After listening to the class rep's explanation, Kuroba Akira more or less understood the situation.
He'd already suspected that her background wasn't ordinary—this more or less confirmed it.
The surname "Anri" likely belonged to some prestigious lineage, something along the lines of "Abe" in terms of legacy and weight.
That said, Akira—generally out of touch with social hierarchies—had no idea just how powerful the Anri family actually was.
But if she lived in Chiyoda, then odds were she grew up in the same world as the sons and daughters of bureaucrats—those government-brat kids raised inside family compounds nestled right next to the nation's power centers.
No matter how rich or flashy the nouveau riche got, they could never earn their way into that inner circle. Because those already inside had always been there—by birthright.
What surprised Akira most wasn't the family name or politics—it was the fact that her mother had actually explained all this to her.
In most elite households, parents wouldn't bother telling their children about these things so early. There was no need.
Let the kids mingle naturally. Even without arranged marriages, those within the circle would eventually grow up and marry each other anyway. "Freedom of choice" meant little when your only social sphere consisted of other privileged kids. The end result was still mutual reinforcement of power—intermarriages that locked class structures in place.
But Anri's mother had actively told her to distance herself from those childhood friends.
It almost felt intentional. As if the next generation of the Anri family was being steered away from the ruling elite.
Did that mean the Anri household was strong enough to stay outside the game?
Weren't they worried about being isolated—or even targeted?
After all, siding with the wrong people meant risking a political purge.
Still, Akira didn't want to overthink it. Power dynamics were too complicated, and it wasn't his world anyway. Not something a transmigrated orphan like him had any business stressing about.
All that really mattered was this: Anri had grown up knowing too much. She'd seen how murky and transactional elite friendships could be. That's why she kept a careful distance.
Nobody was in the wrong—it was all just a matter of positioning. Anri Hitomi was an Anri. Sumiya Ryouta was a Sumiya. Both names came with their own weight.
So really, Ryouta… you weren't hated.
Maybe, for Anri, that distance was her way of protecting what little remained of your friendship.
"…That's rough, Class Rep."
That was all Akira said after hearing her out—a quiet acknowledgment. He didn't say anything more. After all, no one got to choose where they were born.
Anri blinked. She hadn't told him the whole conversation with her mother—only a pared-down version—but he'd understood everything in one go.
His calm, understated reaction somehow made it all feel less heavy. As if maybe… it wasn't such a big deal after all.
She'd always thought letting go of her friends was an unforgivable weakness. That not having the resolve to protect them was proof of her own inadequacy. That's why she had always pushed herself harder.
But to Akira, it was… understandable?
Somehow, that left her feeling a little… annoyed.
Girls' emotions were strange that way. Not being taken seriously stung—even for someone like Anri Hitomi.
So she deliberately added:
"Just to be clear, Kuroba-kun, Sumiya-kun isn't my only childhood friend. There were five of us who used to play together. He wasn't even the one I was closest to."
"I know. He told me."
But the way she went out of her way to clarify it—made it seem like she was worried about being misunderstood.
"So… those other three childhood friends… don't tell me they're all guys too?"
Akira raised an eyebrow. Was this going to turn into a four-boss gauntlet where he had to fend off her entire childhood harem?
"My fake boyfriend must now fight off the Four Guardians!" Yeah, no thanks.
Surprisingly, Anri puffed up her cheeks a little, clearly offended.
"Of course not! Do I look like the kind of manipulative girl who only hangs out with boys?"
Honestly… you kind of do. Akira said nothing. But yeah, given her early exposure to human scheming, she definitely had a bit of "strategy brain" in her.
"There were three girls and two boys. Right now, only Sumiya-kun and Takanashi-chan go to our school. The other two went to a boys' school and a girls' school, respectively."
"Ohhh, I see."
Akira resumed eating, visibly relieved.
No Four Heavenly Childhood Friends to deal with. No threats to the bento pipeline. All good.
"After elementary school, we all drifted apart. I never expected to run into any of them again in high school, let alone end up in the same class as Sumiya-kun…"
"Sounds like your fates weren't fully cut off after all."
"Maybe… but even if we crossed paths again, I couldn't go back to being their friend. I'm the one who chose to let go."
"Well… your standards for friendship are pretty high, Class Rep."
Friendship meant different things to different people.
For some, just saying a few words made you acquaintances—maybe even friends.
But for others, "friend" was a weighty word. It meant genuine understanding, care, and mutual presence in each other's lives.
"Then, Kuroba-kun… would you say we're friends now?"
"I don't know what your criteria are, but from my side? Yeah, I've already decided you're my friend."
Akira's definition was simple: anyone who fed him was a friend. Anyone he had to feed? That was a freeloader.
The person who made him lunch? Top-tier best friend, no debate.
"I see…"
Anri's smile this time was genuine.
Because she had known what it meant to lose friends, she treasured those rare, honest connections.
The friends she had in the Literature Club now were ones she'd known since middle school. They had nothing to do with family status—only shared values, shaped over time.
But Akira… she'd only met him two days ago.
And he was a boy.
By her own definition, that probably wouldn't qualify as "friend" yet.
But just for today—she was willing to make an exception.
She liked him too much. This boy who seemed to understand her completely.
Someone she could talk to about anything. Who resonated with her, who felt familiar in all the right ways.
If I miss out on someone like this now, will I ever meet another?
She couldn't count on getting lucky again. So she'd make sure not to let him go.
She'd tie him down—wrap him tight in the cords of connection.
"…I think you're already my friend too, Kuroba-kun. A very close one."
Because a friend… is someone who stays by your side.
"So… let's be best friends for life, okay?"
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T/N: yippee best friends