she must like them. I grab a pack of ground meat from the rows of meat, add an onion and breadcrumbs to my cart, and take out my smartphone. My idea of hamburg steak ingredients is rather vague. Feeling like I'm missing something, I check a recipe and indeed, I need a few more items. I add milk and nutmeg to the cart. I don't need eggs since we have some in the fridge, so I skip them and head to the checkout. Upon reaching home, I notice Miyagi's shoes at the entrance. She's not in the shared space, so I stand in front of her room and inform her through the door that I'll be making hamburg steak. I put everything except the onion in the fridge, and on the kitchen counter, I set down the chopping board and knife. I begin by finely chopping and sautéing the onion. I put the ground meat in a bowl, chilling it over ice water as I knead. Adding salt, pepper, and nutmeg, I knead it further, then add the sautéed onions, milk-soaked breadcrumbs, and eggs, kneading yet again. Kneading ground meat continuously makes me momentarily forget what I’m making. Despite their simple appearance, hamburg steaks are more labor-intensive than they seem. I briefly regret not buying pre-mixed hamburg steaks, but I can’t stop halfway. I shape the mixture into patties, clapping them between my palms to remove air just like TV chefs do. Once that’s done, it's just a matter of frying them. I heat a pan and place the steaks. While listening to the sizzling sounds, I prepare a salad and call Miyagi. Putting a lid on the pan, I wait for the hamburg steaks to cook until Miyagi emerges from her room. In a low voice, she greets me with a "welcome back", and without a word, she starts setting the table with plates and rice. Yesterday, Miyagi had made me swear on her earrings for a promise. Yet, she made me promise something trivial, something unworthy of such a vow. Dinner doesn’t seem like something that warrants a promise. I place the hamburg steaks onto the plates Miyagi set out and look at her. She neither seems particularly pleased nor thrilled. I can’t fathom what compelled her to ask me to cook dinner. “What about the sauce?” Miyagi asks while staring at the hamburg steak on her plate. “I’ll make it now.” I add ketchup and Worcestershire sauce to the pan and give it a quick stir. Pouring the finished sauce over the hamburg steaks, I serve it at the table. “Let’s eat.” Our voices synchronize. Without a knife, I cut the hamburg steak with chopsticks. Cutting into the moist, tender hamburg steak, juices flow out, and I realize it's turned out better than I imagined. The taste is so good I feel like praising myself, yet Miyagi remains silent. “Is it good?” I ask Miyagi, who silently eats her hamburg steak across from me. “It’s good. Is hamburg steak something you like, Sendai-san?” “Well, sort of?” If asked whether I like it or not, I would say I do. However, I didn’t make it with that in mind, so I give a vague response. “Why the hesitation? Didn’t you make it because you like it?” “Well, maybe. Do you like hamburg steak, Miyagi?” I consider adding hamburg steak to my list of favorites moving forward as I look at Miyagi. “Well, sort of.” Her answer isn’t definitive, making it unclear whether it's true or not. Miyagi takes another bite of her hamburg steak, and I continue doing the same, cutting with my chopsticks. Conversation ceases, and a quiet meal ensues. The hamburg steaks I painstakingly made disappear into my stomach in less than half the time they took to make. “What are you going to do next, Sendai-san?” Miyagi asks, setting down her chopsticks without looking at me. “I’m going to prepare for my next tutoring session. Or rather, review my materials. I’m tutoring a middle school student, but I’ve forgotten a lot from my own middle school days, so I need to study to feel confident.” “You’re diligent, even for a part-time job.” “One has to be diligent, even in a part-time job.” “Hmm.” With a disinterested tone, Miyagi retrieves barley tea from the fridge. She sets a glass in front of me, but the thud of the glass hitting the table is heavier than usual, indicating she’s not in a good mood. “Thanks.” There’s no response to my thanks. Miyagi sits across from me without saying a word. “You should try getting a part-time job yourself, Miyagi.” “I’m not interested.” A curt reply, and the conversation