The final bell's chime was still hanging in the air as Professor Kareth paused at the doorway, her silhouette framed against the bright hallway. She cast one last, meaningful look back into the classroom.
Prof. Kareth: Remember, I am collecting the assignment tomorrow. No excuses, no 'my partner vanished into thin air.' Her eyes flickered almost imperceptibly toward Shiro's slumbering form. Well then, class is over.
With a final swish of her robes, she was gone, leaving behind a room buzzing with sudden energy and the distinct scent of impending deadlines.
At his desk, Shiro was a monument to peace, his breathing deep and even, his white hair splayed out around him like a halo. That peace, however, was fragile. Arien, seated beside him, watched him for a long moment, her pen tapping a slow, rhythmic countdown on the wooden surface. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was a predator's patience, a warning before the strike. When the tapping ceased, she didn't just slam the desk; she put her entire body weight into it, a thunderous
BANG!
that made the neighboring students jump and sent a physical jolt through the furniture straight into Shiro's skull.
He jolted upright, not with a gasp, but with a disoriented snort. His instincts, apparently wired for physical recalibration, took over. He promptly began punching the side of his own head-thump, thump, thump, thump, thump-as if trying to knock his brain back into its proper alignment.
Arien: Let's do the partner assignment. Now. Or we will literally never do it, she declared, her voice leaving no room for negotiation.
Shiro, still rhythmically tapping his temple, tilted his head, his ears seemingly ringing too loudly to process her words. A strange, almost foreign emotion flickered across Arien's face-a twinge of guilt. It softened her features for a heartbeat, and a small, apologetic smile touched her lips.
Arien: Sorry, sorry. It didn't hurt, right?
Shiro: I'm fine. This much is nothing compared to.....
He stopped dead. His sentence trailed off into nothingness. His eyes, previously glazed with sleep, sharpened in an instant, darting to the right as if tracking a fleeting shadow. He spun his head halfway around, his gaze scanning the empty space between the bookshelves with an intensity that was unnerving.
Arien: What's wrong?
She leaned in, her brows furrowing as she studied him. This wasn't his usual lazy confusion. This was different.
Arien: You're acting different today. Did something happen? For real.
Shiro: Nahh, it's nothing, he deflected, his voice dropping. And nothing's changed. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as her. He placed both palms flat on the desk, as if to steady himself. Let's get started, then. So, who's going first?
Arien, deciding to table her suspicion for now, pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and a pen, meticulously writing numbers down the margin.
Arien: Let's begin with you. First question: your full name.
Shiro: Shiro Asahina. It was automatic, rote.
Arien: Age and birthplace.
Shiro: Age 17. And Kaisen Town.
The scratch of her pen was the only sound for a moment. Then she paused, her head snapping up to look at him, her eyes wide with genuine surprise.
Arien: You were born here? In this town?
Shiro: ...... The silence this time was heavy, loaded. He held it for a long moment before letting out a quiet, almost inaudible, Yes.
Arien: Hmmm, well, that's... good to know. She made a note, underlining it slightly. She was reassessing him, piece by piece. Then, your favorite food and hobby.
Shiro: For hobby, it's sleeping. That, at least, was a given. And for food... hmmmmmm.
He fell deep into thought, his hand moving from his chin to scratch roughly at his scalp, tousling his white hair. He looked genuinely conflicted, as if accessing a corrupted file in his memory.
Shiro: It may be apple... no, orange... no, no, hmm... rice? He seemed baffled by his own suggestion. Rice?
Arien: Ahhh, just say anything! she exclaimed, her patience fraying.
Shiro: Amm, amm, amm... oh! Meat bun. Yes, meat bun. He landed on the answer with a sudden, decisive nod.
Arien put her hand to her forehead, a long-suffering sigh escaping her.
Arien: With all the foods in this world-spiced dragon-fin, honey-glazed sun-berries, literally anything-you go with a street vendor's meat bun?
Shiro, however, looked inordinately proud of his choice, a faint, genuine smile appearing.
Shiro: Yap. Meat bun.
Arien: Okay, she said, scribbling it down with a flourish. That'll be all, then.
Shiro: Really? So it's your turn now, right? He perked up, a glint of mischief returning to his eyes.
Arien: Yap. Here, use this. She slid the paper and pen over to him.
Shiro straightened up, puffing out his chest in a comical impression of Professor Kareth. He cleared his throat.
Shiro: Sooo, tell me yo-
Arien: My name is Arien Solvine, and I was born in Lunareth. She fired off the information rapid-fire, cutting him off before he could even properly begin. What are you doing? Write them down!
Shiro's proud posture deflated instantly. He looked heartbroken, robbed of his moment to play interrogator.
Shiro: Slow down, then! I'm not good at speed writing. Okay, go. But slower!
Arien: I'm 17 years old, and I don't have any siblings. It's my mom, dad, and me. My hobby is... hmmmm, hmmm... She trailed off, actually stumped.
Shiro: Why? he asked, looking up from his slow, laborious writing.
Arien: She looked genuinely startled, as if no one had ever asked. I... I don't have a hobby.
Shiro: Then make one up, he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
Arien: Hmmm... reading.Yes, let's go with reading. She said it with the air of someone selecting a tool, not a passion.
