Chapter 8 — Where Is the Right Place for Toothpaste, Anyway?
“Wow. It looks just like when you first moved in.”
It seemed Oohira Yuki had spent part of her cleaning session searching for evidence of my questionable tastes.
Unfortunately for her, modern men keep everything on their phones. The days of hiding adult videos under the bed or slipping dirty magazines inside a dictionary cover are relics of a bygone era. These days, all depravity is digital.
Thank you, smartphones.
Thank you for being born into this world.
You are the patron deity of human fetishes.
“Hehe. Well? What do you think of my maid skills?”
Having apparently given up on finding any blackmail material, Yuki had switched entirely into cleaning mode. Puffing out her ample chest proudly, she looked at me with a smug grin.
“Honestly? You’re amazing. Seriously.”
“Right? Right?”
Her already high nose seemed to lift even higher.
Since she usually carried herself with the dignified composure of a student council president, seeing this unexpectedly girlish side of her was strangely refreshing.
“Now then, next—”
Grrrrrrr.
The growl from my stomach echoed through the eight-tatami room.
Thanks to the thorough cleaning, the place was practically acoustically optimized. My hunger sounded as clear as if it were being broadcast in an arena.
The mini-skirt maid didn’t miss it.
A small laugh escaped her lips.
“Hungry?”
“Looks that way.”
I wasn’t raised to be embarrassed by something as trivial as my stomach growling, so I calmly glanced at my phone.
12:37.
An hour had already passed since she arrived.
Which, honestly, was ridiculous.
Cleaning that disaster of a room in only an hour?
Her maid power was downright terrifying.
“Well then, I guess I’ll go grab something from the convenience store.”
Stretching lazily, I rose from the bed. It was just about the perfect time for lunch.
“No.”
The rejection came instantly.
The maid sighed and looked at me as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“With a maid standing right here, why would you even consider convenience-store food?”
“Because convenience stores are amazing. Huge selection. Microwave does all the work. Simple, convenient, timeless.”
“You’re not wrong. Convenience-store meals have improved tremendously over the years. I rely on them myself sometimes, so I won’t dismiss them outright.”
Then she added, in the tone of someone preparing a flawless rebuttal:
“However.”
There it was.
The intellectual glasses-pushing energy.
“When you consider nutrition and overall food costs, it’s hard to call convenience-store meals the best option.”
Using her right foot as a pivot, she spun neatly on the hardwood floor. Her skirt fluttered dramatically.
And, naturally, there was a brief flash of panties.
She seemed completely unaware.
Turning only her upper body back toward me, she struck a triumphant pose.
“Instead, I shall prepare a homemade meal for you.”
“Ooooh.”
I found myself applauding.
A maid’s homemade cooking.
The day had finally come.
As the younger brother in a family of boys, with neither sisters nor female relatives around my age, the only woman’s cooking I’d ever really known was my mother’s.
Not that I had any complaints. My mom’s fried chicken was legendary.
Still…
The chance to eat food made by a girl my age?
That was different.
A beautiful girl.
A fairy-like girl.
A maid.
At that point, it didn’t matter what she planned to cook.
My tongue, throat, and stomach were already celebrating.
With a determined huff, she headed out of the living room.
Not that there was far to go.
Beyond the door was the tiny kitchen nook. Between the living room and kitchen sat a small refrigerator meant for single-person living.
She crouched down and opened it.
“…”
The moment the door swung open, she froze.
I was just about to tell her not to leave the refrigerator open and waste electricity when—
“What is this refrigerator?!”
“Hm? It’s compact and cute, isn’t it? One of those trendy designer fridges.”
“Wow! It comes in lots of colors too! How adorable! What other colors are there?”
SLAM!
The door shut violently.
“That’s not what I meant!”
Huh.
She did know how to do comedic self-corrections.
“I mean the contents! Why is there absolutely no food in here?! And more importantly—”
Not allowing me even a second to respond, she unleashed her next complaint like machine-gun fire while holding up a tube.
“Why is there toothpaste in the refrigerator?!”
“Huh? Isn’t the refrigerator the ideal place for toothpaste?”
“The ideal place for toothpaste is the bathroom sink! Besides, wouldn’t it be freezing in winter?”
“I like hot pork soup even in summer, and cold soba even in winter.”
Despite the abrupt topic change, she nodded immediately.
“Oh, I actually understand that. Even in summer, properly boiling-hot pork soup is the best. And cold soba with ice-cold dipping sauce during winter is delicious.”
“See? We agree. So try cold toothpaste in winter sometime. I have sensitive teeth, but I’m surprisingly into it.”
“Ehhh… maybe I should try it…”
As she said that, she casually put the toothpaste back into the refrigerator.
Then froze.
“Wait, no! That’s not the point!”
“Mou!”
“What are you getting so worked up about?”
I asked, and she stood up and glared at me.
“What do you normally eat?”
“My current mom is the convenience store.”
The moment I answered, she pressed a hand to her forehead and released a massive sigh.
The exhalation was so dramatic I could actually feel it brush against the back of my hand.
“That filthy room, never cooking for yourself… Are you taking living alone seriously at all?”
“I am. But honestly, most guys living by themselves are probably like this. I think. Maybe.”
“I see.”
I had no idea what exactly she had understood, but it clearly wasn’t the right moment to ask.
“I was originally planning to throw something together using whatever ingredients you had left.”
She crossed her arms.
“But I’ve changed my mind. Morigami-kun, I’m going to teach you the virtues of home cooking.”
She pointed decisively toward the entrance.
“Come with me.”
Watching her stride confidently toward the front door, I called after her.
“Where are we going?”
“Shopping.”
“I’m coming too?”
“I need to know what you want to eat. So yes.”
Then she smiled sweetly.
“Also, you don’t have veto power in this matter.”
The words alone made her sound like a tyrannical maid.
But really, she was just saying she wanted to cook something I’d enjoy.
Maybe she was a little tsundere after all.
“That sounds fine.”
“‘Sounds fine?’”
She narrowed her eyes.
“What?”
“Are you really going out dressed like that?”
I pointed at the mini-skirt maid outfit.
“I mean, it suits you. I’ve got no complaints. But you are the student council president. Maybe you shouldn’t wear something quite so attention-grabbing. Besides, our school bans part-time jobs except under special circumstances. Someone might recognize you.”
“Ugh…”
She bit her lip in frustration.
This girl really did love maid outfits.
“I’ll go change. Please wait a moment.”
Radiating disappointment from every pore, she left my apartment.
The aura of regret trailing behind her was almost visible.
