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“Here,” Reigen said, “try this.” He slid a tiny serving bowl over to Mob. The teenager glanced at it, intrigued. They were at one of their usual hole-in-the-wall diners, but Mob had never seen Reigen order this particular dish before.
“What is it?” Mob asked, reaching in to pinch out some larger bits. It was dark, probably from the soy sauce and it was sticky. He probably should have used his chopsticks.
“Tazukuri. It’s more of a bar food.” When Mob raised an eyebrow Reigen scowled. “It tastes good with beer, just try it.”
The sardines were salty, but tempered with a sticky sweetness and the crunch of sesame. Mob liked it. “This is good.”
Reigen nodded, visibly pleased. “I’ve made it at home sometimes.”
Mob raised a sardonic eyebrow again just to see his mentor’s reaction.
“When I have guests,” Reigen clarified.
“Guests” was code for Serizawa and Dimple, and occasionally Shinra. Mob was glad that Reigen was socializing more. It wasn’t until he got older that Mob really recognized that they were similar in that respect.
“I see,” Mob said.
“Well,” Reigen said, taking some tazukuri for himself, “at least you’ll know what to order when you’re out with your officemates.”
Ugh, Mob had just finished entrance exams for high school. He wasn’t really ready to think about a career yet. “Do you think I’ll be a salaryman?” he asked.
Reigen couldn’t hide the grimace. “Not gonna lie,” Reigen said, “I’d be disappointed if you were. With your powers it would be shame–”
They had danced this dance before. “I don’t really want to rely on them.” Mob had seen what happened when psychics did. They tended to be, well, jerks. Besides, he had other aspirations. “I was thinking about being a personal trainer.”
Reigen snorted before he could stop himself. “Sorry.” It was a weak apology, he was too busy imagining scrawny little Mob yelling at someone to do more pushups, then flailing as he said, “Sorry, sorry, sorry” for being mean.
It was okay, Mob had been dishing it out, he could take it.
Still, Reigen was tactful and changed the subject. “Are you done with your exams?”
“Yes.” Mob sneaked the last bite of tazukuri. “I only applied to a few private schools, low-rank.” Honestly, Mob’s grades were only so-so and he wasn’t going to stress out trying to go somewhere out of his reach.
That was Ritsu’s job.
“You don’t want to get into high-finance anyway,” Reigen said. He could always give Mob the rationalization he needed. “Besides, just because someone gets into a high-ranked school doesn’t mean they can’t get conned into selling water coolers.”
This was one of those moments when Mob couldn’t tell if Reigen was telling on himself or not. Better to play it safe. He averted his gaze back to his meal. “I see.”
“Do you think you’ll be moving on with some of your friends?” Reigen asked.
“Maybe.” A few of the Body Improvement Club members, Mezato and Emi had applied to some of the same schools as he did. It would be nice to be with them, to have something familiar as he went into this next stage of life.
“What about your little girlfriends?” Reigen asked. “Any of them?”
Without thinking, Mob blurted out, “There’s a great writing program at Mustard High so Emi and I–” His cheeks flushed. Oh no, he had walked into a trap.
Reigen’s face split into a grin. “Oh Emi, the not-girlfriend?”
Mob’s tone was a warning. “Master–”
“Are you thinking of changing that?” Reigen wiggled his eyebrows. His teasing was going to get him in trouble one day.
“I don’t know if I want to risk it,” Mob confessed. He had already suffered once from a broken heart just last year. Doing it all over again wasn’t very appealing. “I really like having her as a friend but if I say something–”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” The look on Reigen’s face had changed, slipping from peer into mentor. “When you confessed to Tsubomi it didn’t work out, right?” That was an understatement. Reigen continued, pointing with his chopsticks at his former student. “But it was still better to know.”
“Yes.” Mob agreed. He hadn’t gotten a girlfriend that day, but he had gained a good friend. Emi was different though; he spent more time with her than he ever had with Tsubomi before that disastrous day in January.
“You’ve been editing some of her writing for her?” Reigen asked. Off Mob’s nod he continued. “And you’ll continue doing it even if she says she’s not interested?”
“Of course,” Mob said. “I like doing it. I don’t think my feedback’s that great–”
“Keep that sincerity when you talk to her,” Reigen said, interrupting. “Then no matter what the outcome, you’ve spoken with your whole heart.”
Mob would heed the advice and resist asking which cheesy romance Reigen got that from. “Thanks.”
Reigen reached for the tazukuri, frowning when he came back empty-handed. “You want another round?” he said, wiping his fingers on a napkin.
“Yes, please.”
Once, nearly a year ago, Reigen had told Mob that he was growing up. Here, in this crowded corner of a diner, sharing a snack with his mentor and talking about the future, Mob really felt it.