Аннотация: Household chores. A trip to the library and delicious taiyaki. Yuto helps Rinko with math. Clubs of calligraphy and physics.
Chapter 3. Household chores.
4.
A week has passed. I'm diligently filling my head with various information, I'm just a nerd. I painted hieroglyphs with a brush, ink, awesome! I drew a vase of flowers on the ISO, cursed everything. I read a school history textbook. I received a letter from the bank, went to get my checkbook, and received it. I get weekly payments from my parents' account, which are good enough not to cook at all, but Rinko feeds me. Sometimes she brings it from her parents' generosity, sometimes she cooks it herself.
Yes, I carry a hefty "amulet" on my chest, a flat red silk bag bigger than my palm. I tried to take it off and immediately "remembered" that my grandfather had given it to me when I was a kid... Six? Seven? Something's wrong with my memory... Has it become? It probably "was" after all. I can take off the amulet, but I can't move more than a meter or two away from it - my heart naturally starts to malfunction and it's wildly scary. Mysticism sucks.
*** Rinko's Pov
For a week now, Rinko has been coming to cook for Yuto and generally harass the kid. Mom cooked breakfast for us a couple of times, and Rinko always cooked bento herself in the morning. Sometimes with fish, sometimes with meat or chicken teriyaki. And be sure to have vegetables and a layered omelet with onigiri.
***
Yuto and Rinko went to school as usual, but today Yuto asked me to show him how to pay the fare himself. The bus approached with a soft hiss, as if exhaling after a long day. Rinko confidently pulled the door open, and they entered the warm interior, smelling of rubber and rain.
"Stand here, I'll show you," Rinko stood at the ticket machine and deftly turned the handle. A small paper ticket with the number "17" came out. "This means that we boarded at bus stop number 17. When we get off, the driver will look at where we get off and tell us how much to pay."
Yuuto carefully took the ticket with two fingers, as if it were not a piece of paper, but an instruction that could not be crumpled.
"Ticket as a session identifier: fixes the entry point. The cost is calculated based on the delta between the entrance and exit. A transparent system with no hidden variables", the graduate student thought, and for a second Yuto even felt strangely calm: if everything can be named and designated, then the world will not throw up surprises.
Rinko was already pulling him towards the window seats.
"Here are the coins. Two hundred is enough for you. If anything, I'll add it."
Yuto spread it out in the palm of his hand: one 100 yen coin, another, and on top of that, a heavy 500 yen coin, like a backup plan.
"I remember," he said softly. "Two hundred."
Rinko smiled, not at him, but as if she was proud that he had noticed it:
"Yes. And look, there's a diagram on the wall. Do you see these numbers? This is how much it will cost to get off at each stop. We're coming out on the 23rd - it says here: 230 yen. Almost like two taiyaki."
Yuto nodded, clutching the coins and the ticket to himself. He suddenly felt better: the numbers weren't enemies, they were just pointers. Like the arrows on a rocket diagram: if you know where they lead, you can sit quietly by the window and watch the city slowly float by.
***
Together with Rinko's mother, Yuto went downtown to the bank to get a checkbook and a card. He received an email from the social network yesterday. The committee requested that a card be issued in his name, but with a request to be accompanied by at least the neighbor's mother.
Rinko sat on a chair in the hall while Yuto and her mom issued a card for Yuto to receive money from the clan's account. Mom showed me a letter from the social network. The Committee, and she was given a Yuto card in an envelope and told that the limit would be replenished every week by a certain amount.
"When I looked at the contract, it's a regular debit card for a child. You can open the envelope and sign the contract. And put it in this document, it's for auto-replenishment of communal services."
"I don't have my signature yet."
"Your accompanying person can sign the document, she will be your official representative at the bank from your quarter."
The card was an ordinary dark blue plastic one, and Yuto just chuckled when he saw it.
Especially in the absence of a broken number, Rinko herself had the same one, where her mother transferred her 2,000 thousand yen per week.
"Yuto, what's your limit?"
"Eight thousand a week for Rinko."
We were whispering on the bus seat.
"Mom, why does Yuto have so much money on his card?"
