Crossover Fan Fiction ❯ My Unfortunate Whale Vision ❯ TWELVE ( Chapter 12 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

 

Chapter 12

 

 

The election placed Yukino as the next student council president, which folded the Service Club into those meetings. Sensei insisted since there remained a lot of work to do that was similar to our prior efforts. There was a school festival, which we managed to keep sane and sensible despite the effort of the school to overburden us with paperwork. This is obviously preparation for the utterly ineffective Japanese government and all the various businesses which laundered money using forms and more forms to accomplish very little at all. And all the people employed filling out forms were not out there solving problems efficiently, much less inventing solutions to tomorrows problems or making today’s problems go away. No, Japan was all about the make-work and wasting time of the employees for a boss whose job was to get to retirement without getting fired for laziness. And I really wish I was joking.

 

I was working part time a couple evenings a week, stocking shelves. I was raising money, slowly towards my dream motorcycle, a Honda CB450. It was a 1970’s bike with a steel subframe that was welded in parts and bolted in others, wrapped around a 450cc twin, with double over head cams and pea shooter tail pipes like you found on old British bikes from the 1960’s. This bike would cruise the highways, carrying a passenger, and do it faster than my current 125 could. And I’d have to buy an old one and restore it, which is going to take months. The good news is its a Honda and this is Japan so the parts are available. And there are videos about every part of that bike’s restoration. And manuals.

 

I kept my appointment to give Yui a ride a week after I’d given Haruno a ride, another long Sunday cruise, her in blue jeans and a leather jacket and scarf, and a trip down south into the peninsula, taking mountain roads very slowly over the peak, and pulling over to let lines of cars pass us. On the flatland, the 125 is fine, but here on these mountain roads? Slow. You can really tell it doesn’t have much power, and with double the weight from Yui, it was slower yet. We ended up visiting the Buddha of road safety, and getting lunch at a restaurant with a view of the bay bridge.

 

“This is fun. It’s like being a grown up,” Yui cheered. She is a happy girl, I can see, but she’s also worried. I think she knows about Haruno. And maybe my not taking the bait she’s offering is getting her down? What would Komachi say? Change the subject.

 

“So do you think you’d like to ride your own motorcycle one day?” I asked her.

 

“Well, I’ve been thinking about running a pastry shop, or maybe flower shop, and I think I’d need a way to carry stuff, so a motorcycle wouldn’t really work for me. Maybe a small truck or van?” she suggested.

 

“Something like that would be practical for deliveries, that is true. Are you going to cooking school or are you going to figure things out on your own with help from cookbooks and videos?” I asked her.

 

“I read that that American baking cook, Mrs. Fields, got started in her own kitchen and eventually franchised that into a hundred million dolllar a year business across America.”

 

“Really? What does she make?” I asked curiously.

 

“Chocolate Chip cookies. With walnuts,” she explained, then described the recipe, the use of butter and specific rest periods and cooking timing etc. I don’t believe that is available in Japan, but it sounds like it would taste good.

 

“So you’ll invent or perfect some baked goods you can focus on and be the next Mrs Fields or Master Donut?” I asked her. She nodded agreement.

 

“Yes, like that. What do you think?” she asked me.

 

“Sounds like the sort of place I’d visit,” I answered thoughtfully.

 

“Yeah, visit,” said Yui, looking a bit downcast. I think she was hoping for more enthusiasm.

 

“Work on the perfect baked good. I’ll taste test.” She perked up at that.

 

“Yeah, Okay,” she said. We headed out and back up through the shipyards on the surface roads. I am still forbidden from expressways and freeways. We rode past towering cranes and docked container ships getting loaded or unloaded. I dropped her home again and she waved at the door before disappearing.

 

At home I cooled off the bike and got a good bath before helping with dinner. Mom and Dad were out doing some kind of dating thing somewhere, which is nice, so Komachi and I prepped dinner and put some portions in the fridge in case the parents were hungry later. We ended up going to bed before the parents got home. I think there were noises but I mostly slept through them.

 

Monday was another cheerful commute to school on my motorcycle, parking in my usual spot, and changing in the locker room, as usual. Sensei arrived and showed me her license card.

 

“I have to show you my bike later, but first I need to change. See you in class, Hachiman.” Hiratsuka sensei headed to the teacher’s break room to change for school in one of the counseling rooms with a swing to her hips. She looked happy and healthy, no longer fat wattles and misery like before. She was also smiling. I wonder if she’ll find dates riding a bike like this? Maybe start a WePipe channel with some cameras and a schedule to upload riding videos with narration and music? I could see that being popular.

 

Class was good, and student council sessions were interrupted with help requests, which got me away from the paperwork I was increasingly sure I don’t want to deal with in my life. No, I don’t care that this is what Japan does now. Japan invaded Asia and the Pacific and got trounced in the war. I don’t have to stand back and follow it over the cliff because its drowning in useless paper this time.

 

After school sensei showed me her bike, a Kawasaki W800, a cruiser that was better than a Harley, mostly because it ran reliably. I wasn’t the expected Yamaha V-Star 1200, with 200 horsepower. No, this was a modest cruiser that gets there steadily and is relatively comfortable highway cruiser.

 

“I didn’t expect you to be a cruiser girl, sensei,” I said after a bit of admiring the black and chrome and the comfy leather seat.

 

“I realized during training that aggressive bikes aren’t that interesting to me, and lazy machines like this suit me better. I also like the way the engine… sounds,” she said, leaving me wondering if she was going to say something else. I smiled and she started up the bike and let it warm up. I went and did the same. She headed one way, I went the other. Such is life.

