Lunch break began with a quiet bell echoing through the hallways.The usual chatter filled Class D as students hurried out to the cafeteria or the courtyard. Some gathered in small groups, others pulled out bent lunch boxes and unwrapped sandwiches that had seen better days.
Ayanokōji sat in his usual seat, chin resting on his hand, mind half on the lesson that had just ended and half elsewhere. Beside him, Horikita Suzune suddenly stood up, a small paperback in hand.
"Ayanokōji," she said, her tone steady as always.
He turned slightly. "What is it?"
She extended the book toward him, the cover facing up.It was Farewell, My Lovely by Raymond Chandler — a novel that had been impossible to get lately due to its popularity among the second years.
"I'd like you to return this for me," she said.
"Return it?" he asked, blinking once. "You're not usually the type to ask for favors."
"It's due today," she replied curtly. "If I go myself, I'll lose time. You can return it on your way to lunch. Efficient, isn't it?"
He stared at the book, then at her. "And what if I refuse?"
"Then you'd be wasting an opportunity," she countered, her voice crisp but her eyes faintly amused. "You were interested in this title, weren't you? Returning it means you can borrow it first."
He paused for a moment, analyzing her reasoning. Maybe it was efficiency. Maybe something else.
"…Fine," he said, taking the book. "But you have a strange way of being kind."
Horikita smirked faintly. "Call it what you like."
I had been sitting nearby, half-distracted with my phone game, and overheard everything."Library trip, huh? I'm bored anyway. I'll tag along."
Ayanokōji gave me a flat look but didn't protest.And just like that, the two of us left the classroom together.
The library, as usual, was calm — a sanctuary of silence compared to the restless noise outside. The faint scent of paper, ink, and dust hung in the air, and the low hum of the heating system made the place feel like a cocoon.
Rows upon rows of neatly arranged books stood like silent sentinels, guarding stories from every era. I walked ahead, idly scanning the spines. Ayanokōji, however, walked straight toward the mystery section.
"You looking for another Chandler?" I asked, pretending to know what I was talking about.
"Something like that," he said, eyes tracing the shelves.
He reached for one of the higher rows when he noticed someone else nearby — a girl with shoulder-length light brown hair struggling to reach a book. She stretched her arm awkwardly, her fingertips brushing against the spine of a classic title.
Without thinking, Ayanokōji stepped closer and plucked it from the shelf effortlessly.
"Here," he said, holding it out.
She turned to him, blinking once, then smiled gently."Thank you… oh, this is Wuthering Heights, isn't it?"
Her voice was calm, almost melodic — the kind of tone that suited quiet places.And that was when I recognized her too. Hiyori Shiina, from Class C.
Ayanokōji nodded slightly. "You like that author?"
"Not particularly," she said. "It was just misplaced, so I thought I'd put it back." She took the book with both hands, careful not to let their fingers brush. "You're from Class D, right? Ayanokōji-kun?"
"That's right," he replied.
Her eyes sparkled faintly as she looked at the book he was holding — Farewell, My Lovely. "Ah, that one. It's been quite popular lately. Many of the second years are reading it."
"Really?" he said. "I didn't know."
"I reread it last week," she added softly. "It's one of Chandler's more poetic works. You'll like it."
He gave a polite nod. "I'll keep that in mind."
For a moment, silence hung between them — the kind that felt natural rather than awkward. Then, Hiyori tilted her head. "Are you looking for another book?"
"I might borrow one more," he said.
"Then, allow me to recommend something," she said, her eyes brightening like a child about to share a secret.Before he could respond, she began listing titles. "Whose Body by Dorothy L. Sayers, or perhaps something by John Dickson Carr? Oh, and if you like American detectives, Lawrence Block's Eight Million Ways to Die is quite moving…"
Her words came out quickly, her enthusiasm breaking through her usual calm demeanor. Ayanokōji blinked, a little taken aback. Even I, standing a few steps away, couldn't help but smirk.
Finally realizing how much she'd said, Hiyori stopped abruptly and blushed. "Ah— sorry. I didn't mean to ramble."
"It's fine," Ayanokōji said. "I was just… surprised."
Her smile returned — smaller this time, more genuine. "You're not much of a talker, are you?"
"Something like that."
Then, without hesitation, she asked, "Would you like to have lunch together?"
That one caught him off guard. Even I raised an eyebrow.
"Lunch?" Ayanokōji repeated. "With you?"
"Yes," she said, nodding earnestly. "I rarely find people who enjoy reading. No one in Class C really understands. I'd like to talk to someone who does."
He looked at her for a moment, calculating the possible motives. Could it be Ryūen's doing? A trap? Or was it simply a lonely girl reaching out?
She must've noticed his suspicion because she smiled wryly."If you're thinking Ryūen ordered me to, you're wrong. I only do the bare minimum for him so he won't bother me."
"…I see," he said slowly. "You're an interesting person."
