Part 1
May, 15:43 PM
The park bench behind the gymnasium was usually my favorite spot to "breathe"—in other words, the place where I didn't have to smile until my cheeks ached.
But today, the air felt suffocating.
"Dammit... dammit, dammit, dammit!" I hissed under my breath, staring down at my shoes with a gaze sharp enough to kill.
May had arrived, and Class D had officially become the school's pariahs with 0 points. I had expected it, but the reality was worse than I imagined. To maintain my reputation as the "Angel of Class D," I had to distribute my own private points to several pathetic classmates just so they could buy basic necessities. The result? My own balance was screaming in agony.
I had suspected this school wasn't normal since the first day, but ending up in a scenario this much worse than my calculations... 'I curse them all.'
"Ugh... I'm so hungry..." My stomach gave a low, traitorous growl. I leaned my head back, watching the afternoon sky bleed into a sickly yellow. I wanted to scream at Horikita, at my useless classmates, and at this entire idiotic system.
"Kushida-san."
The voice was flat, cold as ice, and felt like a bucket of frozen water dumped over me in the middle of a sweltering day.
I bolted upright. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest. Instantly, my "Angel" mask snapped into place. I turned with a perfect, sweet smile, despite the cold sweat beginning to prickle at my back.
"Eh? Yuki-kun?" I forced a light, airy laugh, clutching my chest in a gesture of innocent surprise. "Gosh, you scared me! I didn't see you there at all. Have you been here long?"
Sitting on the bench just a meter away—on a seat I was sure was empty—was a boy with blue hair, silver headphones draped around his neck. He was closing a small pocketbook, staring at me with blue eyes that were... calm. No judgment. Just a terrifying, crystalline clarity.
'Since when?! Did he hear me?!'
I realized then—I was the one who was careless. I was so busy wallowing in my own spite that I missed someone else's presence. Come to think of it, this boy, Makoto Yuki... he already had a reputation for being anything but normal.
Makoto didn't return my pleasantries. He didn't smile, nor did he look annoyed. I could feel my lips trembling slightly under the weight of his silent gaze.
("SAY SOMETHING!") I screamed in my mind.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, getting straight to the point. His voice was as light as a stray breeze.
I blinked, trying to stabilize my racing heart. "A-ah, well... I was just daydreaming. What brings you here, Yuki-kun? We haven't really run into each other since we exchanged contacts last month, right?"
"..." Makoto remained silent, as if waiting for me to actually answer his question instead of deflecting. He wasn't giving me any room to change the subject naturally.
I felt a twitch in my cheek—my mask was under fire. "A-ah, well, you caught me! Haha, this is so embarrassing. It's... well, you know the situation with Class D? I just got a little too carried away helping everyone else that I forgot to fill my own stomach. But I'm fine, really!"
Makoto didn't look impressed by my 'sacrifice.' He reached into his bag and pulled out a bento box wrapped in deep indigo cloth, looking pristine and untouched.
"I had lunch with the Student Council, so I didn't get to this," he said, holding the box out to me. "Take it."
I stared at the box with hesitation. A strong sense of reluctance flared in my chest. To a high school girl, receiving food from a boy like this felt like an act of charity. I hated how the atmosphere had naturally shifted into one where I was being pitied. It was humiliating; it bruised my pride.
"Thank you, Yuki-kun, but I really can't—"
"Don't be stubborn. My cooking can make people float," he interrupted.
I froze. He said it with a completely serious face. No hint of a joke, no arrogance. He said it as if he were stating a fundamental law of physics. That sheer weirdness was what finally caused my defenses to buckle.
My stomach growled again, louder this time. ('Dammit! Not now! Work with me here!')
"...If you insist, then," I said, accepting the box with a shy, bashful look. "Thank you so much, Yuki-kun. You're really kind."
"Yeah," he replied shortly, as if dismissing my doubts. "Just eat."
I lifted the lid. The aroma of tamagoyaki and sesame chicken instantly assaulted my senses. It was beautiful—far more elegant than any bento from the cafeteria. I picked up the chopsticks and took one small bite.
Thump.
It was... ridiculous.
My world felt like it had stopped spinning. The texture was so delicate, the seasoning seeping into the deepest fibers, creating a harmony of flavor I had never experienced in my life. The first bite was followed by a second. Then a third. A fourth. I couldn't stop.
Every chew felt like an assault on my ego. Why was it this good? Why did it have to be from him? Why now, when I was at my absolute lowest?
