Chapter 3

	A few weeks later, Ami and Makoto went on their weekly trip to 
the supermarket to shop for groceries. While Ami pushed the cart, 
overflowing with enough food to feed a small army, the aspiring chef 
walked ahead, grabbing the necessary items with the ease of an 
experienced shopper and dumping them in the basket. Makoto would then 
be sure to mark the purchase off her grocery list, written on a piece 
of rose-printed stationery Ami had given her for her birthday.

	“Well, it looks like we’re almost done here, except for 
cereal,” Makoto announced as they reached the last aisle in the store. 
She scanned the list one more time, checking to make sure she had 
gotten everything she needed. “Carrots, ginger, olives, curry -- did we 
get the vegetable oil, Ami-chan?”

	Ami, who had been busy calculating the total of their grocery 
bill, looked in the cart and shook her head. She saw bottles of extra 
virgin olive oil and soy sauce, but no vegetable oil in sight. “It 
doesn’t look like it.”

	“Darn, and it’s all the way on the other side of the store,” 
Makoto sighed. “I’ll go get it. Why don’t you grab the cereal, and I’ll 
meet you up front at the register?”

	“Do you want a certain kind?” Ami asked, knowing how particular 
Makoto was when it came to groceries.

	“You choose. You eat it more than I do, anyway.”

	“Okay, I’ll see you up front.”

	Once Makoto turned to leave, Ami pushed the cart down the 
store’s cereal aisle and grabbed a random cartoon-decorated box from 
one of the shelves. Out of habit from her teenage years when her mother 
left her in charge of the shopping, she turned it to the side panel to 
look over the nutritional facts and frowned.

	“Fifteen grams of sugar per serving?” she muttered to herself. 
“With that much in their systems, it’s no wonder children are so 
hyperactive nowadays.”

	Ami put the cereal back and reached for another brand that 
looked somewhat healthier and apparently helped lower cholesterol, if 
the label was to believed. She was hardly in the danger zone when it 
came to that area, but it couldn’t hurt to start early. Prevention was 
always the best medicine, as her mother liked to say. Again, she 
studied the nutrition facts, barely noticing when someone came up 
beside her and reached for a box of the sugary cereal she had rejected.

	“Excuse me, miss,” the shopper -- a man -- said, tapping her on 
the shoulder, “but would you happen to know where I could find the 
canned dog food?”

	“Hai. Dog food should be on--” Lowering her box, Ami was 
stunned to see the man was none other than her boss. “Sensei!”

	Professor Kitagawa looked as shocked as she did to run into 
her. “Ami-chan, what a pleasant surprise.”

	“What are you doing here?” Ami asked, blushing when she 
realized how rude that must have sounded. “I mean, I’ve never seen you 
here before.”   

	“Oh, that’s probably because I usually don’t come to this 
supermarket,” he explained, not offended at all. “I normally shop at 
the convenience store by my apartment building, but they’re having some 
great sales today.” As proof, he lifted up the hand-held basket he 
carried, which was nearly filled to the brim with microwavable dinners. 
About the only things that didn’t require reheating were a jar of 
peanut butter, milk, and the Cocoa Puffs he had just selected.

	“Wow, you must really like frozen food,” Ami commented, the 
future doctor in her holding back the urge to lecture him on the health 
risks of eating so much processed food. Considering his line of work, 
she knew he was probably already well aware of the dangers.

	The professor made a face. “Actually, they taste horrible.”

	“But, then, why…”

	“What can I say? They’re fast and convenient, though terribly 
unhealthy, I know,” he said with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his 
neck in embarrassment. “It’s the price I pay for never learning how to 
cook, I suppose. My secret shame.”

	“It’s nothing to be ashamed about,” Ami insisted. “I’m not much 
of a cook, either.”

	“You seem to do well enough.”

	Professor Kitagawa nodded his chin toward the almost-full cart 
behind her, which Ami had almost completely forgotten about.

	“Oh, no, that‘s for my roommate, the real cook,” she corrected. 
“I’m just here to help with the grocery shopping.”

	“I see.”

	“Mako-chan’s amazing when it comes to cooking. She’s studying 
to become a chef and wants to open her own restaurant or bakery some 
day,” Ami continued, for some reason feeling the need to keep talking 
though she was fairly certain the professor couldn’t care less about 
her roommate’s life plans. 

	Instead of looking bored, however, he seemed rather impressed. 
“Really? Well, when she does, I’ll have to remember to check it out. If 
you say she’s good, then it must be true.”

	“She is,” Ami insisted. “The best.”

