The Monday lunch bell echoed through the corridor, its fading chime immediately swallowed by the rising tide of noise within Class 1-D. The classroom erupted into lively chaos—students clustered together, unpacking lunch boxes or debating cafeteria choices, their laughter and chatter weaving a tapestry of mundane socialization.
Ayanokōji Kiyotaka remained at his post by the window, a silent observer. The social topography of the class was solidifying. Hirata Yōsuke, the perennial diplomat, moved between clusters with a practiced, gentle smile, stitching together fragile connections. The boisterous trio of Yamauchi, Ike, and Sudō dominated one corner with their volume. A circle of girls nearby shared homemade lunches, their clear laughter ringing out like chimes.
His gaze drifted to the solitary figure beside him—Horikita Suzune. She sat in perfect stillness, methodically eating her packed meal. A shaft of sunlight fell across her desk, but it did nothing to warm the invisible, chilling barrier that seemed to emanate from her, holding the surrounding commotion at bay. She existed within a silent sphere of her own making.
Ayanokōji looked away. In that regard, he and Horikita were akin—islands in the stream of class life. Hirata had once cautiously approached him, hoping he might act as a bridge to her. The request had been politely, and predictably, refused. Horikita's response had been characteristically blunt: "I prefer a bit of quiet."
Deciding on the cafeteria, Ayanokōji stood and made for the door. The moment he stepped into the hallway, a voice, sweet and clear, halted him.
"Um, Ayanokōji-kun, right?"
He turned. A girl in the burgundy uniform stood before him. She had soft, short brown hair with ends that curled delicately, and magenta eyes that shone with a friendly, inquisitive light. Her features were charming, and the gentle curve of her chest beneath the uniform was subtly pronounced. It was Kushida Kikyō, the social nexus of Class D.
"Mm," he acknowledged neutrally. "You are Kushida."
"Oh! You remember me!" Her face blossomed into a dazzling smile.
"Mm."
"Um, are you free right now?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, her expectant gaze fixed on him.
Ayanokōji paused. "I have time. I was going to eat. Is something the matter?"
"Perfect!" Her smile widened. In one fluid motion, she stepped forward and took his wrist. "Come with me!"
A flicker of surprise crossed Ayanokōji's eyes, so brief it was almost imperceptible before his usual placidity returned. He didn't resist, allowing her to lead him down the bustling corridor and into a quieter, nearly deserted wing.
"Ayanokōji-kun," she said, releasing his hand and turning to face him fully. "Are you and Horikita-san... close?"
He considered Kushida's earnest expression, the image of Horikita's icy detachment surfacing in his mind. "No," he stated calmly. "I don't think we are."
"But you seem to be the only one she speaks to," Kushida pressed, a note of genuine puzzlement in her voice. She clasped her hands together, leaning in with a posture of girlish appeal. "My goal is to be friends with everyone in school! So I tried to approach Horikita-san, to exchange numbers. But she refused me."
Her voice dipped, tinged with theatrical hurt. "She said... she wasn't interested in being friends with anyone."
"That is her nature," Ayanokōji replied, his tone flat.
"But—" Kushida suddenly closed the distance again, seizing his hand in both of hers. Her touch was warm, her grip insistent. "I really want to be friends with her! Ayanokōji-kun, will you help me? Please!"
This time, the physical contact elicited a more pronounced, though still minute, reaction—a slight tightening in his otherwise impassive eyes. It lasted only a heartbeat.
"I don't know how I could help," he said.
"You can't...?" She looked up, her magenta eyes instantly glistening, long lashes fluttering. The picture of vulnerable pleading was masterfully crafted, designed to dismantle resistance.
Ayanokōji observed her in silence for several seconds. Then, he spoke slowly. "Alright."
"Wonderful! Thank you, Ayanokōji-kun!" The distress evaporated from her face, replaced by a radiant, sunlit smile as if a switch had been flipped. She released his hand just as abruptly as she had taken it. "Then, could you ask Horikita-san to meet at..."
She leaned close, her breath a whisper against his ear, and quickly specified a location and time.
Ayanokōji gave a curt nod. "Understood."
"I'm counting on you!" she chirped, giving a cheerful little wave before turning and skipping away, her brown hair bouncing with each light step as she disappeared back into the stream of students.
Ayanokōji remained motionless for a moment, his eyes following Kushida until she vanished around the corridor's bend. He then looked down at his hand. A faint, phantom warmth seemed to linger where her fingers had been. He closed his hand slowly, turned, and continued toward the cafeteria.
The lunch rush was in full swing. Ayanokōji procured a simple meal, ate with methodical efficiency, and returned to the Class D room without dawdling. Less than half of the lunch period had passed. The classroom hummed with post-meal lethargy; some students dozed at their desks, others conversed in hushed tones. Horikita Suzune remained at her seat, a dense reference book open before her, her focus absolute.
Ayanokōji walked directly to her desk. She sensed his approach and lifted her eyes, a shield of wariness already in place.
"What do you want?"
"If you're free, I'd like you to accompany me somewhere."
"Do you have an ulterior motive for this invitation?"
"If there's something to discuss, I can listen here."
Horikita studied him in silence, her sharp eyes gauging his sincerity.
"There's a popular café in the shopping center," he continued, his tone unchanged. "I'd like to go. I heard Sakamoto is working there."
A faint ripple crossed Horikita's expression, but her voice remained icy. "Why should I accompany you?"
"I lack the courage to go into that sort of place alone," Ayanokōji stated, delivering his pre-prepared excuse with flawless calm.
"You could ask someone else."
"Though it's embarrassing to admit, you're correct—there is no one else."
Their eyes met—his a placid lake, hers a shard of frost. A beat of silence stretched between them. Then, with a soft thud, Horikita closed her book and stood.
"Let's go."
The café's signage glowed softly under the afternoon sun. Standing before its large glass façade, Ayanokōji and Horikita observed the interior. It was nearly at capacity; students in clusters filled the space, their muted conversations creating a low, steady hum.
"It's quite crowded," Horikita remarked, a slight frown touching her brow.
"Is this your first time here as well?" Ayanokōji asked. Then, as if an afterthought, he added, "Ah, but of course. You don't have friends."
"Are you attempting to provoke me? How juvenile." She shot him a frosty glare.
Ayanokōji offered no retort. His gaze swept across the room until it settled on a figure navigating the tables with fluid grace.
"Sakamoto is here," he said, his voice devoid of inflection.
Horikita followed his line of sight.
There, moving between the tables with a tray balanced effortlessly in hand, was Sakamoto. Dressed in a crisp black waiter's apron, his movements were a study in precision. Each motion was economical yet elegant—a slight lift of the wrist while pouring, a subtle, respectful bow when acknowledging a customer. His composure was unshakable, as if the bustling environment around him were mere background static for a solitary, perfected performance.
Both observers watched him, their attention caught. Class D had its own spectacle in Koenji Rokusuke, but this was different. Koenji's flamboyance was a declaration, a demand to be seen. Sakamoto's elegance was innate, seamless—a second nature so complete it felt less like an act and more like an intrinsic truth. He moved not as someone playing a part, but as someone who simply was.
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