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He likes to think of her as his goddess of victory. Takizawa hasn’t been a patron of this cafe for long—he’d only discovered it after his classmate had dragged him to it, raving about the eclairs and hot chocolate—but his quickly-dwindling bank account is more than enough proof of how often he frequents it.
He can’t help it. Ever since the pretty blonde waitress had served him a latte (vanilla flavored, with a rather smooshed-looking cat for latte art) that first time, Takizawa had excelled at his exams the following morning. And the time after that, and the time after that. Hauling his textbooks and notes to the cafe and holing up at his now-designated corner table has become something like a ritual. Takizawa has always been a bit of a superstitious person—he fears what could happen to his grades should he displease whatever deity is working through this avatar-like waitress.
“Back again?” she smiles, setting down his usual drink with its familiar-looking art. Takizawa wonders whether she knows how to draw anything else, or if this feline-looking creature has somehow become associated with him.
He grins, sliding the cup and saucer back on the table, rearranging his tower of supplies. “Yeah. Research report, this time.”
She’s changed her hairstyle. Normally, her pale wheat hair is pulled back at the front by two braids, the rest falling loosely around her face. Today, all of it is gathered up into two looped plaits, pinned up at the back of her head. It looks nice. Somehow, it makes her look softer. Takizawa hopes this change doesn’t affect her good luck charm effect.
“Well, good luck with that,” she says as she moves to the next table.
A direct blessing! This is a first. Takizawa’s heart pounds loudly within his chest; he fears the whole cafe can hear it. But when he looks around, no one is paying him any heed.
He breathes deeply through his nose, trying to calm himself. It wouldn’t do to have him look like some creeper and feel too ashamed to return. They know his face, and this shop is mere blocks from his university. It would be way too embarrassing. Besides, he knows next to nothing about the waitress, aside from her name, and that small detail is only because of her name tag. What if she also was a student? In his program? What if one day she appeared in his class?
But if she is, she hasn’t said anything, yet. Takizawa has always had his textbooks out on display during these study sessions; if they were in the same program, surely she would’ve made a comment about it?
Maybe she doesn’t want him to know. Maybe her silence has been to keep him at a distance, for whatever reason. Maybe her smiles have only been polite. As quickly as his good mood had arrived, Takizawa feels himself deflate miserably.
Yeah. Why should she be interested in him? He’s only average-looking, and he doesn’t even have height on his side, like the classmate who’d introduced him to this cafe, Amon-senpai. Well, maybe Amon had a little too much of that on his side. But regardless, it’s not like Takizawa has a lot going for him outwardly; it’s not like he can parade around his test scores like a mating call.
Takizawa sighs and drags his cup over, stirring the art away with his finger. He licks it: his drink is a bit sweeter today. Maybe he’ll get a savory pastry to go along with it. He’d skipped lunch to claim his spot here—the cafe pulls a rush around this time, and Takizawa has discovered that if he doesn’t get in early, sometimes that rush will linger, and he’d have to bide his time until a table opened up. This report is worth a third of his grade, though, so his little superstitious self felt compelled to get here as soon as humanly possible after classes had let out.
Forlornly flipping through the pages of the first book in his pile, Takizawa balances his pencil between his nose and upper lip, trying to make sense of the words. Every paragraph is riddled with jargon, and his attention keep getting pulled, following Mado-san as she traverses the cafe, balancing cups of coffee and greeting customers. He wishes he knew more about her. He wishes he had the courage to talk with her. Properly. Not just orders.
His stomach growls. Skipping breakfast had been a bad idea, too, but he’d slept through his alarm. Looking up, Takizawa scans the room, but his goddess waitress is nowhere to be found. Groaning under his breath, he drain a big gulp of his drink and slumps in his seat. He’ll just have to wait until she returns and hope they haven’t sold out of any of their lunch specials.
He resigns himself back to his reading, scribbling the few concepts he can make out in the margins of his book. At this rate, a giant wrinkle is going to cement itself between his eyebrows from all the frowning he’s doing. But he’s at the top of his class—he won’t let this one course defeat him.
The dull screeching of metal legs dragging against hardwood snaps his concentration. His eyes dart up: Mado drops her apron over the back of the chair opposite and takes a seat, setting a sandwich and soup combo in front of him. His mouth drops open like a gaping fish.
“Criminal justice and ethics, right?” Mado says as she pulls one of the textbooks over to her and opens it. “I was the learning assistant for this course last semester, so it’s still pretty fresh in my mind.”
“You’re also a student?” Takizawa asks, rather dumbly. Of course she is. She just said it herself.
She grins. There’s something mischievous about it. “This is the first time I’ve seen you stumped. You always seemed so determined, so I thought you might not appreciate my help…” She looks at him, curious.
“Takizawa. Takizawa Seidou.” He offers her his hand. He hopes it isn’t sweaty or otherwise gross.
She accepts it with a tight grip. Takizawa thinks that he wouldn’t want to cross her in a fight. “Mado Akira. It’s nice to officially meet you, Takizawa-kun.”
His heart nearly melts.
“So, tell me about this paper,” she says, leaning forward to look at his notes. She smells like warm sugar and lemon, better than anything in this cafe.
Takizawa offers a silent prayer out of habit. Maybe, just maybe, his goddess is descending from the shrine he’d built for her. He likes the sound of that.