Life In The Reverse World

Because the line from Tokyo Station to Minato Ward was always packed, Harutaki didn’t even dare force his way onto the first train. He waited for the second one, slipped in early, and secured a corner spot where he wouldn’t have to brush up against anyone.

Pressing close to a cute girl was a luxury.

Pressing close to a crowd of suit-clad office workers and middle-aged salarymen… yeah, he’d pass.

All in all, though he left Tokyo Station a little after eleven, it was nearly twelve-thirty by the time he reached school.

The front gate looked completely different from the day he first enrolled. In just over a month, the cherry trees lining the street had already shed every last pink and white petal. That feeling of walking atop a carpet of blossoms, as if stepping into a kingdom of youth and dreams, was nowhere to be found anymore.

But the moment he turned the corner—

He spotted something out of place.

The school gate stood half-closed in the quiet of noon, like a restaurant about to shut for the day. And crouched at the entrance, as if savoring a brief moment of rest after work, was the head chef himself.

Dressed in a suit, yes—but with a crooked, loosened tie and hair so messy it looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Asama-sensei?”

“Yo. Failed, huh?”

Asama-sensei pushed himself up with a hand on his knee, letting out an old-man-like “oof” of complaint. Probably because he couldn’t smoke in public, he had a Pocky stick clenched between his teeth instead.

Even so, the image of a disreputable middle-aged man was hard to shake.

More delinquent loitering outside the school gate than respected teacher.

“Yeah… failed. Though honestly, I didn’t expect it to succeed.”

The lazy smile beneath his stubble might’ve looked mocking to others, but Harutaki knew better. The man was probably just glad he had the sense to accept reality.

“Didn’t expect you to show up in person. Thought you’d just call.”

“Call during someone’s important negotiations? I’m not that tactless. I’m actually quite popular with the girls at ‘Is the Order a JK Today?’.”

It’s because you spend too much there, isn’t it?!

“So? Giving up, Hoshikawa?”

Crunch.

Asama-sensei bit his Pocky in half mid-sentence.

Talking while eating—rude much?

Harutaki complained inwardly, then realized this probably didn’t even register on the man’s radar.

“What do you think, Sensei?”

He answered with a question of his own.

Sure, mentally he might’ve surpassed most high schoolers. But in reality, he’d only graduated college a couple years ago and worked at his family’s company. Compared to someone like Asama-sensei, who had seen countless students and human nature laid bare—he was still green.

“Life’s flavor comes from loss and gain~”

Asama-sensei flicked open the Pocky box with his thumb like a lighter and popped another chocolate-coated stick into his mouth.

“But if you get used to quitting halfway after making up your mind… don’t expect to succeed much later in life.”

“Then like you said, I’ll take the long way around. Might need to ask you for leave in a few days.”

Sensing Harutaki’s low mood, Asama-sensei jerked a thumb toward campus, signaling they should walk while talking.

“I don’t deny shortcuts. And I don’t agree that detours are always right or safe either. As long as you can bear the consequences of your choice and won’t regret it years down the road, that’s enough. Taking the long way… for kids, it’s probably an interesting experience.”

He didn’t even ask what Harutaki meant.

“Slowing down. Having time to look at the scenery along the road. Adults drowning in worries don’t get that luxury. If you spend your youth obsessing over efficiency and charging forward like a boar… you’ll just end up a screw in some machine. A brick moved wherever needed.”

He sighed meaningfully.

“High applicability, low cost, easy to replace. Mass-produced consumables. Sure, they have value. But handcrafted, one-of-a-kind pieces? Those are always more sought after.”

One of a kind…

Harutaki thought for a moment, then asked bluntly, “So I should be more unconventional?”

“You’re still a half-finished product worrying about branding already?”

Asama-sensei shot him a disdainful glance.

“There’s always a proper balance. Overly artistic pieces nobody understands. Overly high-quality products too expensive to buy. And sometimes… natural is best. Get it?”

That made Harutaki recall his encounter with Chouko’s mother at Tokyo Station.

She barely knew him—only that he’d saved Chouko.

Under those circumstances, being wary of a boy who seemed overly mature and possibly calculating was only natural.

Ironically, his later impulsiveness had softened her stance.

“…I’ll go to Kyoto.”

