1
There’s a café called “Miss Me Blind.”
It sits along a quiet road with not much traffic, surrounded mostly by residential houses. Because of that location, it doesn’t exactly look like a thriving business. Even so, it’s apparently been open for nearly twenty years now.
The shop itself isn’t very big. There are fewer than ten counter seats and table seats each.
The manager is a middle-aged man—quite the dandy type. The lively elderly women from the neighborhood often come to drink coffee here, and maybe the reason there are so many of them is because they come to see him.
Aside from the manager, there are two employees—or rather, part-timers. One of them is his granddaughter, Misumi Ririka. The other one is me, Aoi Sakura.
Yeah. This café, “Miss Me Blind,” is where I work part-time.
The time is just past eight in the evening. The shop will be closing in about an hour.
There are no customers left. Most of our regulars are elderly folks from the neighborhood, and none of them come in this late at night.
Right now, I’m sitting at the counter, drinking a cup of coffee that would otherwise be thrown away when we close.
The coffee here is good—no surprise, since the place has been running for nearly two decades. That said, my taste buds aren’t exactly refined. Even after drinking “real” coffee, I haven’t reached the point where I can’t go back to convenience store coffee. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
But thanks to that, I can still enjoy coffee with Minase at the convenience store’s eat-in corner late at night.
“You seem pretty happy lately.”
The one who spoke to me as I sipped from my personal mug was Misumi Ririka. She was also drinking coffee—while standing, in a rather unladylike fashion.
“Ah, Misumi-senpai.”
I call her “senpai” since we both attend the same school, Kazamigaoka High. She’s a third-year student, one grade above me.
She’s got neat, pretty features, and her hair is short—kind of a soft wolf cut… I think. Though it might just be the result of carelessly running her fingers through it. She’s not scary, but her lazy tone and cool attitude give her an aloof, hard-to-approach vibe.
If the older ladies come here for the manager, then maybe the old men come for Misumi-senpai. They’re probably long past the age where “scary” means anything to them.
“Do I really look that happy?”
“You do. You usually look bored.”
That was Misumi-senpai for you.
And well, she’s not wrong. Ever since I quit soccer, I haven’t really had anything to do. I know I’ve been kind of lifeless since then.
The reason I started working here was exactly that—I just wanted something to occupy my time. I didn’t even know if I could handle food service or customer work, but I figured if it didn’t suit me, I’d just quit.
Yet I’ve kept at it. Probably not because the job itself suits me, but simply because I like the atmosphere. Even during the weekends, it’s never crowded—more of a social spot for the elderly. And on weekday evenings, it’s almost always empty.
“Did something good happen?”
Misumi-senpai asked me that.
As far as I knew, my days hadn’t changed much lately. The only thing that came to mind was that I’d recently formed the “We-Quit-Club” alliance with Minase. It’s been a few days since we decided on that, but we haven’t actually done anything yet. I wonder what we’ll even do with it.
“Seems like something did.”
“Not really.”
“Heh. You’re panicking.”
She said it was funny, but she wasn’t actually smiling. That was normal for her—her expressions rarely showed her feelings. Even if her face didn’t change when she said she was laughing or angry, she really did feel that way inside. Which means she was laughing at me right now.
“Senpai, are you actually going to school these days?”
I asked that, partly to change the subject, and partly as a counterattack.
“I am.”
She sounded slightly offended.
“I’m not repeating last year’s mistake. This time, I’m skipping in moderation.”
“That’s what you meant?”
Misumi-senpai lives a pretty irresponsible school life. She prioritizes this café job over everything else, so she’s always pushing her attendance to the limit. Last year, she skipped too much early on and had to attend every single day later to make up for it. This year, she plans to manage her absences more “efficiently.”
“If Grandpa said I could take over this café, I wouldn’t even bother going to school.”
As she said that, Misumi-senpai glanced toward the manager behind the counter—her grandfather.
Even though he could clearly hear her, the stylish, silver-haired man just smiled gently and said nothing.
“See? He’s always like that.”
Misumi-senpai snorted.
She really does want to take over this café someday. But her grandfather insists that she at least finish high school first. It’s not even a condition for inheriting the shop—just something he expects her to do. And despite her attitude, she listens to him and hasn’t dropped out.
Truth is, she’s a total grandpa’s girl. She once told me that her parents constantly fight and she couldn’t stand it, so she came here to live with her grandfather.
