At Yumeya, I'm greeted by an awkward-looking man in his mid-30s. He wears a pair of round, thick-framed glasses and exposes a set of crooked yellow teeth when he says, "My name is Tamura. I'll be teaching you today," in a less than enthusiastic tone.

As I'm bowing to him, he hands me a set of folded clothes. "This is your uniform. Did Takahashi say anything about that hair of yours?"

I take the clothes from him as he moves his hands to his hips. "She said it suits me," I answer.

He shakes his head and sighs. "Go get changed."

Well, I already know this is going to be a long day.

Tamura teaches me how to greet customers, take orders, work the cash register, take calls, bus tables, and serve food. I think I’m catching on pretty quickly, as I can take orders on my own by the end of the day. Despite this, Tamura keeps a furrowed brow and watches me with eyes that are just waiting for me to mess up. I bet this guy’s hobby is ironing his button-up shirts alone at home while occasionally looking up at the news on TV to grumble about how stupid politicians are.

The lunch rush passes and the tables start to look emptier. Tamura introduces me to another staff member named Manami before he leaves for his break. She’s a little on the chubby side with long, brown hair tied up in a bun. She looks closer to my age and has a super frank and laid-back aura to her that instantly changes to sweet and friendly whenever customers walk in. Being taught how to use the cash register by her is relaxing after the several hours I had just spent with someone who criticizes the way I hold a menu.

“Are you a student?” she asks in her husky voice.

“I’ll be starting university tomorrow,” I answer.

“Oh yeah? That must make you two years younger than me,” she observes. “You said you recently moved to Tokyo, right? Where are you from?”

“Hokkaido,” I answer.

“Oh, I dated a guy from Hokkaido before.”

“Really? Which city?” I ask out of curiosity.

“Dunno. We broke up after three weeks, so I never really got to know him that well.” She shrugs.

“Oh.” I’m not sure if I should feel bad for asking.

Tamura returns from his break and tells me to serve one more table before I finish for the day. While waiting for the next group of customers to walk in, I stand behind the counter and take down a few notes on how to work the register. When the door chimes, I look up and become instantly distraught to see Shun standing a few feet in front of me. He’s looking at his phone, unaware of my presence.

Instinctively, I crouch down, hiding myself behind the counter. I think frantically for any way out. Should I stay where I am and wait for someone else to notice him? Maybe I can fake a stomach ache and go home early.

“Takaya!” Tamura yells.

I turn my head to find he has emerged from the staff room and is beelining for my makeshift hiding spot with an unpleasant expression made worse by the magnifying effects of his goggle-like glasses. I swallow thickly when I realize I’m done for.

“What are you doing?! There’s a customer waiting!” he scolds.

I slowly rise from the ground, my gaze reluctantly meeting Shun’s eyes as they widen at the sight of me. He definitely wasn’t expecting to see me here either.

“Hurry up!” Tamura commands.

I expose myself from the counter and approach Shun with the most neutral face I can manage.

“Table for how many?” I ask, unable to hide the dissatisfaction in my voice.

“One.” The bastard smirks at me. I take a mental deep breath.

“Please follow me,” I say as I lead him to a table.

After seating him, I begin to explain the menu in the same way I was taught to, but Shun interrupts with, “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

I pause, my train of thought suddenly jarred. What comes next again?

“So you work here now,” he comments. The way his eyes flick to my apron and slowly rise up to meet mine again sends a shiver between my shoulder blades.

Warning bells blare in my head and my mind blanks. He raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“The bells!” I blurt nonsensically.

Shun’s brow furrows into confusion.

“Please ring the bell when you’ve decided what to order,” I say, clearing my throat and quickly turning to walk away.

I only manage to get a few steps away before the bell rings. Annoyed, I turn straight back around, getting my order pad ready.

“Have you decided?” I ask sharply.

“Could you tell me your recommendations?” he says, looking me straight in the eye with a devious face.

My mouth opens to tell him to stop screwing around, but Tamura’s withering gaze pierces my peripheral vision. I collect myself and list a few things I remember from the menu. He now has his head resting in his palm, obviously not paying attention to anything I’m saying. A lazy smirk pulls at the corner of his lip. My stomach sinks and I know I need to get out of here.

