hyralt
Inactive Member
Takashi inspected the inner wall of the ceramic cup he held and smacked his lips audibly. "What a range of flavours," he remarked before looking at her again. "It's amazing that all that goes into this is rice and water and a species of domesticated black mold. The enzymatic action of aspergillus oryzae is wondrous."
Setting down the cup, he planted his elbow on the table and rested his chin on the tips of his outstretched fingers as he thought back to school and what exactly she might be interested in. He decided that he would give her a brief summary and assume she would ask questions if he touched on anything she wanted to know more about.
"My primary and secondary schools were quite similar. We wore uniforms. We walked or biked to school. We exchanged our outdoor shoes for indoor shoes at the entrance of the building. We were divided into homerooms. We had all our classes in the one room and the teachers would come to us. We each had a small locker in the room. We had a class president who was responsible for keeping us within regulations. Oh, and we each carried a rulebook though we were expected to know all the rules even if they were contradictory or not enforced. We said a greeting of respect to our teachers at the beginning and end of every class. At the end of the day we would clean the school. After every test, they posted the student rankings. That was always the worst," he felt his chest tighten and he took a moment to pause and breathe before continuing. "I was never the top student. But I knew that if I was less than the top 10 percent, my parents would be upset rather than simply disappointed."
"Then there were after school clubs. I was in the film club," he seemed happy to change the subject. "I was the treasurer, in fact."
"Some nights I played football. Not aerial football, I'm just a nepleslian. Regular football," he smiled and felt a rush of blood to his cheeks. "But I was never really very good. Mostly just a bench-warmer, if I'm being honest. But most nights I went to a cram school for a few hours, then came home and studied until I couldn't keep my eyes open any more."
"Next was college, which was similar. But I had a room on campus instead of at my parents' place," he tilted his head and looked up and to the side. "Actually that may be the only difference. Oh, and I ate at the chow hall instead of the bentos my mother gave me. But we called it a cafeteria. And there was no cram school. And we went from room to room instead of the teachers coming to us. Maybe it wasn't so similar. At the time, it didn't seem like a big change."
Takashi stopped talking and tensed, lifting his head off his fingertips, but still leaving his rigid hand in the same position. How long had he been talking? He remembered to breathe again. His mouth felt dry. Was that the sake? Or was he going on? Thinking back, he wondered if his summary was perhaps not all that brief.
He laughed in exactly the way that people did when they didn't really think anything was particularly funny, but they didn't know how else to react.
"Was my experience very different from your own?"
Setting down the cup, he planted his elbow on the table and rested his chin on the tips of his outstretched fingers as he thought back to school and what exactly she might be interested in. He decided that he would give her a brief summary and assume she would ask questions if he touched on anything she wanted to know more about.
"My primary and secondary schools were quite similar. We wore uniforms. We walked or biked to school. We exchanged our outdoor shoes for indoor shoes at the entrance of the building. We were divided into homerooms. We had all our classes in the one room and the teachers would come to us. We each had a small locker in the room. We had a class president who was responsible for keeping us within regulations. Oh, and we each carried a rulebook though we were expected to know all the rules even if they were contradictory or not enforced. We said a greeting of respect to our teachers at the beginning and end of every class. At the end of the day we would clean the school. After every test, they posted the student rankings. That was always the worst," he felt his chest tighten and he took a moment to pause and breathe before continuing. "I was never the top student. But I knew that if I was less than the top 10 percent, my parents would be upset rather than simply disappointed."
"Then there were after school clubs. I was in the film club," he seemed happy to change the subject. "I was the treasurer, in fact."
"Some nights I played football. Not aerial football, I'm just a nepleslian. Regular football," he smiled and felt a rush of blood to his cheeks. "But I was never really very good. Mostly just a bench-warmer, if I'm being honest. But most nights I went to a cram school for a few hours, then came home and studied until I couldn't keep my eyes open any more."
"Next was college, which was similar. But I had a room on campus instead of at my parents' place," he tilted his head and looked up and to the side. "Actually that may be the only difference. Oh, and I ate at the chow hall instead of the bentos my mother gave me. But we called it a cafeteria. And there was no cram school. And we went from room to room instead of the teachers coming to us. Maybe it wasn't so similar. At the time, it didn't seem like a big change."
Takashi stopped talking and tensed, lifting his head off his fingertips, but still leaving his rigid hand in the same position. How long had he been talking? He remembered to breathe again. His mouth felt dry. Was that the sake? Or was he going on? Thinking back, he wondered if his summary was perhaps not all that brief.
He laughed in exactly the way that people did when they didn't really think anything was particularly funny, but they didn't know how else to react.
"Was my experience very different from your own?"
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