Author's Notes: I'm really sorry for the delay on this one! Honestly this was a bit of a challenge to write (mostly bc I wanted to make it as interesting as possible while also giving Yuri a little exposition). Chapter 10 will be my take on the 'baking with Natsuki' scene. Stay tuned! For those wondering, the song at the intro is The End of the World by Sharon von Etten. I'd give it a listen before you read!

...

"I wake up in the morning and I wonder...why everythiiing's the saaaame as it wasss...I caaaant understaaaand, no I caaaan't understaaand, how liiife goes on the way it doooooes-"

My eyes still squinted half-shut, I grasped out to the wall and yanked the radio plug out of its socket. I reached out for my phone, and flickered to the home screen. A few minutes past 11'am.

I groggily propped myself up on my bed, and took a moment to stretch. Streams of sunlight were dashed across the blue-black late morning sky, streaks of pink-orange coating the clouds. I rubbed away the rocks built up in my eyes, feeling the streams of dried tears on my cheeks. I tossed my wad of blankets off and stood up, walked over to the bathroom.

I had spent just about most of the night thinking over what Sayori had to revealed to me. I'm man enough to admit that I cried, the full shock and weight of her revelation bearing down on me like a pile of bricks. I sat motionless at my desk thinking over all our experiences together. How it all seemed so innocent and lax back then, now tainted with the fact Sayori was struggling inside and trying to keep herself happy so I wouldn't be displeased.

I sighed. 'So I wouldn't be displeased'.

I finished up in the bathroom and stepped back into my room, stripping off my night wardrobe. I slipped into a pair of black sweatpants and a navy blue T-shirt with my school's logo adorning it (a four leaf clover with a yellow circular border). I put my phone on top of my drawer and stepped into the dimly-lit hallway.

Once I was done feeling sorry for myself, I started to think about life from here on out. How much should I hang out with her that doesn't feel forceful to her? When are we (or she) going to reveal her 'sickness' to the club? To her parents? Do her parents even know about any of this? Or is she keeping it a secret from them as well? I can understand not telling the club, but, like...those are her parents. It's different.

I walked down into the living room. I had kept the lights off and most of the electronics unplugged to conserve power (a habit I picked up from my father). I started to pace around and replug the ones I was going to use.

I know she had told me to not tell anyone in the club about this, but still...it doesn't feel like the best way to do things. I know for a fact they would be 100% supportive and understanding about this. They would be there to help her, and be just as concerned (if not more) about her than I am. But...I had to respect her wishes and do things at her own pace, however fast or slow that may be.

I walked into the kitchen and flicked on the light. I opened the fridge and reached for a box of pancake batter, setting it on the counter. I pulled out other stuff I'd need; syrup, strawberries, whip cream, maybe even a little chocolate shavings for an extra kick.

Should I call her today? Try to make plans again? Would she like that? Or would I be putting her through more unnecessary pain, trying to keep up her false happiness act? But...she doesn't have to anymore, right? I know now. I know she doesn't enjoy putting me through her mopiness (even though that's never been the case), or she tries to but she usually doesn't.

I dug out a pan from the pantry and turned the oven on. A circle of blue pilot lights bloomed. While it warmed up, I started making the pancake batter. I reached for a batter whisker.

I...I still can't believe all this. I mean, I believe it, but I...how could I have never known? What kind of a person am I? Of course in the light of retrospective it all seemed so obvious, but I...just feel so evil. So twisted and vile. Is this right? Should I feel this way? Am I really her friend?

I poured a generous serving of pancake batter into the pan, which immediately began to bubble and pop from the heat. I stood there for a moment, listening to the batter begin to fry. The heat drifted across my face, brushing my eyes. I could hear the hum of the stove, the smell of sweet pancakes wafting into my nose.

O-of course I am, don't be stupid. I've always been her best friend, and she's always been mine. This is just...a hiccup. Yeah. All friendships and relationships have their hiccups, their bumps, their issues. And they always (well, more often than not) get resolved and the relationship is happier and stronger as a result. This is just a hiccup, that's all l. We will get past this together.

I reached up into the cupboard and pulled out a glass and plate. I poured myself a light glass of orange juice, and dug into another drawer for a pair of utensils.

