A cold shiver, subtle and instinctual, traced Kuroha Akira's spine. The Class Monitor's smile hadn't wavered—it was still the picture of gentle grace—but the words that accompanied it felt like the silent, coiling promise of a serpent. How could something so terrifying be packaged in such a serene expression?
"W-well, Class Monitor," he stammered, the casualness he'd cultivated cracking slightly. "Saying something like that on only the second day we've known each other is a bit… heavy, isn't it? You know, lifelong best friends aren't declared; they're proven. It takes time, trials… that sort of thing."
The concept itself felt alien to him. He'd never believed friends were meant to be lifelong companions. That role belonged to family—and even a spouse wasn't a guarantee. Most friendships forged in the hothouse of school wilted under the changed seasons of adulthood.
No matter how close you once were, distance and diverging paths had a way of fading the colors of even the brightest bonds. Life was a train, people boarding and alighting at different stations. Very few who got on midway stayed until the terminal.
His pragmatic, deflating response clearly displeased Asato Hitomi. A faint shadow passed over her features. She didn't want a one-sided designation. Friendship, in her mind, required mutual acknowledgment—a two-way street of feeling, willingly traveled by both parties. Only then could it endure.
"Kuroha-kun," she said, her voice dropping a delicate but noticeable degree. "The way you say that… it makes me a little angry."
"Huh?"
In a move so swift it bypassed his reflexes, she reached out and plucked the chopsticks from his slack fingers. Akira stared at his now-empty hand, then at her, his mouth agape in mid-chew.
What's this? A bento embargo? He'd been the model listener! A dutiful emotional receptacle! Shouldn't she be feeling cathartically unburdened, not seizing his utensils? Was it because he'd balked at the 'lifelong best friend' label?
But come on! Deciding someone was your eternal platonic soulmate after two days was weirder than love at first sight! At least that had biology and hormones as an excuse.
"Since Kuroha-kun doesn't yet consider us close friends," Hitomi stated, holding his chopsticks hostage, "it means we still don't understand each other well enough."
"Oh…"
"So, from now on, I'll feed you." A serene, unblinking smile. "This is how I show care for my friends."
"…Oh. Huh?"
A feeding game? Wasn't that exclusive, cringe-worthy territory for obnoxiously lovey-dovey couples? Even with no audience, the sheer embarrassment factor should be sky-high…
Embarrassment, my foot. His stomach, still only half-pacified, growled its own verdict. A full belly trumped dignity every time.
Thus, with zero hesitation, Kuroha Akira shamelessly tilted his head back and opened his mouth wide, like a baby bird awaiting a worm.
"Aaah~"
Asato Hitomi had fully intended to be the one to coo a teasing "Aaaan~" to fluster him. He'd stolen her line. Again.
"I truly admire Kuroha-kun's unwavering commitment to his own principles…" she murmured, a glint in her eye. "But if you want to eat, you'll have to answer my next question. Is that acceptable?"
So that's her game. A small price to pay. Aside from the whole interdimensional transmigration and supernatural vision thing, he was an open book. A boring, mooching-centric open book.
"Yes! Fire away! I'll tell you everything I know!" he declared, mouth still open.
"I believe friends should care for and share with each other," she began, selecting a plump fried shrimp. "Since I've shared about my childhood… shouldn't Kuroha-kun do the same? You must have had some wonderful friends when you were little, right?"
Ah. She wanted his backstory.
But Kuroha Akira truly had nothing to give. His pre-transmigration life was a blur of corporate grind, and his post-transmigration memories began in a hospital bed. The slate was painfully blank.
"I… don't really have any childhood playmates or sweethearts," he admitted.
A subtle, almost imperceptible shift occurred in Asato Hitomi's demeanor. The air around her seemed to lighten by several degrees. Smiling, she placed the shrimp neatly into his waiting mouth.
Such a sparse answer, however, wouldn't satisfy her curiosity. Racking his brain, he dredged up the memory he'd recalled during his confrontation with Sumitomo.
"Mmph… Well, if I had to say… there was a girl I liked in middle school."
Creak.
The chopsticks in Hitomi's hand emitted a faint, distressed sound. Her grip had tightened exponentially.
"But I never confessed. We lost touch. I don't even remember her name now…"
"Where is she now?"
"No idea."
"Do you still like her?"
"No feelings left. I can only say I used to."
"I see…" The death-grip on the chopsticks eased marginally.
"Yeah, that's… probably the only noteworthy thing from my 'past life.' I really can't remember anyone else." For Kuroha Akira, his student days were over a decade past, a distant shore shrouded in fog. The memories didn't come unless triggered by a direct encounter.
Nodding, Hitomi fed him the last piece of karaage, then unceremoniously tossed the slightly warped chopsticks into the empty bento box and began cleaning up. Akira, meanwhile, leaned back with a contented, full-bellied sigh. A mission accomplished.
With the box neatly packed away, Asato Hitomi naturally slid into the seat beside him, her expression shifting to one of gentle concern.
"Kuroha-kun, does your hand still hurt?"
"Class Monitor, shouldn't you be worried about the guy who got punched, not the puncher?"
"Force is reciprocal. Your hand endured the same impact. You might have sprained a finger."
"My hand's fine. Sumitomo Ryota's nose, on the other hand, was a fountain."
"Sumitomo-kun has plenty of friends to fuss over him. My concern would be not only insincere but would likely earn me the ire of the girls who admire him."
"Hah. The social dynamics among girls are a battlefield."
"Besides," she said, tilting her head, "at school, I'm probably the only one who would care about your hand, right?"
"There's also Kobayakawa-sensei."
"Kuroha-kun, a teacher's concern is part of her duty. My concern is that of a friend." She emphasized the word like placing a final piece in a puzzle.
"…Right."
"Let me see your hand. I'll rub it for you."
"You really don't have to—"
"Kuroha-kun," she interrupted, her smile sweet yet edged with an unspoken 'or else.' "Are you going to refuse a friend's goodwill?"
He was defenseless against this version of her. The one that could switch from sunny to ominously overcast in a heartbeat. With a resigned sigh, he extended his right hand.
A look of pure satisfaction graced Hitomi's face. She cradled his hand gently in both of hers, lifting it to her face. She leaned close, her breath a soft, warm whisper against his skin.
"Hoo~ hoo~ All the pain, fly away~"
"…You just wanted to say that line, didn't you?" Akira deadpanned.
"Hehe. This is my first time doing this for someone. I've always wanted to try it." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Kuroha-kun has received another 'first' from me."
"Please stop phrasing it like that…"
"Also," she continued, her voice dropping to a playful, conspiratorial murmur, "I've never licked someone's wound before. Should I try it on yours next? My tongue is very flexible, you know. I can tie a cherry stem into a knot. Two, actually."
"There's no wound. Nothing's bleeding. What exactly would you be licking?"
"Hmm…" She pretended to ponder, her gaze drifting to his palm. "Your palm, perhaps?"
"…"
Ah. So she'd noticed. She was teasing him about his prolonged, peculiar inspection of her palm the day before.
It was becoming clear. Ever since the 'lifelong best friend' declaration, Asato Hitomi had exhibited an unusual, almost compulsive fixation on the concept of 'friend.' It was as if she needed his explicit, reciprocated acknowledgment—a signed and sealed contract of mutual belonging. To secure it, she was deploying everything in her arsenal: food, intimacy, teasing care.
Her childhood loss had left a deep groove in her psyche. For the friends she recognized and claimed, Asato Hitomi was capable of boundless, unconditional giving. She would do anything for them.
And it seemed she had decided, with terrifying finality, that Kuroha Akira was to be one of them.