	There was a brief pause before Ami finally remembered the 
reason why the professor stopped to talk to her in the first place.

	“Oh, you wanted to know about where to find the dog food. You 
should be able to find it on aisle nine.”

	“Thanks, I appreciate it.” With a grateful smile, he turned to 
leave. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Ami-chan. Ja.”

	“Ja ne!”

	After the professor left, Ami selected her final choice of 
cereal, then headed over to the registers, where Makoto was already 
waiting with a bottle of vegetable oil in her hands, along with a 
cheesy tabloid magazine she had grabbed to read to pass the time. The 
main headline read “Scientists create first half-cat/half-dog” in 
bolded yellow kanji and was accompanied by an obviously doctored 
photograph of what appeared to be a large Doberman with the face and 
fluffy tail of a Persian.

	“You know, that’s scientifically impossible,” Ami said as she 
pulled up to one of the registers and began unloading their groceries 
onto the conveyer belt. “The felidae and canidae families are too 
genetically different to support the creation of a new species through 
cross-breeding.”

	“Oh, Ami-chan, there you are!” Embarrassed at being caught with 
such dubious reading material, a blushing Makoto quickly closed the 
magazine and put it back where it belonged. “Where have you been?” she 
asked, helping Ami with the food. “It couldn’t take that long to pick 
out a simple box of cereal. Wait a minute, don’t tell me. Let me guess. 
You were comparing nutritional facts again.”

	“Actually, I happened to run into one of my professors, and we 
chatted for a bit,” Ami confessed.

	“You mean teachers have to eat, too?” the brunette joked.

	“Of course they do,” Ami said, her brief smile turning into a 
frown when she remembered Professor Kitagawa’s basket of groceries, if 
they could even be called that. “Although I’m not sure if I would 
exactly call the frozen dinners he was buying fine dining.”

	The chef-in-training wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Frozen 
dinners? Those things are barely fit for human consumption.”

	“I know.” Ami sighed, feeling a bit sorry for her teacher. Even 
if he didn‘t know how to cook, nobody deserved having to endure eating 
microwavable food night after night. 

	As Makoto walked over to bag their groceries -- she never 
trusted the bagboys to do it correctly -- Ami was suddenly struck by an 
idea. For weeks, she had been wanting to give Professor Kitagawa a 
"thank you” present for hiring her to be his assistant, but, until then, 
nothing she thought of seemed quite right to convey her feelings of 
gratitude for giving her such a wonderful opportunity. 

	Granted, she wasn’t as good as Makoto was at such things, but, 
certainly, she could manage to put a little something together…

	“Mako-chan, I’ll be right back,” Ami said after quickly jotting 
down a short list on the back of Makoto’s original which she had left in 
the basket. “There are a few more things I want to get before I leave.”

	“Like what?” her roommate asked, raising an eyebrow as she 
double-bagged the carton of eggs they had bought. “We got everything on 
the list, Ami-chan. Besides, I don’t think there’s enough money in the 
food budget for much more.”

	“Don’t worry. I’ll pay for it out of my own pocket.”

	Before Makoto could object, Ami headed off to gather everything 
she would need for the perfect “thank you” gift.   

*****
	Monday morning, Makoto woke up at six o’clock, her usual time, 
and got dressed, yawning as she pulled on a pair of jeans and a tank 
top. She had stayed up far later than she probably should have on a 
Sunday night when she had morning classes and work the next day, but it 
had been hard to put down the shawl she had been crocheting, so she was 
forced to suffer the consequences. 

	After brushing her teeth and splashing some water on her face in 
an attempt to wake herself up, Makoto headed to the living room with 
watering can in hand. She was mildly surprised to discover that the 
lights were still on, but brushed it off as forgetfulness on her part. 
Considering the time when she finally made it to bed the night before, 
she could have easily left them on overnight. Without giving it a second 
thought, Makoto walked over to her potted orchid and started watering 
the plant.

	“Ohayo, Hana-chan,” she said, greeting the blossoming plant as 
she normally did every time she watered it. It was a belief held over 
from her childhood, passed on by her late mother, that plants had the 
ability to “hear,” and, no matter how old she became, Makoto couldn’t 
seem to break the habit of having little “conversations” with her flower 
friends. “Are you thirsty? I bet you are, after blooming such beautiful 
flowers. Here‘s a bit of water.”

	Once she finished watering the plant, Makoto bent down to smell 
one of the fragrant white blooms. However, the orchid’s normally sweet-
smelling scent was overpowered by something that smelled suspiciously 
like…shrimp?

