It was a strange twilight, as if the after-school chime had echoed from the far reaches of memory.
The orange rays of the setting sun sliced diagonally across the long hillside, making the distance to home feel even more daunting.
“……Hey, I’m at my limit. Not a single drop of energy left in me.”
Okazaki leaned against Seto’s back like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Her usual “madness armed with logic” was nowhere to be found; right now, she was simply a high school girl who had been defeated by hunger.
“……Ah, I know. You worked hard, staying late. That’s why I’m taking you there.”
Seto smiled slightly, looking exasperated, and pointed toward the top of the hill. Situated halfway up the slope was a small fast-food joint that blended seamlessly into the townscape. From there wafted a savory, somewhat nostalgic scent of oil.
Okazaki’s nose twitched, drawn toward the shop like a moth to a flame.
“Yay! Fried potatoes—Large size! Split in half?” “……Naturally. If we split it, I can still maintain my ‘will to diet’.”
The two of them hurried into the shop, the rhythmic clicking of their loafers echoing on the pavement.
The paper bag they received at the counter radiated a gentle heat from the bottom. This shop’s “Fried Potatoes”—as they called them—were a local favorite among the students in this area, despite being nothing more than ordinary French fries. The moment they stepped out of the store, Okazaki couldn’t contain herself and tore open the bag.
“Hot…!”
A short yelp escaped her, but her face was radiant with happiness. She skillfully plucked one out with her fingertips and stuffed it into her mouth with a muffled hafu-hafu sound.
“……Mmm! This crunch of the outer crust… the fluffy sweetness of the potato… and that exquisite hint of salt… This is it. This is the ‘minimum unit of happiness’ in the modern world.” “……Hmm, well, it certainly soaks into your whole body.”
Seto was also holding a potato from the opposite side. With a dusting of potato flour still lingering around her mouth, she spoke while moving the next fry to her lips.
“You really do analyze everything, don’t you, Okazaki? Even a single potato.” “No. This isn’t analysis. A brain and body that have been active require salt. This is the replenishment of fluids and sodium lost through perspiration… Hafu-hafu… this is the ‘reboot of my life activities’.” “……Yeah, yeah, ‘life activities.’ ……(Man, this is good.)”
The townscape was dyed in orange. As they headed toward the station on this hill—where the shadows of students returning late from school stretched out long and straight—it felt as if those shadows were reaching out, sending an encouraging message: Stretch out a little further, a little more.
Sharing trivial conversation, the two of them scrambled to grab the potatoes. Small giggles mingled in the air. Even the petty squabble over who would get the last bit of extra-crispy, short fry felt unbearably precious at that moment.
Nothing special happened. There was only the warmth of the fried potatoes and the body heat of a dear friend by her side. This fleeting moment of “everyday life” would surely become the brightest memory for the two of them when they grew up and looked back.
A small, yet certain time of “recharging”—to dissect freedom, toshoulder responsibility, and to walk toward tomorrow.
“……Hey, Seto. Let’s come here again tomorrow!” “……Do whatever you want. ……Well, I guess it’s fine.”
Seto turned her face away slightly, but the corners of her mouth were curved into a smile.
(To be continued…? No, for now, I just want to keep feeling the texture of these fried potatoes—Hafu-hafu-hafu: Seto)