"Because he is paid by the social committee from the treasury of the Amakawa clan. Yuto is the last heir. Yuto, if you need to buy some clothes, warn me or the seller at least a couple of days in advance so that you can transfer the tranche to the purchase card."
***
Rinko clicked the lock of her purse and pulled out a thin white card with her name neatly written in black hieroglyphs. Nothing else: no long rows of numbers, no strange icons. It's just that "RINKO" is like a plaque on the door of a room that definitely belongs to her.
Yuto turned over his own card in his fingers, the one that showed both sneakers and house bills, and which he was always afraid of "spoiling" with one wrong number.
"You don't have any numbers at all," he said softly, as if he was afraid that if he spoke louder, the numbers would suddenly appear.
Rinko shrugged her shoulders and smiled, calmly, without boasting:
"But why? I don't need to remember them. Mom says it's like a house key.: You don't remember the pattern of the teeth. You just plug it in and the door opens." Rinko turned to the seller. "Two buns with sweet filling, please."
She held the card up to the terminal. A squeak. A green light. The salesman nodded:
"Two thousand. The limit has not been reached."
And everything. No passwords, no "enter code", no trembling fingers over the buttons.
"A card with no visible details. Closed loop: authorization by chip, data is stored in the block system, the user does not see and should not see the number. This is not a simplification for the sake of the child - it is a conscious security architecture." the graduate student inside almost exhaled from this cold, neat order.
Haruno's mom, who was standing a little behind him, seemed to hear this inner sigh and quietly added:
"There's a number on any card, Yuto. The system doesn't work without it. But he's not for you. It's for the bank, for the quarterly office, for reports. And there's only one rule for you: if you need to buy something, you put it on. We keep the rest on ourselves. Rinko tugged on his sleeve:
"Let's go. Let's take another yakitori. I still have almost everything left."
"Let's go, but now I'm crying. I have a bigger limit." Yuto said and followed her, and his fingers no longer clenched into fists. Because now he knew: you don't have to be smarter than numbers. Numbers are the work of adults. And his job is just to live.
***
Yuto ran into the house, waving a white envelope as if it were a trophy or, conversely, a verdict.
"Rinko! There's that piece of paper again! With numbers! And it says "pay by the 25th"! I don't want our lights to go out when you cook again... or I'll just do my homework!"
Rinko just sighed and waved her hand towards the kitchen:
"Take it to Haruno's mom. She's friends with these papers."
Rinko's mom was sitting at the table with a cup of tea and a stack of folders, but when she saw Yuuto's frightened eyes, she immediately pushed the papers away.
"Let me see."
She took the receipt, glanced at the lines, and calmly placed it on top of the folder labeled "Quarter-utilities."
"See? You don't have to press anything, run anywhere, or even get money. We have an autopayment here."
Yuto frowned, as if trying to catch the word and see if it was biting.
"Auto... what?"
"Autopayment," Aunt Haruno repeated, taking out the glasses again. For some reason, it was always easier for her to explain everything through water and jugs. "Look. This is our big jug - money for your life. And this little jug is the bill for the light. Every month, on exactly the same night, the bank itself takes from the big jug as much water as the little one needs. Without you. No queue. Without papers."
Yuto tilted his head like a puppy that had heard a new whistle.
"So... the bank comes and picks it up on its own?"
"Not by myself, of course. I once told the bank, "When the bill for the light comes in, pay from this bill." And now it's just a rule. It's like saying to a cat, "Every day at six o'clock sharp, you get a bowl of food." You don't have to pour every night. The rule is already working."
"Autopayment on a pre-agreed order. The write-off takes place on a fixed date. The initiator is not a cardholder, but a legal entity of the quarter; the Yuto card is only part of the content budget access system", Alex inside almost exhaled with relief: finally, instead of the frightening uncertainty, there were clear, fixed rules.
Yuto was still looking at the glasses, as if he was afraid that the water would disappear.
"What if... if I buy another pair of sneakers and there's not enough water in the big jug?" Aunt Haruno calmly ran her finger along the black line that she had once drawn on the glass.
That's what the threshold is for. If the water drops below this line, the social committee immediately sees and refills. So even if you buy sneakers, the cat's bowl will still fill up and the light won't go out.