	Makoto straightened back up and sniffed the air around her, 
wondering if she had just imagined it. Sometimes, when she was hungry 
enough, her mind liked to play tricks on her, making her think she 
smelled food cooking in the kitchen. The shrimp smell was still there, 
though, and it was even stronger than the first time she detected it.

	“What is that?” she asked aloud. “I haven’t started breakfast 
yet.”

	Noticing that the light in the kitchen was on, Makoto walked 
over to the door and swung it open. There, she found her roommate at the 
stove, already dressed and wearing one of her aprons over her clothes, 
carefully placing a piece of shrimp into a sizzling frying pan.    

	For a moment, Makoto just stood in the doorway, watching Ami 
cook in disbelief. It certainly was a rare sight to see. Ami was by no 
means a bad cook, but when it came to their meals, Makoto did most of 
the cooking while Ami helped out with the simple things like preparing 
salads or rolling onigiri. The only times Ami did cook was usually when 
Makoto was working late at the restaurant, and, more often than not, she 
just reheated food Makoto prepared beforehand or made sandwiches. Makoto 
wondered what in the world had made Ami decide to get up before her 
normal wake-up time to fry shrimp, of all things.  	

	“Ami-chan, what are you doing?” Makoto asked, her curiosity 
finally getting the better of her.

	The blue-haired girl turned around, apparently startled by her 
presence. “Oh, Mako-chan, you‘re up,” Ami said, a faint blush coloring 
her cheeks. “Um…I’m making lunch.”

	“I can see that, but why? You know I’m always happy to make your 
obento.”

	“It’s not for me, exactly…” she admitted, her face growing 
redder.

	“Oh?” Her interest aroused, Makoto entered the kitchen proper 
and snuck a peak at the half-filled obento boxes sitting on the counter. 
Already, Ami had prepared a variety of different foods, and a glance 
over at the rice maker confirmed that it was in use. “Who are you making 
such a fancy lunch for?” Makoto asked. “It must be somebody important if 
you’re going through so much trouble.”   

	“You don’t know hi--”

	Ami abruptly stopped before finishing the thought and turned her 
attention back to the shrimp, causing Makoto to raise an eyebrow in her 
friend’s direction. Had Ami meant to say what she thought she meant to 
say? 

	“Him? Were you going to say ‘You don’t know him?’”

	“It’s not a big deal, Mako-chan,” Ami said, not looking up from 
the pan.

	“Not a big deal? When a woman makes a lunch for a man, it‘s 
always a big deal,” Makoto declared, practically bursting with happiness 
for her roommate. That must have been why Ami had bought the extra 
groceries, because Makoto didn’t remember buying the shrimp herself. A 
girl making a homemade lunch for a boy was almost always a sign of 
romance, and, as far as Makoto was concerned, it was about time that Ami 
found herself a boyfriend. “So, who’s the lucky guy?”  

	“I told you he’s nobody important.”

	“If he’s nobody important, then you have no reason to act so 
mysterious about it, right?” Makoto reasoned, taking a bite of one of 
the fried shrimp Ami had placed on a plate. For somebody who didn’t 
spend much time in the kitchen, it was actually not half-bad. “Good, but 
I think it could use a pinch more salt.”

	“Thanks.” Completely ignoring Makoto’s question, Ami sprinkled a 
bit more salt on the shrimp frying in the pan and started flipping the 
pieces over. 

	With a roll of her eyes, Makoto went to the refrigerator and 
pulled out a carton of eggs for breakfast. Obviously, Ami was not very 
eager to reveal the identity of her mystery boyfriend, but, though she 
usually tried to respect her roommate’s privacy, it was just too big to 
ignore. “Can’t you just give me a little hint, Ami-chan?” she pleaded, 
to which her roommate let out an audible sigh in response.

	“He’s just somebody from school,” Ami finally divulged. “Like I 
said before, you don’t know him.”

	“One of your classmates?”

	“No, and no matter what you’re thinking, this lunch has nothing 
to do with romance.”

	“I didn’t say anything like that,” Makoto said, though the blush 
she felt spreading across her cheeks was sure to be a dead give-away 
that she had been thinking it.

	Ami laughed. “You didn’t have to, Mako-chan. You can be as bad 
as Minako-chan sometimes when it comes to other people’s love lives.”

	“I guess that’s true,” Makoto admitted sheepishly, rubbing the 
back of her neck in embarrassment. “Okay, I get the message. You want me 
to butt out. Do you at least need any help with that obento?”

	Ami shook her head. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’d 
rather do this on my own.”