Without realizing it, my eyes began to sting. Tears welled up and fell, one by one, wetting the rice in the box. It wasn't because I was sad; it was because this was so insulting. I, Kikyo Kushida, was devouring food given to me like a starving stray kitten on the side of the road. It was traumatic, yet devastatingly relieving. Receiving this from a boy who was barely an acquaintance... I felt like I wanted to die.
"Hiks..." A small sob escaped my lips. I immediately ducked my head as low as possible, letting my short hair hide my flushed face. I bit my lower lip hard, trying to stifle the tears that were becoming uncontrollable.
('He's doing this on purpose. He has to be. This is just bullying through kindness. Ugh, don't look at me, don't look at me, Makoto Yuki...')
Makoto stood up without a word. I expected him to leave out of awkwardness or start asking annoying questions. Instead, his footsteps headed toward a nearby vending machine.
A moment later, he sat back down. A cold bottle of mineral water was placed beside me.
"Drink. You'll choke if you eat while crying," he said flatly.
I still wouldn't lift my face. I felt completely exposed. The silence stretched between us, filled only by the sound of leaves rustling in the evening wind.
"Keep this a secret," my voice came out trembling, barely audible. "Don't tell anyone... that you saw me like this."
Makoto didn't answer immediately. I could feel his calm presence beside me. He didn't ask "Why are you crying?" or try to comfort me with empty words. Instead, he reached into his pocket and placed a clean, neatly folded handkerchief on the bench between us.
"I have no reason to tell anyone," he answered. "Besides, I don't talk much anyway."
I clenched my fists in my lap. That answer wasn't enough. In this world, the word "promise" was worthless—especially to someone like me who lived behind a thousand lies.
"I don't believe you," I hissed sharply, finally daring to look at him through my messy hair. My eyes must have been bloodshot. "Only a fool believes in empty promises."
Makoto tilted his head slightly, meeting my gaze with those clear—too clear—blue eyes. "Then, how can I make you believe me?"
I wiped my cheeks roughly. "Give me your secret. Something bad enough to ruin your reputation if I spread it. That way, we're even. We'll have a leash on each other."
Makoto went silent. The heavy quiet was only broken by the wind. He seemed to be thinking, not out of fear, but as if he were sifting through a very distant pile of memories.
"A secret, huh..." he murmured. "I don't really have a past worth calling a secret—at least, not the kind you're looking for."
"I don't believe you!" I cut him off, my voice rising. "Everyone has a dark side. Everyone has something to hide!"
Makoto let out a short sigh. He looked at the evening sky for a moment before turning back to me. His expression remained flat, but there was something different in his eyes—something old and weary.
Under the bench, I silently activated the voice recorder on my phone, waiting for whatever ammunition he was about to give me.
"Fine, if that's what you need," he said calmly. "In the past, I held close relationships with more than one woman at the same time. Relationships that were... quite deep."
I froze. The words left his mouth without a shred of guilt or hesitation. In my head, I immediately constructed a scenario: Makoto Yuki is a player. He manipulated multiple girls at once.
"You're... a player?" I muttered, trying to process the information.
"How you interpret it is up to you," Makoto stood up, hands in his pockets. "That's the secret I can give you. If you spread it, my reputation in Class B will be ruined. Is that enough to make you feel safe?"
I stared at him in disbelief. This guy... he had just handed me a "bullet" with a face that looked like he was just announcing the weather.
"Yes," I answered shortly, biting my lip. "That's enough."
The tension on the bench shifted. I could feel the pulse of my victory returning. With that secret in my hand, he was no longer an untouchable stranger—he was someone I could break. I wiped the last of my tears with his handkerchief and looked at him from beneath my bangs. It was time to capitalize on the moment.
"Then, Yuki-kun... since we're 'even,' I want to ask for one more favor," I said, my voice returning to its soft, fragile tone—my Angel mask sliding back into place. "About the points... you know the situation in Class D, right?"
Makoto gave a slight nod. "Zero points. Yeah."
"I helped everyone else so much that my own points are gone," I looked down, fidgeting with my fingers in a perfect act. "I don't even know how I'll buy daily necessities tomorrow. Could I... borrow ten thousand points from you? I'll pay you back as soon as Class D gets an allowance again."
I waited for him to hesitate. I waited for him to ask "when" or "how." But Makoto Yuki remained Makoto Yuki. Without a word, he pulled out his phone. I watched his fingers move quickly across the screen.
