章 3: The Angel’s Generosity
As Amane had anticipated, he and Mahiru had returned to being nothing more than
two people who attended the same school.
He'd been feeling much better the following day and had happened to run into Mahiru
when he went out to shop at the convenience store, but they hadn't said very much to
each other. Amane did catch that Mahiru looked a little relieved to see him well on his
way to recovery.
Nothing changed back at school on the following Monday, either. The two were back
to being strangers. The only tiny difference was that now, whenever they encountered
each other on the way to school, she would greet him with a quick bow. That was all.
"Oh, Amane, you feeling better?"
"I'm good, thanks."
It seemed that Itsuki had also been worried about Amane. He'd been in rather bad
shape last Friday, after all. Amane's condition had been the first thing Itsuki asked
about when they saw each other outside the school building. Itsuki had even sent
Amane a text over the weekend: "You're not dead, right?"
Amane had sent back a message that he was fine, but it seemed Itsuki had only been
half-convinced, because he let out a deep sigh of relief when he saw in person how
much better his friend was feeling.
"Yeah, well, when I saw you in such bad shape, even I started to worry, man! It's all
good if you're better now. You oughtta take better care of yourself. Start by cleaning
your room or somethin'."
"You sound like somebody else I know," Amane quipped.
"Huh?"
"Nothing. Something happened this weekend that kind of opened my eyes. I'll clean
my place up in a few days."
Itsuki didn't let up. "Nah, man, you gotta sort yourself out now!"
Amane turned away in a huff. It would probably take more than half a day to clean that
mess up.
Looking exasperated, Itsuki backed off a bit, saying, "I mean, you can live however you
want, ya know. But just clear a path you can actually walk through for the next time I
come over."
"…I'll deal with it."
Wearing a sour face the whole time, Amane changed into his indoor shoes and headed
for his classroom. An extremely boisterous room caught his attention as he walked
down a hall, however, and he couldn't help but peek in.
Glancing in through a hallway window, Amane saw Mahiru, as beautiful as she'd ever
been, surrounded by her classmates.
Whenever someone spoke to her, she would turn to them with a quiet smile. Everything
about her persona seemed totally different from the Mahiru he'd seen the other day.
Amane suddenly broke out in a smile.
Noticing his friend's gaze, Itsuki's eyes followed the same path. He saw Mahiru and
immediately understood.
"Shiina, huh? As popular as always. No surprise, given how pretty she is."
"Well, you know what they say. She's an angel. What about you, Itsuki? Think she's
cute?" Amane asked.
"Yeah, I guess so. But I've got Chi, so only in a sorta aesthetic-appreciation-type way,"
Itsuki replied.
"Quit going on about your girlfriend already."
Itsuki had a girlfriend named Chi, although that was a nickname. Her full name was
Chitose Shirakawa.
They were an extremely close couple, madly in love with each other—it gave Amane
heartburn whenever he saw them together.
Although Amane was quick to dismiss the girlfriend talk, Itsuki didn't seem particularly
offended. Amane often said things like that, so Itsuki just laughed. "You're heartless.
So lemme ask you: Do you think she's cute, Amane?"
"She's definitely beautiful, but that's all," answered Amane.
"How bland," Itsuki commented.
"She's like a flower on a high peak that my hand could never reach. I've got nothing to
do with her. Looking is enough."
"Fair."
Some quirk of fate may have brought Mahiru and Amane together that other day, but
they were truly destined to live in different worlds.
The idea that Amane, a self-admitted hopeless loser, and Mahiru, the beautiful superstudent who could do anything, might one day have any kind of relationship, let alone
a romantic one, was frankly ridiculous. It was a veritable impossibility.
That's right, Amane thought. There's no need to concern myself with her any further.
"…What are you eating?"
The theory that the two would never interact again was quickly disproven. Amane was
sucking down some nutritional jelly on his veranda while gazing up at the sky when
Mahiru called to him.