	“Oh, okay, but if you have any questions or need some 
assistance, just ask.” Reaching up, Makoto pulled down a skillet from 
the hook above her head and placed it on the stove beside Ami’s pan. 
"I’m going to start on breakfast. Scrambled eggs and bacon sound good?”

	There were no objections on Ami’s part, so Makoto got to work on 
breakfast, the two of them somehow managing to stay out of each other‘s 
way as they shared the spacious kitchen. Occasionally, however, Makoto 
found herself glancing over at her roommate as she worked and wondering 
who was going to be the recipient of Ami‘s homemade lunch. Despite Ami’s 
insistence to the contrary, Makoto was almost positive she was making it 
for somebody she liked, but Ami hadn’t as much as mentioned having a 
crush on anybody. The fact that Ami wouldn’t tell her who it was drove 
Makoto crazy.

	Whoever it was, he had to be a very intelligent person to catch 
Ami’s attention. Makoto couldn’t picture Ami with anybody who wasn’t at 
least as smart as her, which definitely cut down on the number of 
possible suitors. He probably was quite handsome, too, since Makoto knew 
Ami had a thing for pretty boys. Back during the whole Mercurious 
episode, she had once told the senshi her idea of the perfect guy was a 
“young Albert Einstein.” Makoto had no idea what the discoverer of the 
theory of relativity looked like as a young man, but, if he was anything 
like the poster they showed Ami of “Mercurious” -- in reality, just a 
picture of one of Minako’s idols to hide the real Mercurious’ geeky, 
Umino-esque identity -- then Einstein must have been a real bishounen 
back in the day.

	“Um, Mako-chan?” 

	Ami‘s voice broke Makoto from her thoughts, and she looked over 
at her roommate, who had stopped in the middle of rolling an onigiri and 
was giving her a strange look. “Hmm?”

	“Well, I may not be as good a chef as you are,” Ami said, 
pointing at the skillet, “but is bacon supposed to be that crispy?”

	Makoto looked down and let out a swear when she saw smoke coming 
up from the pan. “Oh, no, I can’t believe I did that!” she exclaimed, 
quickly turning off the burner and lifting the pan up to inspect the 
bacon. She sighed once she managed to wave most of the smoke away to 
reveal eight pieces of burnt bacon, charred almost beyond all 
recognition. “Well, I always say I like my bacon extra crispy…”

	Ami smiled, looking as if she was trying desperately to hold in 
her laughter, and got back to work on her rice balls. “Don’t worry about 
it, Mako-chan. I’m sure they’ll taste fine.”

	“You sure?” Taking a fork, Makoto attempted to pick up one of 
the pieces, but when she tried to stab the overcooked meat, the bacon 
crumbled right in half. Oh, if only her colleagues at the restaurant 
could see her now… “I can always make another batch,” she offered, 
already tossing the old batch away. Her pride as a future chef refused 
to allow her to serve such sub-par food.

	“You don’t have to go through the trouble,” Ami said, putting 
the final touches on her onigiri and placing it in the obento. “How does 
this look, Mako-chan?”

	After putting her skillet in the sink, Makoto walked over to 
where Ami was standing and looked over her shoulder at the filled boxes 
with a critical eye. Quite honestly, Makoto was impressed with what she 
saw. The food looked delicious and was set in a lovely presentation.

	“Nice job,” she praised, causing Ami to blush faintly at the 
compliment. “I can tell you worked really hard to make this.”

	“Do you really think so?”

	Makoto nodded, a sly smile crossing her lips as she glanced over 
at Ami from the corner of her eye. “A lot of love was put into preparing 
this lunch.”

	“Mako-chan!”

	Unable to help herself, Makoto laughed as Ami’s blush from 
before deepened. She really was too easy to embarrass. “What? It’s true, 
isn’t it?” Makoto teased. “Ami-chan has a boyfriend! Ami-chan has a 
boyfriend! 

	“I-I told you it was nothing like that!”	  

	“So you keep saying, but the food says otherwise…” 

	“I made this lunch to show my gratitude to somebody, that’s 
all,” Ami insisted, wrapping the boxes up once she managed to recover. 
“There’s no ulterior motive.”

	Makoto still didn’t know whether or not she believed her, but 
she decided to let the subject drop, realizing it was pointless to keep 
badgering her about it. If Ami really did have a boyfriend, she was 
bound to spill the beans sooner or later. For now, she would just have 
to wait.

	“Well, no matter what the reason, I’m sure whoever you’re giving 
it to will love it, Ami-chan.”

	“Thanks.”

