For some reason, let’s assume that I was caught by an English assassin. He is cold and ruthless, trying to kill me because he thinks I’m a nuisance, even though I wasn’t his original target. While cleaning his gun, he asks me.

“Japanese, have you ever baked scones?”

As I sat in a chair with my hands tied behind me, trembling in fear, I desperately tried not to smile in a cowardly way and answered.

“I have. In high school class.”

The assassin laughed in surprise and asks again.

“Well? Did you put the jam on first? Or the cream?”

Now, this is the moment of life and death. What should I say to survive? If I tell the truth, it will be like this.

“I wasn’t provided with cream in Japanese high school.”

The assassin might feel sorry for me and spare my life.

Right after entering the second year, we had a cooking class. We made snacks using the 5th and 6th periods. The menu was predetermined, and we were instructed to make three things. One was cucumber sandwiches, one was boiled egg canapés, and the last one was scones. We also brewed black tea with tea bags.

Which means it was a class to prepare afternoon tea.

Our class was divided into six groups and moved to the cooking room, and one countertop was used for each group. The snacks our group made were far from excellent. It would not be an exaggeration to say they were terrible. The cucumber sandwiches were soggy due to moisture, the canapés looked fine but were incredibly salty, and the scones were burnt. I scraped off the charred parts and ate them, but it was hard to have any impression beyond that of a burnt, hard bread.

We received a report as homework, and the class that failed was instructed to write down the reasons for the failure.

I wanted to write “Everything was in vain,” but I couldn’t, so I briefly wrote about how overestimating the moisture content of cucumbers led to a disastrous result and submitted it.

Until I took this class, I had never eaten a scone and thought I wouldn’t have the chance to eat one for a while, but the second opportunity came surprisingly quickly. The day after the cooking class, I received a message from Osanai-san during lunchtime.

“I need help.”

I felt a little relieved. Osanai-san and I promised to watch over and help each other. But recently, I had more debts than she did.

I sent, “What should I do?”

The reply was quick.

“After school?”