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wishingforatypewriter · 6 years

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Queenmaker: A Sumire Story (Portraits of 119)

If there was one thing Mimasaka Sumire had learned from her parents, it was that information was everything.

Her mother was a top detective whose investigative prowess had broken up many a triad and cartel in her time on the police force. Her father was a chef who’d masterfully incorporated psychological warfare into his craft.

And Sumire? She’d be among the academy’s elite one day—of that she was certain. But for now, in her first year at Totsuki’s middle school, she just had to keep ear to the ground.

So far listening had been an easy job because all 800 students in her year—the academy’s 119th generation—were talking. Specifically, they were talking about an heiress in homeroom A who’d moved into the Nakiri Mansion.

That proud estate on the edge of campus had been unoccupied since the legendary jewel generation matriculated. Almost every first seat—including its current occupant Mizuhara Himari—had tried to take it over, but the illustrious Nakiri family always refused. So everyone was speculating about how a mere middle school student had gotten the keys to the most prestigious residence within miles of the school.

I heard her family bought the mansion from the Nakiris. Her papa is richer than god, you know.

She only uses shampoo that’s specially made with crushed pearls and Bulgarian roses; that’s why her hair is always so shiny!

My aunt is on the Totsuki Network’s board of directors, and she swears that girl is betrothed to the chairwoman’s son.

Sumire absorbed the whispers, measured the stories against one another and compared their weight. Nothing she’d heard about this Hayama Akane seemed completely accurate, but she wasn’t willing to rule anything out just yet.

In the classes she had with the mystery girl—and her self-appointed body guard from the Mito family—Sumire learned the most of all.

Fact 1: She was extremely competent.

Even though their Intro to French Classic professor was the toughest grader in the middle school division, Hayama-san had never received a grade lower than an A. And she never seemed to lose sleep over her cooking assignments the way the mortal honor students did.

Fact 2: Contrary to popular belief, she probably came from old money.

Sumire could tell by how she answered the other girls’ intrusive questions with aristocratic patience and indifference. She never bragged or flaunted her background in any obvious way.

“Hayama-san, how much is your papa really worth?” One of the social climbers, Kawashima Utau asked her one day before class. “I heard he’s been on the Forbes list for the past ten years.”

“My parents don’t discuss money with me,” she replied without looking at the girl.

“Well, how do you know the chairwoman?”

“She’s a family friend.” Hayama-san was gazing out the window again. Sumire had noticed that she did that a lot; it almost seemed like she was wishing she was elsewhere. Anywhere else, really.

“Do you know what kinds of girls the chairwoman’s son likes?” Kawashima-san continued. “Can you introduce me someday, since we’ve become such good friends?”

From her limited observations, Sumire knew that Hayama-san wouldn’t answer that question. She was always extremely tight-lipped when it came to the Nakiri heirs, and Sumire had no idea whether it was because of her upbringing or a personal sense of loyalty to them.

“Kawashima-san, I think the professor is going to come in soon. You should probably return to your seat.”

Fact 3: She had mastered the art of the tactful burn.

Sumire wondered where she had learned that trick of inflection that gave her the power to dismiss people out of hand—and before her thirteenth birthday, no less.

In what type of life was that kind of thing necessary?

In the weeks to come, Sumire largely abandoned her quest to find out more about Hayama Akane. The girl was absurdly private, and Sumire swore to herself that she’d never resort to stalking. So she decided to focus her time on more important things—like finding the best cooking spaces on campus.

While in a prime location—only fifteen minutes from campus on foot—Sumire’s little studio apartment was somewhat lacking in the kitchen department. After compiling an elaborate spreadsheet with all the public kitchens on campus—along with their locations, amenities, and regular visitors—she determined that the premier spot would be a cooking practicum classroom on west campus.

Sumire made a habit of making lunch there during her free period before classes came in for afternoon sessions. It was spacious, well-stocked with top shelf ingredients, and always empty—or at least it always had been.

Sumire stood in the doorway and blinked a few times to make sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her. But a few seconds later, Hayama-san was still sitting by one of the workstations, sobbing quietly.

Although this may speak negatively to the kind of person she was, the first thing Sumire thought of was how bad it could be if someone loudmouth saw her like this and told the newspaper.

She shut the door and tried to determine whether anyone would be able to see into the third floor window. Only when she felt completely certain that their location was secure did she approach the other girl.

“Um, Hayama-san...”

The pink haired girl looked up slowly, wiping her eyes. She made an admirable attempt at righting her posture. “You’re the one who usually cooks here. Mimasaka-san, right? Sorry. I’ll get out of your way in a minute.”

Sumire shook her head, slightly taken aback by how quickly she’d drawn upon her irreproachable manners. You’re not in my way,” she assured. “I was just wondering if you needed anything.”

“Thank you, but I’m really fine,” Akane said, tilting her head upward to stop more tears from falling. It only worked halfway, and they were kind of suspended between her eyelashes. Sumire reached into her backpack and handed the girl a small pack of tissues. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Sumire said before glancing furtively at the clock. It would be twenty minutes, a half hour tops before students in the first afternoon block started filtering in. “Listen, is there someone I can call for you? Mito-san, maybe?”

