The Story of How I, a High School Girl, Had a Student Marriage with a Classmate

For someone like me who absolutely hated studying subjects like math, English, and classical literature, elective subjects were the best way to refresh my mood during school life.
Since most of the elective subjects were taken up by art, the whole class was looking forward to the home economics class that finally started in our third year. The home economics teacher was a gentle woman with a cute smile, and I liked her immediately.

The teacher said to us as we gathered in the home economics room.

"From now on, you are all going to get married."

She continued, enjoying the sight of everyone with their mouths hanging open in shock.

"Please find someone in this class you feel you could spend your life with and become their partner. Once you have found a partner, please come to me."

What on earth was this person saying to us, right in the middle of our puberty? Normally, this would be the time for squeals of excitement and lively girl talk about which boy to marry, but since 90% of my class was female, everyone found their partners quite easily.

My partner was a female friend from the same club. Let's call her Mami. Mami was a brilliant girl who was always calm and never swayed by personal emotions. She was the only one for me. Mami seemed extremely reluctant, but she gave in to my heartfelt proposal on bended knee and agreed to marry me. If you push hard enough, things usually work out.

Once we became partners, we went to the teacher and were given a piece of paper. It was a marriage registration form.
Even though it was a copy, we looked at each other and swallowed hard at the sight of the real thing for the first time. We were told to fill in each section of the form, get a witness signature from a friend, and submit it again, so we returned to our seats.
The ballpoint pen in my hand felt heavy. I suppose it was the pressure of the social responsibility that comes with marriage. We got a mutual friend to sign it with a "be happy," and although the completed marriage registration was fake, I was filled with deep emotion.

The teacher looked over the marriage registration from every angle and approved our marriage.
"Congratulations, and this is your child."

Next, what the teacher handed to us was a genuine raw egg with a face drawn on it in permanent marker.

"It's a healthy baby boy."

I started to say, "No, teacher, this is a raw egg," but I kept my mouth shut when I saw her serious expression.

"Now, give this child a name and take care of it as your own child. For the next week, the two of you must share the responsibility of taking it home every day without damaging it, and when you come to school, please place it in front of the home economics room."

I see, she wanted us to treat this raw egg as our own child and have a simulated parenting experience. The little life we received had a very manly look, with sharp eyes and a firm, straight mouth. We decided to name him "Daisuke."

Looking around, every couple had an egg with a different gender and facial expression. However, every couple looked at the egg they were given with eyes full of love. Even if you couldn't choose the gender or the face, once you held it in your hands as your own child with the person you loved, it was undoubtedly the most precious child in the world.

And so, the life of our three-person family—me, Mami, and Daisuke—began. We made a special bed for Daisuke by stuffing a milk carton with cotton. Buried in the fluffy cotton, Daisuke also seemed somewhat happy.
We decided that Mami would be responsible for dropping Daisuke off at the home economics room in the morning, and it was my job to pick him up. Honestly, going all the way to the home economics room, which was ridiculously far from our classroom, was a huge hassle, but when I thought about Daisuke waiting for me, I found myself walking faster.
Three days passed. Daisuke had become an indispensable part of our lives. After class, when Mami brought Daisuke back to the club room, I would beg her, "Let me see Daisuke's face for a second," and I would be healed by his smile.

But our happy life came to a sudden end. When I tried to take the milk carton containing Daisuke from Mami, my hand slipped and I dropped it on the ground. I heard a silent scream: *splat*.

"Daisuke!"

When I moved the milk carton away, I could tell at a glance that it was already too late. I could hear Mami, distraught, asking about Daisuke's condition. I said, "It's better if you don't look," picked up what used to be Daisuke, and cried.

A week later, we were gathered in the home economics room again. Out of nearly 20 couples in the class, less than half had managed to protect their children.
The teacher said:

"Raising a child is unimaginably difficult. No matter how careful you are, accidents and injuries happen. Your own families raised you while wearing themselves thin like this, too."

Having lost my child due to my own carelessness, I understood painfully well what the teacher meant. Although it was a short time, I will never forget the days I spent with Daisuke.

"Teacher."
A friend who had managed to protect her child raised her hand.
"What will happen to these children now?"She asked, hugging her child tightly.

"Let's make pancakes and eat them."

The whole class was speechless at the teacher's smiling reply. The start of a hellish cooking practical. Those who had protected their children cried, saying they didn't want to, as they cracked their children open, and those who had lost theirs were given new raw eggs by the teacher, and everyone made pancakes.

The pancakes we ate while mourning Daisuke, who was no longer in this world, tasted a little bit like tears.

It is a bittersweet memory of youth.

This is an afterword.

This is a further afterword.