'Lets see what on.' I thought, taking a spot at the dining table. I snatched up the small, grey remote and turned on the power. The TV flickered, and a cartoon show (looked kinda dated) popped up. I started scrolling through channels.

You know, I love my parents to death. They're the best people I know. But, in a weird sort of way, it's oddly liberating for them to not be here, even if it's for a few days. It's a taste of freedom, the eventual freedom I get when I go to university and (likely) move into a dorm or apartment of my own. It's a brush against being independent, being your own person, being able to make your own decisions without having to double check first or ask for permission and stuff.

I kept flicking through channels. Weather reports, local news stations, some schlocky mid-day TV dramas, nature shows, more kid-level cartoons. Is there anything good to watch these days? I switched over to a national-level news station.

On the screen, footage of North Korean leader Kim-Jung Un, with his short, slick black hair and pudgy face galore, huddled with a group of what looked like his military advisors overseeing one of his army centers. On an opposite screen, a female Japanese UN ambassador with flowing brown hair and gorgeous emerald eyes was talking, the headlines discussing new sanctions placed on the little isolated hermit nation. I set the remote down and started to eat. 'It'll have to do.'

I tried to stay focused on the news report (considering the way things were going with Jung Un and the new US President, who wouldn't be just a little interested in these talks?), but my thoughts still rolled back to Sayori.

I glanced down at my plate of half-eaten pancakes, the syrup already soaking into them, making them a slightly doughy/slightly firm mush. Maybe I should go bring her some? No harm in that, right? Just giving her breakfast. I still have some batter left. I mulled the thought over for a moment. I played with one of the pancakes with my fork.

...no. What an awful idea. These pancakes are kinda shitty, anyway. I took a sip of my drink to rinse the taste from my mouth. Too much batter. 'I'd be doing her a disservice', I thought to myself. This is the kind of cooking Natsuki would turn her cute little nose away from in disgust.

I almost dropped my fork.

Natsuki.

Jesus, how the hell could I forget? She was coming over tomorrow to bake for the festival! I still had to get a shitton of supplies she wanted, and that would take at least half the day to do. Internally, I laughed. 'I can't even get pancakes to taste good and here I am, going to bake cupcakes for a whole school.' I swiped up my plate and dumped the rest in the trash, putting the plate in the sink.

I hustled up the stairs. I snatched up my phone and tapped back to my last chat with Natsuki. She had sent me a carefully typed out list of various supplies, with the shop name of where to get them and their prices. I scrolled through it again, reading each one.

I glanced at my solid black laptop sitting on my desk, the screen closed. The charger port hung off the edge of the desk, the outlet plugged in.

Quickly, I sat down at my chair, propped it open, and started to type.

...

I stepped out in front of my wall-to-wall mirror, inspecting my wardrobe. My hair was combed back and to the side slightly, touched in place with a dab of gel and a spritz of hairspray. I was wearing a sleek, pressed black sweater with a white collar shirt underneath, with a pair of loose fit jeans and brown dress shoes to match.

I adjusted the sunglasses hanging from my collar. A very professional look, even if it's kinda going overboard. After all, I'm just going grocery shopping. Then again, if I run into somebody, I'd want to look good, no?

I glanced down to my phone, checking my Maps app. A five minute walk to the train station, then a forty-ish minute train ride to Tokyo. I rushed down into the kitchen and opened up a pantry. I snatched up two neatly-folded woven bags tucked away, and slammed the door shut. I grabbed my spare keys off the table, opened the door, took a parting glance around the living area, and left. The time was a quarter to 1.

The air was very cool (maybe 65 degrees) with light breezes, the sky still clinging to a hazy overcast. The streets were relatively empty, with a few cars whizzing on by, a few odd personas walking up and down the streets. I paused, feeling the wind blow against my cheeks, smiling. I twirled my house keys on my finger for a moment, hooking them to my belt loop. I dug out my headphones and started my walk.

'Todays gonna be a good day. I can feel it.'

The walk was a very brisk one, but pleasant. I passed by a few local shops just opening up for the day, nodded and kept on. The bus stop was sparsely populated, with only a bushy-bearded man (looked like an American) in a brown suit, a young couple with their bouncing baby girl and an elder woman with her foldable grocery basket waiting at the benches. I took a spot at an empty bench the furthest away and returned to my music.