Rinko, who was leaning against the door frame, chuckled:
"In general, you don't have to be afraid of this piece of paper at all. She comes just so that the adults know how much has run up there. And they pay without it."
Yuuto slowly reached out his hand and carefully placed the receipt on the folder.
"Means... Don't I have to hide it so I don't get upset?"
"You don't have to be afraid of her," Aunt Haruno said softly. "Let him lie. This is a job for adults. Your job is to have comfortable clothes for school and not to think about these numbers."
"The system is designed to eliminate the human factor at a critical stage. Mandatory payments do not depend on the child's memory or courage. They just happen," the graduate student thought.
And for the first time, Yuto looked at the white envelope not as a threat, but as an ordinary piece of paper. He even smiled a little:
"Okay. Then... can I still take those sneakers? Well, the ones with the blue stripe?"
Rinko rolled her eyes, but there was no anger in her voice:
"Go already. Just don't say later that I didn't warn you: in these sneakers you'll be jumping on ledges again."
And Yuto ran out, no longer looking back at the receipt. Rinko ran to run with him, she always had an awl in her ass, as her sensei said at school. Yuto, let's go to the city library, there's a department for children.
"Well, you know that I'm still a homebody. I don't have a library card, my parents probably didn't get it."
"Well, you know that I'm still a homebody."
"Yuuto, but you went to the library with me a month ago. I really didn't take anything."
"I seem to have lost it. You don't know if he's recovering."
"Yuto-kun's mom needs to restore the lost reader like I did that year!"
Haruno-san came out into the hallway.
"I'll ask our inspector from the social committee to help you with a trip to the library."
***
The building of the social committee smelled not of dust and books, but of something completely different - clean, slightly drugstore, with a slight admixture of coffee from the vending machine in the hallway. Yuuto tried to stay close to the wall, as if it could cover him.
"You know, I probably just lost her when my parents..." Tears welled up in Yuto's eyes. "I searched for the documents and couldn't find anything. And I probably watched it."
"There's no need to be afraid," Tanaka-san, the caseworker, said softly, adjusting her badge on her chest. It had her name and job title printed flat, without flourishes-Yuto managed to read it twice while they were waiting for the elevator. "We're just going to the library. And I'm coming with you to arrange everything. It's my job to make sure you have books, a travel card, everything you need.
Rinko walked on the other side and pretended that nothing special was happening at all: she chatted about the new manga, about the fact that there was a soda machine in the library, about the cat sleeping right on top of a stack of magazines in the reading room. And from her chatter, the world seemed to shrink slightly to an understandable size.
The library was quieter than Yuuto had expected. Not "silence when everyone is looking at you," but a calm silence where everyone is busy with their own business: someone is leafing through, someone is writing, someone is whispering something to the librarian.
The library still smelled of the same calm smell of paper and wood. The librarian, the one who had given Yuto the ticket, didn't even frown.
On the contrary, she tilted her head slightly, as if she wanted to catch his eye and say without words: "It's okay. We'll fix it."
"You're Yuto-kun, right? I remember you a month ago, such a lost young man...." She asked softly. "We already have you in the system. Let's just find your card in the database."
Yuto froze for a second. He suddenly felt ashamed: he was afraid that he would be scolded now, they would say that he was careless, that such things should not be lost.
"Identification based on saved data: the system stores the user's profile. The physical medium is secondary. Loss does not revoke access rights", the graduate student's voice sounded not like a cold report, but almost like a defense: he seemed to stand in front of Yuto and shield him from possible reproach.
Tanaka-san calmly placed her ID on the counter:
"I'm escorting Yuto from the social committee. A replacement of the reader's ticket is needed due to the loss."
The librarian nodded, clicked her mouse, and checked something.
"Yes, here it is. Everything is fine. We only need to print a new card. Sometimes they charge a small fee for a duplicate - I'll look at it now... yeah, a hundred yen."
Yuto immediately reached for his wallet, as if he wanted to prove that he wasn't helpless:
"I have. I'll pay for it myself."
Tanaka-san smiled a little-not broadly, but so that the smile would not scare away his determination:
"Good. Let it be your payment. It is right: You're responsible for your card."
He took out a hundred yen coin and placed it on the counter. It rang softly, but to Yuto it sounded like "I did it."
