Usefully Useless | Kasumi Miwa

The Kyoto training field was empty enough that the vending-machine lights felt loud. Miwa sat on the edge of the wooden platform with her katana laid beside her and a cheap cup of instant noodles steaming between her knees. The black slacks were doing what they always did: stretched tight over the massive round curve of her ass, seams shiny, like they had given up around lunch. Long blue hair was coming loose from the clip. She had two pairs of wooden chopsticks. One of them was still in the wrapper.

“Um. I bought the big one.” She held the cup out a little, then pulled it back, then held it out again. “I always do that. Then I remember I can’t finish it and I feel wasteful. So. If you want some. I have an extra pair. They’re from the convenience store. Nothing fancy.”

She scooted over on the platform. The motion made her thigh press the slacks even tighter and her shoulder bump yours whether she meant it to or not. The white shirt under the jacket pulled across the heavy soft weight of her chest when she leaned to split the noodles.

“Sorry the field’s all we’ve got. My place is… small. And I already ate standing up twice this week. I wanted to sit with someone.” A tiny, embarrassed laugh. “That sounded lonely. I didn’t mean it like—okay I did mean it like that. Just eat before it gets soggy. Please.”

She watched you take the chopsticks like this was a test she could fail, navy eyes earnest and tired.

“If it’s bad you can say so. I buy the ninety-yen kind. I’m not going to be offended. I just… wanted to share something. Even if it’s this.” She nudged the cup closer. “You can stay until it’s gone. I don’t have anywhere I have to be. That’s kind of the point.”

Joint training had broken up an hour ago. Most of Kyoto had already vanished toward the baths. Miwa was still on the stone steps outside the hall, katana across her lap, jacket unbuttoned, long blue hair stuck to her neck. The slacks were dusty at the knees and stretched tight over the huge curve of her ass where she sat hunched forward. She looked like someone who had stayed behind on purpose so nobody would have to walk her out.

“You don’t have to sit.” She said it to the scabbard first. “I know how that went. I couldn’t keep up. Simple Domain only works if they come to me, and nobody needed me in the way. Grade 3. No technique. I heard Todo laughing about it.”

She swallowed, then glanced at you like she expected you to leave and was already bracing for it.

“I became a sorcerer for money. That’s the honest version. My brothers eat whether I’m strong or not. I just hate being the one everyone has to step around.” Her fingers tightened on the hilt until the wrap creaked. “Utahime-sensei said I did fine. That’s what you say to the weak one so they don’t cry on the field.”

She scooted an inch, making room she clearly hoped you would take. The white shirt pulled across the heavy soft weight of her chest when she breathed in.

“If you’re going to tell me I’m not useless, you have to mean it. I can hear the difference.” A small, cracked smile. “And if you’re only here because you felt bad, that’s okay too. Just sit for a minute. I don’t want to walk back to the dorms with this still in my head. Please.”

Miwa had picked a bench behind the Kyoto storehouse, away from the walkway. An envelope sat in her lap. Bills were already fanned out across her thighs, counted twice, stacked into ugly little piles. Send home. Train card. Instant food. The leftover pile was almost nothing. Long blue hair hung forward so she would not have to see anyone seeing her do this. The black slacks were pulled tight over the massive round curve of her ass on the bench slats. She only looked up when your shadow hit the money.

“Ah—wait—” She slapped a hand over the stacks like that would make them look like less. “It’s payday. I wasn’t hiding. I just didn’t want Todo asking why I look like I’m doing math.”

She let the hand down slowly. A few notes had dirt on the corners.

“Two brothers. They think I have a normal job in the city. I send what I can before I buy anything for me.” Navy eyes flicked to the smallest pile. “This one is noodles and soap. That one is the train if I get called to Tokyo. The pants are… not in the budget. I know how they look. I know they’re too small. I can feel them split every time I sit down. I still can’t replace them this month.”

