I duck into the staff room, careful not to slam the sliding door behind me. There’s a large plastic bag on the bench with “せベール (Cybele)” scrawled on it. Sweet mercy, we haven’t even hired this guy and we’re giving him fucking nicknames already? What have they been calling me? “Psycho Cybelle”? On second thought, that wouldn’t come out so bad in Japanese. Still. I have reasons to be pissed off. He doesn’t work here yet and they already love him. I’ve been here for years and they still flinch when I step off the elevator. I wonder if this a preview of how they’ll treat the new gaijin if I don’t re-contract. I stomp over to the bench and grab a seat, slamming it into the floor as I adjust myself. This isn’t fair —

I stop mid-rant. I’m being a baby. I take a deep breath and count to three. How am I getting jealous of a guy who hasn’t been hired yet? On the other hand, a part of me doesn’t care. I don’t think I’d be so immature if I weren’t so fucking hungry. There isn’t anything I can do about it right now. Except maybe eat, and forget about him.

There is a lot of food here. I can’t tell if Manager bought me food to choose from. Maybe he bought something for himself today. Nope, there’s his bento cloth bag right next to all these conbini bags. I open them up and create a spread on the bench: there’s meat sauce spaghetti, oyako-don, and a telltale 7-Eleven bento with egg on rice, plain pasta, and spicy barbecue chicken, all heated up. I start with the first, and over the course of an hour, end up eating them all. Yum.

There’s also a massive box of assorted goodies from the Mister Donut in the mall. I help myself to three pon de ringu donuts in time for Misaki to come in and sit down with her lunch. From the corner of her eye she watches me hoover down the last one but doesn’t engage with me at all. Good. Feeling more at ease, I put all the plastic containers and used chopsticks in the garbage, leaving the extra ohashi in a small baggie next to the computer, and sneak out of the staff room praying none of that food belonged to anyone else.

My Baby One students are already in Room Three, settling in. Two of the babies are fast asleep in their mother’s arms. Baby Yukino is barely holding on. Aira is the only one awake. I assure the moms that it’s okay, they don’t have to wake them up, and pop in my lullaby CD to teach the moms a couple of songs.

“Eh? Cybelle-sensei, dare?” Takuya’s mother points with a free hand. “Boyfriend-o?”

“What?” I turn. Oh, no. Zaniel waves from the window in the door, grinning from ear to ear. “No,” I say through a clenched smile. “He isn’t.”