Michiru accepts the melon bread with a smile, leaving the woman on duty at the lunch counter wondering exactly what a young lady of such refinement is doing ordering a plastic-wrapped pastry in the first place. She's made a habit of this, lately. It's good to give back to her school, and if whispers follow her as she walks, well. People are entitled to think what they will of her for insisting on always having exact change, or for withdrawing it from a designer coin purse. She isn't doing any of this to gratify them.
She hasn't changed where she eats, however: there's a decorative fountain on school grounds that students tend to avoid, as the fountain is one of this school's Seven Mysteries: rumor has it that students sitting on the rim are dragged from behind and fall in. Michiru has never suffered this ill fate, though she's been testing her luck for years now. Perhaps whatever inhabits it likes her?
Spreading her napkin on her lap, Michiru ignores it when a cluster of freshmen head over, realize this space is occupied, exchange a few words, and then leave, side-eying her as they go. She barely even blinks as she opens her lunchbox, withdrawing the perfectly-executed bento she'd prepared the night before. Sometimes she orders out and brings the leftovers to school for lunch so as not to be wasteful (it's inconsiderate to the chefs), but she's been making her own lunches the past few days. Ever since she started buying sweet breads, in fact.
The day before she'd started this new ritual, it had rained.
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Michiru accepts the melon bread with a smile, leaving the woman on duty at the lunch counter wondering exactly what a young lady of such refinement is doing ordering a plastic-wrapped pastry in the first place. She's made a habit of this, lately. It's good to give back to her school, and if whispers follow her as she walks, well. People are entitled to think what they will of her for insisting on always having exact change, or for withdrawing it from a designer coin purse. She isn't doing any of this to gratify them.
She hasn't changed where she eats, however: there's a decorative fountain on school grounds that students tend to avoid, as the fountain is one of this school's Seven Mysteries: rumor has it that students sitting on the rim are dragged from behind and fall in. Michiru has never suffered this ill fate, though she's been testing her luck for years now. Perhaps whatever inhabits it likes her?
Spreading her napkin on her lap, Michiru ignores it when a cluster of freshmen head over, realize this space is occupied, exchange a few words, and then leave, side-eying her as they go. She barely even blinks as she opens her lunchbox, withdrawing the perfectly-executed bento she'd prepared the night before. Sometimes she orders out and brings the leftovers to school for lunch so as not to be wasteful (it's inconsiderate to the chefs), but she's been making her own lunches the past few days. Ever since she started buying sweet breads, in fact.
The day before she'd started this new ritual, it had rained.