The faculty room here is far different from the one in Sapporo, the only other place he’s worked at so far. Because everyone has already stayed here for so long and knows each other, the environment is much more relaxed—Sato’s desk is populated with tea pets and one of those miniature waterfall sculptures. It perpetually sputters the little water allowed near so much paper, and its whirring is a calming constant in the room’s ambience. But this is Suzuki’s first school.

He looks at his own desk as Suzuki asks. It’s rather bare. But amongst the folders arranged neatly in their dividers are little origami cranes, among other gifts students have given him over the years. His lenient attitude—relatively, of course— and youth—again, relative— have certainly done wonders for his reputation among them. He takes one; it is red and spotted with white florets that have anthers of gold, and unfolds his hand in Suzuki’s direction. 

This one had been made by Akai. Fitting, given her name, he thinks. She wouldn’t mind. 

“Yeah. Here, if you want some decoration.”