Ping.
My phone vibrated. A transfer notification: +10,000 Points.
I was stunned. Just like that? He gave me information that could ruin him, and now ten thousand points without batting an eye?
"You're... not going to ask anything? Or ask for another guarantee?" I asked, genuinely bewildered.
Makoto stood up, took his empty bento box, and slung his bag over his shoulder. "You're hungry, and you need points. That's all the reason I need," he answered, beginning to walk away. "Besides, you're the one who said we're friends, right? Isn't that what friends do?"
"..." I wanted to talk but I didn't.
He walked away without a second glance, as if ten thousand points were worth no more than a glass of water.
I stood there, frozen, clutching the phone and the clean handkerchief. On one hand, I had everything: food, points, and the secret of a Class B model student. But on the other hand, I felt incredibly small.
"What the hell is with that guy..." I whispered.
I watched his silhouette disappear around the corner. On my phone: ten thousand points. In my head: his dark secret. In my stomach: the lingering warmth of his cooking. In theory, I was the one in control.
But for some reason, as he vanished from sight, I felt like the secret he gave me was just a single grain of sand on a vast, endless beach. I felt... like he didn't give me that secret because he was afraid of me.
"Dammit," I cursed again, burying my face in his handkerchief. It smelled fresh—too fresh. "Seriously... what the hell is with him?"
Without realizing it, my heart was beating faster. But I chose to ignore it.
End of Chapter 11
Omake : The Library Seat
16:09 PM
The hallway leading to the library was quiet, most students having already cleared out for club activities or study groups. I walked at my usual pace, my bag slung over one shoulder. I had told Ichinose I had plans after school, and for once, that wasn't a lie. I was supposed to return a book and, if she was there, talk to Shiina Hiyori.
She was someone I had grown accustomed to seeing. We didn't talk much—mostly just shared the same silence in the back corner of the library—but it was a routine I didn't mind.
I pushed open the heavy wooden double doors. The air inside was cooler, smelling of old paper and dust. I didn't head for the counter immediately. Instead, I walked toward the back, toward the curved shelves where the classic literature was kept.
As I rounded the corner, I saw her.
Hiyori was sitting at one of the circular tables, her silver hair catching the light from the tall windows. But she wasn't alone. A boy I didn't recognize was sitting across from her. He had brown hair and a gaze that seemed to settle on the book between them with a strange, flat intensity.
They weren't talking loudly, but they were engaged. Hiyori was smiling—a small, genuine expression that reached her eyes. She looked comfortable. The boy said something, and she leaned in closer to the book, nodding.
I stopped about ten feet away, my hand resting on the edge of a shelf.
Is that her boyfriend? The thought crossed my mind, but I didn't dwell on it. Whoever he was, they seemed to be in their own world. The atmosphere around that table was closed off, balanced, and peaceful.
If I went over there now, I'd be an interruption. I'd have to introduce myself, he'd have to acknowledge me, and the quiet flow they had going would stop. It felt unnecessary.
I turned around and walked back toward the front desk.
The librarian took the book from me, checked the barcode, and gave a small nod. I didn't say anything, simply turning to leave. As I reached for the handle of the heavy wooden door, I pulled it open and stepped out into the hallway.
---
[POV: Shiina Hiyori]
"I hadn't considered that the protagonist's motive was hidden in the first chapter's dialogue," I said softly, looking at Ayanokouji-kun. "You have a very sharp eye for detail."
"It was just a guess," he replied in his usual monotone.
I smiled, turning the page. It was nice to have someone to discuss these things with. I had been waiting for Yuki-kun to show up, but he was late today. I had kept the seat next to me open for a while, but eventually, the library had started to fill up a bit, and Ayanokouji-kun had sat down.
A soft, muffled thud echoed through the room—the sound of the entrance door closing.
I looked up instinctively. Through the gap between the shelves, I caught a glimpse of a blue-haired boy in the hallway just as the door settled into its frame.
"Yuki-kun?" I murmured.
Ayanokouji-kun looked up. "Did you see someone you know?"
"I think so," I said, feeling a slight pang of regret.
I looked back at the book, but my mind drifted for a moment. He must have seen me. If he had come all the way to the back and then left without saying a word, it meant he didn't want to disturb us.
That was very typical of him.
"Is something wrong?" Ayanokouji-kun asked.
"No," I replied, forcing my focus back to the mystery novel. "I just realized I might have missed an opportunity to introduce two people who are very much alike."