Chapter 69

That day, too, I was at the teacher's house.

Since that day of the sudden shower when I received permission, I have been visiting the teacher's house far too frequently.

"Teacher"

When I pressed the intercom and called out, the teacher's voice came through, saying, "Oh, you came. Come on in."

After hearing that, I quickly passed through the gate, opened the front door, and entered the house.

"You're early today. What's up?"

"It was the end-of-term ceremony."

"Come to think of it, it is that time of year. Time flies. There's not much of this year left."

When I entered the room, the warmth from the heater gently enveloped my body. Then, after a moment, the teacher got up from his seat and returned with a cup of warm tea.

When I took it, I was a bit surprised. Because, it was a fragrantly flavored tea, which was unusual for the teacher's house. ...Most of the tea served at the teacher's house was made from bulk tea bags.

"What's this?"

"Hmm? Oh, it's a gift. It seems to be a souvenir from abroad. 'I thought the teacher probably doesn't like coffee, so I got flavored tea instead of flavored coffee.' I have no idea why they added flavor."

When I took a sip, a foreign scent filled my nose. What is it? It smells like raspberries or strawberries, but it's not quite that.

"Togo, what do you think this scent is? The package has something that looks like raspberries."

"...It smells like strawberries or raspberries, but I can't tell."

"I see. Hmm, I thought you might be more knowledgeable about these things than me..."

...My parents might have known. Yeah. But I don't have a particular preference for tea. Maybe I know a bit more than the teacher.

"I can't read French, but I can tell this package is in French."

"Is it a souvenir from France?"

"Seems so. ...Do you want to see it?"

The teacher showed me the tea package, and I took it to look at it.

I can't read French, of course. I can only read a bit of English from school. However, looking at the picture on the package, I thought, "This is pretty nice." It's probably drawn with colored ink, not watercolor. The bright colors give it a poppy feel, which suits the tea package well.

"Raspberry tea... this is."

"But it doesn't smell like raspberries. What flavor is this really? Do the French think this is raspberries? Or do raspberries in France smell like this?"

I don't know about raspberries in France, but this tea definitely doesn't smell like the raspberries from the garden here.

"...Well, it's probably a foreign scent. Ah."

Yeah. Well, a foreign atmosphere.

"By the way, I still haven't opened the cookies I'm a bit scared of. Do you want to try them? The package is pink..."

...Yeah, well, that's also a foreign atmosphere.

While drinking the mysterious tea, I picked up a slightly pink cookie.

The cookie was rather plain in color, contrary to the bright package. Both the teacher and I felt relieved. Incidentally, the taste had a slight rose scent, a flavor filled with a foreign atmosphere. Yeah, it feels a bit too stylish for the teacher's house.

...At first, the teacher said, "It's an unfamiliar taste. Well, it's an experience, I guess," but now he is completely focused, scribbling in a memo pad.

When the teacher gets focused, he doesn't notice the surroundings or the taste of the cookies. I know that feeling.

Across from the teacher, who was so focused, I quietly started organizing my bag.

The end-of-term ceremony means a lot of stuff. After that, a flood of winter break notices, winter break homework, and tests that were supposed to be returned but weren't, all came at once, making my bag a mess.

Creased notices will get a frown from my parents, so I realigned them and put them in a file, or neatly folded and stacked them to look presentable.

...While organizing, I came across a paper that was quite different from the recycled printouts.

"...Oh."

When I saw it, the teacher, who had apparently lost focus, was looking at what I held in my hand.

"Togo, is this a report card?"

I handed the paper to the teacher, who was peering over.

"Hmm... Impressive. It's an ideal report card."

"Yeah..."

My report card has small numbers for test rankings and mostly large numbers for the report card sections. As usual.

"Physical education is a 5 for the second consecutive term. Well done."

"Yeah. Thanks to the teacher."

The forward bend is much better if you start with your shoulders hunched. For the standing long jump, it's good to jump when the measurer looks away. For grip strength, the measurement can vary with the grip strength meter, so it's best to measure a few times with different meters. For the repeated side jumps, the leg on the side without the measurer doesn't have to touch the line to be counted. For the endurance run, just running seriously will improve your time. ...By practicing what the teacher taught me, my physical education grades improved. Hmm, 80% of it is cheating.

"Last year, physical education was a 4. Why was that?"

"Because my voice was too low and I got points deducted."

"Oh, I remember. So I said, 'Then, it would be good to bring a microphone and amplifier next time.'"

"That made me a bit uncomfortable."

Thinking back to what happened exactly a year ago, I smiled a little. The teacher hasn't changed since then.

"And... wow, this time you got first place in the class for the test! That's amazing, you!"

The teacher looked at my report card with a very happy face, as if it were his own. ...Maybe even more so than his own.