It'd been too much of a bother to even go to the convenience store, so he was
contenting himself with the pouch of jelly he had at home while getting some air when
Mahiru unexpectedly came out onto her own veranda.
She leaned over her railing slightly, looked at the nutritional jelly pouch that was in
Amane's mouth, and frowned.
For a moment, Amane was frozen; he'd thought she was done with him.
"Can't you see? It's a ten-second energy-replenishment jelly," he finally answered.
"…Don't tell me that's what you're calling dinner?" Mahiru asked, incredulous.
"Of course it is."
"That's all you're eating? A high school boy, with a healthy appetite?"
"That's none of your business."
Normally, Amane would've eaten a boxed meal from the convenience store or something
premade from the supermarket, but today, he'd neglected to pick something up for
dinner, and he didn't feel like instant ramen, so this was all he had. It probably
wouldn't be enough, though, so he planned on having a snack later, too.
"…I guess I don't need to ask whether you can cook for yourself. It definitely doesn't
seem like you can, at least. And yet you're living on your own, even though you can't
cook or clean…" Mahiru's observation was brutally honest.
"Shut up. That's none of your business," Amane fired back, though he knew he couldn't
argue with the truth. He frowned and finished off the remainder of his jelly.
He'd wised up about cleaning his place a couple days ago and was definitely planning
to do something about it sometime soon. Ruminating on Mahiru's scolding only
seemed to make Amane want to do it less, however. It also made him wonder why she
was making such a fuss over him in the first place.
Mahiru just stared at Amane, then let out a soft sigh. "…Wait here," she instructed
before disappearing back into her own apartment.
"What now?" Amane grumbled as he listened to the clatter of the glass door closing
behind her.
He'd been told to wait, but he didn't know what for. Turning a puzzled gaze toward
Mahiru's apartment, Amane stood there obediently, but there was no immediate
answer.
It's starting to get chilly out here; I'd like to go inside, but…
He'd been told to stay put, so that was what he'd do. The autumn evening was colder
than expected, and Amane's loosely fitting, casual clothes did little to help him stay
warm.
As Amane waited, watching his deep breaths come out white in the cold, he heard the
electronic bell chime from his front door, announcing a visitor. It was pretty obvious
who it was.
Truly puzzled, Amane made his way toward the front door, dodging scattered clothes
and magazines on the floor.
He knew who it was without even looking through the peephole, so he slid his feet into
a pair of slippers, took the chain off the door, and opened it. As expected, he came faceto-face with waves of sandy-blond hair.
"…What are you doing?" Amane asked.
"I couldn't stand how badly you were neglecting your health. These are just some
leftovers I had, but please take them," Mahiru stated plainly as she abruptly stuck a
hand out in front of her. In her delicate palm, somewhat smaller than Amane's own,
was a plastic container. He could vaguely see some sort of stewed dish through the
semi-transparent lid. He couldn't tell exactly what it was, however, as the container
had filled with steam from the warmth of the food.
Mahiru seemed to understand the confused look in Amane's eyes as he stood there
blinking. She let out a deep sigh. "You're not eating properly. Nutritional supplements
are just that—supplements. You can't live on them alone."
"What are you, my mom?" Amane jeered.
"I believe what I said is common sense. Also, shouldn't you have tidied up your room
by now? There still isn't any room to walk."
Mahiru narrowed her eyes in obvious disappointment as she looked past Amane at
the room beyond, and Amane's words stalled in his throat.
"…I have, a little."
"No, you haven't. Normally, people don't drop their clothes on the floor."
"Those just… fell there."
"That wouldn't happen if you washed, dried, folded, and put them away properly. Also,
you should bundle up your magazines after you're done reading them. That way you
won't slip on one and fall."
It wasn't that he couldn't sense the small barbs in her words, but he also understood
that Mahiru was, for some reason, genuinely concerned for him, so he couldn't dismiss
everything she was saying. After all, the clutter of magazines had almost tripped the
both of them up just the other night. She had a point.
