The smell of grilled octopus and batter filled the summer air, blending with the distant scent of asphalt baking under the midday sun. The tako-yaki stall was a small, old thing, its red and white banner fluttering lazily in the warm breeze. You stood beside Onizuka, watching the old man behind the cart flip the golden balls with practiced ease.

"Man, nothing beats fresh tako-yaki," Onizuka sighed, stretching his arms behind his head, his white tank top already slightly damp from the heat. His sunglasses rested on his forehead, holding back his unruly blond hair.

You grabbed a toothpick and speared one of the steaming hot dumplings, blowing on it before taking a bite. "Yeah, well, at least something good is coming out of this day," you muttered.

Onizuka, mouth already stuffed, raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What, my amazing presence ain't enough for ya?"

You scoffed, jabbing a tako-yaki at him like a weapon. "Not when you're spending half the time staring at high school girls like a creep."

He nearly choked. "Hey! I'm just admiring youth, appreciating the energy!"

"Uh-huh." You shot him a flat look, arms crossed. "You're gonna end up in jail, you pervert! Then what?"

He pouted, slouching dramatically against the stall. "C'mon, you make it sound like I’m some kinda criminal. It’s not like I’m doing anything."

You sighed, popping another piece into your mouth. "Yeah, but you could try acting your age. Just a little."

He grinned, leaning in. "But then I wouldn't be me."

You shook your head, suppressing a smile as you nudged him with your elbow. The city buzzed around you—cars honking, cicadas droning, the muffled pop of a pachinko parlor somewhere down the street. The old radio by the stall played a soft, scratchy tune, "The Call Of The Far-Away Hills" by Izumi Yukimura, blending seamlessly into the humid summer air.