More Than Just Maybe

A Town Called Maybe

...🌸...

Kamakura, Kanagawa Prefecture.

It was the kind of town where the mornings smelled like sea breeze and fresh mochi. Where cats sat like royalty on shrine steps, and bicycles clinked softly as they passed through narrow, stone-paved streets. It was the kind of town where everyone knew your name, your family, your favorite snack, and—unfortunately—your alleged love life.

Tsubasa Amakusa woke to the scent of anpan and the muffled whir of the bakery’s dough mixer downstairs. A warm beam of sunlight peeked through his slightly open curtains, accompanied by the distant chirping of sparrows. He stretched like a lazy cat, yawning loudly, his bedhead as wild as a bird’s nest.

“Ugh… Monday,” he groaned, rolling over.

Then came the knock.

“Oi, Tsubasa-kun! I can hear your alarm from my window!”

He blinked and sat up, eyes squinting toward the open window across from his. There, standing with her arms crossed and a practiced scowl on her face, was Misora Kisaragi, her long black hair tied up in a loose ribbon, and a thermos in one hand.

“Morning, Misora-chan,” he said, grinning like a kid who’d just found an extra slice of cake.

“You’re going to be late. Again.”

“I wouldn’t be if you stopped yelling and let me finish dreaming about being a professional soccer player-slash-master baker.”

Misora rolled her eyes. “You’re not even dressed yet.”

“Details, details.”

By the time the clock struck 6:45, the scent of freshly baked melonpan drifted out from Amakusa Bakery, nestled just off Komachi Street. The small, cozy shop had stood in the neighborhood for over two generations. Every morning, locals would stop by to grab their favorite pastries before the day began—students, joggers, salarymen, and of course, nosy aunties who lived for gossip.

Tsubasa, now sporting a hoodie over his school uniform and a pencil tucked behind one ear, carried a tray of warm anpan to the front display case.

From the other side of the glass counter, Aunt Mika narrowed her eyes at him. “Tsubasa-kun, where’s Misora-chan this morning? She’s usually here before you.”

“She’s late,” he said casually. “Probably polishing her shoes or rearranging her socks.”

“You’re cheeky,” Aunt Mika huffed. “You two are like an old married couple, you know that?”

Tsubasa chuckled as he rang up her purchase. “People say that a lot.”

She leaned in, raising a brow. “So? When’s the wedding?”

He laughed harder this time, scratching the back of his head. “She’d probably whack me with a rolling pin if I even brought it up.”

“Good,” a familiar voice said from behind him. “Because I’m right here.”

Tsubasa turned, startled. “Eh? Misora-chan? You weren’t late after all?”

She walked in, her expression unreadable, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

“I’m never late. Unlike someone.”

Aunt Mika beamed. “See? Like a married couple.”

“Stop encouraging that nonsense,” Misora muttered, adjusting the strap of her school bag.

“You two even match today,” Aunt Mika added, eyeing their unintentionally coordinated uniforms and blue accents. “It’s fate.”

They walked to school side by side, as they always did. The Enoden train rattled by in the distance, the salty wind brushing past them as they crossed a narrow street shaded by cherry blossom trees just starting to bud.

“You forgot your water bottle again at our house,” Tsubasa said, handing it to her without looking.

“I noticed. You’re observant today.”

“I observe the important things.”

Misora raised an eyebrow. “Like how many custard buns you snuck this morning?”

He looked offended. “I’m hurt, Misora-chan. I’m a professional.”

“You’re a menace.”

They reached the turn toward Minamisawa High, their school perched on a low hill overlooking the bay. From there, the horizon spread out like a painting—gray-blue waters, the silhouette of Enoshima Island in the distance, and the morning sun shimmering off the surface like spilled gold.

Students were already gathered at the gates. Some waved. Some whispered.

“Good morning, Kisaragi-san! Amakusa-kun!” a bubbly second-year girl chirped. “Did you walk together again? So cute!”

“We live next door,” Misora replied flatly.

“Yeah,” Tsubasa added, “it’s just convenience.”

“Right, right,” the girl winked. “Totally convenient. Got it.”

They kept walking.

“You’d think they’d be tired of it by now,” Tsubasa said.

“They won’t be until one of us transfers schools or dies dramatically in a fire,” Misora muttered.

“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “don’t die. I kind of like having you around.”

She paused for half a second, then sighed. “You’re impossible.”

Homeroom began with a bang. Or rather, with Mr. Kaido’s dramatic entrance, cloak (yes, cloak) billowing behind him like he was on a stage instead of in front of a whiteboard.

“Good morning, my dear students! The winds of fate have blessed us with another day of youth and yearning!”

“Here we go again,” Misora whispered.

Mr. Kaido pushed up his glasses. “Before we begin roll call, I would like to remind our favorite couple— Amakusa-kun, Kisaragi-san— that public displays of domestic squabbles are technically not part of the curriculum.”

“We’re not a couple!” they said in unison.

The class roared with laughter.

“Then stop acting like one!” someone yelled.

Tsubasa grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “This again.”

Misora let her forehead fall gently to the desk.

By lunch, the rumor mill had already churned out a fresh batch of #TsubaSora photos. One was just them handing each other bread. Another was Misora adjusting Tsubasa’s collar without realizing. The most recent? A shot of them at the bakery that morning, captured by none other than Ayane Fujimoto, the class representative and part-time photographer of shipping dreams.

“It’s trending on our school board chat,” Nao Ranjishi said between bites of onigiri. “You two have a fan club now. Someone even drew fan art.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Misora said, face half-hidden behind her bento.

Tsubasa tilted his head at the sketch. “Wait… why do I have cat ears?”

“Artistic liberties,” Nao replied. “Anyway, I ship it.”

“Ship what?” Tsubasa asked, genuinely confused.

Nao stared at him. “How are you like this?”

After school, they stopped by Hasedera Temple, where Misora helped deliver seasonal sweets for a neighborhood order. While she handled the handoff, Tsubasa waited beneath the blooming plum trees, taking in the way the petals fluttered like soft snow.

When Misora returned, she stood beside him, quiet.

“…It feels different this year,” she said suddenly.

He looked at her. “Different how?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Just… different.”

They stood in silence.

“I guess,” he said eventually. “Maybe we’re growing up.”

“…Maybe.”

“Still, you’ll always be Misora-chan to me.”

She glanced at him, then quickly looked away. “Idiot.”

Evening in Kamakura cast long shadows over the rooftops. The shops began to close, the lanterns lit one by one along the streets, and the sea breeze grew colder.

At the gates of their adjoining houses, Tsubasa turned to her.

“Hey… thanks for always being around.”

She blinked, surprised. “What’s that about?”

“Dunno. Just felt like saying it.”

She looked at him a moment longer, then smiled faintly. “Same to you, Tsubasa-kun.”

He grinned. “See you tomorrow, wife—ACK!”

A notebook smacked him in the face.

“Idiot!”

From behind the curtains of the bakery’s second floor, Satsuki Amakusa watched the scene unfold with a cup of tea in hand.

“They’re still in denial, huh?”

Hinako popped a mochi into her mouth. “Yup. Lost cause.”

From the street, Old Man Hiro chuckled. “Give it a month.”