“After this — what are your plans?”
“Lunch, then nothing fixed.”
(After a hard study morning, I was planning to take it easy.)
“Lunch together? I haven’t eaten either.”
“Sure — type of food?”
“Couples-only menu types.”
“You’re the only person who’d answer that question that way.”
(She really is incorrigible. If anyone else made that pitch with someone else they’d misread it and get rejected.)
“Joke aside — great ramen place near here?”
“In.”
“Let’s go.”
We left for the place. Hot August day. Sports clubs practicing in this heat — brutal.
(I’d nearly collapsed in soccer practice as a middle schooler.) We arrived — different from what I expected.
“This is an izakaya?”
“Yep.”
“I thought ramen shop.”
“Plan was to get you drunk and take you home, but —”
“That’s out of bounds.”
(At the goukon someone had warned about exactly that move — spike with high-ABV alcohol at welcome parties, take them home. She’s straight-up confessing.)
“Oh — did you actually buy it?”
“No. But — still izakaya, not ramen, why?”
“This izakaya has famously good ramen. Lots of people come just for the ramen.”
“Oh.”
(First-ever izakaya visit — late nerves. Already gourkon-debuted and love-hotel-debuted at 17 thanks to her, but still.)
“Glad your big sister gave you another first.”
“Don’t phrase it suggestively.”
“Aw — what did you mean? Tell me.”
“You know.”
We ordered ramen. The izakaya enforced one-drink-minimum so we got drinks each.
The ramen arrived — genuinely outstanding. The reputation was real.
“Stock’s intense.”
“Online reviews called it addictive.”
“Quickly understandable.”
(I’d come back for this.) Then I noticed across the table — Kano’s face was flushed.
”…Face is red. Okay?”
“Hmm? I do feel kinda floaty.”
“Wait —”
She’d drunk about 80% of her cola. I leaned in and smelled the glass — alcohol. Oh god.