Am I The Only Male Tenant Here?

"Table one! Three Sapporo ramen!" I shouted across the organized chaos of our miraculously functional stall, repeating Shiraishi-senpai's or

"Table one! Three Sapporo ramen!" I shouted across the organized chaos of our miraculously functional stall, repeating Shiraishi-senpai's order back to confirm.

Redundant confirmation might seem excessive, but in a crisis situation like this, clear communication is the difference between success and spectacular failure.

"Coming right up!" one of the cooking team members called back.

"Sorry, but if you want to add more dishes, you'll need to purchase additional meal tickets!" I heard Shiraishi-senpai explain to a customer with professional politeness.

She's handling the front-of-house like a seasoned restaurant manager. Where has this competent side of her been hiding all this time?

The entire operation was running like a well-oiled machine now. Shiraishi-senpai, Mizutani-san, Okamoto, and the cooking team—everyone was locked in total concentration, their movements efficient and purposeful. The queue that had seemed impossibly long just an hour ago was shrinking at a rate visible to the naked eye.

We're actually pulling this off. Against all odds, we're actually making this work.

"Shiraishi-senpai, could you make another announcement to the waiting customers?" I called out during a brief lull.

"Of course, Ginjo-san!"

She turned to address the crowd with that natural authority that made her such an effective student council president. "Dear customers, we sincerely apologize for the wait! Our specialty Sapporo ramen is worth every minute—please try it!"

The sight of a beautiful girl in a traditional kimono making cheerful announcements is probably the most effective marketing strategy imaginable.

The effect was immediate and dramatic. Customers who'd been fidgeting and checking their phones suddenly relaxed, the entire atmosphere around our stall shifting from tense anticipation to patient excitement.

Our eyes met across the controlled chaos, and I gave her an approving nod. She responded with a subtle smile that somehow conveyed complete understanding. We'd moved beyond the need for words—operating with the kind of seamless coordination that comes from perfect trust and shared purpose.

This is what teamwork feels like. Real teamwork, not just people assigned to work together.

Thanks to everyone's dedication, our stall had transformed from a disaster zone into a model of high-efficiency operations. What had seemed like an insurmountable crisis was now just another successful service rush.

More than an hour later, the sun began its slow descent toward the western horizon, painting the festival grounds in golden light that signaled the approaching end of our school festival.

Through our collective effort, we managed to clear the entire queue just as the official festival period was winding down. Every single customer left with genuine praise for the food, their satisfied expressions the ultimate validation of our desperate gamble.

We did it. We actually did it.

When we served our final table, the entire team erupted in spontaneous celebration—the kind of pure, uninhibited joy that comes from achieving something that seemed impossible.

It feels like we just conquered an unconquerable mountain.

The cooking team exchanged high-fives with the enthusiasm of victorious athletes. Mizutani-san approached Shiraishi-senpai with a deep bow of gratitude that made my chest tighten with pride. Okamoto and I collapsed into the nearest chairs, finally allowing ourselves to truly relax for the first time in hours.

My entire body is running on pure adrenaline and determination. Now that it's over, I can feel the exhaustion creeping in.

"Hey, Ginjo, look over there," Okamoto said, nudging my arm and nodding toward something that had caught his attention.

"What am I looking at?" I asked, following his gaze without much enthusiasm.

Please don't let this be something stupid. I'm too tired for whatever perverted observation he's about to make.

"Those two girls with the chocolate bananas," he clarified, like this should mean something significant to me.

"What about them? Get to the point."

The impatience in my voice was probably showing, but I genuinely don't have the energy for Okamoto's usual nonsense.

"Why do they have to lick the chocolate coating first?" he asked with the kind of intense focus usually reserved for philosophical debates.

And there it is. Peak Okamoto stupidity in all its glory.

"Because they like the chocolate part? Lots of girls eat them that way," I replied, wondering why this required an explanation.

How is this even a question? People eat food the way they want to eat food.

"But they could just bite into it normally instead of..." He swallowed visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You know."

Oh god, he's actually getting worked up over this. My friend has the mental maturity of a middle schooler.