“Bells is in an RS meeting. I don’t want to bother her,” Akane explained. “I’m really fine. It’s just someone tried to call me from overseas and the connection dropped. It sounds silly, now that I think about it, but—”

“Can you use WhatsApp?”

“It’s fine,” she assured, blinking back more tears. “If I started crying like this over the phone, that person would do something unnecessary. And I don’t think I can fake it today.”

Sumire nodded, although she was beginning to suspect that Hayama-san’s interpretation of “unnecessary” was a lot different from most people’s. “Is there anything I can do?”

Akane shook her head. “I’m really okay. Being here is just...a lot sometimes. You know?”

“In my experience, sometimes it helps to take a break when things get too stressful,” Sumire told her. “If you want, we can go back to my apartment. It’s kind of small, but I have ice cream and a bunch of K-Dramas on DVD.”

Akane seemed to consider this for a minute. “But classes start up again in half an hour.”

Sumire shrugged. “People skip all the time at this school,” she said. “But if you’re concerned about attendance, I think I’ve figured out how to get into the school’s databases from the admin side. I can erase all the absences tomorrow morning.”

At this, Akane chuckled a little bit and Sumire’s face flushed. “I-I promise I’m not a delinquent or anything like that. It’s just that I happened to see the login credentials one day and—”

“I figured that,” Akane replied, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “It’s just...you sort of reminded me of someone just now.”

Despite her burning desire to do so, Sumire did not let herself ask who.

The next few weeks were characterized by Hayama-san trying to repay Sumire’s kindness in a variety of ways.

After she had returned 70 inch television, the town car and driver, and the gift certificate to Shino’s Tokyo—because all those things were exponentially more valuable than the 500 yen she’d spent on a pint of strawberry ice cream—Sumire thought the pink haired girl had finally gotten the message.

But all that changed after the incident with the Korean RS.

One day in October, Sumire applied for an executive board position at the Korean RS. Even though she was an underclassman, her prowess in her specialty was undeniable, so the club’s faculty mentor had encouraged her to try for a leadership position.

However, the club’s current president—a high school first year who’d made it to the Autumn Election’s quarterfinals—was so insulted by her ambition that he kicked her out of the club entirely. Sumire was shocked by his pettiness, but felt generally nonchalant about her dismissal; now she had sooooo much more time to catch up on her soap operas.

But then, as it always seemed to at Totsuki Academy, shit hit the fan.

One day, as Sumire was walking home from afternoon classes, a black limo pulled up next to her. Isabella Mito-Aldini thrust the door open. “Get in. Ask questions later.”

Sumire did as she asked, and after a U-turn that shouldn’t have been possible in such a cumbersome vehicle, they were speeding back towards campus.

“Mito-san, what is this?” she asked once the car stopped in front of the Korean RS building.

The blonde gave her a long look. “This is what happens when you don��t just take the TV,” she said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “Nothing is going to be the same after this.”

When they entered the club’s main hall, Hayama Akane was engaged in a confrontation with the RS president.

“Nobu Renji-kun, I hereby challenge you to a shokugeki for control of the Korean Cuisine Research Society.”

What. The. Hell.

Sumire couldn’t believe it. Since the start of the school year, Hayama-san had never been involved with any shokugekis. And now here she was picking a fight with an upperclassman.

“Can I ask what I’ve done to offend you, ojou-san?” the dark haired youth asked with a mocking grin.

Akane narrowed her green eyes, something dangerous flashing in them. “You have two options, Nobu-kun. Accept the challenge or admit to your cowardice.”

“I thought you society girls were supposed to have better manners than that,” he said. “But have it your way. Just know that if I beat you, I’ll have you hand over the keys to the Nakiri Mansion.”

“Done,” she said.

In two days’ time Sumire was pulled from her latest Netflix binge by a knock on her door. As soon as she opened it, Hayama Akane placed the keys to the Korean RS into her hand.

“There’s no return label on this one,” she said. “And my specialty is French food, so I honestly won’t do anything with the club. You have to take it.”

Sumire could only blink a few times. She had watched the shokugeki, witnessed the 5-0 win, but the whole thing was still unreal. “W-where did you even learn to kick ass like that?”

Akane smiled. “Mostly from my godmother.”

Sumire knew better than to ask who. “So are we even now?”

“Not even close,” Akane told her. “I’m still in your debt, Sumire-san.”

“In what way are you—”

“Since that shokugeki, people have stopped asking me all those annoying questions.”

“It’s because they’re all a little afraid of you now,” Sumire said. It was an understandable reaction, really.

“Does it make me an awful person if I kind of like it?”

Sumire shook her head. “I don’t think so. If they’re going to talk about you anyway, you might as well control the conversation.”

Akane stared at her for a moment, and Sumire worried that she had said too much. “Sumire-san, what are you up to right now?”

She pointed back to the television. “Just watching true love unfold. Why?”

“My godmother is in town today. I was about to go to lunch with her. Do you want to come?”

As she locked eyes with Hayama Akane, Sumire knew that this would be her initiation. From this point on she would be inner circle—a trusted partner, a confidant. It would be her responsibility to ensure the well-being of this inexplicably talented person. She hoped she’d be able to manage it.

“Sounds like fun. Let’s go.”

#shokugeki no soma #akisako #sorina #119th generation #portraits of 119 #mimasaka sumire #hayama akane #isabella mito-aldini

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