Chapter 7: Polite Distance
I was enjoying a peaceful lunch on my sacred courtyard bench — the one so far from the main school buildings that even the rumor mill needed a map and a compass to find it — when an elegant shadow intruded upon my quiet afternoon.
“Pardon me… Tanaka-san?”
The voice was so perfectly polished it could have been used to wax floors. I looked up.
Nana Fujiwara stood before me like a living etiquette textbook that had stepped out of a classical painting. Her long, silky black hair fell in a smooth, glossy cascade down her back, secured by a single simple white ribbon that somehow looked more refined than any expensive accessory. Her posture was impossibly straight — shoulders gently squared, spine perfectly aligned — making even the most disciplined rulers feel inadequate. Porcelain-smooth skin glowed with a soft, natural luminosity, and her delicate features were composed in an expression of serene formality: elegant almond-shaped eyes framed by naturally long lashes, a small, refined nose, and lips that curved with quiet poise. Everything about her radiated graceful composure, the kind that made me suddenly very aware of my slightly rumpled uniform and half-eaten lunch, like I’d shown up to a formal tea ceremony in sweatpants.
She gave a small, flawless bow. “I apologize most sincerely for interrupting your repast. Might I trouble you for a brief moment of your valuable time?”
I blinked slowly. “Uh… sure. What’s up, Fujiwara-senpai?”
She hesitated, cheeks tinting the faintest pink. “I… happened to overhear a rather disturbing conversation earlier today. A boy in my class — Yamazaki-san — was speaking with his cohorts. He stated that he could never confess his feelings to me because he is not good enough.”
Her fingers tightened slightly on her bag strap.
“I suspect it is due to my manner of speaking and my family background. I appear excessively unapproachable. Too ‘high-class,’ as it were. I would be most grateful if you could assist me in learning to speak more casually, so that I do not unintentionally cause kind individuals — particularly Yamazaki-san — to feel they must maintain such a respectful distance.”
She bowed again, even deeper. “If it would not be too great an imposition.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, already sensing my peaceful lunch was about to become another entry in the “Chronicles of Why My Life Is No Longer Quiet.”
“Alright,” I sighed. “But not here. Too many potential witnesses. Meet me after the final bell behind the old gym. There’s a quiet bench no one uses… usually.”
Nana’s eyes widened with delicate surprise, but she nodded with impeccable grace. “Understood. I shall arrive precisely on time. Thank you ever so much, Tanaka-san.”
The ginkgo tree bench was still warm when Nana arrived exactly on schedule. She sat with textbook posture, hands folded neatly in her lap like she was attending a formal tea ceremony.
“Thank you once again for graciously making time for me, Tanaka-san,” she began, voice dripping with flawless keigo. “Shall we commence the lesson? I shall endeavor to speak more casually henceforth.”
She cleared her throat with aristocratic dignity.
“Yo… Tanaka. How’s… it going… my dude?”
The silence that followed could have been used as a murder weapon.
I stared at her. She stared back, perfectly serene except for the growing blush creeping up her neck.
“Senpai,” I said, fighting valiantly not to laugh, “that was the most polite street punk I’ve ever heard. It sounded like a yakuza boss trying to order takeout while bowing.”
Nana’s cheeks flushed deeper. She bowed her head in perfect apology. “I offer my most humble apologies. It appears my tongue is stubbornly affixed to formal register. This is far more challenging than anticipated.”
I leaned back, keeping my tone light but honest. “Let’s start smaller. Tell me about your day. No honorifics. No apologies. Just… normal words.”
Nana took a deep breath, visibly steeling herself.
“My day was… acceptable. I attended classes. The literature lecture was… quite stimulating. Although I must confess the interpretation of the Heian period text was somewhat lacking in scholarly rigor—”
She caught herself mid-sentence and covered her mouth with both hands. “Ah… I have done it again. Please forgive my inexcusable verbosity.”
I snorted. “You just turned ‘class was okay’ into a university dissertation. Try again. Short sentences. No fancy words.”
Nana fidgeted with her ribbon, looking adorably distressed. “Today was… nice? The weather was pleasant. I saw a cat. It was… cute.”
The last word came out like she was confessing a crime.
I grinned. “There we go. The cat part actually sounded like a human being. Progress.”
We practiced for nearly forty minutes, and it was like watching a noblewoman trying to order street food at a summer festival while wearing a kimono and bowing every three seconds.
Nana took another deep breath, clearly psyching herself up.
“Okay… here I go. Today was… pretty okay? The weather was nice, and I saw a cat on the way to school. It was… super cute.”