The printer clicked again, and a new card crawled out of it - exactly the same as the previous one: white, with dark blue letters, with the same number.
"Here," the librarian handed it to Yuto, as she had the first time, holding it by the very edge, as if the card needed to be handed over carefully. "Now she's yours again. If you get lost again, come back. We'll find you in the database again. You're not going anywhere. Just bring your guardian to reissue the card."
Yuto squeezed the card with his fingers, then carefully put it in a special pocket inside the wallet, where only the most important things were.
Rinko, who had been standing nearby all this time, pretending to look at the children's book stand, finally turned around:
"You know, my library card went missing three times last year. And every time I had it done all over again. So you're not the only one."
Yuuto smiled faintly. He didn't want to be pitied, but Rinko's words made his anxiety seem to settle somewhere below, like dust after rain.
"Now I'll only put it here," He tapped the pocket with his finger. "And check. Twice."
Tanaka-san nodded, as if that was the most sensible rule in the world:
"Twice is good. And if you suddenly forget, you know where to call. We will help you."
And they went to the shelves. Yuuto walked a little more confidently because the card was with him again. And also because now he knew for sure that if she disappeared again, the world would not collapse. They will find him by name, by address, by date of birth - and again they will give him a pass to this quiet, paper-smelling island, where you can just read and not be afraid that you will be kicked out for one small loss.
Although you still need to buy an old used computer at home as a work machine and run the Internet around the house.
"And now," Rinko pulled him towards the shelves, where a sign above the shelves read "Manga. Children's and teenagers", "Let's find something about space. You said you like stories where everything can be counted.
And they walked between the rows, and Yuto clutched the card in his pocket so that he could feel its corners - sharp, but not prickly, like small steps that you can climb forward, step by step.
"Let's look for Star Wars."
The shelves in the children's department were cleverly arranged: at the bottom there were books that you could leaf through while sitting on the floor; a little higher there were manga that were pulled from the shelves by everyone; and at eye level there were the most "catchy" covers: bright, with characters who seemed to be looking directly at you.
Rinko pointed at one of the shelves:
"Look! Star Wars is here! And it's not just a book, it's a comic book. With pictures on each page."
Yuto came closer, not hurrying, as if he was afraid of scaring off the find. On the cover was Luke Skywalker with a lightsaber, and next to him were droids that were impossible not to recognize.
"Adaptation of film production in the illustrated comic book format: high visual density, low text load. It is optimal for the reader who needs a predictable structure and reliance on images.", Alex's voice sounded almost casual, as if he, too, was glad that everything was clear.
Yuuto carefully pulled the volume off the shelf. It wasn't too thick, the cover was smooth, and the inside of the pages were thick, as if on purpose so that they could be flipped many times.
"It's even about the Death Star", Rinko was already flipping through the pages, showing the spreads. "Look, here's a scene where everything explodes, and here's Han Solo smiling."
Yuuto nodded, without taking his eyes off the pictures. He didn't have to read the entire text at once: he could just look at the footage first, piece together the story like a diagram.
"Let's take it," he said softly, as if testing whether it sounded like an adult decision. "I want to see all the pages."
Rinko smiled:
"Sure. There's a whole shelf of them. You can take two at once: read one today, the other tomorrow."
And for the first time, Yuto thought that the library was not about silence and strict rules. It's about the fact that somewhere on the shelf there is a story that is already waiting for him.
***
The sun was already sinking towards the roofs, and long shadows lay across the sidewalks, as if someone had carefully drawn the street into even squares. They came in again after having dinner with buns and fish, cookies, and sweet stuffed Tayaks. The clerk in the shop handed the children each a cup of green tea, recently brewed in a teapot.
"Here's a bonus for you, as regular customers."
"Thank you Hiroshi-san." Rinko said.
Hiroshi deftly handed Yuto and Rinko a cup of tea, and then placed two corrugated cardboard cuffs on the counter - such thin "sleeves" that fit on a glass.
"Put this on," he nodded, indicating with a flick of his fingers how to do it. "It's hot."
Rinko immediately pulled the cuff over the glass and smiled:
"Like a mitten!"
