To be honest, Kuroba Akira had no desire to get into a conflict with this guy. Just thinking about it was a headache.
Someone like this bleached-hair type—with popularity and probably a small army of loyal bros—getting on his bad side meant you weren't just dealing with one person, but an entire posse.
Threats, social exclusion, bullying… none of that really scared Akira. He just didn't want to waste energy or time on childish nonsense. What mattered right now was figuring out a way to make money.
But since he'd already taken on the class rep's request—and promised to help resolve the Literature Club's membership crisis—he couldn't exactly just sit back and freeload. You eat someone's food, you owe them. You take someone's hand, you do the work.
And now, Akira finally understood what the bento was really about.
So that's it… you want me to deal with this bootlicker, don't you, Class Rep?
Turns out that bento came with strings attached. If you wanted to eat, you had to deal with anyone else trying to snatch a bite.
Just as this thought passed through his mind, the bleached-blond guy reached his desk. But Anri Hitomi was standing protectively beside Akira's seat, blocking the path, making it impossible for him to come any closer.
He glanced at her with a complicated expression, then pointed at Akira.
"Hey. You. Step outside with me for a bit."
Sounded exactly like how a delinquent would challenge someone to a fight.
Step out, and it was fists and kicks.
Ugh, seriously? I don't want to fight. I hate pain.
So Akira started digging in his ear with his pinky, deliberately playing dumb.
"What, are you about to confess to me? Sorry, but I'm straight. Not into guys."
Fujiyoshi Michio stared in disbelief. Not only was Akira completely unfazed, he even had the nerve to say something so outrageous with a straight face. Is he actually not afraid of getting punched?
He's amazing… The usually timid Fujiyoshi now looked at Akira with newfound admiration.
And Akira's jab hit its mark. The blond's rage ticked up another level.
"No! I need to talk to you about something else!"
"Not going. It's lunch time. I'm hungry. I want to eat first."
You've got the nerve to eat?! I'm so pissed off I could skip a meal!
Blondie was clearly getting anxious. But he couldn't just drag Akira out in front of everyone. A stunt like that would definitely get the teachers' attention—maybe even a suspension…
And that was something he couldn't risk.
But he also couldn't stand watching the opportunity he'd worked so hard to create get stolen right from under his nose.
Who the hell even is this guy?! Where did he come from?! Why was he the one invited into the Literature Club? By Hitomi herself, no less!
"By the way, who even are you? If you're gonna talk to me, at least introduce yourself first."
The blond drew a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. With the last shred of patience, he gave his name—and his reason for confronting Akira.
"…I'm Sumiya Ryouta. I just want to know how you got into the Literature Club."
Sumiya Ryouta. Akira silently logged the name.
Up until now, he'd just filed this guy under "bootlicker." But seeing how Ryouta was able to tamp down his temper and talk things out, even after being provoked, Akira's impression shifted—just a little.
Maybe he's not just some delusional frog drooling over a swan.
Besides, judging by looks alone, Ryouta didn't exactly scream "frog." He was an 85-out-of-100-level pretty boy—none of that greasy, scumbag vibe that manga yellow-haired punks tended to radiate.
Still, being good-looking didn't guarantee a girl's favor. In fact, sometimes being too good-looking created a kind of distance—like you were too perfect to approach.
Shiginomiya Shion was proof of that. Her beauty was so absolute it erased even the thought of lewd intentions.
In the host club world, the top earners weren't always the most handsome—they were the ones who could talk, who could read people.
Akira figured his own features were reasonably well-aligned. As long as he kept a straight face, he could pass for a low-tier pretty boy.
In other words: as long as he kept his mouth shut, he could barely qualify as handsome.
But if he didn't speak, he lost his greatest weapon. If only there were experience levels for trash talk, I'd at least be Level 3 by now…
And looks had types, too. Some guys gave off that warm, approachable "nice guy" charm. Others were submissive "puppy" types, arrogant CEO types, clingy brats…
Akira? He was the deadbeat chaos gremlin type. Zero shame.
"That's something you should be asking the class rep. Why are you asking me?"
Typical Akira-style reply.
Before Sumiya Ryouta could explode again, Anri Hitomi stepped in, calmly pulling the attention and hostility back onto herself.
"Kuroba-kun is right. We're about to go eat lunch. Please don't cause a scene in class, Sumiya-kun."
"..."
That's when Ryouta's expression cracked.
Because he realized, with full clarity, that Anri Hitomi was actually taking Akira's side.
The real reason he'd panicked and confronted Akira so publicly was because—he knew. He knew that bento wasn't made for "the Literature Club."
Maybe the whole class had bought into Akira's explanation. But he knew Anri well enough to see through it. Anri Hitomi would never make lunch for a club.
In fact, she would never cook for anyone.
To her, cooking was just a checkbox in her "future bride training"—something forced on her, not something she enjoyed. A skill practiced purely to score points in marriage prospects. She'd never once treated it as an act of affection.
Which meant…
Sumiya Ryouta convinced himself that she was being forced to make lunch for Akira.
Maybe her parents had arranged a fiancé for her or something… No! It can't be! Hitomi wouldn't do that willingly!
When someone falls into a mental trap, they start thinking their imagined "truth" is the only reality.
That's how Sumiya Ryouta lost his grip—and said something he shouldn't have.
"Hitomi, you don't have to keep making him lunch!"
"…"
And just like that, Anri's smile vanished.
For someone as composed and friendly as Anri Hitomi, the absence of a smile was more terrifying than any shout.
Sumiya Ryouta knew exactly what that meant.
"You're out of line, Sumiya-kun. Who I make lunch for is my business. It has nothing to do with you. You're disturbing our lunch. Please leave. Now."
Damn, dude… you stepped on a landmine.
It really looked like the class rep was pissed.
Girls hated that kind of controlling, condescending talk. You'd better pray, Sumiya Ryouta.
Akira pressed his hands together silently in prayer. Rest in peace, brother.
But Anri wasn't finished.
"Who are you to me? Why should I take orders from you?"
Those words—spoken softly, without rage—stabbed deeper than any insult.
Unlike Akira's teasing earlier, these words cut straight to the soul.
And they hit Ryouta hard.
His face flushed bright red. His jaw clenched. He spat out a few words through gritted teeth.
"Ghh…! I'm your…!"
He wasn't shameless enough to say "boyfriend." That was a fantasy too far even for him.
What he wanted to say was "friend."
But the word got stuck in his throat.
Because now… he wasn't sure.
Were he and Anri Hitomi still friends?
As kids, he could've said it without hesitation: "Of course we're friends! Best friends!"
But now… he didn't know anymore.
In this moment, it hit him:
From now on, he and Anri Hitomi might not even be that.
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T/N: thats such an icjk