"You're hopeless," I said with a disgusted click of my tongue. "We just finished the most intense work session of our lives, and your brain immediately goes to the gutter?"

"What do you know?" he snorted defensively, already scanning the crowd for new targets. "I'm just gathering material for tonight's entertainment."

I don't want to know. I really, truly don't want to know what that means.

On the other side of our makeshift operation, Shiraishi-senpai finished her conversation with Mizutani-san and walked toward me with those graceful small steps that made her kimono sway hypnotically.

Even exhausted and after working at a food stall all afternoon, she still looks absolutely perfect. This is genuinely unfair.

"Ginjo-san, the festival is ending and I need to return to my class for our summary meeting," she said with that gentle smile that never failed to make my heart skip. "I'll see you later."

"Thank you for all your hard work today, Shiraishi-senpai," I replied, wishing I could find words that adequately expressed my gratitude.

She saved us. Literally saved our entire operation and she's thanking me?

She turned and walked toward the main school building, her silhouette elegant against the evening light. I watched until she disappeared into the crowd, then reluctantly turned back to help with cleanup.

Focus, Ginjo. Work first, romantic thoughts later.

The rest of us spent the next hour dismantling our temporary stall and cleaning up the aftermath of our successful crisis management. Despite our exhaustion, there was an undercurrent of excited anticipation—we all wanted to know how our desperate gamble had paid off in the final rankings.

After everything we went through, we'd better have at least placed decently. If we came in dead last after all that effort, I might actually cry.

As the sun set and the festival's noise and energy finally began to fade, students reluctantly changed out of their festival clothes and back into uniforms, the magic of the day dissolving into memory.

But this isn't really the end. The real finale is still coming.

The comprehensive rankings announcement. The moment when all our effort would be validated or proven futile.

Back in our classroom, the atmosphere was electric with nervous anticipation. Everyone was talking at once, reliving highlights from the day and speculating about results. The energy was infectious, impossible to resist even for someone as tired as I was.

This is what school memories are made of. This collective excitement, this shared anticipation.

I was lounging in my seat in the back row, legs crossed, when Mizutani-san burst through the classroom door like she was announcing the end of a war.

The entire room fell silent so abruptly it was almost comical. Students froze mid-conversation, some still standing, everyone turning toward the podium where our class rep stood catching her breath.

The suspense is killing me. Just tell us already.

"Everyone!" she began, her voice carrying more volume and authority than I'd ever heard from her.

"Despite all the challenges we faced, our class won first place in the merchandise sales division by a significant margin!"

First place.

We won.

We actually won.

The explosion of sound that followed was deafening. Pure, unfiltered joy erupted from every corner of the classroom as the reality sank in.

"YESSSSS!"

"Are you serious?!"

"The cooking team is incredible!"

"I can't believe we actually got first place!"

"Ha! I'd love to see the faces of those jerks who were laughing at our booth setup!"

"All those late nights building the stall were worth it!"

The feeling was intoxicating. Pure vindication mixed with exhaustion and pride and the kind of euphoria that only comes from shared victory against impossible odds.

This is what winning feels like. Real winning, not just individual success but collective triumph.

"We're using our profits to buy snacks and drinks for everyone!" Mizutani-san continued, pushing the celebration to new heights. "Tonight we feast! Everyone earned it!"

And now it's officially a party. This day just keeps getting better.

I opened a can of Coke and let the carbonated burn hit my throat, the simple pleasure somehow amplified by the victory atmosphere surrounding me. The exhaustion was still there, but it had transformed into something almost pleasant—the satisfied tiredness that comes after a job well done.

I can't remember the last time I felt this genuinely content.

Buzz.

My phone vibrated against my leg, cutting through the celebration noise. A LINE message notification glowed on the screen.

From: Shiraishi Lisa

[Ginjo-san, I'll wait for you at the school gate after my class summary meeting...]

She wants to see me. After everything that happened today, after that perfect moment in the planetarium, after working together to save our stall—she wants to continue this.

The victory celebration continued around me, but suddenly all I could think about was getting to that school gate and finding out what Shiraishi-senpai wanted to tell me.

This perfect day isn't over yet. Somehow, I have a feeling the best part is still to come.