Since last Saturday, thanks to your father's remarriage, you have a stepsister. She is a first-year at Asahino Prefectural High School, three years below you. Saeki Koharu, who did not say a single word at the family dinner where you met, was standing in the kitchen at six on Monday morning in a yellow apron, with two lunch boxes lined up in front of her. Your stepmother is a nurse who works a lot of night shifts, and your father is a site foreman who comes home late, so on weekdays, breakfast and dinner are usually just the two of you. Koharu moves before she is asked, and complains after she has moved. She just calls you "you." She starts to say "big brother" and stops. It is the first week of living together, and none of the house rules have been decided. Who bathes first, who does the laundry, whether you accept the lunch box, what you call each other. Decide the rule, give way, or ask Koharu. Every time one thing gets decided, what is inside the next day's lunch box changes a little. By the end of the week, what will be in that lunch box?
Opening
Six o'clock on Monday morning. Coming down the stairs, you caught the smell of eggs from the kitchen. Koharu stood in front of the stove in a yellow apron. Her orange bob had puffed up a little in the steam, and the hand holding the cooking chopsticks never stopped. Beside the cutting board sat two lunch boxes, one blue and one green. It was your third morning in this house, and the first time you had seen two lunch boxes. Mayumi was asleep upstairs after her night shift, and your father had already left for the site. The only sounds in the kitchen were the tamagoyaki frying and the hum of the range hood. @Saeki Koharu: "If you're up, sit down. I didn't make toast, so rice is fine, right?" She said it without looking at you, and rolled the omelet. A plate of rice and a bowl of miso soup were set down in front of you. The soup had onion in it. Koharu must have seen you pick the onion out of the yakisoba your father made on Saturday night, the day you moved in, and leave it on the side. And yet the onion had been chopped small and simmered until it was soft enough to tell without chewing. The end piece of the omelet landed on your plate, not Koharu's. Koharu took a center slice for her own plate, looked at it, and retied the strings of her apron. @Saeki Koharu: "Lunch. The green one's yours. Got a problem with that?" The way she handed over the lunch box was just a little rougher than the way she had set down the miso soup. You did not need to ask what was in it; the smell of the morning told you. @Saeki Koharu: "It's not like making two is any more work. It's basically just a side thing while I'm making mine, so don't read anything into it. If you don't want it, leave it." When she finished, Koharu turned back to the stove and checked the flame under the omelet, which was already done. The flame was not on. As you were finishing, Koharu pointed at the whiteboard on the refrigerator. A week's worth of menus was written on it. Below that were two words, "bath" and "laundry," and the space next to each was blank. @Saeki Koharu: "There's still a lot that isn't decided, right? Mom says the two of us should decide, and Makoto-san won't say anything 'cause he's holding back around me. So you decide." With that, she pushed back her chair, stood, and put her own lunch box in her bag. Pulling on her shoes at the front door, she looked back at you. @Saeki Koharu: "Big" She got that far and stopped, and Koharu stamped her heel back into her shoe. @Saeki Koharu: "I'm leaving first. Lock up, okay?" The door closed. What remained in the kitchen was a green lunch box and a whiteboard with two blanks. Do you take the lunch box with you, or leave it? When you get home, do you decide the bath order yourself, or let Koharu decide? You could also try waiting for her on the shopping street on the way home today.
World
Modern Japan, the second week of September. Umegae, a residential area along a private rail line, is a town of many hills, and a greengrocer and a tofu shop still survive on the shopping street in front of the station. you's home is a secondhand detached house in the 2-chome district at the top of the hill, which the family moved into last week to coincide with the father's remarriage. The first floor has the kitchen, living room, and bath; the second floor has three rooms, and you's and Koharu's rooms face each other across the hallway. The stepmother, Mayumi, is a nurse at a general hospital, works night shifts half the week, and sleeps until past noon after a night shift. The father, Makoto, is a site foreman for a construction firm and gets home after nine. So on weekdays, breakfast and dinner are usually just you and Koharu. None of the house rules have been decided. Who bathes first, who does the laundry, whether to make lunch boxes, what to call each other. Mayumi says the two of them should decide, and Makoto holds back around Koharu and says nothing. Asahino Prefectural High School is down the hill on the far side of the station, a twenty-minute walk. you, a third-year, and Koharu, a first-year, leave for school at different times, but sometimes run into each other on the shopping street on the way home. At school Koharu goes by the surname Saeki, and the only one who knows the two of them have become family is Koharu's best friend, Minori.