The train silently pulled into the station, a silver line of cars with a blue-yellow stripe going all the way to the back. I paused, waiting for it to come to a stop. Everyone slowly boarded, paid their fare, and found a seat. The train was more packed, seats occupied by a mishmash of faces young and old, looking down at their phones and laptops. I walked towards the near back, where it was mostly deserted and took a window spot. I set my bags down and took out my phone.

A half hour later, the train soon reached the city limits of Tokyo, Japan's great capital. A mile or so away, towering above the forest of low buildings was the Tokyo Skytree, a bulky, metal-sheathed observation tower some 300 feet taller than America's World Trade Center. The twisting tower loomed above my little traincar, what remained of the overcast drifting across the thick spire on the roof. I pressed my face to the window, trying to take in it's full height. My eyes looked it up and down before the train passed it, speeding further into downtown.

In a minute, the train pulled into the main station hub. When it clicked to a stop, the train became alive, everyone trying to get out all at once. I waited for most people to leave before exiting myself. The station was swarming with people, moving about the little stores and heading out of the station into the city. I unplugged my headphones, paying more attention to my surroundings.

Sunlight breaking through the overcast shined through the open-ceiling roof. I mingled with the crowd, my empty bags clutched in my hand. I walked downstairs and reached the main plaza, where about a dozen people were enjoying their brunches. Metal tables and benches were spread out, a large water fountain crowning the center. I took a spot at an empty table, pulling out my phone.

I looked back to Natsuki's list. The first store was a few blocks away, and was due to open in a few minutes. I clicked my tongue. 'Should've taken a later train.'

Guess there's nothing else to do but wait.

…

Three hours later, both of my bags were stuffed to the brim. Natsuki's list had sent me running all over downtown, going to some of the most obscure shops that I couldn't have imagined someone like Natsuki going to. I did strike up a conversation with one of the shopkeepers, an elder man who, as shown in his tinted, aging photos hung up behind his counter, fought in the war. He immediately brightened up when I mentioned Natsuki sent me.

"Ah, Natsuki! Such a sweet girl! She has a keen eye for the best ingredients. I take it your her boyfriend?" he told me, taking a spot at his stool at the counter.

I felt myself blush. "Haha, no. Just a friend of hers." I awkwardly adjusted the bags in my hand.

He seemed surprised. "Really? A handsome fellow like yourself. You look like her type."

I laughed, trying to swing away from the topic. "I can assure you it's not like that. We're making snacks for school tomorrow together, and she told me to get the batter she needs here."

The man smiled. "A girl like her knows where to find the best! I've been in this business since after the war, when the Americans came in and rebuilt Tokyo from the ground up." He got up, going to his backroom, still talking.

"I value myself in my products, it's like a little piece of me. I always get up in the morning and head down to the market, for first picks." I could hear shuffling, a box falling. "Only the most brilliant and observant of eyes know where to find the freshest, the sweetest, the best of the best. Keen eyes, that girl."

As he talked, I took a moment to look more at the photos hanging up. In one I could see a group of men sitting down at a makeshift table (in a war setting), the Imperial flag of Japan hanging behind them. I squinted to read the date. Aug 1943. They all had bright, wide smiles, holding their MREs up for the camera to photograph. True camaraderie and brotherhood, even if they were fighting for the wrong reasons, and they ended up losing the war a year or so later. I wonder how many in that photo lived to see the day...

He returned, holding another box of the batter I bought. He sets it down on the counter, slides it my way. "It's free. Tell her I said hello, if it's not too much trouble." I thanked him with a bow, took the box, and left.

I left the shop and started walking. By now the sun had broken up most of the overcast, the clouds offering no protection from the midday heat. Several blocks away, the red-white Tokyo Tower loomed, the structure glimmering in the sun's rays. The foot traffic was intense, as I had to squeeze my way through the crowds of businessmen and women, probably on their lunch breaks.

