"Rie, are you seriously using that photo?" Kanae's voice was sharp, her glasses catching the light like a blade. "It's too soft. We're not running a gossip column."
"S-sorry…" Rie muttered, adjusting her collar as she shrank back into her seat. "I just thought… the lighting was nice…"
Airi, sitting upside-down in a beanbag with her camera draped across her chest, yawned. "But it's dreamy. Like a sigh."
"You can sigh later. Right now, I need impact," Kanae snapped, flipping through layout drafts. "This is front-page material, not a social media filter."
Yuri chuckled from her corner of the room, kicking her legs up on the desk. "Our President has spoken. Harsh as ever."
Kanae shot her a look. "At least I speak. Unlike some people who contribute nothing but sarcasm."
"Ouch," Yuri said, holding a hand to her heart dramatically. "You wound me deep, Madam Editor."
Airi giggled faintly and muttered, "Madam Editor... I like that."
As Kanae buried herself back in article drafts, Rie stared down at her phone, cheeks still pink from the critique. She opened her camera roll to double-check an image Airi had taken earlier when her phone clinked softly—drawing Yuri's attention.
"Hmm? What's this?" Yuri leaned forward, eyes narrowing like a predator. "Is that… a chibi keychain?"
Rie blinked. "Huh? Oh—uh, y-yeah. Just something I got at a store…"
Yuri leaned closer, making Rie visibly squirm. She squinted, then grinned.
Rie tried to hide her phone, but it was too late.
Yuri's eyes sparkled as they locked onto the keychain dangling from Rie's case—a tiny, blushing chibi figure with tousled brown hair, soft brown eyes, and an adorably shy expression. Its face was tinted pink, hands held up nervously as if flustered.
Yuri's grin widened dangerously.
"Rieeee…" she sing-songed. "Is that who I think it is?"
Rie froze. "I-it's not who you think—!"
"Shino?" Yuri gasped dramatically. "Oh my god, it even has his little awkward frown! And the blush! Rie, I didn't know you liked him that much!"
"I don't!! It's just a cute keychain!!" Rie practically curled into herself, face crimson. "It's a coincidence—total coincidence—"
Yuri leaned in closer, voice low and teasing. "So when you look at it, do you imagine him stuttering your name—?"
"Yuri," Kanae cut in coldly, not even looking up. "Tease her again and you're covering cafeteria complaints alone next week."
Yuri pouted. "You're no fun."
Rie hastily tucked her phone away like it was a state secret.
Airi, still lounging peacefully, blinked slowly. "The keychain's really detailed. It looks… loved."
Rie turned even redder. Yuri stifled a giggle.
Kanae sighed and rubbed her temples. "Focus, everyone. Deadline's in two days."
The school bell rang sharply, echoing through the classroom. Tadao Hoshiguma slowly rose from his seat, slinging his bag over one shoulder. He let out a tired sigh, his expression unreadable as always. As he walked toward the door, his heavy footsteps quieted the murmur of the room. He paused at the entrance.
"Excuse me," he muttered in a low voice, then stepped out and gently shut the door behind him.
The moment the door clicked shut, a collective exhale filled the classroom.
"Is he really a first-year like us?" a boy whispered, tension still lacing his voice.
"He's terrifying," a girl said quickly. "I mean, look at how tall he is—and that permanent scowl on his face. The way he wears his uniform, it just screams 'thug.' I bet he gets into fights every day."
"And his piercings," added another. "We're not even allowed to wear those at school, but he does it anyway!"
"From the very first day, I knew he was going to be trouble," someone muttered. "He wasn't even around for months after school started."
"Stop talking like that behind his back," another voice interrupted firmly.
The group turned to see Ayako standing with her arms folded.
"Ayako, why are you defending him?" one of the girls asked in confusion.
"Just because he wears his uniform differently or used to wear piercings doesn't give you the right to judge him," Ayako said. "If you paid attention, you'd notice he didn't wear any today. He's trying to follow the rules. You're students of Toshigawa Academy—start acting like it."
Her words brought a brief silence, and Ayako's thoughts wandered to that day—when older guys had surrounded her, and it was Tadao who stepped in, fighting them off without hesitation. She remembered how scared she was… and how she ran away afterward.
The final bell had rung, but the classroom still buzzed with idle chatter and the rustling of notebooks. The first-year members of the basketball team lingered in the back, their desks half-cleared, energy shifting toward practice—but not quite there yet.
Noboru slammed his pencil case shut with a scowl. "I can't believe I got a 70 on that presentation. My group didn't do jack. We barely even gathered all the information before the deadline."
