An Elegant Distance

Chapter 3: An Elegant Distance

Monday arrived with a certain unease in the air. The cultural event announcement had stirred up a frenzy among the students—group chats were flooded with ideas, people raced to form teams, and even the teachers seemed unusually animated.

Tsumugi, on the other hand, looked as unbothered as ever, leaning back in his chair and watching the chaos unfold around him with muted boredom.

Kaoruko, seated just one desk behind him, was far more composed—though her notebook already had two pages of tidy handwritten notes, full of quiet suggestions.

“Class 2-B should do a tea ceremony,” she offered during the discussion, her voice low but firm. “Something refined and calm. We could present it as a quiet space in the middle of all the excitement.”

Some students scoffed. “That’s so boring. No one will come.”

“She just wants to do what she’s good at.”

But another student chimed in. “Actually… it’s not a bad idea. Every year, most classes do loud stuff—cafés, haunted houses, music stages. A quiet traditional experience might stand out.”

Heads turned to Kaoruko.

She met their eyes without fear. “I can guide the performance. And if anyone wants to help, I’ll teach you.”

Someone asked, “You know tea ceremony etiquette?”

“I’ve been practicing since I was five,” she replied, folding her hands neatly.

That silenced the room.

Tsumugi hid a small grin behind his hand.

---

Later that day, after the meeting ended and students scattered for lunch, Tsumugi found Kaoruko at her usual spot under the sakura tree.

She looked up from her rice ball and offered a small nod. “You came.”

He sat down beside her, back resting against the tree.

“I always come.”

“You don’t even like events,” she teased, unwrapping a second rice ball and setting it on a small napkin between them. “But you stayed quiet while I spoke.”

“I wanted to see if you'd shut them up.”

Kaoruko laughed softly. “Did I?”

“Better than I expected.”

She tilted her head. “Was that a compliment?”

Tsumugi stared at the sky. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

For a while, they ate in silence. The petals above them rustled in the gentle wind, fluttering down like soft, pink snowflakes.

Then Kaoruko asked quietly, “Would you help me? With the tea ceremony?”

Tsumugi blinked. “Me?”

“You don’t have to do the actual performance. Just help me prepare. It’s… comforting when you’re around.”

He didn’t answer right away.

But then he leaned forward, picking up the second rice ball she had left for him.

“…Fine.”

---

Preparations began the next day. Kaoruko arrived early with neatly typed plans, materials, and sample tea sets from her home. The class had split into teams—decoration, guest management, and performance.

Some girls, previously skeptical of her, now followed her instructions carefully.

Tsumugi watched from a distance at first, helping arrange tatami mats and place flowers in simple vases along the makeshift tearoom they were building in the corner of the gym.

Kaoruko was in her element—graceful, precise, calm.

But even then, she often glanced in Tsumugi’s direction, as if grounding herself with his presence.

---

One afternoon, as the class took a break, Kaoruko found him near the window, sipping from a vending machine juice box.

“Tsumugi.”

He turned. “Hm?”

She hesitated before saying, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For… making it easier to be here.”

Tsumugi looked at her with his usual unreadable eyes. “Didn’t think you cared about this place.”

“I didn’t,” she admitted. “But now, I do. Because of you.”

That made him pause.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then, slowly, Kaoruko stepped closer, her gaze dropping.

“…I used to think being dignified meant being alone. That solitude was strength.”

She lifted her eyes to meet his.

“But now I think… having someone who stands with you quietly is also a kind of strength.”

Tsumugi stared at her.

Then said softly, “You’re changing.”

Kaoruko’s lips curled into a shy smile. “Is that bad?”

“No,” he replied. “It suits you.”

---

The following days were filled with more preparation. Fabric banners were hung, tatami mats smoothed out, calligraphy signs made by hand.

Kaoruko wore her hair in a loose bun during rehearsal, and though she moved with the same elegance, she smiled more easily now.

The others began to appreciate her—not just for her skills, but for her kindness.

“She’s actually really nice,” someone whispered. “I thought she was cold, but she’s just reserved.”

“Yeah, and Tsumugi? He only listens to her.”

“He totally has a thing for her.”

Rumors started to stir, but neither of them acknowledged it. Their bond didn’t need validation. It was quiet, unspoken, and real.

---

One afternoon, while helping Kaoruko clean the practice tea set, Tsumugi asked, “Why do you care so much about this?”

Kaoruko looked at him, hands gently rinsing a ceramic cup.

“Because when I was younger, my grandmother told me tea brings people together. It’s not about impressing anyone. It’s about sharing silence, warmth, and grace.”

She handed him the towel.

“I want our class to experience that. Even just once.”

Tsumugi dried the cup thoughtfully.

“…You’re strange.”

She smiled. “You’ve said that before.”

“Still true.”

She chuckled and nudged his arm lightly. “And you still stayed.”

---

The day before the event, Kaoruko arrived early with a wrapped package. She approached Tsumugi quietly and handed it to him.

“What’s this?”

“Something I wanted you to wear during the performance. Just in case.”

He opened it slowly—revealing a simple yet elegant dark haori jacket, styled traditionally.