I’ve heard that his wife passed away a few years ago. Misumi-senpai may sound harsh, but she’s caring—she probably worried about him being alone. Now they live together in the residence attached to the café.
“Alright, you two, it’s about time to start closing up.”
The manager’s gentle voice echoed through the café. Taking that as our cue, we both got moving.
It was still a little before closing time, but no one was going to come in this late. Unless, of course, someone suddenly decided they wanted coffee—like Minase did the other day.
Remembering how she suddenly showed up and invited me to get convenience store coffee made me chuckle quietly.
Misumi-senpai was watching me with sharp eyes.
I cleared my throat and got to work closing up.
§§§
The next day.
That morning, Minase didn’t come to pick me up, nor did I bump into her on my way out. So I headed to school alone.
When I got off the train at the station nearest to school and was about to exit the ticket gate, I noticed a girl standing just beyond it.
It was the one Minase had called “Asahi.”
How long had she been there? She wasn’t heading toward school—just standing there, clearly waiting for someone. Maybe she was waiting for Minase. But according to Minase, this girl was mad at her.
Not my business, I thought, and walked through the gate. But as I did, the girl started walking—toward me.
“You’re Aoi Sakura, right?”
So she finally spoke to me.
Up close for the first time, I could tell she was really beautiful. Her well-defined features would definitely stand out on stage.
“How do you know my name?”
“It’s easy enough to find out if you look into it.”
Fair point. It’s not like my name is some kind of private data.
“Aren’t you with Mishio today?”
“Minase?”
So she really had been waiting for Minase. She must’ve seen us together before and recognized me.
“She’s not with me today. Not sure if she left earlier or later than I did.”
“That’s fine. I was actually waiting for you. …Do you have a moment?”
“I guess.”
Why would someone who had to look up my name need to talk to me?
“Then let’s talk while we walk. It won’t take long.”
She started walking, and I matched her pace.
“So, what is it? …Asahi-san?”
“Close, but not quite. Asahi’s my given name. I’m Yakushiji Asahi.”
“My bad.”
Guess I’d just called a girl I’d barely met by her first name.
“Don’t worry about it. You didn’t know. And you can drop the honorifics. You do that with Mishio too, right?”
“Pretty much.”
I gave a vague reply. I’d take her up on that, though it felt weird to say so out loud.
“Anyway, to the point—could we have a proper talk sometime soon?”
“Sure, I don’t mind. …But what about?”
“What else could I possibly want to talk to you about, other than Mishio?”
Fair enough.
“Just tell me the date, time, and place, and I’ll come.”
“Then—”
I took my phone out of my pocket.
“How about here?”
I showed her the Instagram page of “Miss Me Blind.” It’s regularly updated with stylish photos and casual-but-classy captions—all written by our dandy manager.
“Let me see.”
“Sure.”
She took my phone and looked at it for a few moments before handing it back with a small smile. “Thanks.”
“Nice-looking café,” she said.
“It’s where I work. It’s never crowded, so we can talk in peace.”
The manager might not like me saying that, but it’s true—the place is calm, and that’s part of its charm.
“Wait. If that’s your workplace, won’t Mishio show up there?”
“Nah, it’s fine. I never told Minase about it. She’d totally barge in if she knew.”
At that, Yakushiji suddenly burst out laughing.
“Yeah, that sounds like Mishio.”
She giggled softly.
Despite her sharp looks and quick wit, she actually had expressive features. Maybe she really was one of those types who flip a switch when they step onto the stage.
“So, when do you want to meet?” she asked, her expression turning serious again.
“If you’re fine with it, how about today? …Oh, unless you have club activities.”
“No worries. I’m off today.”
“Got it.”
I was off from my part-time job too.
We decided on the meeting time based on when the last class ended.
“Alright, see you later. …I’ll head out first.”
With that, Yakushiji quickened her pace. I, on the other hand, slowed down a bit, and the distance between us steadily grew.
Just like her cool impression, Yakushiji Asahi’s departure was brisk and dry.
2
And so, after school.
Yakushiji and I were sitting across from each other at a table in *Miss Me Blind*. It was the seat farthest from the counter, deep in the back of the café. Two glasses of water sat on the table. We’d already ordered coffee, so it should arrive soon.