	*****  	

	Ami left the apartment for her first class of the day at half 
after seven, balancing the obento she had made for Professor Kitagawa on 
top of her own lunch of the usual sandwiches.

	She hoped the professor liked the gift. Ami didn’t know what his 
favorites were, so she had prepared a virtual smorgasbord of different 
foods in hopes that he would like at least one or two things. She 
suspected, though, that just about anything homemade would look 
delicious after eating frozen dinners and take-out night after night, 
even if she wasn’t quite up to Makoto’s level when it came to cooking.

	Thinking of her roommate, Ami frowned. Makoto seemed absolutely 
certain that she had made the lunch for some secret boyfriend. Maybe she 
shouldn’t have acted so mysterious about the fact that it was really for 
a professor. It wasn’t as if Makoto would be able to ruin the surprise. 
She didn’t even know Professor Kitagawa.

	Still, Ami couldn’t help but feel the need for privacy 
concerning her relationship with the professor, despite the fact that it 
was only professional. She couldn’t quite explain the reasoning behind 

it, only that she didn’t feel comfortable talking about him with Makoto 
or the other girls.

	When she finally reached campus, it was about ten minutes to 
eight, which was when Ami’s first class started. She had planned to drop 
off Professor Kitagawa’s lunch before class, but there wasn’t enough 
time if she didn’t want to be late. With a sigh, Ami decided it could 
wait until lunch time and headed towards the mathematics building.   

*****

	After dismissing class, Akira turned around and started erasing 
his dry erase board.

	“Sensei?”

	Involuntarily, Akira jumped at the sound of another voice, 
having thought everyone had already left and he was alone in the 
classroom. However, when he turned around, he saw that it was only his 
blue-haired lab assistant, looking downward with her hands held behind 
her back, and he smiled.

	“Ami-chan, what are you still doing here?” Akira inquired, 
putting down his eraser. “Do you have a question about the lecture I 
just gave?”

	Ami shook her head and shyly held out her hands, revealing the 
obento she had been hiding behind her. “This is for you,” she said when 
he gave her a confused look. “In gratitude for everything you’ve done 
for me these last few weeks.”

	“For me?” Hesitantly, Akira took the boxed lunch from her hands, 
not certain how he should react to such an unexpected surprise. None of 
his students had ever done anything like that for him before. “You know 
you didn’t have to do this. If anything, I should be the one thanking 
you for your hard work.”

	“I wanted to.”

	“Arigatou.” Setting the box down on his desk, Akira untied the 
cloth wrapped around the obento and set it aside. He only expected a 
simple lunch, due to Ami’s confession of her less-than-stellar culinary 
skills the day before, but his eyes widened when he saw the amount of 
food packed into the box, everything arranged in a beautiful 
presentation that was obviously the work of an expert. Akira shook his 
head in disbelief. “Ami-chan, this is too much,” he protested. “I 
couldn’t possibly accept--”

	“It’s nothing,” she insisted. “Really.”

	Akira didn‘t want to insult Ami by refusing her thoughtful gift, 
but he also didn‘t feel right about accepting such an extravagant lunch 
from a student. He wasn’t even sure he could eat the whole thing by 
himself, there was so much food. “In that case, why don’t we share?” he 
suggested, feeling it was some sort of a compromise.

	“S-Share?”

	“Sure, why not? There’s enough food here for at least two 
people, if not more.” Akira took the obento and rolled his chair in 
front of Ami’s usual seat in the front row of the lecture hall. “You 
don’t have a class or anything to attend, do you?” Akira asked when he 
noticed that Ami had made no move to join him, the girl practically 
frozen in place and staring at him as if he had just told her to walk 
across a bed of hot coals.   

	“N-No, I was just about to take a lunch break myself.”

	“Then sit down and help yourself.” With his hand, Akira 
indicated the seat across from him. “I insist.”

	She hesitated, but finally, Ami took a seat, pushing her things 
to the side and taking out her own, more modest obento, mostly filled 
with sandwiches. They each pulled out a set of chopsticks and said “Ita 
da ki masu” before digging in.

	Because there was so much to choose from, Akira couldn’t decide 
where to start. Everything looked so delectable, from the plum rice 
balls to the octopus-shaped wieners -- it was impossible to choose. 
Seeing Ami reach for a fried shrimp, however, he figured it was as good 
a choice as any, so he grabbed one as well and took a bite.

	“This is delicious!” he complimented, taking another bite. “Did 
your roommate make this? If she did, she‘s one heck of a chef.”

	Ami cast her eyes downward, blushing in embarrassment. 
"Actually, I made it myself,” she confessed.