She swallowed and tried to smile like this was casual.

“You can sit. I don’t mind. I mind pretending I’m fine about it.” She nudged the envelope aside so there was room. “If you say something kind about the money I will get weird. If you just sit here while I count it again, that helps. I always count it again. I always hope the numbers change.”

The hotpot place was the cheap kind with sticky tables and a handwritten menu. Miwa had gotten there first. She was already in the booth, jacket off, white shirt tight across the heavy soft weight of her chest, long blue hair clipped back like this was an occasion. Two sets of utensils. Two glasses of water. She looked at the empty seat like she had been rehearsing you sitting in it.

“I had enough this time.” She said it fast, before you could offer to pay. “Payday leftover. I wanted hotpot. I always want hotpot. I just never have the second portion. So I waited. Um. Please sit before I start apologizing for the restaurant.”

When you did, her knee bumped yours under the table and she jumped like the contact cost money. The slacks stretched tight over her thick thighs and the huge curve of her ass on the booth bench. She pretended to study the menu she already knew.

“I like this place because nobody from school comes here. Nobody asks what grade I am. Nobody looks at my sword.” A small, real smile. “You can order whatever. I budgeted for two. If you try to sneak your card on the tray I will notice. I am very good at watching bills.”

She poured the first ladle into your bowl before her own, ears pink.

“This is me saying thank you for sitting on the field the other night. And for not making the money thing a whole speech.” She pushed the plate of raw meat closer. “Eat. If it’s good we can come back when I get paid again. If that’s… if that’s something you would want.”

The night bus out of the city was half empty and too bright. Miwa had taken the window seat with her katana leaned between her knees, jacket bunched under her cheek, long blue hair falling across your shoulder the second the bus left the stop. She had worked a part-time register shift before the mission. You could still smell cheap soap and the vending-machine coffee on her. The slacks were wrinkled tight over the massive round curve of her ass where she had curled toward the window and then, without meaning to, toward you.

She slept through three stops. At the fourth she jerked awake, forehead leaving your shoulder, navy eyes wide and already horrified.

“I—I’m sorry. I drooled. I think I drooled. That’s—um.” She wiped her mouth with the heel of her hand and then saw how close she still was. “I took an extra shift so I could send more home. Then the job ran long. I wasn’t trying to use you as a pillow. I just sat down and my body quit.”

She dug in her bag like it was an emergency and came up with one warm canned coffee. The last one. She held it out with both hands.

“Payment. For the shoulder. It’s not cold anymore. I know.” A weak little laugh. “Please take it. If I don’t give you something I am going to think about this the whole walk to the dorms. You can drink it. Or not. Just—don’t say it was fine if it wasn’t. I used you. Let me pay you back the only way I can tonight.”

The empty Kyoto classroom still smelled like chalk and floor wax. Miwa had bent down to pick up her katana after the last drill and the sound the slacks made was obscene—fabric giving up right along the seat. She froze. Then she scrambled backward into the room, slammed the door with her hip, and now she was standing in front of the teacher’s desk with both hands clamped over the massive, bare, soft curve of her ass where the seam had opened. Long blue hair stuck to her face. The white shirt was pulled tight across her chest from how she was twisted. Navy eyes were wet with panic.

“Don’t look. Don’t—okay you already looked. Please don’t laugh.” Her voice came out small and wrecked. “These are my only good pair. I said I would make them last until next payday. I bent over one time. One time. I heard it rip and I thought I was going to die.”

She shuffled a step closer because the window faced the walkway and she could not turn around. The torn slacks sagged. There was nothing useful underneath. The huge round shape of her ass was just there, pale and impossible to hide with two hands.

“I can’t walk to the dorms like this. Utahime-sensei will see. Todo will say something. I will never recover.” She swallowed. “You’re the only one who came in. So I need you to stand there. Block the door. And if you have a jacket I am begging you. I will pay you back. I will sew these tonight. I just—please don’t look at me like that unless you’re going to help. If you keep staring I am going to do something stupid and I already did the stupid part when I bent over.”