"Interesting?" she repeated, tilting her head. "Is that a compliment?"
"Hard to say," he replied. "Maybe you're even creepier than Ryūen in some ways."
She laughed softly. "I'll take that as a compliment, then."
With that, they left the library together — and I decided to head back to the dorm, letting them have their little literary lunch.
Ayanokōji and Hiyori arrived at the cafeteria, which was packed as usual. After scanning the options, he went for the daily special — grilled fish with miso soup and rice.
Hiyori stood beside him, staring indecisively at the menu board, murmuring softly. "Maybe… this? Or that? But the fish looks nice too…"
"You can take your time," Ayanokōji said.
"No, no," she said quickly. "I'll have what you're having."
She smiled sheepishly as she received her tray. "Sorry. I'm always bad at choosing."
"It's fine," he said. "Most people are."
When they reached a table, he noticed she was struggling to carry both her tray and her bag. Without thinking, he took the bag from her hand.It was heavier than expected — much heavier.
"What do you keep in here?" he asked.
"Books," she replied. "Of course."
He should've guessed.
They sat opposite each other, the hum of conversation fading into background noise. Hiyori picked up her chopsticks with graceful precision, her movements slow and refined. She ate quietly, occasionally glancing at him as though measuring his reactions.
"I don't come to the cafeteria often," she said softly. "It's… louder than I thought. But I don't mind returning again."
Ayanokōji nodded. "It's efficient. Cheap too."
She smiled faintly. "Practical as ever."
For a while, they talked about authors — Chandler, Christie, Ellery Queen. At one point, she took out a small pouch from her bag and revealed four books.
"William Irish, Ellery Queen, Lawrence Block, and Isaac Asimov," she listed. "Have you read any of them?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Good selection. But these aren't from the library."
"No," she said. "They're mine. I keep them so I can lend them to someone who shares my taste."
"That's… quite something," he said, accepting one. "I'll take this one — The Siamese Twin Mystery, by Ellery Queen."
"Excellent choice," she said warmly. "It's one of my favorites."
As he slipped the book into his bag, he couldn't shake a faint sense of unease. Something about her friendliness felt too deliberate — but not malicious. Just… unusual.
Still, he had to admit: it was pleasant.It had been a long time since he'd talked to someone about something that wasn't strategy, manipulation, or competition.
Maybe, just maybe, this was what normal students did.
Meanwhile, in another corner of the dormitory, I was busy trying to survive my own battle — with the frying pan.
"Don't you dare burn," I muttered, watching the omelet sizzle. "You're my lunch, not my enemy."
Behind me, Ibuki lay sprawled across my bed, flipping through a comic book, legs swinging lazily. She looked perfectly at home — too much so, in fact.
I turned around. "Hey, Ibuki, why are you here anyway? You usually hate coming to my room."
She didn't look up. "Bored."
"That's it?" I asked, incredulous. "You walked all the way here because you're bored?"
She shrugged. "Your room's warmer. And quieter."
I sighed. "You could've just said you missed me."
She finally looked up, frowning. "Don't make me hit you."
I grinned. "There it is. Classic Ibuki."
Turning back to the stove, I flipped the omelet successfully and plated it."Lunch's ready. And no, I'm not eating anything you cooked. Not after last time."
Her eyebrow twitched. "That was fine."
"It was raw chicken."
"…I misjudged the heat."
I chuckled. "You misjudged life, Ibuki."
She rolled her eyes but sat up, accepting the plate I handed her. "Smells decent, I guess."
"That's the nicest thing you've said to me all week," I said, sitting beside her. "So what comic is that?"
"Just something from the common room," she said between bites. "You wouldn't like it."
"Try me."
She paused, then tossed it over. "Romance."
"…Yeah, you're right."
For a while, the two of us ate quietly, the only sound being the faint hum of my heater. Despite her usual snark, there was something comfortable about the silence — the kind of peace you didn't realize you'd been missing until it was right there beside you.
While I lounged in my room with Ibuki, somewhere else in the cafeteria, Ayanokōji and Hiyori finished their meal.
"Thank you for joining me," she said as they stood. "It was… refreshing."
"Likewise," he said. "I'll return the book soon."
"No rush," she replied. "Books are meant to travel. I'm happy if they find the right reader."
As they parted ways, Ayanokōji watched her go — her small frame moving through the crowd with quiet grace, disappearing like a ripple in still water.
He thought about her words, her strange warmth, her unreadable smile.Was she an ally, a threat, or simply someone searching for a little human connection?
He couldn't say for sure.
By the time the day ended, the snow outside had stopped, leaving the campus blanketed in soft white. The library lights glowed faintly in the distance — like beacons calling for solitude.
Back in the dorm, I sat at my desk gaming while Ibuki snored softly on my bed, her comic still open beside her.I looked at her and sighed.
"Guess even warriors need naps," I muttered.