After Kiyomizu-dera, with lunch in between, we’d arrived at Arashiyama. Off the bus, we headed straight for Togetsukyō Bridge.
“Arashiyama means Togetsukyō Bridge.”
“It’s the symbol of Arashiyama, sure.”
“Yeah, the view is gorgeous.”
Most of Arashiyama was free-time, so the other students had scattered to their preferred destinations, but lots of them had still come here for the bridge.
Even I, knowing approximately nothing about Arashiyama, knew the name Togetsukyō, so naturally it was packed.
“Eek!?”
Riona, who had stopped to photograph the view from the bridge, got jostled by someone passing and almost went down.
“Just in time.”
I caught her before she hit the ground.
“Ryouya, thanks.”
“Ryouya-kun usually doesn’t but he does cool things every now and then.”
“Hey — usually and every now and then are doing some unfortunate work in that sentence.”
“Sorry, sorry.”
I’d just rescued Riona and I was being slighted. The two of them then linked arms with me from both sides.
“What’s this?”
“Stuck to Ryouya, we don’t fall when pushed.”
“Keep me and Riona safe, okay?”
”…Got it.”
The other tourists were giving us looks, but my immunity was at this point complete. Damage: zero. We crossed Togetsukyō Bridge in that configuration and started talking about the next stop.
“Bamboo grove path next?”
“Seconded — can’t skip the bamboo grove.”
“What is it?”
“As the name suggests, a 400-meter path lined with bamboo. As popular as Togetsukyō.”
“Like this picture.”
“Oh, that place.”
Reona showed me a photo on her phone of a path with tall bamboo arching overhead. I’d seen that view before on TV Kyoto-specials. Also — wasn’t it a popular confession spot?
We started toward it, navigating by phone, still arm-linked. The shopping street on the way was bustling.
“I want something sweet. Stop?”
“Sure, no dessert at lunch — I want something too.”
“Matcha-flavor sweets.”
“Right, Kyoto means matcha.”
We bought matcha soft-serve. Reona was lining up the social media shot. I took a bite.
“Rich. Delicious.”
“Hometown matcha.”
“Mio’s souvenir is going to be matcha sweets.”
Riona and I chatted while Reona kept photographing her cone. She’d be picking the best shot from her set. Eat it before it melts, I did not say.
“Ryouya, you have cream on your cheek.”
“Wait, where?”
I was reaching into my pocket for a tissue when Riona leaned in. And kissed my cheek to remove it.
“Clean now.”
“What was that?! Just telling me would’ve worked!”
“I’d have been faster.”
Riona looked unfazed on the surface, but her face contained a faint embarrassed tone.
“Riona — don’t flirt with Ryouya-kun without me.”
“Sorry, next time I’ll loop in Nee-chan.”
“There is not going to be a next time.”
Even a Mob Character B loner like me does not repeatedly get soft-serve on his cheek at age seventeen.