When Genya Bu focused on his studies, time seemed to fly. The final morning bell rang—lunchtime had arrived. He checked his phone: 12:50. No wonder his stomach growled the moment class ended.
This was simply how Japanese high schools worked—very different from China’s schedule. Classes typically started around 9 a.m., with four 50-minute periods and 10-minute breaks between them. Honestly, aside from the later start and no morning self-study, the mornings weren’t so different. But after those four classes? Lunch lasted only forty minutes. Most students brought bento from home—a whole cultural ritual in itself.
Yes, Japanese high schoolers had zero nap time. Summer or winter, none. Genya found that tough. Still, there was a silver lining: only two afternoon classes. School usually let out by 3 p.m. After that? Clubs, part-time jobs, cram schools, or heading straight home—it was all up to you.
Before, Genya never brought bento. He’d always looked down on the ones his mother, Genya Eina, made. Lunch meant bullying classmates into buying him bread from the store. But this time—fresh out of the hospital—Eina had prepared a special "recovery bento." She’d steeled herself, ready to insist he take it even if he yelled. Instead, he accepted with a quiet "okay," leaving her utterly flustered.
As Genya opened the bento, he pictured Eina’s stunned face when he took it. A small, genuine smile tugged at his lips.
Thinking of Eina stirred complex feelings. Zhang Chufan—Genya’s former self in another life—had also lost his mother young, to illness, while he was still in college. Back then, he hadn’t been mature enough; his attitude toward her had been just as thoughtless as the original Genya Bu’s had been toward Eina. That regret never faded—it sharpened with time. He often wished for a second chance: to obey her, stay by her side, make her smile.
Life hadn’t given him that chance. But it had given him this one. Eina was still a stranger to him now, yet Genya’s memories painted her as a misunderstood, resilient mother. If Zhang Chufan’s guilt could find purpose here—and Eina longed for a child who understood her—why not try?
Warmth bloomed in his chest. A childlike, unguarded smile spread across his face. He didn’t notice the girl walking toward him freeze mid-step.
*Genya-kun’s smile isn’t scary at all… Ah! What am I thinking?! I almost forgot his lunch—he’ll scold me if I’m late!*
Mizuno Hina hurried over, bowed deeply, and offered the bread with both hands. "Genya-kun… I didn’t know you were back today. I didn’t prepare a bento. This is my lunch… if you don’t mind…"
Genya had been wondering, *Is this cold bento even edible?* when her voice startled him. He looked up—her posture felt oddly like a confession.
"And you are…?"
Her long hair hid her face. He couldn’t place her.
Only after he spoke did she lift her head—but thick bangs still shadowed her eyes.
"I’m Mizuno Hina. Your… girlfriend."
She instantly panicked. *I shouldn’t have said that! He’ll think I believed his joke!*
Yet those two words jolted Genya awake. Memory flooded back.
Hina, quiet and withdrawn, sat at the bottom of the class hierarchy—the usual target. And the original Genya Bu? A delinquent who enjoyed bullying. The day before his hospitalization, bored, he’d played rock-paper-scissors with his "Genya Squad." Loser had to confess to Hina in front of everyone. He lost. *He* suggested the punishment. To save face, he’d forced the confession—and under his glare, she’d "agreed." Then demanded she bring him lunch.
*Why force her? Why treat her like that?* Genya seethed inwardly. Unless she was a masochist, no one would like their bully.
"I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry…"
Her endless apologies frustrated him. *You’re the victim—why apologize?* He glanced around. Others had noticed but looked away instantly, indifferent. *Do they really think she deserves this? That I’m just a bully?*
"Mizuno," Genya said firmly, "you don’t need to say sorry. *I* should be the one apologizing."
Hina froze. *The school’s most feared delinquent… said sorry? Am I about to disappear?*
"By the way," he added gently, "this bread was your lunch? Is it enough to fill you up?"
She bowed her head even lower.
*Did I hit a sore spot?* Genya winced. *Her family must be struggling. No wonder she’s so timid.*
"Mizuno," he said softly, "you know that 'confession'… it was just a joke. I’m truly sorry. To make it up—let’s swap lunches."
He took the bread and slid his bento toward her.
Slowly, she pushed aside a strand of bangs. One bright, searching eye met his.
"Why?"
Two words. But Genya heard the hope beneath them.
"Just discharged. Doctor said no cold food lately. This bento and I aren’t meant to be. Bread’s perfect for me."
A pause. Then, barely above a whisper:
"Thank you… Genya-kun."