Yuto repeated it after her, carefully, as if it were an important instruction: put it on first, then just hold it. The cuff made the glass thicker and seemed calmer: you could wrap your whole palm around it, and you could feel the warmth, but it didn't burn. If necessary, here are some more napkins," Hiroshi pushed a stack of thick paper to the edge.
"You can put thais on them while you drink tea. Just don't put the glasses on the counter, okay? I have to work here. Just don't put the glasses on the counter, okay? I have to work here."
Rinko nodded, took a napkin, and put the taiyaki on it, so you can hold it with one hand and hold the glass calmly with the other.
"Thank you, Hiroshi-san," Yuuto said softly, looking the shopkeeper straight in the eye for the first time.
Hiroshi tilted his head slightly, as if that was the most important answer in the world:
"No problem. Eat while it's warm."
Yuto and Rinko took a few steps away from the stall, to where the sidewalk was getting a little quieter and the dense crowd was spreading out. A low concrete fence stretched nearby: gray, with a slightly rough edge, but smooth on top, as if specially made for such occasions. Rinko was the first to place the cup on it, carefully, with two fingers, as if checking if it was loose.
"You can do it here," she said, already holding the taiyaki more comfortably. Now you're holding a cookie with one hand and tea with the other. Or even a cookie with both hands.
Yuto looked at the fence, then at the cup in his hand. He liked this simple logic: there is a prop, there is a rule.
"A horizontal surface with sufficient surface area and low slip coefficient. Suitable for short-term tea placement", Alex thought, sipping his tea.
He carefully placed the glass on the edge of the fence. The glass stood up straight, did not roll, did not shake. Yuuto exhaled as if he had just completed a small but important task. Now he could safely hold the taiyaki with both hands without fear of anything falling.
Rinko had already taken a bite of the cookie cutter and was now blowing on her fingers - it was too hot.
"Oh..." she giggled, looking at Yuto. "I should have waited. But it's worth it. Try."
Yuto nodded and took a bite. The adzuki pasta was warm and sweet, the dough was crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. He didn't say "delicious," but the corners of his lips twitched slightly, as if a smile was trying to break through caution.
Somewhere behind the stall, Hiroshi san was setting up tongs and wiping the edge of the counter. He saw how the children had gone to the fence, how they had set down their cups, and how they were now eating without haste. And that was enough for him: they found their own quiet corner, their own little "table", and now they could just be children.
Little Rinko whispered that her friend was not himself because of the recent death of his parents.
The concrete fence was cool, rough, and so secure-you could easily put cups on it to hold hot taiyaki with both hands. Yuto had just carefully placed his glass on an even edge, exhaled as if he had completed a difficult task, and was about to take a bite when a gray cat with a black stripe silently emerged from behind a low curb.
She jumped gently right onto the fence, sat down two steps away from the cups, turned her head and stared at the children with round eyes, as if checking: "Can I stay here?"
Rinko reacted instantly. She leaned forward a little, not abruptly, so as not to frighten the cat, but firmly waved her hand:
"Shoo! Go where you don't get in the way. There are pills in the right pocket of the backpack with a yellow sticker!"
The cat lazily twitched its ear, jumped down onto the sidewalk, and sauntered away, as if it had been waiting for a polite invitation to leave all this time.
Yuto sniffed, blinked, trying to clear his eyes, and suddenly froze - a simple, familiar rule clicked in his head: if you have allergies, get the medicine.
He hurriedly reached for his backpack, unzipped it, and found a small plastic case inside. His fingers were shaking a little, but he immediately felt that bright yellow sticker, and it made him feel a little calmer: even when everything was swimming in his eyes, it was impossible not to notice it.
Rinko leaned a little closer, but she didn't touch him, just stood there like a quiet support. And suddenly she saw this sticker - and something jumped in her chest from recognition. She put it on herself. On the day when the medic at school gave Yuto a standard pharmacy pencil case - the same as everyone else's, unremarkable, gray-white, merging with everything else in the backpack. Rinko then thought: if it suddenly gets bad, he should find it right away. And in the evening, sitting at her desk, she cut out the brightest yellow piece from a sheet of stickers and stuck it on the case so that it glowed like a beacon.
"Can you... handle it on your own?" She asked softly, nodding at the pill.
