That day, Mizuki was utterly defeated.
Her junior‑high inter‑term exams were awful. Especially the math paper—it looked like it was written in a foreign language. She walked home with heavy steps, detouring from her usual route, just wandering. Then, a sweet scent caught at her feet.
In front of her was a small, weathered café.
A little wooden sign read:
—San‑gatsu‑dō. Handmade Castella & Coffee Shop.
Before she knew it, Mizuki pressed the door open.
Chime. A bell rang. Inside, the tiny shop held a bookshelf full of old books, a record player spinning softly, and a few small tables. Behind the counter, a man with streaked white hair stood quietly.
“Welcome.”
His voice was gentle.
Nervously, Mizuki took a seat. The café‑owner smiled and said—
“Our specialty is the castella. You seem hungry.”
Mizuki nodded.
Soon, he brought over a moist, freshly baked castella and a steaming cup of milk tea. The sweet aroma from the cake softened her expression.
At the first bite, she felt warmth spread in her chest.
The fluffy sponge, the gentle sweetness—it felt like eating a comfort from some far‑off day.
“You didn’t do well, did you?”
Startled, Mizuki looked up.
“How did you know?”
“A lot of kids who walk in here with that face,” he said, chuckling as he ground coffee beans behind the counter.
“In this shop we say a little miracle happens at three o’clock.”
“A miracle…?”
“Yes. Not a big one. For example: someone suddenly laughs. Or it stops raining. A small miracle.”
Mizuki quietly ate her castella.
Outside the window, the sky which had been grey moments before began to lighten. She glanced at the clock—exactly 3:00 p.m.
“A… miracle, huh.”
Mizuki quietly pulled out her test paper from her bag. It was full of red X‑marks. But sheltered by the café’s calm air, even that felt… just a little more bearable.
“After a little break, you can try again.”
The owner poured her a refill of milk tea over the counter.
It seemed nothing special—but to Mizuki, it was definitely a small miracle.
When she left the shop, her mind felt lighter.
“Come again. The three‑o’clock miracle doesn’t happen just once, you know.”
“Yes!” Mizuki found herself answering brightly.
Outside, the sky was now a full blue. In her bag was still the marked test paper—but now she could believe it wasn’t everything.
She looked up at the sky and took a deep breath.
She might fail the next exam too. But it would be okay.
Because she tucked away inside her heart: the taste of San‑gatsu‑dō’s castella and the quiet kindness of the owner.
Small miracles will surely continue to happen somewhere.
Every time the three‑o’clock bell rings.