"...What's wrong, Togo. You don't seem very happy. With this, your parents will be satisfied, right? It's best to keep your parents in a good mood, Togo."

I guess so. If I'm third, I'll be told to aim for second, and if I'm second, I'll be told to aim for first, but if I'm first, there's nothing to say. It will probably end with something like, "Keep it up at this pace."

"...I'm not really happy."

But that's all. I don't feel particularly happy.

"Hmm, I see. Well, that's understandable."

Then the teacher tilted his head a bit.

"I tend to like first place. Well, I probably have far fewer experiences of getting first place than you."

The teacher looked at my report card and laughed.

"Yeah. It feels good."

"...Is that so?"

"Yes. Well, this is your report card, not mine, but... it feels good to see you being highly evaluated. Even if the evaluation is for something you're not interested in, it's proof that you're doing well."

The teacher said that, picked up a cookie, and washed it down with tea. His expression looked genuinely happy.

...I can tell he's not lying.

But I can't understand it.

"...Maybe I'm not happy because I'm not interested in grades."

Looking at the report card doesn't move my feelings.

I have a bit of anxiety and worry, and more than anything, thoughts like, "This way, I won't get complaints," or "What negotiation card can I use with this report card?" move a bit... but moving my head and moving my feelings are different.

...The teacher, who had been looking at me, suddenly said, as if he had come to a realization.

"I see. Indeed, you seem to be the type who is indifferent to honor and evaluation."

Indifferent, huh.

Not being happy... is similar to not having a desire, I guess. Because it means not wanting it.

Yeah. I don't want it.

I don't really want the report card. I need it because my parents will get angry if I don't have it, but I only need it for that, not because I want it.

And when it comes to honor... I still don't really want it.

What the teacher said about "liking first place" is also hard to understand.

Then, as I silently drank the mysterious tea, the teacher went to the kitchen and brought back a pot of tea. Without me saying anything, he refilled my cup. ...Well, it's probably a request to help consume it, so I drank it silently.

"Hmm, that's right."

Then the teacher poured tea into his own cup and suddenly started talking.

"In my opinion, honor and evaluation are permissions given by others. 'It's okay to be here.'"

"...Permission?"

When I repeated it, the teacher nodded solemnly.

"Yes. Permission. And depending on the level, it can become 'Please be here' or 'I've made a place for you.' Well, I find it quite pleasant, but for you... it might just be a necessity."

...I see. That makes some sense.

To me, this report card might be permission to be at home. Without it, I probably can't be there. So, I need it. That's all.

"Of course, it's possible to stay even without permission. If you have a strong spirit."

"Yeah."

I don't have a strong spirit. So, I probably need this report card to get evaluated and to have a place somewhere.

"...Well, you look like you don't have a strong spirit, but many people are like that. Even I am. I don't have a strong spirit. So... well, that's probably how it is. Humans seem to want some level of 'recognition.'"

Recognition. ...It somehow feels a bit negative. When it comes to the desire for recognition, it's not usually spoken of in a good light.

"Well, let's put that aside for now. I think the desire for recognition is a normal desire in this era of abundance and thoughts of death, but... it might be the arrogance of someone who has fulfilled the third level. Yeah."

...I'm starting to lose track of what he's saying, but the teacher probably knows that too. He took a sip of tea as if to regain his composure and started talking again.

"Well, just think of it that way. You don't need evaluation, but it's like a travel permit or a residence permit. It's better to have it."

Yeah. Well, if I can think of it that way, it might just be that.

"You said you don't particularly want honor or evaluation... but having a travel permit or a residence permit can be fun. Actually, being able to go to various places is apparently quite enjoyable. The girl who gave me this souvenir said her trip was fun."

I see. I don't really have a hobby for traveling... but being able to go anywhere is better than not being able to go anywhere, I guess.

"Well, I sometimes receive honor that I don't want, but it's convenient. So, let's just take it in stride, my friend."

"Yeah."

Yeah. I think I should take it in stride and accept things like evaluations, honors... report cards, comments on them, and such. I'm sure.

...Then, the teacher suddenly said,

"But... ideally, the 'here' in 'It's okay to be here' should be someone's heart."

"Huh?"

It was so sudden that I didn't know what he meant.

But the teacher continued, looking rather pleased.

"There are various kinds of honor and evaluation. Well, your report card seems to be for getting a place in a community or your family, but there's also a place in someone's heart."

The teacher took a sip of tea and leaned back in his chair with a grin.

"It's a special thing. Being allowed to be in someone's heart is much, much more special than being allowed to be in a community, class, society, or something like that."

The teacher's smile looked so happy that I, watching him, felt a bit happy too.

"...In someone's heart."

I muttered, but I couldn't really feel it.

I wanted to understand