I reached a small market square, with rows and rows of trader booths and stands behind the gated entrance. A small water fountain with a spherical gold statue marked the entrance, encircled by benches. I sat down at one, setting my bags at my feet. I took a moment to catch my breath, and took out my phone. I scrolled to the Maps app, refreshed it...the next train back to Ichikawa wasnt due for another half hour. I sighed, slowly put my phone away. I dug into my bag and grabbed my unopened Ramune soda bottle, popped the top, and took a long swig.

My eyes glazed around, eyeing the market. People were huddled around various booths, inspecting the foods and products the vendors had to offer. Fresh fish, ripe fruits, knick-knacks for the rich foreigners, the works. Farther inside, I could hear lively music, sounded like a band and not just a recording. I shifted in my seat. I looked around more.

Various buildings surrounded me. My eyes fell upon a small bookstore, the glass door propped open. Some people were sitting at the shaded tables outside of the entrance, gated off. Underneath the green-white "Junichiro Bookshop/Amenities" sign was a more crudely-printed "New Shipments!" banner, in Japanese. Through the window, I could see a cluster of people standing around, unmoving. From here, I couldn't tell what they were doing; I only saw their upper bodies.

I watched the activity in the window with vague interest. I checked the time again. 'I guess I could browse around.' I thought, standing up and grabbing my bags. How convenient this is, thinking about it more. After finishing My Hero Academia (so far), I was interested in checking out the manga that came before it and seeing how it stacks up to the show, and the 'new shipments' sign gave me an inkling of hope they may have it in stock. If not, I could always look at some other series they have. Either way, it would at least kill about a half hour.

I gathered my things and made my way across the street.

I stepped into the store, which was very homely in tone. Several rows of brown bookshelves stretched all the way to the back of the store. A step-up counter was to the left of the door, with a smaller bookshelf behind it. Various posters of treasured Japanese literature as well as some more classical art hung up around the walls. Handmade paper ornaments hung from the ceilings. I could hear faint classical music, heavy with harpsichords. The air was pleasant and slightly cool, with a distinguished smell of cherries.

In the very back, I could see about ten or so people huddled around a low table draped with a white sheet, with an older woman sitting behind it, dressed formally. A short stand was next to her, with a posterboard of a book cover depicting flames rising from a darkly-outlined mountain. Through the smoke, I could see the silhouette of some sort of kaiju, like King Ghidorah or something. The date of release was June 2018, next year. Azusa Sasaki was her name. 'An author.' I thought, absentmindedly. 'Must be a meet-and-greet.'

I wandered to the near back of the store, still holding my bags. My eyes followed the checkmarks organizing the various genres. Sure enough, there was a solid selection of manga resting on a shelf, in like-new condition. I bent down, scanning the titles. M...m...My Hero...aha! My finger touched a paperback set of the show, volumes 1-12. I carefully slid it from its spot and carried it with my free hand, the other two bags hanging from my other arm.

I walked up to the counter, holding the book in my hand. I slid it onto the counter and started pulling out some yen bills from my wallet. The woman behind the counter was fairly young (maybe a year or so older than me), with her hair tied into two braids resting on her chest. She quietly took my money and handed me a receipt. I started to head out the door, but my eyes returned to the group of people near the back.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I started to walk over to their congregation. I slowly crept up behind the group of people. Miss Sasaki was holding a book with what looked like the same cover on the poster-board stand. She was reading aloud…

"...Mimura could hear The Subjects heavy footsteps as it slowly strolled around.

She drew her gun close, checking the loadout. Still a few rounds left, but not like it mattered. Yards away, she could hear a deep snuffling sound, like a horse or a pig. Claws scratched across the metal floor. She could hear the animals deep breaths, the beasts ribcage rising and falling.

It was searching for her, she realized.

She shut her eyes, desperately fighting off the rising sensation of fear in her gut. She drew in long, slow breaths. Her hands felt slimy against the cold metal butt of her pistol. She couldn't stop her hands from trembling. God help her. God help her. God help her.

With her free hand, she felt for the cyanide pill in her breast patch."

She gently set the book down, face up. There was a round of applause, which I joined in with. Miss Sasaki stood up and started to gather her things, effectively ending the read-aloud. The group seemed to mostly disperse, a few going to her to ask for an autograph. I was about to leave when something caught my eye.