“Do any of those sound good to you?” I press on.

“Hmm. You don’t have any barbecue-flavored chips?” he asks.

Exasperated, I sigh and shake my head.

“Shun, please—” I hiss quietly.

He breaks eye contact with me for a second to look at something off in the distance. I follow his gaze to find Tamura glaring at me, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I can try recommending something else,” I say, with renewed vigor, reaching toward the menu on the table.

“Curry udon,” he says as I’m opening the menu.

I drop the laminated paper and scribble on my order pad.

“One curry udon. Anything to drink?”

“I’m fine with water,” he says, leaning back in his seat.

“Okay, I’ll be right out with your order,” I say with a bow. Finally, I can leave.

“Wait,” he calls right as I’m ready to walk away.

“Yes?” I say, barely containing the irritation in my voice.

He picks up the chopsticks sitting in front of him and drops them on the ground.

“I accidentally dropped my chopsticks. Can I get a new pair?” he says.

I stare incredulously at the chopsticks on the floor and try not to lose my shit. What is this guy’s deal? Was me spilling his juice yesterday so devastating? Or did I do something else to spark this sudden hatred? Or interest? Or whatever the hell is going through his messed up head.

“Well? Don’t just stand there,” he commands.

“Yes, sir,” I respond, bending over to pick up the chopsticks. I’m tempted to shove them down his throat.

I feel Tamura’s stare bore into me as I type Shun’s order into the register and fetch him a new pair of chopsticks. I return to the table and slap them down.

“Thanks, Idol Wannabe,” he calls after me as I hastily retreat.

After that, Shun is quiet. I half expect him to say something unnecessary when I bring his food, but he accepts it without a word. Even so, I’m still anxious. I want him to just finish eating and leave.

“Oh, you got Mr. Adachi today,” Manami comments, approaching me with a tray of dirty dishes in hand.

“Mr. Adachi?” I blink, trying to remember my training.

“Yeah. The guy you’re waiting on,” she clarifies. “You got him as your last table today.”

It strikes me then that I never bothered to learn Shun’s family name.

“Do you know him?” I ask in a panic.

“Yeah, he’s a regular customer.”

My heart stops. “A regular customer?”

“Yeah, he usually comes here two or three times a week,” she says.

I begin to laugh from disbelief. The situation is so farfetched, it’s hilarious. A regular customer. That means this isn’t going to end after today. Out of all the family restaurants and cafés in the area, why is Shun a regular customer at this one? Should I just up and quit the job? After my first day? Would that be overreacting?

Manami cocks her head with a questioning look before continuing on with her business.

Fortunately, Manami takes Shun’s payment while I bus his table. The moment he leaves the restaurant my shoulders feel lighter. After changing out of my uniform, Tamura comes up to me and hands me a paper.

“Here’s your shift for the rest of April,” he says.

“Let me see,” Manami says as she peers over my shoulder. “Looks like we’re working together Friday.”

I stare down at the graph, my mind so boggled I can’t comprehend what it says. All I know is that it’s staring back up at me, telling me quitting isn’t an option.

“See you on Friday, Blondie,” Manami says, patting my shoulder.

I force a smile back at her. “See you then.”

On my way home, I replay the day in my head. It wasn’t too bad until Shun showed up. If he really does eat there two to three times per week, does that mean I’ll see him every other shift? Maybe if he hates me so much, he’ll avoid going there from now on. As the image of Shun smirking when he threw his chopsticks to the ground replays unasked in my mind, something tells me he’s not the type to avoid people he dislikes. If anything, he’d probably try to go there more often just for the sake of torturing me.

I realize my fists are clenched as I approach the house. I try to shake off the thought of Shun, reminding myself that tomorrow morning is my University entrance ceremony.

My school campus feels like a utopia. Senior students are setting up club booths while first-years walk about with stars in their eyes. Everyone is well-dressed and the girls are cute. There’s chatter and laughter coming from every direction. I’m trying not to smile like a dweeb while I look around. I make sure to stop and check that my hair and clothes are still in check whenever I pass a glass door or window. It took me a while to decide on the perfect look for today.