Makoto didn't even glance up as he replied in a flat tone, "Maybe your group didn't, but you're the one who dragged the grade down. That translation you read was a mess. You wrote 'he watched the queen dance' instead of 'he questioned the defendant's stance.'"
Noboru turned toward him, frowning. "Like you did any better than me."
Makoto finally leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. "Actually, we got a 98. Sachiko and Naomi actually know what the word 'prepare' means. Very organized."
Noboru scoffed, leaning forward in his seat. "You just rode their coattails. You lazy bastard."
Makoto stared at him blankly. "And yet I got a higher grade. Go figure."
"Um… Noboru, could you please not yell?" Shino said from the next row over, adjusting his bag nervously. "You're disturbing the class…"
"Class ended five minutes ago, Shino," Noboru snapped, then turned back to Makoto. "On that note, why are you making fun of my presentation? Shino was up there stuttering like he forgot how to breathe."
Makoto didn't even blink. "At least his group got an 88."
Shino's face turned red. "I-I was just nervous…"
Across the room, Sachiko sat at her desk quietly, tuning out the noise. Her mind drifted back to the moment Tetsuo read his part during their presentation.
"Language is the soul of connection. Through it, we share more than words—we share ourselves."
His voice had been low and calm, every syllable crisp, natural. No notes, no pause. Just a quiet confidence. He sounded so fluent… like he wasn't even reading. It was like he wasn't just speaking English—he was living it.
Tetsuo sat in the farthest corner, gaze fixed on the hallway outside. He hadn't said a word during the argument. As if on cue, a familiar figure walked past the door—Tadao, tall and looking slightly irritated.
Their eyes met for a second.
"Hey, Tetsuo, you coming?" Makoto asked as he stood and slung his bag over one shoulder.
"He's always spacing out," Noboru muttered, following suit.
Tetsuo blinked, then slowly got up, grabbing his things in silence.
Tadao stood at the back of the school, his hands buried in his pockets, staring at the cracked pavement beneath his feet. He muttered to himself, "God dammit…" The sting of regret was hard to ignore.
Footsteps approached. Tadao glanced up, frowning when he saw who it was.
"I thought I'd find you here," said Tetsuo, his tone calm and unreadable.
Tadao scoffed. "Yeah? And what's it matter to you?"
Tetsuo didn't flinch. "For a guy who acts all tough on the outside, you're actually kind of a coward."
Tadao's eyes narrowed. "I literally just beat up some of your teammates a few days ago. You expect me to walk up to them now like nothing happened? That's ridiculous."
"I can't promise they'll forgive you," Tetsuo replied, his voice even. "But I know my teammates. They're good people. They'll at least listen if you're serious."
Tadao looked away, his jaw clenched. "Easy for you to say… I'm not the type to get all emotional or apologize. It's gonna be awkward as hell."
"Well," Tetsuo said, turning to walk off, "if you try and fail, at least you'll know you gave yourself the chance. To play basketball again. Like you used to."
Tadao blinked, stunned by the words. Why is this guy going out of his way to help me…?
Tetsuo paused a few steps ahead and looked back. "You coming?"
Tadao hesitated. Then, without saying anything, he followed. Something in Tetsuo's stillness made it feel like the first step mattered more than anything else.
The team stretched across the gym floor, their warm-up routine in full swing. Light conversation passed between players, but a subtle tension hung in the air.
Tomoe, the team's manager, glanced toward the gym doors and tilted her head. "Looks like Tetsuo's late today," she muttered, mostly to herself.
Coach Nanaho, standing with arms crossed near the sidelines, let out an irritated sigh. "He already missed one day of training, and now this? What's going on with him lately?"
Tomoe looked over. "Makoto and the others told me they were walking here together, and then all of a sudden, Tetsuo just… disappeared."
Nanaho's brows furrowed. "He didn't say anything to me. No message, no call. Honestly…" She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't even know what to think anymore."
Suddenly, the gym door slid open with a soft clack.
Tetsuo stepped inside, calm and expressionless as ever. His hands were in his pockets, his posture relaxed.
Nanaho immediately strode toward him, her voice sharp. "Tetsuo, what kind of example are you trying to set? You can't just skip practice and show up late without—"
"I had a reason," he said quietly, without raising his voice. "I didn't skip. I trained at a community court that day. Got in what I needed."
Nanaho narrowed her eyes. "And today?"
Tetsuo looked toward the door behind him. "Well, I was late… because of this."
He stepped aside.
Tadao walked in, stiff and awkward, his eyes sweeping over the stunned team.
"Hey," he muttered, barely audible.