Yesterday, when he'd heard the Class Monitor mention coming to school during summer break to lock the library, Kuroha Akira had already guessed. The library-stewarding student was likely a friend of Hitomi's, and almost certainly a fellow Literary Club member. Today, he'd learned her name: Shirai Shiori.
Though he'd frequented the library last semester, he'd never borrowed a book, so he'd never had cause to speak with her. Yet, Shirai Shiori possessed a distinct, almost palpable aura that made her impossible to overlook. She'd left a faint, lingering impression on him, like the scent of old paper and quiet afternoons.
Like Shinomiya, she had long, straight black hair, though not as impossibly lengthy—hers fell just past her shoulders, ending around the level of her bra strap. A simple white hairband, reminiscent of certain celebrated literary heroines, adorned her head. But unlike those expressive archetypes, Shirai Shiori's face was a placid lake, undisturbed by emotional ripples. An air of aloof detachment clung to her.
He'd observed her interactions with other students. To those borrowing books, she'd silently proffer the library card, her businesslike efficiency devoid of even a perfunctory smile. Her entire demeanor screamed 'Do Not Disturb.'
She was a 'Silent Girl,' the female counterpart to his former 'Silent Boy' title. Why not a full 'Three-No Girl' (no expression, no emotion, no words)? Because it was clear she could express emotions; she simply couldn't be bothered to waste them on casual interactions.
Akira surmised her motive for being the librarian was pure, unadulterated reading. Every time he'd entered the library, he'd found her immersed in a book. It wasn't for show—the titles changed daily, and he'd seen her revisit favorites multiple times.
Her movements were reverent: pages turned with meticulous care, white gloves worn to protect the paper, and an assortment of handmade bookmarks indicating a genuine, deep-seated love for the written word. Shirai Shiori was, perhaps, the truest 'literary girl' in the Literary Club.
As for why Kuroha Akira had paid her such attention… the reason was embarrassingly mundane: she was stunning.
Her features were delicate yet sharply defined, like a porcelain doll crafted by a master artisan—every line exquisite, every detail perfect. Her dark eyes held pools of silent depth and mystery. Seeing her seated in the library's quiet light was like beholding a living painting, an image that lingered in the mind's eye.
He wasn't a glasses fetishist—he actually considered them a slight minus—but he had to concede that Shirai Shiori would absolutely rock a pair of glasses, even though she didn't wear any.
If he hadn't encountered Shinomiya Shion first, Shirai Shiori might have been the most beautiful Japanese girl he'd seen since his transmigration.
On a purely subjective scale: Aizono Moe was around an 85. The Class Monitor was a solid 90+. Shirai Shiori was a 99. And Shinomiya Shion… was a 120. Shinomiya existed in a league of her own.
Also, Shirai Shiori wore black stockings. They looked suspiciously like sheer tights.
Major bonus points.
The only slight, almost sinful regret was that her chest was on the modest side. Not 'runway flat,' but more 'perfectly steamed bun'—a gentle, discernible curve. Compared to the Class Monitor's 'generous cup' and Aizono Moe's impending 'extra-large cup,' it seemed a tad… 'barren.' If the Class Monitor was a 'large,' and Aizono an 'XL,' then Shirai wasn't a 'medium' but a definitive 'small.' If Shinomiya were to be categorized, she'd comfortably fill the 'medium' slot.
It seemed heaven maintained a certain equilibrium, bestowing exceptional beauty but reclaiming a little elsewhere. Though, in Shinomiya's case, with her 'peach-shaped' rear and long, elegant legs, a larger bust might actually disrupt her flawless silhouette… Well. Perhaps the heavens were still playing favorites.
But Kuroha Akira wasn't a devout member of the Big Chest Church. He believed in equality. Small was charming in its own right, wasn't it?
If Shirai Shiori embodied an ethereal, untouchable frost, then Aizono Moe radiated a gentle, approachable warmth—the quintessential 'girl next door.' Her light brown hair had soft, natural curls at the ends, fastened with hair ties on both sides. Her face was sweetly round, emphasizing a pure, youthful cuteness.
However, those 'weapons' of hers were anything but 'cute.' They introduced a jarring, almost illicit allure into her otherwise innocent aesthetic—the classic, dangerously tempting 'childlike face with a mature body.' To put it bluntly, it was the kind of physique that provoked… certain thoughts. The kind that made one's imagination run wild with scenarios of teasing her to tears.
What a sinful line of thinking to have about someone you just met! Akira chastised himself briefly. Perhaps it was the sheer covering that spurred his imagination. Despite the lingering summer heat, Aizono Moe wore an extra cream-colored V-neck knit vest, projecting a strong 'frail young lady' vibe. And unlike the Class Monitor's sensible knee-length skirt, both she and Shirai wore long skirts, signaling a notably conservative style. The Class Monitor was still in summer mode; these two were already dressed for autumn.
One thing was undeniable: while the Literary Club was small, its membership boasted a terrifyingly high beauty index. If not for Sumitomo Ryota's territorial blockade, there would undoubtedly be a stampede of boys desperate to join just for a chance to be near these girls. Even if the Class Monitor was out of reach, getting close to the other two could make a high school boy's three years feel like a vibrant, youth-celebrating dream.
And the one who had single-handedly prevented this paradise? Sumitomo Ryota. You are the unsung hero, Sumitomo!
"Alright, you three get acquainted. I'll go make some tea," the Class Monitor said cheerfully, moving to prepare drinks with practiced ease.
While Kuroha Akira had been conducting his internal appraisal, the two girls had been studying him in return. Though Asato Hitomi had taken charge of recruitment, neither had expected her to bring back a boy.
Aizono Moe was, by nature, a simple soul. Painfully shy, she typically turned into a stuttering mess around boys in her own class. But this boy had been brought by Hitomi. That fact alone overrode her anxiety, born from absolute trust in her friend. So now, instead of fear, she was brimming with curiosity about the relationship between Hitomi and this new boy.
Finally, she couldn't contain herself. Timidly raising a hand, she ventured, "Um… K-Kuroha-san, are you… dating Hitomi-chan?"
Right on cue. Akira gave a nonchalant shrug. "Nope. We're just friends."
From the tea preparation area, the Class Monitor chimed in without looking up, her voice singsong. "We're very~~~ close friends. Isn't that right, Kuroha-kun?"
Akira sighed inwardly. "Yeah… we're good friends."
Since these two were also 'lifelong walking buddies' recognized by the Class Monitor, they must be intimately familiar with the weight of her friendship. The fact that they hadn't been crushed by it meant they'd already accepted its intensity, right?
"It's similar to your relationship with the Class Monitor," he added, "though we certainly haven't known each other as long as you have."
"I see…!" Aizono Moe's eyes widened slightly, then she bowed her head politely. "Then, please take care of us from now on, Kuroha-san."
"Yeah, please take care of me too."
The innocent Aizono Moe accepted this explanation without a second thought.
However, Shirai Shiori's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Her dark, discerning eyes narrowed just a fraction.
She smelled it. That distinct, cloying, unmistakable scent.
The sour stench of budding romance.