Days folded into one another, marked not by social tremors but by the quiet, rhythmic ritual of study. The afternoons at the Tanaka residence became a new kind of normal. The living room table, once a zone of awkward silence, transformed into a battlefield of textbooks, scattered notes, and Kaito's precise diagrams alongside Hikari's clarifying—and often furious—doodles. He built frameworks; she filled them with intuitive understanding. He provided logic; she challenged it until it made palpable sense.
On the final afternoon before exams, they closed the last textbook. The air felt different, charged not with panic, but with a weary sense of preparedness. Kenji walked in as they were packing up.
"Well," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "I think this particular storm might actually pass because of you." His usual teasing grin was absent, replaced by a look of profound, sincere gratitude. "I really meant it. Thank you, Sato-kun. You've done more than enough. Please, leave it to her now. You should focus on your own studies. And… sorry for all the trouble."
Kaito finished zipping his bag, considering the words. The request had been an intrusion, a variable. But the process had not been inefficient. Explaining concepts to Hikari had forced a clarity in his own understanding he hadn't known was lacking.
"It's okay," Kaito replied, his voice even. "Teaching her required me to solidify my own foundations. It was mutual practice. You don't need to worry."
Kenji's smile returned, softer this time. He clapped Kaito on the shoulder—a gesture Kaito no longer flinched from. "Still. Thanks. Good luck tomorrow."
"You too," Hikari said from behind them, her voice low but clear. It was the first time she'd directly addressed the impending pressure.
Kaito nodded to them both and left, the weight in his bag now purely his own.
---
Time, under the intense pressure of examination week, seemed to both crawl and vanish. Days blurred into a cycle of silent classrooms, the scratch of pens on answer sheets, and the heavy, focused quiet of concentrated thought. The social world of Sakuragaoka High ceased to exist; there was only the next question, the next problem to solve.
And then, it was over.
A week later, the results were posted in the main hallway. The crowd that gathered was thick with a nervous, electric energy. Kaito approached, and as always, a path cleared for him. His eyes went directly to the top of the first-year rankings.
1. Sato, Kaito – 1-B
His score was,predictably, the highest. But the margin was notable. He had not just topped his class; he had achieved the highest first-year score in five years. A quiet murmur rippled through the students around him. He had soundly defeated every rival, including Hoshino Shizuka, whose name sat a respectable but distinct several places below his. The looks he received were no longer of curiosity about his personal life, but of pure, unadulterated academic awe. He was a monument again, but the solitude of it felt different now.
The surprising news, however, the one that spread through the whispers with genuine shock, was not about him.
It was about the name that had, against all odds, escaped the dreaded red marks of failure.
Tanaka, Hikari – 1-B
She had passed.In every subject. Not with flying colors, but with clear, unambiguous, barely-there passing marks. In mathematics and science, subjects that had been her sworn enemies, she had scraped by with scores that spoke of a desperate, last-minute grasp of fundamental concepts—concepts that had been drilled into her at a living room table.
For those who knew nothing, it was a mystery. For those who had seen them leave together every afternoon, it was the obvious, stunning conclusion. The rumor that spread was succinct and awe-filled: Sato Kaito didn't just get first place. He dragged the Ice Queen over the finish line with him.
At the school gate that afternoon, Kenji was waiting earlier than usual. He wasn't leaning casually against the car; he was standing straight, scanning the crowd. When Hikari emerged, her face an unreadable mask, he strode forward.
Before she could say a word, he pulled her into a tight, brief hug—a rare display of raw emotion. He held her by the shoulders, searching her face. "Is it true?"
Hikari gave a single, sharp nod. "I passed. All of them."
Kenji's face went through a series of transformations—disbelief, relief, and finally, a joy so profound it made his eyes shine. He looked over her shoulder, his gaze finding Kaito, who was approaching at his usual measured pace.
Kenji released Hikari and took two long strides toward Kaito. He didn't offer a hand or a clap on the back. He simply stopped before him and, with a gravity that silenced the surrounding chatter, bowed deeply from the waist.
"Thank you," he said, his voice thick with emotion, carrying in the quiet that had fallen around them. He straightened, meeting Kaito's eyes. "Thank you."
It was more than gratitude for tutoring. It was gratitude for seeing his sister, for defending her, for refusing to let her be left behind. It was an acknowledgment that Kaito had changed the trajectory of her life in those quiet, stubborn hours of study.
Kaito, faced with this public, profound gratitude, simply inclined his head. "She understood the systems. She did the work."
But as he looked past Kenji to Hikari, who was watching the exchange with a complex mix of embarrassment and pride, he knew it was more than that. They had built something in that living room—a bridge made of patience and logic and stubborn will. And on the results board, for everyone to see, was the proof: not just of her passing grades, but of the unseen, powerful foundation of a true friendship.
(End of Chapter 23)