	“You did? Well, my compliments to the chef, then. This is some 
of the best fried shrimp I ever had.”

	Ami shook her head. “Oh, no, it’s not that good,” she insisted 
modestly. “Mako-chan’s shrimp is much more delicious.”

	“I find that hard to believe,” he teased.

	“It’s true. She‘s working as an apprentice at Umi‘s, so she 
learned from the best.”

	“Isn’t Umi’s that fancy four-star seafood restaurant near the 
bay?”

	“Hai.” 

	Akira whistled in appreciation. Though he had never been there 
before himself, he was aware of its reputation as one of the finest 
dining establishments in Tokyo. Dr. Nakajima had been on the waiting 
list for a reservation for months. “Impressive.”

	“Yes, Mako-chan really is talented when it comes to the culinary 
arts,” Ami said, her voice filled with pride.

	There was a brief lull in their conversation as they silently 
enjoyed the meal, Akira savoring each and every delicious morsel as if 
was the ambrosia of the gods. It had been much too long since he had 
eaten a proper meal that didn’t come from the convenience store or a 
fast-food restaurant. Even if Ami didn’t think much of her culinary 
skills, compared to what he was accustomed to eating, she was Iron Chef 
Sakai.  

	“So, what kind of doctor do you want to be, Ami-chan?” Akira 
asked after finishing off an onigiri, figuring it was about time he 
learned more about his lab assistant. In the weeks since they had 
started working together, he had learned only little more than he 
already knew about his brightest student. Ami rarely offered personal 
information about herself unless he asked first.

	Pausing in mid-bite, Ami brought down her chopsticks and looked 
up in surprise. “Pardon?”

	“You’ve never told me. What do you want to specialize in? 
Neurology? Cardiology? Pathology?”

	“I’m not really sure yet,” she admitted after a short pause, “
although lately I’ve been thinking of following my mother into surgery. 
Then again, just last month, I was absolutely certain I wanted to be a 
oncologist, and the month before that, it was a pediatrician.”

	“I think you’d make a great pediatrician.”

	“You do?” A faint blush crawled up her cheeks.

	He nodded and smiled at her modest reaction. “You seem like the 
type who would be good with children. I can definitely see it, although 
I bet you would be a fantastic surgeon as well, considering your 
pedigree.”

	The red in her cheeks deepened, but she appeared pleased by the 
compliment. “Why didn’t you become a doctor?” Ami asked, managing to 
swing their conversation over to him, though she seemed flustered about 
asking such a question. “I-I mean, you’re obviously smart enough, and 
you know more about diseases than anybody I’ve ever met…”

	Akira shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess because I have a 
squeamish stomach. Faint at the sight of blood,” he lied, knowing she 
was just gullible enough to believe it.

	Sure enough, Ami’s brows furrowed together in confusion. “You 
do? B-But…”

	“No, I don’t,” he said, laughing. It was kind of fun to tease 
her. “Actually, my parents did want me to become a doctor. I think they 
were a bit upset when I decided not to go to med school.”

	“Why didn’t you?”

	Akira paused, chewing his food as he pondered over Ami’s 
question. As hard as it was to believe, nobody had ever really asked him 
before why he didn’t go onto medical school. His parents may have been 
initially disappointed with his choice, but they never questioned him 
about his decision, trusting he made the right one. Unlike many parents, 
his were of the mindset that the best way to support their children was 
to encourage their interests, not force them into following a certain 
path, and, so far, it had been a recipe for success with Akira earning a 
PhD in chemistry and Satoshi near the top of his class in law school. 
While their sister Junko was not as academically gifted, she did possess 
a great deal of musical talent, even if her tastes ran more toward J-pop 
over Mozart and Chopin. 

	“I suppose it’s because I’ve always been a chemist at heart,” 
Akira finally answered. “I told you I was studying chemical engineering 
before Junko’s diagnosis, right?”

	“Hai.”

	“Well, I thought my skills were better utilized in 
pharmaceuticals, to take an active roll in helping to cure diseases, 
rather than relying on other people’s research to treat patients,” he 
explained. “Besides, I’m not sure I could handle being around so much 
illness and sadness all the time, you know?”

