With his weekend plans firmly locked in, Masao felt a fresh wave of motivation.
He immediately went online to book three tickets, the simple act solidifying his resolve before he turned back to his textbooks with renewed focus.
Midterm exams were looming, and his study sessions had intensified.
For the last several evenings, Yukinoshita had stayed behind after dinner at the Tanaka household to tutor him and Jahy.
His parents were enthusiastically cooperative, tactfully retreating to their rooms to give the students the entire living room and all the quiet they could need.
The arrangement benefitted Yukinoshita, too. She saved the time she would have spent preparing her own dinner, granting her more hours for her own rigorous review. Besides, she found that sharing the silent, determined space with someone else was far more motivating than studying alone.
A little after nine each night, Masao would walk her home. Both he and his parents had extended offers for her to simply stay the night, but she had gracefully declined every time.
While she genuinely appreciated the warm, familial atmosphere of the Tanaka home, staying overnight at a male classmate's house was a boundary she wasn't prepared to cross. Sharing meals and study sessions was the comfortable limit.
Masao took it in stride, but his parents couldn't hide their slight disappointment.
'He's still not there yet,' they thought. 'Come on, son, put in the effort and win her over!'
On another front, his phone kept him connected to Fujiwara Chika, who sent almost-daily messages. According to her, she was also buried in her books, so their chats were brief.
Even Eriri was deep in preparation for the midterms. Her mother, Sayuri Sawamura, mentioned that Eriri had been unusually distracted lately, her mind elsewhere, leading to frequent bouts of dozing off in class.
The culprit, it seemed, was an excessive amount of time spent reading Doujinshi. To avoid disaster, she now had to cram a week's worth of focus into a few days.
Masao was curious what kind of Doujinshi could possibly be so absorbing. His texted inquiry, however, was met with a verbal volley.
[Eriri]: Baka! Don't bother me. I'm studying. If I fail, it'll be all your fault!
Masao could only sigh.
'She needs to pace herself,' he thought. 'The pressure's gotten to her. Another soul claimed by exam stress.'
Trying to be a decent guy, he offered what he thought was sound advice.
[Masao]: Don't put too much pressure on yourself. If you're feeling stressed, do something you enjoy to unwind.
[Eriri]: Piss off!
The venom in that reply sparked a realization.
'Ah, of course. It must be that time of the month. Combined with exam pressure, no wonder her mood is so bad.'
Wanting to be genuinely helpful, he decided to offer one last piece of universally acknowledged, well-meaning guy advice.
[Masao]: Well, make sure you drink plenty of water. Stay hydrated.
His phone rang seconds later. The screen flashed with Eriri's name.
'She's calling?' he wondered. 'Are my texts not enough? Does she need to hear the comfort of my voice?'
He answered the call.
What greeted him was a torrent of what could only be described as Eriri's most… sincere, refined, elegant, and affectionately delivered well-wishes, NOT.
It was a virtuoso performance of creative invective, a symphony of frustration directed solely at him.
Masao stood frozen, phone pressed to his ear, listening in stunned silence. It took a long moment for his brain to reboot.
'Whoa. Since when did Eriri have this kind of firepower? I thought she was supposed to be the harmless, tsundere golden-retriever type?'
Having fully discharged her fury, Eriri hung up.
He scratched his head, baffled. He'd been used as a verbal punching bag.
Still seeking answers, he messaged Sayuri Sawamura to ask if Eriri had been upset about something lately.
After a moment of analysis, Sayuri replied with her diagnosis:
"Eriri draws Doujinshi too. You can't always apply a 'normal girl' filter to her. You need to run things through a 'Doujinshi' lens."
The hint was all Masao needed.
He switched his brain into the requisite, slightly corrupted gear and re-analyzed the entire exchange.
First, Eriri claimed her studies were suffering because of the "books" she was reading, and she was blaming him.
The answer was obvious: she was reading the Doujinshi he had lent her. She must have been "studying" them with intense dedication.
So, when he told her to "do something you enjoy to unwind" and to "drink plenty of water," from her perspective, steeped in the world of adult comics, it must have sounded like a lewd suggestion.
"No wonder she was so angry," he muttered to an empty room.
While their shared hobby allowed for candid discussions about Doujinshi art and tropes, that familiarity was confined to that specific context.
In everyday life, a clumsy, off-color hint from him would only come across as embarrassing and offensive.
He shook his head in resignation.
"It's my fault. My mind is too pure. I just can't tune into Eriri's wavelength."
He reflected on his error.
He hadn't worked quickly enough to raise his Friendship Level with her to the point where they could speak so freely without misunderstanding.
"To properly apologize," he mused, "I can only hope the System will grant me that one specific Doujinshi."
He didn't need to name it. The one with the heroine who bore a striking resemblance to a certain golden-haired, twin-tailed tsundere.
He was certain that receiving that particular work would make Eriri… overjoyed.
—
Immersed in the intense yet satisfying rhythm of studying, the days blurred together until it was suddenly Thursday.
Masao sat at his desk, a calm confidence settling over him as he waited for the exam to begin.
This was his favorite test-taking state: well prepared, his mind clear and full of knowledge, ready for the challenge.
His confidence even left him with the mental space to people-watch.
The classroom was a portrait of pre-exam anxiety. Some students sported pronounced dark circles, the badges of all-night cram sessions. Others frantically flipped through textbooks, a last-minute effort that was likely too little, too late. One student nearby was laying out an arsenal of test-taking tools—pens, erasers, rulers, and other gadgets Masao didn't even recognize.
'A true pay-to-win player,' he thought wryly, glancing down at his own humble pair of pencils and single eraser. 'Good enough. It's all I need.'
A few had already given up, their heads resting on their desks in surrender or confidence.
Masao's eyes also picked out a few shifty-looking characters whose nervous glances at their sleeves or water bottles were a dead giveaway.
'Tch. They can't even cheat properly. The teachers on the podium can spot that guilt from a mile away.'
Finally, his gaze drifted to Kawasaki Saki, who sat directly in front of him. She was stifling a yawn as she laid out her own pencils.
Despite their physical proximity, they were strangers in class. Kawasaki always arrived just before the bell, spent every break with her head buried in her arms, and vanished the moment the final bell rang.
Masao had never found an opening, nor the right words, to even begin a conversation.
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