“Like I said—moderation. Though I was kind of hoping to see you dragged back in a cage on an ox cart.”

Asama-sensei handed him a Pocky stick.

The gesture oddly reminded Harutaki of being offered cigarettes at business parties.

“I don’t smoke,” he muttered internally, but accepted it.

“Thanks… Charging at windmills won’t have serious consequences, right?”

“You’re sharp. Thought you’d mistake them for monsters.”

…

Back in the classroom, Harutaki slumped over his desk.

He was hungry—but had no motivation to go buy food.

At this hour, the cafeteria sets were surely sold out. The good stuff—cheese bread, hot dogs, yakisoba buns—probably long gone from the school store.

He had zero desire to eat those sad, cold vending machine breads.

Just as he closed his eyes to endure the hunger—

Thud.

Something heavy hit his desk.

He looked up.

Ren sat in Haruto’s seat, watching him.

“Didn’t eat lunch, huh?”

Ren slid a bottle of Calpis forward, then like a magician produced a hot dog from behind his back.

A big one. The kind usually bought by sports club guys.

“Bit cold now, but better than vending machine bread.”

Harutaki didn’t refuse.

“Thanks. I’m starving.”

He tore open the paper and took a big bite.

Gulp.

The sweet-and-sour Calpis slid down smoothly.

“You psychic or something?” he asked.

Ren snorted. “Haruto asked me to buy it earlier. Then he heard Miho made extra bento today and said he’d ‘save space for that.’ So I got stuck disposing of the hot dog and drink.”

“That’s straightforward. I was expecting something cheesy.”

Ren instantly switched to falsetto: “It’s because you came back so late, Harutaki~ I prepared this lovingly for you~”

“Oh? I love you~ Ren’s so thoughtful~”

“Wanna go rest in the infirmary later?”

“Sure~”

They stared at each other for a second.

Their shoulders trembled.

Then both burst out laughing.

“Disgusting…”

“Agreed.”

“But once in a while, it feels refreshing, right?”

“…If that were Haruto saying it, I’d throw up.”

“Please stop. The mental image is cursed.”

After the laughter faded, Ren’s tone shifted.

“So. What’s been eating at you?”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Even Haruto didn’t dare talk to you. That’s how heavy your vibe’s been.”

“…Even him?”

Ren chuckled.

“It’s about Shihou-san, isn’t it? Ever since she first took leave, you’ve been off. And today she’s absent again—and you disappear all morning.”

“Sharp, Detective Murai Shinichi.”

“And you’ve been playing your part well too, Phantom Thief Kuroba Harutaki.”

Top-tier extrovert. Harutaki sighed inwardly.

“Have you ever disagreed with your parents? The kind where neither side is wrong?”

“Everyone has. Mine respect my choices, though. If I explain my reasoning, they usually support me.”

That tracked.

“So what if parents think following their path guarantees a good future?”

“Ah. Controlling types.”

Ren thought seriously.

“They trust the road they’ve walked. Less risky than letting their kids choose. But flowers raised in greenhouses can’t withstand wind and rain. Even sunlight reaches them filtered through glass. That’s kind of sad, right?”

“Even outdoor sunlight gets filtered by the atmosphere—”

“Stop bringing physics into philosophy!”

Ren glared playfully.

“In many parents’ eyes, their child isn’t an independent person. Just their past self. Even my mom does it. She tells me to use paper instead of a tablet. But tablets are obviously more efficient.”

Harutaki remembered.

“We used to…”

“If we had your conditions…”

“We’ve eaten more salt than you’ve eaten rice…”

“Just listen to us…”

Even after graduation, after working—

Children remained children.

And “inheriting the family business”—

Were those kids truly passionate?

He had once wanted to be Ultraman.

An astronaut.

A hacker.

A writer.

A basketball star.

Now he couldn’t even manage a sincere relationship.

In his own mind, he still had infinite possibilities.

But to parents?

He was just a naive younger version of themselves.

Chouko’s mother must think that way.

If he wanted Chouko to have autonomy—

He needed to prove two things:

That she wouldn’t regret her choice.

And that the riskier path held greater rewards.

“If only everyone choosing their future could shoulder the weight of that risk…”

The classroom gradually filled with voices.

Lunch break was ending.

Class 2-3 would soon grow noisy again.

…

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