Chapter 38: Dirty Hands

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Another lunch break with Kurebayashi-san is here, and as always, my back’s against the wall. We’re meeting in the same courtyard as last time.

“I…I made omelet rice today,” she says, her voice slightly more enthusiastic than usual.

“Thanks,” I reply, feeling a bit heavy-hearted.

At least it’s not the fluffy, runny kind. I can’t stand the texture of undercooked eggs, especially when there’s a slimy white lump in the middle.

“Do you need ketchup?” she asks hesitantly.

“Uh, yeah, if you have some.”

“Okay!”

Our conversation remains awkward. It’s no surprise, though. Kurebayashi-san and I aren’t really friends, and there’s certainly no mutual romantic interest. Well, I can’t speak for her, but it seems more like a misunderstanding.

So, yeah, it’s no wonder our lunch together feels like a funeral. There’s nothing to talk about that would lighten the mood.

But then, as she hands me the ketchup, I notice her hands are incredibly chapped and raw. I can’t help but ask, “What’s going on with your hands, Kurebayashi-san? They’re really rough.”

“Oh…”

She quickly hides her hands behind her back, but it’s too late.

Seeing her hands makes me feel a bit guilty for taking advantage of her kindness.

“If it’s too much trouble, you don’t have to make lunch for me,” I suggest.

“No, it’s not that! My hands are like this for another reason. Don’t worry about it!”

As I stare at the omelet rice, I reflect on my guilt. At least I’m not as bad as Okutsu, who shamelessly uses people.

“Yuuta-kun, do you not like omelet rice?” she asks, noticing my hesitation.

“No, it’s fine. Thanks for the meal.”

“You’re welcome.”

The conversation dies again. Our last chat wasn’t much better; it was just me rambling about regret. Eating mysterious food is as unappealing as enduring a constant stream of meaningless apologies.

Eventually, I finish the omelet rice.

“Thanks for the meal,” I say.

“You’re welcome,” she replies softly.

“Thanks again. See you.”

“W-wait, Yuuta-kun!”

“Yeah?”

“What would you like for lunch tomorrow? I want you to make a request.”

Kurebayashi-san, don’t you realize? I’m just using your feelings for my convenience.

But why do you look so happy about it?

“Anything but onigiri,” I finally say.

“Really?”

Honestly, I can’t eat onigiri made by someone else. It’s just a thing I have, but I don’t want to explain that.

Kurebayashi-san’s face falls. “Do you think my hands are dirty?”

“No, it’s not that. I just don’t like onigiri.”

“Oh, I see. Okay, I’ll make something else.”

She looks relieved. What was going on in her mind just now?

“Sorry for being picky.”

“No, it’s fine! I’m happy to accommodate your preferences.”

“Well, thanks. Oh, wait a second.”

I remember the hand cream in my bag. I rarely use it, so I hand it to her.

“Use this if you want.”

“Are you sure? This is pretty expensive.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. You should take care of your hands.”

“Thank you… for someone like me…”

“Well, see you.”

With an uncertain expression, she clutches the hand cream tightly.

—You’re making a big deal out of a hand cream.

—

After class, I head to the main gate to go home and save money. There, I run into Kurebayashi-san’s mom waiting in her car.

“Good evening, Yuuta-sama,” she greets me.

“Hello, Mrs. Kurebayashi. Are you here to pick up your daughter?”

“Yes, to prevent any unsavory individuals from approaching her.”

Mrs. Kurebayashi’s presence suggests that things with Kenzaki-san might not go smoothly.

“I’m also curious about Okutsu, but…”

Before I know it, I’m asking her about something relatively trivial.

“Um, I’ve noticed that Kurebayashi-san’s hands are really rough. Is she okay?”

Her serious expression makes me uneasy.

“I appreciate you always eating the lunches my daughter makes,” she says sincerely.

“No, it’s helpful for me too, but I feel bad that her hands are so rough.”

“Yuuta-sama, making your lunch isn’t the direct cause.”

“Huh?”

“Yesterday, before she made your lunch, she disinfected her hands thoroughly. Over and over again, until her hands were raw.”

“I see…”

No wonder her hands are in such bad shape. Alcohol really dries them out.

“She did it while sometimes crying, sometimes almost hysterically, saying, ‘Why can’t my hands be clean? Please, make them clean. Make them clean…’ as she disinfected them.”

So that’s what it was.

“Why?”

“……Perhaps there was something that suddenly made her feel like her hand, the same one that had gripped that worthless scumbag’s pathetic excuse for a manhood, that so-called nine-centimeter penis, was filthy. She must have felt like she was betraying Yuuta-sama by even knowing such a mass-produced piece of trash.”

“That's harsh, Mrs. Kurebayashi.”

“Well, she did eventually use gloves to prepare the lunch.”

“She should’ve done that from the start…”

I think back to when she said, “I’m such an idiot.” Maybe this is what she meant. Now that I know, it’s hard not to be self-conscious about eating her lunches.

But, you know, she must regret it more deeply than I ever realized.