	Akira didn’t know what had possessed him to reveal the last 
part, having never even admitted to his family how much Junko’s numerous 
hospitalizations over the years due to her diabetes had affected him, 
but Ami nodded, seeming to understand. “I know what you mean,” she said, 
her voice soft as she absent-mindedly moved around the rice with her 
chopsticks without eating. “Sometimes, when I visit my mother at the 
hospital, I’ll volunteer for an hour or two at the children’s terminal 
ward. It just breaks my heart when I see those smiling faces, fighting 
bravely until the end…” For a long moment, Ami looked as if she was 
fighting to hold back tears, but, before Akira could say anything, the 
look had disappeared, and she forced a small smile. “Still, despite the 
pain, I really can‘t think of a more rewarding job. Even if a doctor 
can‘t save everyone, it must feel great whenever they are able to help.”

	“I’m sure it does,” he agreed, returning the smile.

	The rest of the lunch was spent in mostly idle conversation, 
talking about what classes Ami was taking and the school in general. 
Akira discovered that she had a couple of the same teachers he had 
studied under during his undergraduate years, so they swapped “war” 
stories, Ami giggling behind her hand when he proceeded to do a fairly 
accurate impersonation of Dr. Sakaki, the nearly-deaf elderly history 
professor who Akira still believed must have been born some time during 
the Jurassic period. Apparently, the old man was still too proud to 
admit he needed a hearing aid and was even worse now than when Akira 
took his class.

	Soon, they were both laughing so hard that the food was all but 
forgotten.   

	“You know, we really shouldn’t make fun of Sakaki-sensei,” Ami 
said, the first to recover. Her face was bright red, but it was hard to 
tell if it was from embarrassment or the laughter. “He really is a dear 
old man, and going deaf is nothing to laugh about.”

	“You’re right,” Akira admitted, wiping away a tear of laughter 
forming at the corner of his eye. “But ‘JAPAN TRANSFORMED from a 
secluded FEUDAL SOCIETY into an INDUSTRIALIZED WORLD POWER under the 
rule of EMPEROR MEIJI, who REIGNED from the YEARS 1868 TO 1912.’”

	That provoked another short round of giggles and chuckles, but 
when Ami looked down at her watch, she abruptly stopped and started 
getting her things together. “Oh, I didn’t realize how late it was,” she 
said, standing as she stuffed her notebook into her bag. “I ought to get 
going. My next class is in fifteen minutes, and it’s over at the 
language arts building.” 

	Akira was disappointed, as he had enjoyed the company, but he 
had his own class to prepare for. Some of the more dedicated students 
would probably be arriving within the next few minutes, and he still 
hadn‘t even begun to draw the diagrams he would be needing for the 
lecture. 

	“Thank you again for the lunch, Ami-chan,” he said, wrapping up 
what remained of the obento. Akira figured he would eat the leftovers 
for dinner instead of heating up one of those disgusting frozen meals he 
had bought the day before. It would be nice to have real food for a 
change. “It really was delicious. I don’t remember the last time I had 
such a wonderful lunch.”

	Smiling, Ami swung her bag over her shoulder. “I‘m glad you 
liked it.”  

	“I guess I’ll see you this afternoon at the labs, then.”

	“Five o’clock, as usual?”

	“Hai.”

	“I’ll see you then. Ja ne!”

	“Bye.”

*****

	Instead of going to the cafeteria for lunch, where she would be 
tempted by the thousands of fattening calories available for 
consumption, Yui spent her midday break sitting on a bench outside the 
science building and studying for a test for her next class, which was 
molecular biology. Normally, she would have met up with Hideki or vice 
versa, but, since he was busy in the computer lab with an important 
project for one of his classes, she was on her own for the day.

	When she had finished looking over her notes, Yui reached into 
her backpack and pulled out one of the disgusting diet bars she had 
packed for her “lunch,” if it could even be called that. She made a face 
as she tore open the package and took a bite, but she was so hungry that 
she forced herself to finish it off, as well as a second.

	“Tastes like real chocolate? Yeah, right,” she muttered, tossing 
the wrappers into the trash can beside the bench. “More like sawdust if 
you ask me.” 

	Glancing down at her watch, Yui saw that she had about fifteen 
minutes to kill before class began. She already knew her test material 
backwards and forwards, so there was nothing much else for her to do. 
Thinking she might as well head up to class -- maybe the professor would 
give her an extra credit problem to work on while waiting for the class 
to officially begin -- she gathered up her things and climbed up the 
stairs to the science building.

	The class was on the second floor, just a few doors down from 
Professor Kitagawa’s classroom. As Yui passed by, she heard two voices 
-- a male and female -- leaking out of the slightly-ajar door. Out of 
mild curiosity, she stopped to see who the professor was speaking to, 
her eyes narrowing when she peeked through the small window in the door 
and saw none other than her hated rival gathering her things together 
while Professor Kitagawa wrapped up what looked to be the remainders of 
a boxed lunch with an obviously girly handkerchief. 