Aside from us, there was only one other pair of customers—an elderly man and woman. I’d heard they both lost their spouses and often came here together for coffee, enjoying each other’s company.
“So, what did you want to talk about?”
I urged Yakushiji to get to the point, but she didn’t answer.
“Yakushiji?”
“Eh? Ah, s-sorry.”
When I called out again, she blinked as if snapping out of a daydream and turned toward me.
It looked like she’d been staring at the manager. Maybe that type was her preference? I could understand. I wouldn’t mind looking like him when I got older.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Mishio lately, haven’t you?”
After taking a sip of her water, she finally started talking.
“Our houses are close to each other.”
“Oh, I see.”
Apparently, that was news to her. Even the mighty Kuki Shoma’s influence didn’t seem to spread to idle gossip between classes.
“How has Mishio been lately?”
Before I could answer that vague question, Midsumi-senpai brought our coffee. She silently placed the cups down and walked away. Still as expressionless as ever—but maybe half of that was out of consideration for our conversation.
Yakushiji and I each poured in just milk and took a sip.
“It’s delicious.”
Her eyes widened slightly. I felt a small sense of pride—as someone working part-time here, that reaction made me happy.
“It’s really good.”
She even called out to the manager behind the counter, who smiled and said, “Thank you.”
“Hey, Yakushiji.”
Once we’d both tasted our coffee, I spoke up.
“Since we’ve taken the time to meet like this, shouldn’t you ask what you really want to ask? I can’t answer such a vague question.”
“You’re right. Sorry about that.”
She took another sip of coffee as if to reset herself.
“Has she talked about the drama club at all?”
“No, not really. I haven’t asked, either.”
She probably didn’t want to bring up a club she quit. I was the same way after I left mine. If Mishio ever wanted to complain about it, I’d listen, but so far she hasn’t shown any sign of that.
“So, you don’t know if she plans to come back or not.”
Yakushiji sounded disappointed.
Did she want Mishio to return? I didn’t know the details of why Mishio quit. All I’d heard was “a lot happened” and “it didn’t suit me.” Could it really be a situation where Yakushiji still hoped she’d come back?
“You don’t have to go into detail, but… why did she quit in the first place?”
I asked carefully.
“Oh, so you don’t know either.”
Yakushiji fell silent after that. I couldn’t tell if she didn’t want to talk or was organizing her thoughts. Eventually, she began to speak.
“I think she lost faith.”
“Lost faith?”
I repeated her words without thinking.
“Our drama club used to go to the national tournament every year.”
“So I’ve heard. From Mishio herself. …Wait, ‘used to’?”
Her choice of words caught my attention.
“Yeah. That was true up until the seniors two years ago. But now? The club’s gotten lazy. There’s no ambition left to aim for nationals again. We still practice about as much as a normal school’s club, but that’s all.”
I see. When Mishio said, “I thought I could do serious acting here,” she must have meant that. She came all the way to Kazamigaoka because it was a powerhouse school, but now it’s fallen from grace. No wonder she was disappointed.
“And then… there was bullying.”
“Bullying?”
That word sent a chill down my spine.
“Well, maybe that’s too strong a word,” she corrected herself quickly.
“Did you ever hear that Mishio went to a talent school?”
“I’ve heard rumors, but not from her. Is it true?”
“Yes, it’s true.”
She nodded.
“Apparently, she was enrolled in a famous talent school when she was in elementary school. But when she didn’t get any big breaks, she quit around graduation.”
I could imagine how tough that world must be. There are plenty of idols around our age. Some popular dance and vocal groups even debuted with half the members still in grade school. A world full of shining dreams—but also one where only those with real talent or luck survive.
“When the upperclassmen found out, they started mocking her—calling her a washed-up talent school reject.”
“Ugh.”
I groaned involuntarily at how ugly that was.
“But really, it was mostly jealousy. Mishio’s cute, you know? She has this natural charm, just standing there.”
Minase Mishio had already tasted failure once as a child. Even so, she still wanted to act and came to Kazamigaoka, once known for its drama club’s glory. But the club had gone stale—its members lacking passion, some even mocking her.
“No wonder she quit.”
There wasn’t anything else I could say.
“I’m the same as her,” Yakushiji said quietly. “I came to Kazamigaoka because I wanted to join the drama club.”
“That must’ve been a letdown.”