 

That weekend, Yukino asked to ride my motorcycle on Saturday, so I gave her a lift and we took the back roads through orchards and fields that during summer held peas and eventually arrived up at the coastal town where that famous coffee house with the hors d’oeuvres were served with coffee, enjoying the experience and the brisk sea breeze off the pacific. Yukino clung to me, shivering several times during the ride, and I wound up to the same lake I’d taken Haruno, going counter clockwise this time, stopping to stretch our legs several times, and getting pictures of the water.

 

The clouds grew dense and darker and my leg started to hurt from the change in the weather. We headed back to Chiba City, managing to beat most of the stormy weather, but only most. By the time we hit downtown Yukino begged we go straight to my home rather than her tower, and she dried off and bathed in the furo to warm up, getting Komachi for company when she returned from her date. I would have liked a soak myself, but I was warm again before the two of them were finished.

 

Yukino joined us for dinner, though the parents were out again, some kind of date, and she called a cab for a lift to her tower apartment, heavy rain falling outside. I walked her out under my umbrella and wished her a good night. She kissed my cheek briefly then was gone, pulling away into the splashing wind and heavy pelting rainstorm. I returned inside, shaking off the umbrella and leaving it to dry.

 

“Is that her first time visiting our house?” Komachi asked.

 

“I think so,” I said.

 

“I gave her one of your teeshirts to wear. Be sure to bring her clothes to her tomorrow, once they are dry,” Komachi reminded me. I blinked. Clothes?

 

“Okay?” I answered. Komachi just smirked and waved me off.

 

The following morning there was a plastic shopping bag with Yukino written on it. It was Sunday, and the rain had stopped. I considering walking, but opted to ride my bike instead. My leg hurts in this weather. I headed over and then pondered what to do, eventually using LINES to contact Yukino. There was no answer. I sighed and headed home again. I don’t know the secret code to get her to answer her door and I don’t know her apartment number in the first place. I’ll see her Monday.

 

Riding on wet streets was interesting, if only because the lights are so much sharper. Every bit of metal is slick, however, so crossing the various rail tracks is something which takes real attention, and manhole covers aren’t so nice when wet either. I still managed to get home without crashing, though my stopping distance was doubled under braking. Even though I’ve got drum brakes, which are basically sealed from the rain, they aren’t very big ones, and this bike teaches you engine braking in combination with both brakes to actually stop, especially when I was with Yui in the mountains. There were a few curves I was working hard, and pulling over let the brakes cool, too. I didn’t tell her, but I was earnestly praying over our safe arrival at the Buddha of highway safety.

 

Yukino’s ride was different from the other girls’, too. Our trip was mostly flat, but showed a lot of the settled and rural parts of the prefecture, and the lake. Our lunch by the sea was absolutely date material, and I wonder how she’ll feel on Monday, having had a chance to consider the experience.

 

I rested most of Sunday and finished up homework for the weekend.

 

Monday was a ride through the rain, and I’m glad my leathers are waterproof, though I pulled on the bright green-yellow rainsuit covers to keep it from infiltrating zippers etc. Arriving at school meant a longer time to shake out the rain suit and hanging my leathers so they wouldn’t touch the rain suit, still dripping into the bottom of my locker. I stuffed my actual gym clothes up high so they wouldn’t get dripped on. This is not ideal, but I’m making it work. Still better than riding the bus.

 

I limped up the stairs to class 2-F and sensei waved me in without a word of complaint or skinship. She’d probably want to talk later. I wonder if she rode her bike today or opted to take the bus?

 

I took my seat and took notes on the lecture, then the assignment details, this week’s essay on Samurai poetry on discovery of the Black Ships of Commodore Perry demanding the right to free trade in Japan, and the implications of overwhelming force threatened to get their way. The Americans called it Gunboat Diplomacy. And it dragged Japan out of isolation. And interesting topic, actually. And it worked nicely as the history professor expanded on this topic in the following session. By the time lunch rolled around I took my packet of clothing to the club room and presented it to Yukino as she sipped her tea. She smiled slightly and offered thanks, but did not mention my teeshirt. I presume she means to keep it. I will choose not to speculate on that, but her expression as she adjusted her glasses was more mysterious than usual, and she verbal barb was absent. I ate, she nibbled on her bento and we eventually separated for our afternoon classes. After school it was still pouring rain outside and I retrieved my riding clothes to dry them better while attending club with Yui and Yukino.

 

“I liked riding on your motorcycle, Hachiman. It was quite the experience,” Yukino stated. Yui pouted.

 

“I am glad to hear it. Do you think you would want to ride a motorcycle of your own someday?” I asked her.

 

“I rather enjoyed pillion, holding onto you, leaning into the corners. Letting you be in control,” Yukino said suggestively. Yui stared at Yukino’s brazen statement.

 

“I liked our trip down the peninsula. The mountain roads were pretty, and the Buddha of road safety was really amazing,” Yui challenged.

 

“I am working on restoring a more powerful bike. The next time I go there it should be less difficult. It will be some time before I’m to that point. I’m still working on the crankshaft bearings. The originals were… well they weren’t good anymore. There is a lot still to do. And I need a new timing chain tensioner. The original one got damaged. And a new exhaust valve. And replace the cam. And the valve torsion bar and the left side cover plate. And more torque screws. And second gear. It is a lot, really. So I won’t be done very soon. But more trips on my bike are possible until then,” I promised them both. They looked pleased at this.

 

Both looked more their own ages than the harridans they'd been before my promise to entertain them. This flexibility of theirs, of my delusion anyway, was perplexing. Why is my own psychology, my perception of what I think their emotional state might be, affecting how I perceive their physical futures? My bias is probably at fault here.

I got through club with no disasters and dressed after I ushered them out, finding Yukino waiting dutifully to lock the door once I exited the clubroom. The bike started and I was able to ride home in the rain. Nobody tried to run me over.