I stopped.

There she was. Her flowing black-violet hair going down her back, free of her school uniform. Faced away from me, ruffling through her knitted book-sack. Yuri.

"Yuri?" I said, aloud.

She turned to me, taken aback. She was wearing a neatly-pressed white button-up shirt (which, may I add, did wonders in showing off her mature figure). A brown belt held up her slim black pants, and her hair was combed back behind her shoulders, with none spilling out onto her chest. She was wearing a pair of slightly-thick rounded black reading glasses, perfectly matching her stylish black boots. A dash of concealer dotted her cheeks, with a small necklace of a silver metal eye hanging from her neck.

She stammered. "K-Kazuma! What a pleasant surprise!" She tucked some of her hair back behind her ear, face awash with blush. She clearly wasn't expecting to run into anyone from school.

I smiled. "It's great to see you, Yuri. May I saw what a lovely outfit you have on?" I said. I wasn't being phony; she looked drop-dead gorgeous in her outfit.

Yuri blushed, slightly turning her face away, hand up to her cheek to hide her blush. "O-oh...thank you. It's different from my school wardrobe, isn't it?" She said with a slightly awkward laugh.

I nodded. "It looks great on you. I love the glasses." I said, tapping my temple. She smiled in return.

"What brings you here, Kazuma? I never expected to see you in a bookstore." She paused, and stammered. "I-not that I'm implying your dumb or a-anything! I-I just, ah…"

I waved my hand slightly. "Nah, I know what you mean. I was just in the neighborhood because I was shopping for some baking stuff Natsuki needed for tomorrow."

She smiled slightly. "Oh, how considerate of you. Monika told me not to worry about bringing supplies over to her home, so I don't need to worry about that."

"That's cool." I lifted up my bags slightly. "I just finished my shopping and decided to pop on here to browse around." I tried to conceal the bag holding the My Hero Academia manga behind the other two, but I'm pretty sure Yuri saw it anyway.

Ah hell, why am I even hiding it, anyway? I remember telling her that I read mostly manga on my first day at the club...which was almost a week ago. Wow, time flies. A week ago I had no interest in joining a club on my own merits, and here I am about to bake snacks for one.

I glanced over at Miss Sasaki, busy talking to a trio of Japanese schoolboys (looked like fourth-years), silently nodding as she spoke, showing complete respect. "May I ask what brought you here?" I said, turning back to Yuri.

Yuri smiled, holding her hands together. "Oh, I was just here to attend a meet-and-greet with the Portrait of Markov author. You recall, the book I talked about in one of our first meetings?"

Ah, right. That twisted Nazi torture novel or whatever. That cover on the poster-stand definitely fell in tune with that sort of 'flavor' of writing, especially with that haunting little excerpt I heard a few lines of. I nodded. "Yes, I remember."

Yuri smiled brighter, excited almost. "It was wonderful. I got my original copy of Markov signed and managed to win a pre-order ticket for her next book," she pointed towards the poster-stand, 'Subject DX', in a raffle contest. That is a prequel to one of her earlier works, which I've heard is similar in tone to Markov. It's another book I have been postponing on reading until I finish re-reading Markov."

I smiled, listening to her talk. Yuri was enveloped in her books, entranced almost, and it was pleasant to hear her so eagerly talk about something she clearly loves and cares about. It's a heavy change of pace from the persona I know from the Literature Club, usually so shy and timid unless otherwise revealed. Even if I knew next to nothing about Miss Sasaki's works, I still love hearing Yuri talk so animatedly about it anyway.

She stopped herself, blushed again. "A-ah, I'm sorry, Kazuma. You probably don't want to hear me ramble." She glanced away, washed in embarrassment.

I shook my head no. "Absolutely not. I love hearing you talk about the things your interested in. Don't think I don't."

She smiled again, looking up at me. "You...you really mean that, Kazuma?"

"Absolutely."

Yuri frowned slightly, almost in disbelief. "Forgive me but, its just...in my adolescence I was always shunned for having such a deep interest in literature like Markov. I was told to keep it to myself, or at home. Hearing you say that is…", she twirled a strand of her hair. "enlightening."