Amane had no rebuttal. He screwed up his face, squeezed his mouth shut tight, and
sullenly took the container from Mahiru's hand.
The food suffused his palm with a welcome warmth, especially after all the time spent
standing on his chilly veranda.
"So I can eat this?" Amane asked.
"If you don't need it, I can throw it out," Mahiru answered flatly.
"No, I'm grateful for it. I don't usually get to eat an angel's home cooking."
"…Stop calling me that, seriously."
Using her school nickname was a kind of petty, needling revenge for her critical
comments. Her feelings about the moniker were written clearly across her pale cheeks
as they turned red.
There was no doubt about it—she hated being called an angel. Were he in the same
position, Amane was certain he would hate it, too. That hardly needed to be said.
Despite understanding Mahiru's stance, Amane couldn't help but smile when he saw
her looking up at him with flushed cheeks and tiny, bitter tears forming.
"I'm not going to say I'm sorry," he declared.
It was clear that any further teasing would be certain to wreck what little goodwill she
had left for him, so Amane figured it was prudent to give it a rest.
We're not even that close.
Mahiru also seemed not to want to hear any more, and she emphasized this by clearing
her throat forcefully as she pulled herself together.
Her cheeks were still tinged with red, though, so she didn't look like much had changed.
"Well, thank you for this. Though, you don't really need to worry about what happened
before," Amane said.
"I don't. I considered that debt settled. This is for my own self-satisfaction… I saw that
you weren't taking care of yourself, and I was concerned; that's all."
Of course. Mahiru pitied him; that was it. There was no way to hide—she'd gotten a
very good look at how he lived the other night. Even now, she could see the garbage
piled up in the hallway behind him.
"You need to at least start eating proper meals and… get your life together!" she
scolded.
"Yes, Mom," Amane answered sarcastically. He was getting a little tired of listening to
Mahiru's nagging.
Amane churlishly carried the meal Mahiru had brought him back into his apartment.
He grabbed a pair of disposable chopsticks he'd gotten at the supermarket and sat
down on his living room couch, eager to sample the flavors of her cooking.
He remembered enjoying the rice porridge that she'd brought him before, even though
his sense of taste had been dulled by sickness. The slow-cooked porridge had
possessed a rich, comforting taste that had been gentle on his stomach. If that was any
indication, Mahiru's cooking was undoubtedly quite good, but now it was time to find
out for sure.
As he hastily opened the lid of the container, the savory scent of stew drifted gently up
at him. Various root vegetables had been cooked together with some chicken. The
light-colored sauce underscored the vibrant hues of carrots and green beans, all of
which had been cut into bite-size pieces.
Amane's stomach growled, reminding him that the only thing he'd had to eat was some
nutritional jelly. He hastily snapped his disposable chopsticks apart and brought a
piece of daikon radish to his mouth.
"Yum."
Amane's mouth was greeted with a complex flavor.
Typical of the health-conscious Mahiru, the dish was only lightly seasoned, spiced
mostly with dashi stock. It was immediately obvious that she hadn't used storebought, granulated dashi. Instead, she'd made it herself using with dried bonito fish
and kombu seaweed. The difference in taste was night and day.
As he chewed it thoroughly, the flavor of the dashi and the other seasonings, as well
as the taste of the vegetables, spread gently through his mouth. Amane had never been
a fan of veggies. He usually went out of his way to avoid them, but in this dish, the
essence of each ingredient came together in perfect harmony, and Amane happily
savored them all.
There wasn't much chicken. Perhaps Mahiru had done that on purpose as if to tell him
to eat more vegetables. What little meat there was had been cooked plump and juicy.
There was nothing to complain about there, Amane thought, aside from the quantity.
For something made by a high school girl, the ingredients were a little plain, but her
skill more than made up for it. That Amane so readily enjoyed the food was enough of
a testament to that fact.