“Yeah. But I haven’t given up. I’m slowly gathering people who still care. I think next year, after the current third-years graduate, will be our real chance.”
“So you’re planning to rebuild the fallen drama club, huh?”
Yakushiji Asahi was apparently a lot more passionate than she looked.
“That’s why I want you to ask Mishio—casually, not directly—if she’d be willing to come back. If she would, I’ll drive those awful seniors out myself. Then we can aim for nationals again—together.”
Leaning over the table, she spoke with fire in her eyes.
I, on the other hand, stayed calm. There were a few things I wanted to address, one at a time.
“Mishio thinks you’re mad at her.”
That was where I started.
“Me? At Mishio?”
“Yeah.”
I nodded.
“Well… I can’t deny that. When we saw how bad the club was, we promised to rebuild it together. Then she quit so easily.”
Yeah, I could understand why that would sting.
“But after seeing how nasty those seniors were, I can’t really blame her for leaving either.”
Her tone was conflicted, filled with mixed emotions.
“As for your request… honestly, I’d rather not bring up the club at all.”
After all, Mishio right now reminded me of my past self. Back then, I didn’t want to talk about the club I’d left either. Unless it came up naturally, I had no plans to ask.
Though, unlike me, she didn’t seem too hung up on it. Maybe she really meant it when she said it just “didn’t fit.” Still, that was only how it looked from the outside. I couldn’t assume too much.
“I see. Then, like I said—just casually, if the topic ever comes up.”
“Got it. I’ll keep it in mind.”
When the conversation wound down, we both took another sip of coffee—at the same time.
“So, I’ll ask again—how’s Mishio been lately? Happy? Down?”
She set her cup down and looked at me seriously.
“Sorry, but she actually seems to be having a pretty good time lately.”
After all, we were part of the “quitters alliance”—two people free from club obligations and determined to make the most of it. Still, I couldn’t exactly tell Yakushiji about that weird alliance.
“That’s good, I guess.”
“Good?”
“Better than her being depressed or shutting herself away. Though… I’d have preferred if she seemed a little regretful or lonely.”
Ah, so that’s it. For Yakushiji, that would’ve meant there was still hope she’d come back.
Once both our cups were empty, the mood naturally shifted toward wrapping up.
“Thanks for today.”
Yakushiji stood up. I stood too, but left my school bag on the seat. She noticed and tilted her head.
“I’ll say goodbye to the manager before heading out.”
“Got it.”
We walked together toward the entrance.
She insisted on paying for the coffee since it was her idea to invite me, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was only one cup, but I’d find a way to repay her sometime.
“Thank you for the coffee. It was really good. May I come again sometime?”
Before leaving, she turned to the manager and said that. He smiled warmly and replied, “Of course. You’re always welcome.” She left looking genuinely happy.
“So, what was that about the club?”
As soon as the door closed and separated inside from outside, Midsumi-senpai spoke up.
“Eavesdropping isn’t nice, you know.”
“Wasn’t eavesdropping. Just overheard while working.”
Come to think of it, there had been another pair of customers earlier. She probably caught snippets while refilling their coffee.
“It was just some advice about a friend.”
Even for her, this wasn’t something I could share. But then I realized something—we actually had something in common.
“By the way, didn’t you used to be in a club, Midsumi-senpai?”
“Yeah. Tennis. Quit after my first year.”
Right, she was another one who’d left a club midway.
“At first they said it was fine if I couldn’t attend every time because of housework. But later they called me uncommitted, said I was ruining team unity. I got fed up and quit.”
She looked genuinely annoyed remembering it.
Yeah, that kind of thing was common in school clubs—effort was valued more than results. Even if you performed well, you weren’t accepted unless you practiced seriously every day.
She’d told me before that she was actually one of the best among the first-years, even with limited practice time because of her part-time job. That probably made others resent her.
“So what about it?”
“Ah, nothing.”
I brushed it off, but in my head, I thought—Midsumi-senpai and Mishio weren’t so different. Both quit because of strained relationships—just with different kinds of people.
“Anyway, I’ll head home too.”
“Why not stay and work a bit?”
“You two can handle it fine at this hour.”
It was possible we wouldn’t get another customer until closing, so adding extra staff would just be wasteful. Even though I’d still get paid, I wanted this café to keep doing well, so I decided not to push my luck.
Grabbing my school bag from the seat, I left the shop.
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