After twiddling my thumbs impatiently throughout the entrance ceremony, I head toward the center of the campus where the club booths are. More and more people crowd the area as the first set of booths greet me. Students are shouting and cheering. Pop music blares from speakers.

I follow a crowd of students through the booth path. There are sports clubs, martial arts clubs, event clubs, anime clubs, a magic club, a comedy club—every kind of club imaginable.

”Hi there! Are you interested in calligraphy?” I hear a high-pitched female voice say.

I turn and find several girls standing around a relatively idle club booth. One of them is kind of cute, but I can’t say much about the others.

“He's cute,” I hear one of them whisper to a girl beside her.

I smile and bow my head slightly, happy to have overheard.

“Are you a first-year?” the cute one asks.

“Yes,” I answer with my best charming smile. I think I see her blush.

“Are you interested in calligraphy?” the girl next to her asks as she holds a flyer out to me.

I’m not particularly interested in calligraphy but take the flyer so they’ll know I’m nice.

“Thank you. I’ll think about it,” I say as I give them another sweet smile and move on.

As I approach the end of the club booths, I can hear hip-hop music getting louder and louder. I know I’ve found exactly the kind of club I was looking for when I see a group of around ten senior students dressed in colorful costumes dancing in sync atop a small stage. Two energetic girls stand in front of it, handing out flyers. I approach one of them.

“Are you interested in dance?” She asks with a wide smile as she hands me a flyer.

“I am. What kind of dance do you do?” I ask.

“Hip-hop, jazz, lock, house, pop. Just about anything! Do you have any dance experience?”

“Yeah, I mainly did house throughout junior high and high school."

“Ah, so you’re not a beginner,” she says, sounding impressed.

Our conversation is cut off by loud cheering from students as the dancers finish their routine. I turn to clap with the audience and the girl I had been talking with starts handing flyers to other students. As the cheering dies down, I turn around to head back, but my eyes meet with a guy who appears to have been staring at me.

“Hey,” he says in a friendly manner. “You’re in Commerce, aren’t you?”

He stands probably only a few centimeters shorter than me and has brown hair with long bangs that cover his eyebrows. He wears a black South Face jacket over a black T-shirt and a thick, flashy chain necklace. I have no memory of him.

“Yeah, how did you know?” I ask.

“I saw you at the entrance ceremony. You stick out with that hair,” he comments, pointing to my head. “Did I hear you say you do house?”

“Yeah, I used to do it back home,” I answer, my interest piqued.

“Where is home?” he asks.

“Hokkaido.”

“Hokkaido!” he cracks a smile. “So you’re not from Tokyo. Me neither. Nagoya.”

“Cool,” I nod. “Are you going into Commerce too?”

“Yeah. I’m Koki, by the way.”

“Makoto.”

He nods. “I also did house in high school, by the way.”

“Seriously?” Excitement builds up in my chest.

“Yeah. I was looking for a good dance club, but I heard this one is better for beginners and won’t really teach you anything if you already know how to dance.”

“Ah, really?” I look back at the now empty stage. “I’d prefer something challenging.”

“Are you here alone?” he asks.

“Yeah. What about you?”

“I came with a friend, but she ditched me for a photography club. Wanna look around together?”

“Sure,” I answer, starting to feel adrenalized after a morning spent alone.

The next hour or so is spent exploring more club booths with Koki. It’s a relief to have someone easy to talk to. He has a cool, collected air to him, not smiling often, but still laughing whenever I try to be funny. We click immediately when talking about the dance schools in our hometowns. I’m sure he thinks so too, since he invites me to get ramen together after we tire of the campus crowds.

After eating and returning to the station, we exchange LIMEs before seeing each other off. Koki, the campus, the club booths, and everything else about the day feels like my first breath of fresh air after moving to Tokyo.

At home, I begin to feel tired but pleased with my productive day. I try to end it off by watching a drama on my laptop before I find myself drifting off halfway through it.