It would have been even better with some rice, and maybe some miso soup or clear
broth on the side, but Amane didn't have any prepared. He was all out of rice anyway,
so that modest wish was not destined to be granted that night. It was too late now, but
he regretted not buying any instant rice packets beforehand.
"That angel's amazing," Amane said to himself as he devoured the perfectly seasoned
vegetables, chopsticks never slowing for a second.
To think, she's great at school, and sports, and all kinds of housework.
If Mahiru had been there to hear Amane's praise, she would have hated it.
"Here's this back. The food was good."
The following evening, Amane carried the borrowed container over to Mahiru's
apartment.
The boy was certainly bad at housework, but not so bad that he couldn't wash
something before giving it back. In his hand, he held the carefully cleaned little box,
knowing that it was good manners to return it only after it had been thoroughly
washed and dried.
Mahiru had appeared the moment Amane rang the doorbell without even checking to
see who it was, as if she'd been expecting him.
She was wearing a wine-colored knit dress, and when she saw her visitor, her eyes
narrowed gently. She quickly checked the container and said, "You washed it and
everything, huh? Look at you."
Amane frowned slightly when she praised him like a little child.
"Well, thank you for taking the time," Mahiru continued. "Now take this." She pressed
a new, warm container into Amane's hand.
From what he could tell, there was saute ed pork and eggplant inside. It seemed to have
cooled enough that the lid hadn't fogged up, for Amane could clearly spy the color of
eggplant, grilled pork, and sprinkled sesame seeds through the clear top. From the
color, he guessed the sauce was probably miso flavor. The sight of the eggplant with
slight scorch marks and the lustrous pork definitely roused his appetite.
No one would deny that it looked delicious, but Amane couldn't understand why he'd
been handed dinner again.
"No, um, I just came to return the container," he tried to explain.
"This is today's dinner," Mahiru answered coolly.
"Yeah, I get that, but…"
"I just want to ask: You don't have any allergies, do you? Don't get the wrong idea,
though. I won't be catering to your tastes or anything."
"I don't, but… I mean, I can't accept your food again."
Taking a portion of the girl's dinner for the second time in a row seemed wrong to
Amane. His malnourished body was grateful for the food, and Mahiru was clearly a
much better cook than other girls her age, and the meal he was holding was sure to be
delicious, but it also held no small amount of danger.
If someone from school saw the two of them meeting like this, it could turn into a big
debacle. That would be the end of Amane's quiet student life for sure.
These apartments were meant for single occupancy, but the rent was pretty high
because of the building's location and the amenities. Amane had never seen another
student from their school in the building—except Mahiru, of course—so he was
probably worrying over nothing. Even with that mild consolation, his brief meetings
with the angel still made him wary.
"I made too much, so I'm just happy to be rid of it," Mahiru explained.
"…In that case, I'm happy to take it. But someone might get the wrong idea, since
people usually do this sort of thing for someone they like…," Amane said sheepishly.
"And do you have the wrong idea?"
"Uh, I guess not."
One look at Mahiru's expression was enough to clear up any misconceptions about her
feelings toward Amane.
There was no way that a beautiful, talented girl like Mahiru could possibly fall for an
oblivious slob like Amane. Sure, a cute next-door neighbor bringing him food seemed
like something out of a romantic comedy, but there was no romance here—and
certainly no comedy. The situation was as devoid of those elements as Amane's own
apartment was devoid of rice.
What kindness existed in the angel's barbed words had been born only from pity.
"Well then, there's no problem, is there? And anyway, it looks like you were surviving
on convenience-store meals and side dishes from the supermarket," stated Mahiru.
"How could you tell?" Amane asked.
"It's not hard to see that your kitchen has barely been used, and you have a ton of
disposable chopsticks from the convenience store and the supermarket on your desk.
Besides, I can tell just by looking at you. You've got an unhealthy complexion."