When I was looking up my next train ride back, I noticed that there was a coffee shop just a block or so away from the market. At least, I think it was a coffee shop. Hopefully it was open by now.

"Well, consider this a little sudden, but if you have a moment, would you like to join me for a drink? I know a coffee shop not very far from here. You can tell me more about some of the other pieces Miss Sasaki has written, if you'd like."

Yuri seemed taken aback. "R-really? Are you sure?"

I shrugged slightly. "Sure. I'll pay for your drink, if you want. I don't mind."

Yuri blushed feverishly. "Oh, there's n-no need for that. I can pay for my own." She paused. "Then yes, if you'd like to, I would be more than happy to join you for a moment." She adjusted the book-sack on her shoulder. "There's a lot I want to tell you about." She started to move to the door, and I followed her.

"Really?" I said, opening the door for her. "Like what?"

…

"No way."

"Yes way, Kazuma."

"But how? That doesn't even make any sense."

"Well, it would make sense if you read it."

Yuri and I were seated underneath a shaded table outside of the coffee shop I saw earlier. Thankfully it was open by this time of day, sparsely populated with mostly young faces, students and aspiring writers it seemed. We took a spot outside on the foyer and in a minute a waitress came to take our orders. A couple of blocks away, the Tokyo Tower loomed. From my seat, I had a perfect view of the tower, rising up to over a thousand feet into the sky, towering above the street.

Yuri took a moment to take a bite of her apple fritter, glazed to perfection. I sipped my steaming coffee, brewed heavy with milk and a dash of cinnamon shaving.

"The way Sasaki explains it is that the genetic coding of The Subject has the ability to quickly self-heal, even for large open wounds like gunfire or et cetera. During the story it's able to take on military-level fire and emerge just fine in the end, even with direct hits to the core regions of the body. That ability is the ultimate key to its survival and how it eludes the hunters for so long."

"So what, it's basically indestructible? How do they even kill it?"

"Ah…I shouldn't spoil it for you."

I set my croissant down, and looked up at her. "Oh come on, Yuri. Just a little bit?" I pinched my fingers together slightly.

Yuri playfully folded her arms, almost defiant. "No, Kazuma. Go read the book and maybe you'd learn how they kill it. Which they eventually do." She smiled.

I waved my hands in an almost defensive posture. "Okay, okay. I'll order a copy later when I get home. You've convinced me." I said with a light laugh.

We fell silent for a moment. Cars honked and sped down the busy street. A trio of people sitting at the table next to us started to get up and leave.

Yuri spoke. "So, how are you enjoying the Literature Club, Kazuma?"

I nodded. "It's been great. I'll admit I didn't have high hopes for me being in the club at first, but I'm pleased to say I'm loving it. All of you have been really sweet and nice to me, and I feel at home with you all. Forgive me if I haven't said it yet, but...thank you for being so warm to me."

Yuri nodded, smiling. "Oh, it is my pleasure. It's good you feel comfortable with us. I know Monika was especially worried that you might be," she made quotation marks with her fingers, "intimidated by us? It's silly I know, but ah...well, you are the only boy in the club so far."

"Yeah." I adjusted the cup on my dish. "Well, maybe that'll change when we present for the festival, right?" I said, referencing her last comment.

Yuri seemed to draw back when I said that. "A-ah...Kazuma, may I be honest?"

I nodded. "Sure. What's wrong?"

Yuri traced the rim of her teacup with her finger (just like she did the first day I met her). "Well...don't you enjoy the Literature Club the way it is currently? We are small, but closely-knit?"

I thought about it for a moment. It's certainly nice to be in such a small club (it feels more homely), but certainly Monika is hoping her presentation for the festival is going to draw in more members? If she wants to be able to compete and be on the level of the other, much more popular clubs, she's gonna want all the people she can find to join. As for me personally?

"Well...it certainly wouldn't hurt to have, like, one or two more new members. Not a whole lot, but a few fresh faces. What makes you ask?"

Yuri nervously adjusted her plate. "I...well, the idea to present at the festival wasn't my idea. Monika started it, and I was voted out 3-1 by the others. This was a while before you joined."

"Really?" I say, surprised. "Why did you say no?"