She immediately winced. “Ah—! I mean, it was cute! No, wait— I should not have added ‘super’ so casually. Please forgive my inexcusable familiarity—”
I held up a hand, biting back a laugh. “Senpai. You were doing great until the apology. The cat was cute. Full stop. No need to file a formal complaint against yourself.”
Nana’s cheeks turned a delicate pink. “But it felt far too informal! One does not simply declare a cat ‘super cute’ without proper context or decorum…”
“You just did,” I said, grinning. “And the world didn’t end. Try again. Tell me what you had for breakfast. Casual mode only.”
She straightened her back like she was preparing for battle.
“I consumed… toast. With strawberry jam. It was… yummy?”
The last word came out like she was testing a forbidden swear word.
I couldn’t help it — I snorted. “Yummy? That sounded like a princess tasting peasant food for the first time and trying not to offend the chef.”
Nana covered her mouth, mortified. “Oh dear… I have failed once more. I meant to say it was delicious, but then I worried ‘delicious’ sounded too refined, so I overcorrected and—”
“—and looped right back to formal apology town,” I finished for her, chuckling. “Senpai, you’re overthinking this harder than I overthink avoiding group projects. Just say what you actually feel. No filter.”
She fidgeted with her ribbon, looking adorably distressed. “Very well. I shall attempt once more. Breakfast was… really good. The jam was sweet and the toast was crunchy. I enjoyed it very much.”
She paused, then added hesitantly, “How was yours… Kenji?”
The use of my first name without any honorific made her visibly flinch, like she’d just committed a minor crime.
I smiled warmly. “See? That wasn’t so bad. It actually sounded like a real person talking. And my breakfast was boring cereal, by the way. Nothing compared to fancy jam toast.”
Nana let out a tiny, relieved laugh — soft and surprisingly genuine. “I feel as though I have committed several social crimes in the span of five minutes. But… it is rather liberating. Thank you for your patience with my terribly stubborn tongue.”
At one point she attempted, “Tanaka… you are… pretty chill, yes?” and immediately hid her face. “That was dreadful. Please erase it from your memory.”
I laughed despite myself. “It wasn’t dreadful. It was honest. That’s the goal. You don’t need to become a delinquent. Just sound like Nana without the ten layers of formal armor.”
She peeked through her fingers, looking equal parts mortified and determined. “You make it sound deceptively simple.”
“Maybe not,” I admitted. “But the right people won’t need you to change who you are. They’ll just want to feel like they’re allowed to stand next to you without writing a formal application first.”
Nana lowered her hands, her usual elegant mask softening. “Yamazaki-kun has always been very kind to me. He holds doors, offers assistance with heavy items, remembers small details… Yet after overhearing him today, I feared my formality made him feel… unworthy.”
She looked down at her lap, voice quieter. “I sincerely do not wish to cause kind people to feel small.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Nana stood gracefully, smoothing her skirt.
“Thank you, Tanaka-san — Kenji-kun, if I may be so bold. You have given me much to reflect upon. I shall endeavor to speak more from the heart going forward.”
She bowed one last time — still elegant, but perhaps a fraction less rigid than before.
As she walked away, I stayed on the bench, watching a colorful butterfly flutter by.
***
Two days later, I was cutting through the lesser-used hallway near the third-year classrooms when a familiar voice drifted from an empty room.
“…I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to keep your distance,” Nana said softly, her usual formal tone gentler than I’d ever heard it. “I never intended that.”
A male voice that must be Yamazaki’s came back, nervous but warm and completely sincere.
“No, it wasn’t you at all, Fujiwara-san. Please don’t apologize. You’re always so elegant and graceful… the way you carry yourself, the way you speak — it’s beautiful. I’ve always admired that about you. Your poise, your kindness, even the way you choose your words so carefully… it’s part of what makes you you. I would never want you to change that.”
He let out a shaky breath, clearly gathering courage.
“I just… felt like I couldn’t offer someone like you the kind of life you deserve. You come from such a refined family, and I’m just an ordinary guy. It was my own insecurity talking the whole time. Not you. Never you.”
There was a small, hopeful pause.
“I really… like you. A lot. Exactly as you are.”
I froze mid-step, then quietly backed away before they noticed me.
A small grin crept onto my face as I continued down the hall.
Looks like the polite distance had finally been bridged.
My underground tutor life might be getting more complicated by the day (and my private time evaporating exponentially). But moments like this?
Yeah… I couldn’t say I hated it.