Amane's expression froze. Mahiru had gotten all that just from one visit to his
apartment. Everything she'd said had been spot-on; he had no room to argue.
"…All right, I'll be going."
Mahiru bowed and went back inside her apartment, having said what she'd wanted to
say and given him what she'd wanted to give.
Amane looked at the container in his hands as he listened to the jangling sound of the
chain on the other side of Mahiru's front door slide into place. The heat from the food
was beginning to warm the palms of his hands. He let out a soft sigh and returned to
his place.
As expected, the stir-fried sesame miso eggplant and pork was delicious. Amane found
himself wishing even more than yesterday that he'd bought some rice.
As time went on, Amane began swapping an empty container for a full one every day,
and his diet improved dramatically.
Mahiru's cooking was always light and healthy, and since every dish made him want
rice, Amane started fixing microwave packets with each meal. The angel had a variety
of cuisines in her repertoire: Japanese, Chinese, even Western. Each day brought
something new, but every single meal was delicious, and Amane developed an appetite
like never before.
Like a wild animal grown fat on handouts, Amane quickly came to rely on Mahiru's
charity. Even as he continued to obediently accept container after container, he knew
it was presumptuous to expect a meal every day. Still, he happily—and hungrily—
licked his chops each time.
"…You're looking good lately. You fix your diet or something?"
Itsuki took a long, hard look at Amane one day during lunch. Apparently, his complexion
had improved—probably because he was finally supplying his body with much-
needed nutrition.
Amane knew his friend was perceptive, and he felt a bit of a cold sweat break out as
he slurped the udon noodles he'd ordered for school lunch.
"Itsuki, you scare me," he said.
"Why's that? Do you mean I'm right?"
"Uh, well, I guess you could say I've had no choice but to reexamine my lifestyle recently."
Whenever Amane passed by Mahiru near their apartments, she would chide him
gently to take care of himself, and she was regularly sharing her dinner with him. It
was only natural that his life had improved. On the one hand, he wanted to call her his
guardian angel, but a small part of him also felt like she was meddling where it was
none of her business.
Amane had indirectly confirmed Itsuki's suspicions by dodging the question, and
Itsuki cackled with delighted laughter. "Yeah, I knew it. You always looked unhealthy
'cause the way you were living was so crappy."
"Shut up."
"But what made you decide to 'reexamine your lifestyle'?"
"I guess I was forced to."
"Ah, your mom found out?"
"…You're not right, but you're not far off, either."
Mahiru really did sound like Amane's mom at times. She was much too young and too
cute to be a mother, though. Still, the way the girl went to such lengths to care for
Amane made it hard for him to refuse her.
"Say, Itsuki? Do I really seem that unhealthy?"
"Hmm… Well, to start with, you're pretty pale. I guess you're tall enough, but you're
gangly. You're also always shuffling around all apathetic-like, so you look like a zombie."
"But that's just how I look…"
"You think I don't know that? Try looking like one of the living for a change."
"Don't be absurd… Wait, but seriously… a zombie…?"
Amane wasn't really sure because he almost never bothered to closely check his own
face in the mirror, but apparently, he gave others the impression that he was barely
alive. If he looked half-dead even on a good day, that would explain why Mahiru had
been so worried about him before.
"You should pay a little more attention to how other people see you, Amane. You're
always hunched over, starin' at the ground. It makes you hard to approach, and it's not
like you go out of your way to get close to anybody, either. If I didn't know any better,
I'd say you're the very definition of a moody teenager."
"You sure know how to keep it casual when you're insulting a guy."
"Fine, fine, I won't sugarcoat it, then. You look like a corpse, and your life is a mess."
Itsuki continued teasing his friend, insisting that he ought to take this opportunity to
pay more attention to his appearance and demeanor, not to mention his health.
Sharply turning away, Amane replied sarcastically, "Thanks for your concern."
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