again lulls. Judging from the flow of our talk, I could guess why she’s upset. Mentioning the part-time job topic isn’t a good idea. Yesterday too, things turned odd with Miyagi after I brought it up. “...After cleaning up, can I come to your room, Sendai-san?” Miyagi asks abruptly. There’s no context. What’s more, it’s perplexing. I should be reviewing for my next job. That's what I said. So, having her come to my room would be inconvenient. “Sure.” Before I realize it, my mouth utters a response different from what I intended to say. “Alright, I’ll clean up.” Miyagi stands, carrying the plates and glasses. This isn’t normal. Yet, I can’t refuse. Studying can wait until after Miyagi returns to her room. I can even review on the train. In the shared space, the sound of dishes being washed can be heard. The words “Let me help” won’t come out. Despite not being the first time Miyagi's come to my room, I feel a flutter of nerves. The clattering sounds seem unusually loud, prompting me to get up, and Miyagi approaches me. “All done.” “Are you really coming?” “I’m coming.” On any other day, she might have said something like “If you don’t want me here, I won’t come,” but today, she doesn’t. When we return to my room, Miyagi takes a seat right next to me as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Yet, she sits silently, as if lost in thought. With a pensive expression, she flips through the dictionary that was lying on the desk, placing it on her lap. “What’s wrong?” I call out to Miyagi, who despite asking to come to my room, hasn't uttered a word. “What do you mean ‘what’s wrong?’” Miyagi looks up from the dictionary. “I mean, why are you in a bad mood?” “I’m not.” No, she's absolutely in a bad mood. Her voice is low, and she avoids looking at me. It’s hard to believe she chose to come to my room by herself, she seems so displeased. She didn’t look cheerful during dinner either, but now her mood has worsened considerably. “Is something on your mind?” “Am I not allowed to come without a reason?” “It’s not that you can’t, but if you’re here, try to be in a good mood.” “I’m not in a bad mood.” When she gets like this, Miyagi is stubborn. Even if she’s in a bad mood, she won't admit it, and the conversation will just go around in circles without reaching any resolution. It's not unusual for her mood to sour for reasons I don’t understand, but since she came to my room, she could at least be a bit more amiable. “If you’re not in a bad mood, you could at least smile, right?” I’m not asking for a smile as radiant as Hanamaki-san’s, but smiling a bit wouldn’t hurt anyone. I fulfilled her unexpected request for dinner and rearranged my study plans to be with her, so I think it's fair to expect some cooperation in return. “I’m smiling.” Miyagi insists, yet her expression is anything but cheerful. “You’re not smiling.” “At university.” That makes sense. I know she smiles in places where I’m not. Back in high school, I often saw Miyagi smiling at school. During our second year, she would smile around Utsunomiya, and in our third year, I’d catch glimpses of her smiling in the corridors. Miyagi always smiles when I’m not around. I get irritated thinking she must still be smiling at Utsunomiya like she did back then. “I meant here and now, smile for me.” Miyagi and I attend different universities. If she doesn’t smile here, I’ll never get to see it, just like before. It's much better to share happy moments, and ideally, I'd like her to smile here. “I can’t smile if there’s nothing funny.” “Come on, a little grin shouldn’t be that hard. Just think about raising the corners of your mouth.” I press my fingers against the corners of Miyagi’s lips, nudging them upwards. With a flutter, the dictionary falls from her lap to the floor. I suspect her mood might worsen, but at this point, anything I do won’t make things better anyway. I use my fingers to force Miyagi into a smile. Despite the artificially uplifted lips, her eyebrows draw together in a frown. It resembles more of a comical face than a smile, and Miyagi grips my wrist. She pulls my fingers away from her face and bites down. Hard enough that I feel her teeth on my bone. Reflexively, I try to pull my fingers back. But instead of letting go, her bite becomes more intense, as if she's sinking her teeth in even deeper.