Yuri glances away. "I...I just...like the club the way it is. How small it is, I mean. I'm not pleased at the idea of there being a lot of people I don't know joining a club I find a lot of happiness in. I just...don't want that ruined…"

She glanced away again. "F-forgive me, that must seem so rude…"

I nodded my head no. "No, it's completely understandable. You want to keep things the same. Not wanting change is natural."

Yuri looked back up at me again.

"Well, I don't want to seem negative, but, I don't think you should worry about there being a line of people wanting to join the club after the festival."

Yuri gave me a look. "What makes you say that?"

My mind reeled back to my second day with the club, seeing the sign-up sheet hanging up on the bulletin board, with a row of empty name slots stretching down the end of the paper. Even so, it would be so rude to flat out say nobody likes literature the way the club does, especially to someone like Yuri. I'll reword it…

"Well, we do have a lot of competition. There's the computer engineering club, the culinary arts, political discussion, the anime club, theater arts…"

Yuri nodded. "Yes, there's a lot of other, much more established clubs out there. We only just formed the literature club a month ago. Some of the clubs have been here since before we even started Year One. And they have budgets, and fundraisers, and sponsors, and…"

Yuri trailed off. "Perhaps you are right, Kazuma." She took a sip from her glass of cream milk. "Maybe I am worrying for nothing. Chances are we may just be overlooked by other students, in favor of more popular clubs."

"Didn't Monika say she was going to perform a song at the festival?"

Yuri's face lightened, trying to recall. "Yes, she was supposed to. I remember Sayori getting excited like she usually does when she accidentally revealed it."

My heart stung upon hearing mention of Sayori. I wonder what she's doing right now? Probably at home sleeping or maybe out doing something with her family. Anything to keep the mind of of her constant negative feelings.

"Has Monika said anything about it since?"

Yuri nodded. "She mentioned that she wants to play the song for me tomorrow so I can give her a critique on it."

I paused thoughtfully. "That's...sweet of her. You'll have to tell me how it sounds. I bet it'll be great."

Yuri smiled, a trace of red on her cheeks. "Well, when Monika's the one behind it, you know it'll be something beautiful." Another pause.

"What about you and Natsuki, Kazuma?"

I glanced up from my cup of coffee. "Hm?"

"Well, out of everyone else in the club, you two seem to be getting along the best.

I could feel a heat rising to my cheeks. "Uh…"

Yuri stammered. "Oh, d-don't take it the wrong way! I just meant...you two have become friends, I take it?"

I swallowed. "Y-yeah, I think so. We get along pretty well."

Yuri smiled. "That's good. I see you got her a gift?"

I glanced up from my coffee cup. "Hm?"

Yuri glanced down under our table, and pointed directly to the bag containing the My Hero Academia manga set. "The manga you bought at the bookstore. Is it not a gift for her?"

'So she did notice.' I thought to myself.

I set the cup back down. "A-ah, well it was actually something I bought for myself." I said, shakily.

"I see. What series is it?" Yuri asked.

"My Hero Academia. I don't think you've ever heard of it."

"I think I have." Yuri ran her finger along the edge of her cup. "It's about, uh, superheroes, right?"

"Hmm...kinda." I shifted in my seat. "It's a world where a majority of the population has a 'quirk', or type of superhuman trait, say telekinesis or flight. The story follows this one boy, Midoriya Izuku, who was born without a quirk but adopts one from a famous hero, and he goes on to join a school for aspiring heroes. It's a good combination of slice-of-life, adventure and fantasy."

Yuri nodded silently, soaking in my very word.

"I think it's really good. It's not about horror, but I think you'd enjoy it."

"Does Natsuki like it?" Yuri said, almost cutting me off.

I paused. "I'm not sure. She's probably heard of it, at least. I only know she's into The Parfait Girls, which is pretty different from My Hero."

Yuri said nothing.

"You uh, you could ask her if she's heard of it…"

At this, Yuri blushed. "No, no...I couldn't…"

"Why not?"

Yuri looks...ashamed. "I...don't think Natsuki would want me to bug her."

"What? Why?" I said, puzzled. In the time I've known her, Natsuki never really showed any ill-feelings to Yuri, at least that I'm aware of. Unless that isn't the case?