Rinko ran to Hiroshi-san and asked for a glass of cold water to take a pill. Then, after getting a cup, she ran back to Yuto.
Yuto nodded, put the pill on his tongue, took a long sip of water, and squeezed his eyes shut for a second, as if he were swallowing panic itself along with the water.
Hiroshi san came up with a pack of clean napkins in his hand.
"Here," he handed them to Yuto. "Blot your eyes, it'll make you feel better. And step aside a little more: there's a breeze, it blows everything away quickly."
Yuto took the napkins and gently dabbed at the corners of his eyes-not rubbing, but as he was taught, he did. His breathing gradually steadied.
"Thank you," he said softly, looking not directly into the shopkeeper's eyes, but slightly to the side, at the edge of the counter. Hiroshi san tilted his head slightly, as if he understood this little caution.
"Medicine is good. But the main thing now is just to stand still. Let it start working. Ten minutes, no more, and you'll be as good as new again."
Rinko wanted to say something to completely banish this awkwardness, but suddenly she found herself staring at the yellow sticker. And she smiled, softly, almost to herself.
"It's good that I put it on." She mumbled, as if apologizing for even mentioning it.
Yuto followed her gaze, looked at that bright square, then back at Rinko - and for the first time in those minutes, there was something other than tension in his gaze.
"Yeah," he said softly. "good. I found the pencil case quickly."
And the "good thing" was not even about the sticker, but about the fact that someone thought in advance, someone made a small but very necessary beacon so that in the dark or in tears you could just reach out and find it.
Hiroshi san chuckled, as if he understood everything without words, and returned behind the counter, but remained standing at the very edge so that he could see the children and come out again at any moment if necessary.
The wind was stirring their hair, the concrete fence was still smooth and secure, and the tea cups were still standing on its edge. Yuto put the case back into his backpack, carefully zipped it up so that nothing would move, so that the yellow square would always be visible. Then he took the new taiyaki that Hiroshi-san had brought and took a bite. The azuki paste was warm, slightly sweet, and the simple taste brought the world back to its place. Rinko took a sip of tea from a closed cup through a straw. Then she took a bite of a fish cookie. The evening was no longer spoiled.
***
They turned into a familiar alley, where the lanterns had not yet been lit, but were already standing ready like silent sentries. Rinko slowed her pace and glanced at Yuto:
"Haruno-san's mom promised to bake apple and cinnamon pies. And then I'll show you one of the moves from the new manga release- just for show, no punches. In case the bullies get attached to you again and I'm not around."
Yuto froze for a second, as if weighing every word. He wanted to go home, to his corner, where he could spread magazines on the floor and look at diagrams until dark. But there was no "need" in Rinko's voice, no pressure - just "if you want". And I didn't want to eat noodles.
"Okay," he finally nodded. "But first I'll show you a page. It's about how astronauts sleep in zero gravity. It's... weird. It's like the world has turned upside down."
Rinko chuckled, but there was a hint of curiosity in her eyes:
"In zero gravity? That is, without a pillow at all?"
"Without a pillow. Without a floor. Without the "bottom". Everything just hangs."
And they went on, a little faster, because now their goal was not just to get there, but to open at least one page before dark. The stacks of magazines gently tapped against the sides, and this quiet rhythm was almost like a promise: there would be nothing scary today anymore. Only space, martial arts, which Rinko has collected manga for teenage boys and cinnamon pies.
***
Yuto went to Rinko's house and stayed for dinner, after Haruno-san's permission.
"I love oyakodon, (this is a classic Japanese dish: a bowl of rice topped with a delicate mixture of chicken and egg stewed in a sweetly salty sauce.)" Rinko said softly, as if apologizing for even having a favorite dish. "He's like... a blanket. Only from food."
Yuuto nodded without looking up from his plate. There really was something of a blanket in it: warm rice, soft pieces of chicken, an egg that enveloped everything around.
"Food as a support system: predictable texture, understandable layers, absence of irritants. It's not just dinner, it's a way to say "you're safe" without words.", Alex thought, and this time his inner voice didn't sound like an instruction, but almost like relief.
And Yuto was just eating. And with each bite, it became a little easier for him to breathe. After dinner, Yuto and Rinko looked at a manga about space, when they were leafing through Revenge of the Sith in the library. Then Yuto went to do his homework, asking Rinko for Monday's schedule, after which he received a photocopy made by the girl at school.