	‘Did Mizuno-san make him a homemade lunch?’ Yui wondered with a 
scowl. ‘Why, that little butt-kisser! Does she honestly think a couple 
of onigiri is going to earn her a few extra points on the next test?’	

	Yui was startled from her thoughts when door suddenly opened and 
Miss Mizuno stepped out, almost crashing right into her.

	“Oh, Yokoyama-san, gomen nasai,” Miss Mizuno apologized with a 
bow. “I didn’t see you there. Were you waiting to see Kitagawa-sensei?”

	Shaking her head, Yui tried her best to look friendly. “No, but 
you’re leaving rather late, Mizuno-san,” she commented. “Our class ended 
almost an hour ago. Shouldn’t you be at lunch?” 

	A faint blush crawled over her rival’s cheeks. “I ate with 
Kitagawa-sensei.”

	“Really? I didn’t realize you two were such good friends.”

	“Well, we’ve been working together at his lab…”

	“Oh, yes, you’re his new lab assistant, aren‘t you?” Even though 
Yui tried to keep her voice even, there was a hint of jealousy in her 
tone. She had been interested in the job herself, however, by the time 
she talked to the professor about applying a couple of days after he 
made the announcement, he had informed her that he had already given the 
position to Miss Mizuno. It was just as well, since she didn’t really 
have the time for a job with her studies and Hideki keeping her busy, 
but the fact that she had lost again to the girl genius was a sore spot. 
“So you were discussing your research?”

	“Y-Yes, among other things,“ Miss Mizuno said, shifting her 
heavy book bag over to her other shoulder. For some reason, she suddenly 
looked uncomfortable. “Um, Yokoyama-san, I don’t mean to be rude, but I 
really should be going. I need to get to my next class.”

	Yui stepped out of the way. “By all means, don’t let me keep 
you. I’ll see you later, Mizuno-san.”

	Miss Mizuno said good-bye and left, but not before saying, “Oh, 
by the way, great job answering that question in class today. That was a 
really interesting hypothesis.”

	“Thanks,” Yui mumbled as Miss Mizuno went on her merry way to 
whatever class she had next.   

	Unconsciously, her hand curled up into a fist at her side. Oh, 
how she despised that girl! If anybody else had complimented her on her 
answer, Yui would have been walking on air. There was nothing she loved 
more than inferior students and amazed professors marveling at her 
intelligence, and, though she was outwardly modest about her 
achievements, inside, she always burst with pride at all the attention. 
Yet, whenever Mizuno Ami, girl genius extraordinaire, deigned to 
compliment her, Yui couldn’t help but feel like a puppy being 
congratulated by its owner for learning how to sit when the command was 
“play dead.” 

	Miss Mizuno didn’t fool Yui in the slightest. Yui knew that the 
only reason Miss Mizuno even congratulated her was to keep up her image 
of being a “nice” girl instead of the intellectual snob she truly was. 
She really had earned the nickname of “Little Miss Perfect,” which Yui 
had given her their first year of university. Not only did Little Miss 
Perfect always receive the best grades, she was rich, pretty, and fairly 
popular with their fellow classmates despite the fact that she rarely 
participated in the usual college social events.

	It made Yui sick.

	Not for the first time, Yui wished there was some way to show 
everybody how much of a fake Miss Mizuno really was. Nobody could 
possibly be that perfect. It was a statistical improbability. She had to 
have at least one major flaw, but, much to Yui’s eternal annoyance, the 
girl never made a wrong move. Even the rare times when she didn’t make 
the top grade in the class, she was still perfect in her graciousness.  	

	Sighing, Yui turned around and continued onto her next class, 
trying to get Miss Mizuno out of her mind with little success. Maybe 
Hideki had a point when he told her it was time to give up her obsession 
with beating Miss Mizuno. Chances were that she would never be able to 
overtake the blue-haired genius in the class ranking. As much as Yui 
hated to admit it, Miss Mizuno was her intellectual superior, and no 
amount of late night cram sessions and study dates was bound to change 
that.

	Yet the word “surrender” was not in Yui’s vocabulary. Even if it 
was hopeless, she would never rest until she was number one.

	With that in mind, she sat down in her usual seat and pulled out 
her notes for the test for one final look-over.

	A person could never be too prepared.



DISCLAIMER: “Sailor Moon” is the property of Takeuchi Naoko.


AUTHOR’S NOTES: Any comments and criticisms can be sent to me at 
ElysionDream@aol.com.

Special thanks to by editors, Starsea and Samuraiter.