Shiro: Got that, he mumbled, tongue between his teeth as he concentrated on forming the letters.
Arien: My Art Style is Air, and my favorite food is grapes. She delivered the last piece of information with finality.
Shiro: Okkk, wait a second! He pointed the pen at her accusingly. You didn't ask me about my Art Style?
Arien: Do you have one? she asked, genuine curiosity in her tone.
Shiro's face went blank. The pen lowered.
Shiro: Oh... It was a soft sound, full of something unreadable.
Arien: Then it's done. Let's head to the canteen. She stood up, decisively ending the conversation.
The moment the word canteen left her lips, Shiro's entire demeanor shifted. The pensiveness vanished, replaced by a spark of primal anticipation. He was on his feet in an instant, the forgotten assignment paper crumpled in his hand. To any observer, he was a man single-mindedly focused on his next meal.
Their timing was impeccable. They arrived at the canteen just as the interval bell rang, earning them the coveted first spots in line. The air was thick with the smell of freshly baked bread and simmering stews. Arien quickly ordered a simple bun. Shiro, however, didn't order. He just... stared. His eyes scanned the menu board, then the steaming trays of food, with a strange, detached emptiness. It was as if he was looking at a painting of a feast he'd already consumed.
Arien: Well? What do you want? she prompted, growing impatient.
He stood there, a statue of indecision, for what felt like an age. The lunch lady tapped her ladle. Finally, after a visible internal struggle, he spoke, his voice flat.
Shiro: I don't want any.
He turned and walked away, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. The servers exchanged confused glances. This was Shiro. The human vacuum. The boy who'd once mourned a dropped meat bun like a lost family heirloom. Now he was walking away from a full buffet?
He found an empty table and sat down, his back to the food line. Arien followed, sliding into the seat opposite him, her small bun forgotten.
Arien: There's really something different about you today, she said, her voice low and serious. You're... off.
Shiro: I'm fine, he insisted, not meeting her eyes. It's just... I already ate all of that before. The excuse was weak, and they both knew it.
Just then, as the canteen began to fill with the roar of hungry students, a voice cut through the din-distant, hesitant, but clear.
Shiro...?
A figure weaved through the tables toward them. It was Sato. He offered a shy, tentative smile.
Sato: Hi. Guess we did meet after all.
Shiro: Ya. Shiro's greeting was a non-committal grunt.
Arien's eyes narrowed. She looked from Sato's polite, slightly nervous face to Shiro's closed-off expression. Then back again. A slow, dawning, and utterly horrified understanding spread across her features. She slowly turned to stare at Shiro, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated disgust.
Shiro, catching her look, recoiled as if struck.
Shiro: You've got it wrong! And don't look at me like that, you maniac! he hissed, his cheeks flushing.
He gestured wildly at Sato.
Shiro: This is Satoshi. Satoshi... uh... Kobayashi. He's my roommate. The last word was dragged out like a confession.
Sato: That took some time, Sato noted dryly, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Arien: Roommate? Arien's voice was sharp with disbelief. You guys don't have separate rooms?
Shiro: If you tell me you have your own room, I will curse this academy to fall to its last brick, he grumbled, slumping in his seat.
Arien: We do. She said it simply.
The color drained from Shiro's face. He looked toward the ceiling as if appealing to the gods.
Shiro: I will curse this academy to fall to its last brick. Oh. The defeat in his voice was palpable.
He then gestured limply toward Arien.
Shiro: This is Arien Solvine. She was my-my-
Before he could fumble for a definition, Arien's foot connected sharply with his shin under the table. He yelped.
Arien: Friend. I'm his friend, she stated firmly, offering Sato a polite, if slightly strained, smile. It's nice to meet you. Kobayashi.
Sato: Same to you, Solvine, he replied with a formal little nod.
Shiro: Why don't you two use first names? Shiro asked, rubbing his sore leg. This is painful to watch.
In perfect, unnerving sync, Arien and Sato turned to him and spoke simultaneously.
Both: Maybe you're not, but people consider things like that.
They blinked at each other, surprised by their shared thought. A moment of understanding passed between the two seemingly normal people in the presence of the chaotic Shiro.
Shiro: Heh heh heh. A tired, knowing chuckle escaped him.
The bell for the next class rang, shattering the moment. All three of them rose. Sato gave a small, parting wave.
Sato: See you later, Shiro. It was nice to meet you, Solvine.
He melted back into the crowd, heading for his LR class. As Shiro and Arien walked out of the canteen, the noise fading behind them, Arien nudged him with her elbow.
Arien: That guy was nice. Polite. Not like you at all.
Shiro: Is that so? he murmured, his mind already seeming elsewhere.
Arien: I didn't ask you before, she said, changing the subject as they entered the bustling main hall. But what other subjects are you taking? You're in SR, so you must have specialized combat theory, right?
Shiro stopped walking. He looked at her, his head tilted in genuine, blank confusion.
Shiro: What other subjects?
Arien: Eh? She stared at him, her confidence faltering.
Shiro: Eh? he echoed, completely lost.
The realization dawned on Arien that she might, in fact, be partnered with a person who had no idea what was happening to him 90% of the time. She let out a long, deep sigh, the kind that held the weight of a thousand future frustrations.