"Yuto, I noticed that you've lost your schedule. Will you explain the math to me again, as you did in class?"
"Yes, of course. Let's go to your room."
And on Monday, there was another math class.
Rinko bent over her notebook so low that her bangs fell over her eyes. She read the task condition quietly, almost in a whisper:
"There were eight taka in the tray... we bought three... then we reported four more..." and she bent the fingers on her left hand again, then on her right, then straightened them out and started over. Her fingers were moving fast, as if they were trying to catch elusive numbers.
"Again," she muttered to herself. "I'm going to count it right now. Eight minus three... that's five... and then plus four... five and four... six, seven, eight, nine? Or have I already lost my way?"
Yuto wasn't looking at the problem, but at those flashing fingers, and suddenly realized that it wasn't the numbers she couldn't figure out, she was afraid of making mistakes, and her fingers seemed to hold the answer until it slipped out.
He quietly pushed a blank piece of paper towards her:
"Let's not use our fingers. Let's draw a tray. Look."
And he began to carefully shade eight cells in a row - exactly, as if he were putting hot melts on a tray. Rinko stopped moving her fingers for a second and stared at those cages.
"It's... like it's real," she whispered.
"Almost," Yuto nodded. "These eight are all that happened. And now the customers have bought three."
He took a red pencil and crossed out three squares. Rinko involuntarily reached out as if she wanted to stop him, but then she exhaled and just stared.
"How much is left?" Yuto asked quietly.
"Five," Rinko said more confidently, without counting. "You can see it right away. No need to bend your fingers."
"Yeah. And now we're drawing five squares from below again, and the seller has baked four more. Let's add it."
On the right, he added four new cells in green, like a fresh batch from the oven. Rinko ran her finger along the row, without bending her fingers, without moving her lips, just drawing a line through the cells: Rinko ran her finger along the row, without bending her fingers, without moving her lips, just drawing a line through the cells:
"Five and four... nine. Turn out."
She looked up at Yuto, and there was such relief in her eyes, as if a heavy backpack had been lifted from her shoulders.
"You know... I'm shifting the sticks all the time., You know... I'm shifting the sticks all the time", She confessed a little sheepishly. I have counting sticks at home, I drive them back and forth until I get completely confused. And here... everything seems to be in place.
Yuto smiled a little:
"Chopsticks are also normal. But the cells are not lost. They won't go anywhere if someone suddenly pushes the desk." Rinko giggled, and this quiet laugh sounded like something very special in the noisy classroom, just for the two of them.
"Okay, tech guy," she whispered. "Show me again how you draw these cells. I want to try it myself."
The teacher, passing by, paused at their desk, looked at the drawing, at the neat strokes, at the crossed-out cells and said softly:
"It's a good way. Someone is counting on their fingers, someone is moving sticks, and someone is drawing. The main thing is that the answer doesn't run away."
When the bell rang, Rinko carefully closed the notebook, as if she was afraid that if she slammed too hard, these painted cells would fly apart.
"Thanks for showing me," she said softly. "Now I'm going to draw a tray. Even if your fingers get tired of bending, and the chopsticks get lost."
Yuto shrugged, but there was something warm in his eyes:
"The main thing is not to rush. And everything will be smooth. It's like putting them on trays."
They went out into the hallway, and the noise of someone else's classroom no longer seemed so loud. Rinko tugged on his sleeve:
"After school, shall we go to the hawker on the corner? Let's get some tea. And if we're lucky, maybe there will be more thayaks."
Yuto nodded. And there was something simple and reliable about this "let's go" - like these cells in a notebook: one step, one more step, and it's not scary anymore. The tray was almost empty, and the salesman smiled and handed them the last of the taiki, one for two.
"For two people?" Rinko frowned slightly, as if this was a new, difficult task. "But it's not enough here..."
"It's fine," Yuuto said softly, and for the first time in a long time, there was no desire to hide in his voice. "We'll split it up. Like a diagram in half: exactly along the line."
