For Some Reason The Girl Who's Too Popular Only Drinks with Me - Volume 1 Chapter 5.1

“Uh, could you wait for just three, no, five minutes?”

Peeking out from her apartment, Hamasaki Mai asked with an apologetic look.

Naturally, my reply was, “Understood.” There’s really no need to rush her.

“Sorry, I’ll be quick.”

Hamasaki Mai smiled and closed the door. It seemed to be auto-locking, as I could hear the clattering of footsteps and the click of the lock simultaneously.

As the time to simply wait arrived, I leaned against the wall in the corridor outside her room.

“…This is tough.”

I’m currently at Hamasaki Mai’s apartment.

After somehow calming down the sobbing Hamasaki Mai and getting her to stop crying, I was about to suggest we call it a day and disband when, to my surprise, she suggested, “Let’s drink again. At my place.”

Since she cried for my sake earlier, I couldn’t reject her proposal, and here we are. But was it really okay?

To say I wasn’t interested would be a lie. I’m a plain, ugly introvert, but I’m still a man. I’m very curious about girls’ rooms, and being invited by a beauty like Hamasaki Mai to “drink together at my place?” feels too good to be true. I was probably grinning enough to make her reconsider with a “Ah, never mind…” That’s how happy I was.

My not grinning was thanks to my usual poker face training.

And of course, I had expectations. Inviting a guy to her apartment for living alone, could it mean…? I might be overthinking it, but I can’t deny I’m a bit excited.

I feel sad realizing I’m not so different from the other guys aiming for Hamasaki Mai.

But at the same time, I wonder if it’s really okay.

Considering Hamasaki Mai’s past, being in a private space where a slight stretch could mean touching her might unwillingly bring back bad memories.

If that happens, I’m done for. I’d be socially annihilated, and it would leave a deep trauma in me.

Well, we’ve sat close enough before, and just now, she was sitting beside me. As long as I don’t actively touch her, it should be fine.

But that’s a needless worry for someone like me, who’s acknowledged by both others and myself as being out of the question—realizing this sad reality just as Hamasaki Mai’s door cracked open slightly.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Hamasaki Mai peeked out with her small face, then opened the door wider. I entered her room with my usual “Thanks.”

Hamasaki Mai’s room was filled with her scent. Not in a weird, maniacal way, but really. It’s not perfume but a girl’s unique scent. Thinking calmly, since it’s where Hamasaki Mai lives, it’s natural her scent is present, but unfortunately, I’m not composed enough to notice that right now.

“Sorry, it’s a bit messy.”

Hamasaki Mai walked ahead with an embarrassed smile. Yes, there’s a hallway. My room doesn’t have such a thing, yet her apartment has one.

Hamasaki Mai’s apartment is simply a 1LDK. There’s an entrance, immediately a washbasin and a bathroom nearby, a hallway though short, and a toilet along it. At the end of the hallway is her kitchen-living room. The kitchen on the right, and in the center, a sofa and a table are placed. Despite having various furniture like potted plants, a dresser, a bookshelf, etc., it doesn’t feel cramped, probably because the room itself is spacious. My room, with fewer pieces of furniture, feels like a prison cell in comparison.

Naturally, the sliding door to her bedroom-private room was closed. Well, that’s normal. Not that I’m curious. Really.

Despite being fellow students, the stark difference in economic status is disheartening. Hamasaki Mai doesn’t even work part-time. How can she afford such a high-grade room—at least for a college student?

“I’ll get the drinks ready, so just sit anywhere you like.”

While I was still baffled by the difference in our living standards, Hamasaki Mai’s voice came from the kitchen. I timidly sat at the edge of the living room sofa.

I’m nervous. Being in someone else’s house is unsettling enough, let alone a girl’s, and Hamasaki Mai’s at that. I’m struggling to keep conscious; I wouldn’t even notice if she drugged me now, and I’d just pass out to wake up under an unfamiliar ceiling.

I could see Hamasaki Mai’s back as she stood in the kitchen. She seemed to be preparing some simple snacks and looked quite adept at it.

Who would’ve thought I’d see a day when a woman other than family members would be cooking in the kitchen? It feels like I’ve been upgraded as a human being just by being here.

Well, I’ll still be alone when I return home.

“Sorry for the wait, is beer okay?”

Hamasaki Mai came with two small dishes of snacks and canned beer. Real beer, not the cheap stuff.

Two dishes of snacks and two pairs of chopsticks. The chopsticks and chopstick rests were simple in design, but the snacks looked surprisingly sophisticated. There was a tuna and avocado mix with a special sauce based on avocado paste, and another dish had tuna sandwiched between sliced radish and purple onion, drizzled with olive oil. Her sense is evident in everything she presents; where does she learn this? Did she attend some fancy school?

“Uh, yes, beer is fine, but, um, this is…”

“Oh, sorry. I forgot the glasses.”

I stopped staring at the snacks and looked up as she stood and fetched two glasses from a nearby cabinet.

The room is fashionable, the furniture stylish, and even the presented snacks are chic. Naturally, the glasses were stylish too. They were long and thin with a mysterious space at the bottom that doesn’t hold liquid, and my glass had a cute chubby king drawn on it, while hers had a cute chubby queen. Where does she find these?

Hamasaki Mai opened the beer can—fortunately, a type you could find in any supermarket, which was a relief—and poured it into the stylish glasses with practiced ease. The foam and beer were perfectly balanced, a far cry from my usual canned beer.

“Let’s toast.”

“Yes, cheers.”

I received the glass from Hamasaki Mai, and we clinked them together. The sound was crisp and pleasant. Being in this stylish space made even this sound seem chic, probably because my internal chic gauge had exceeded its limit and was glitching.

If this were a chic house factory, me and this beer would be the first to be removed from the line as unsuitable impurities by a giant temporary worker wielding huge tweezers.

While imagining myself being plucked away, the beer tasted oddly. I wonder if she doesn’t go crazy living in such a chic space every day. Doesn’t she ever feel like going mad and mixing two different kinds of instant noodles? (tln : as a fellow asian, this is what i really did everytime)

“Please try the snacks too. Kirishima-kun, you didn’t seem to eat much earlier.”

Hamasaki Mai offered the chic snacks with a smile. My language functions automatically switched to polite speech with “Yes, I’ll have some,” and my hand holding the chopsticks was somewhat clumsy. I’m nervous, after all.