Yuri continued. "I'm...I think it's because of how different we are, as people and as writers. You know, how she is very light with words whereas I prefer to be very 'heavy'."

She continued. "When we shared our poems we'd silently go back and forth on writing styles. I always defend my idea that, a majority of the time, being vivid with your words is a more satisfying means of writing, where she rebukes with the concept of 'less is more'. I'm not dismissing her, but I will still defend my arguments."

She glanced away. "Still, I think she doesn't like me. She probably thinks I'm trying to talk down to her, which I would never do. Considering how small she is, she's probably dealt with people being so condescending to her for her whole life. As a fellow writer and a fellow club member, I still respect her despite our differences. But...I don't think she knows that…" Yuri's deep, soothing voice chipped on that last line.

A silence followed.

"I really don't think that's the case, Yuri."

Yuri looked up at me.

"She's never told me anything bad about you to me before. Whenever she's mentioned you, it's always been in a good way. And she isn't the type of person to hate criticism just for getting it. If anything, she probably wants to learn from you to help improve herself as a writer."

Yuri sat silently for a moment.

"I don't know how she does it."

I blinked. "Sorry?"

"How can she be so confident in herself? With her baking, her manga, her writing. I can never reach for that sort of self-loving even if I try. Where I find it so hard to open up and discuss my writing unless otherwise, she eagerly shows it off and has a sense of pride over it I just can't find. How can she be like that?"

I didn't have an immediate response. "Well...I'm not sure how to answer that, Yuri."

She made a slight wave. "It's okay. It was a dumb question anyway."

"Maybe...you should ask her."

"What?"

"Yeah. Well, first actually message her. Start off with manga and say you were interested in it, and you wanted a recommendation. That's sure to get her talking."

"But...but what if she doesn't want to talk to me? What if I find that my worst fears are true?"

I shifted in my seat, looked Yuri in the eyes. "I can almost assure you that won't happen. Natsuki doesn't hate you, trust me. She's a lot nicer than you think."

I continued. "And I bet she wants to talk to you, as well. Maybe she even has the same sentiments that you have for her? You'll never know until you try to reach out."

I took a last bite from my croissant. "You should try to, and see what happens. Then build up from there. It's like that old saying, the greatest adventures began with a single step. And here is your first step."

Yuri looked ready to tear up (I hoped she didnt). "Th-thank you Kazuma. I appreciate your words a lot. If I get a chance, I'll try to message her later today."

I smiled. "Let me know how that goes."

Yuri cleared her throat. "So...tell me more about this Midoriya Izuku character, if you don't mind. Who did he get his quirk from?"

…

Another hour passed, and Yuri and I continued to talk about My Hero Academia. I eagerly filled her in on the basic plot, the antagonists and where you could watch it (I recommended a few streaming sites). After that, I told her about a couple of more manga series and their adaptations she might like. She listened patiently, asking a bunch of questions about the plots and characters. She seemed very interested to know about what kind of series Natuski liked, but all I told her was (to her slight dismay) that'd she'd have to ask for herself.

Soon she got a call, and she told me she had to return home. Quite understandable, as it was starting to grow dark. I carefully took our table trash and dumped it, and said my goodbyes to her. I reaffirmed my promise to buy the book she so eagerly told me about (hopefully it doesn't cost too much), and started to head out.

I glanced down at my phone, seeing there were a few texts in the Literature Club chat. I opened it up...

lilmonix3: Dont forget everyone's tasks for tomorrow! Yuri, feel free to come over at anytime you want, you already have my address. Just text before you show up. ;)

happy-thoughts: ️

mangaislit: Kazuma did you get the stuff i needed?

I quickly typed.

kodaka17: Yeah, just spent all day getting them fyi. Your welcome lol. Text me and I'll show you what I managed to find

I clicked my phone off and shoved it in my pocket. I paused for a moment to retrieve my headphones, untangle them and plug them into my phone. Up above, I could hear the silent whupwhupwhup of a passing helicopter. Night was beginning to set, the eco-friendly streetlights gently flickering on.

Waving a final goodbye to Yuri (standing by the streets edge waiting for a taxicab), I turned to walk across the street back to the train station.