He carefully broke the taiki: one half - with a slightly more ruddy crust - went to Rinko, the other - to him. Rinko took a bite, squeezed her eyes shut with pleasure, and immediately pulled Yuto's sleeve towards the noisy group of classmates at the fence.
"Come on," she whispered, as if sharing a secret. "This is Haru and Mio. Haru is always building something out of sticks, and Mio knows all the best places to sit in silence. They're normal. Truth."
Yuto froze for a second, his fingers involuntarily clenched, as if they were looking for a familiar notebook in a cage where everything could be put on the shelves. But then he remembered: the scheme here is different.
"There is no "was-taken-added". You just have to take a step here. One. Then another one."
Haru looked up and smiled, not too broadly, but sincerely:
"Oh, is this the memory-deprived student from the first B? Rinko told me about you."
He says you put any task into squares, as if you were reading a blueprint.
"Well... if you draw everything, you won't get confused," he muttered, and suddenly he was surprised that he was saying it out loud, and not just Rinko.
Mio nodded as if it was the most reasonable explanation in the world:
It's the same with my cards. If I don't mark with a cross where I've already been, I'll definitely wander back into the same alley.
Rinko exhaled softly, as if something had also fallen from her shoulders, and took another bite of the tayaki.
"And we were just sharing the last taiki," She said, as if that made them all a little closer at once. "Yuto broke everything equally. Exactly. Even the filling didn't leak out."
Haru chuckled and took out two chopsticks from his pocket, even though there was nothing left to eat:
"I usually use them to build towers. Do you want to try it together? Or... if you want, we can just stand here. There is a wind from the river of the Quiet Willow Corner, and the noise is not as loud as at the main entrance."
And then Yuto suddenly realized that he wanted both. I want to see how Haru deftly puts one wand on top of the other, as if building an invisible bridge. I want to hear Mio talk about quiet alleys where no one hurries or shouts. I just want to stand here, next to Rinko, and feel that this world is not someone else's, but just not yet fully marked out.
"Give me the tower," Yuto said unexpectedly to himself. "Just... can I chalk a line on the asphalt first? To keep it standing straight."
Mio laughed, but not offensively, but like they laugh when someone does something their own way and suddenly everyone likes it:
Sure. We have a whole collection of lines here. Someone draws paths, someone draws borders, and one day I drew a circle just to know: here I am.
Rinko smiled, looking from one to the other, and there was so much quiet happiness in her smile, as if she herself had just solved the most difficult problem.
"See?" She whispered to Yuto as Haru carefully placed the third wand. "There's no need to keep everything in mind. You can just... be. And if you get confused, we'll tell you."
Yuto nodded. And for the first time, he didn't want to draw a diagram to hide behind it. He wanted to watch this ridiculous, shaky, but so real tower of sticks grow. How the wind moves Rinko's hair. How Mio points to the sky and says, "Look, there's a cloud like a fish."
And the world, which a week ago seemed alien and too loud, suddenly began to decompose not into cells, but into small, simple things: a warm side of taiyaki, a quiet laugh, a wand that finally stood up straight. The next day, they went to the calligraphy club after school, but Yuto saw the physics club. After the calligraphy class, they walked down the hallway, and Rinko was still smiling, as if she was holding something warm in her palms:
"You liked it! You didn't even wince when you dipped your brush." Yuto shrugged his shoulders, but didn't wave it off. He really liked it - but not to "draw", but to feel how the line obeys the rules.
"I liked it," he admitted quietly. "Everything is in order there. As an instruction."
Rinko wanted to say something else, but then they passed by the door, on which hung a piece of paper with stickers: rocket, magnet, magnifying glass and the inscription "Physics Club: experiments every Wednesday." Yuto suddenly slowed down his pace.
"Is it... about physics?" he asked, as if he was afraid that if he spoke loudly, the door would close.
"Yeah," Rinko nodded. "They touch everything there. Last year, we made boats out of foil so that they wouldn't sink. And they watched how the shadow moved when the lamp was moved."
Yuto looked at the stickers, then at the schedule, where it was written in black and white: "One circle to choose from." And something inside him tightened.
"I want to go there," he said almost in a whisper. "But... there too. Into calligraphy. Everything is according to the rules there, too."
Rinko suddenly stopped pulling on his sleeve. She just stood next to me and also looked at the schedule.