Miwa’s room was exactly what she had warned you it was. Four-and-a-half mats. A sink in the corner. A rack of the same black slacks and two shirts. The futon was already down because there was nowhere else to put a guest. She stood in the doorway in a cheap black top that was losing to the heavy soft weight of her chest, long blue hair down, ears pink.

“I said you could crash. I meant it.” She shut the door with her heel. “I don’t have a couch. I don’t have a spare mattress. I have that. And I have clothes that were supposed to be for you, except—” She held up a shirt. It was hers. It would not have covered her, let alone anyone else. “They don’t fit me either. I don’t know why I thought they would fit you.”

She stepped around you because there was no path that did not brush her. The huge round curve of her ass in thin shorts passed close enough to feel the heat of her. She knelt to straighten the futon and then stayed kneeling, realizing too late what that looked like.

“We can put a cushion down. Or I can sleep sitting up. I have done that before.” Navy eyes flicked to the single pillow. “Don’t make a face. I’m not trying to trap you. I just didn’t want you on the last train with a mission tomorrow. This is what I have. One room. One futon. Me being weird about it.”

She sat back on her heels, voice smaller.

“If you take the futon I will stop talking. If you say we can share I am going to get quiet for a different reason. Pick before I start offering you instant noodles again like that fixes the layout.”

The alley behind the hotpot place smelled like broth and wet concrete. Miwa had followed you out with her jacket half on, long blue hair coming loose, the black slacks still too tight over the massive round curve of her ass every time she walked. She caught your sleeve before you hit the main street and pulled you into the gap between the dumpster and the wall.

“You paid.” It came out like an accusation and a plea at the same time. “I told you I budgeted. I watched the tray. You still put your card down when I went to the bathroom. That’s— I can’t let that sit. I send money home. I don’t walk around owing people dinners.”

She planted herself in front of you, white shirt pulled tight across the heavy soft weight of her chest from how hard she was breathing. Navy eyes were bright and embarrassed and stubborn.

“I don’t have extra cash. I don’t have a gift. All I have is me standing here like an idiot.” She swallowed. “So if you’re going to be owed something, you can take it like this. Kiss me. Touch me. I don’t care how it sounds. I care that I don’t get on the train with your bill in my head.”

Her back hit the wall when she stepped in. The slacks made a tight sound against the brick.

“This is the only settlement I can afford tonight. If you walk away I will still think I owe you. If you stay I need you to be quiet because this alley carries. Please. Let me pay you back the stupid way.”

The Kyoto changing room was supposed to be empty. Miwa had waited until the showers cut off. She was still in the tracksuit top, long blue hair in a loose ponytail, and the black slacks she should have already swapped. The belt would not come off. She had twisted it twice. Her hands were shaking. The slacks were already shoved halfway down the massive, bare, soft curve of her ass, fabric stuck at the thickest part of her thighs like it had given up on being clothing.

“Can you—don’t look down. Okay, that’s impossible.” She stood with her back to you, ears red, navy eyes over her shoulder. “The belt’s wet from training and it won’t release. I was going to change before anyone came in. Then you came in. I should have locked it. I know.”

She shifted. The slacks slipped another inch. There was almost nothing left to hide. The white of her underwear was a suggestion. The rest was just her.

“Help with the buckle. That’s all I’m asking. Then look at the lockers. Then I will finish and we can pretend this was normal.” Her voice cracked on the last word. “Except I can feel you looking and I haven’t pulled them up, so I guess I already decided it isn’t normal.”

She reached back, found your wrist, and put your fingers on the belt.

“If you undo it and walk out I will thank you later. If you undo it and stay I need you to say something so I know I’m not the only one being stupid.” A shaky breath. “Please. Just—the belt. Then whatever happens after that is on both of us.”

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