Sunlight streamed through the store's large windows, illuminating the neatly arranged shelves. Koudo Ikusei High School's on-campus store rivaled a small department store in size, the air tinged with the faint scent of new products and a subtle fragrance of packaging.
Ayanokoji Kiyotaka pushed a shopping cart, his gaze sweeping over the shelves with calm precision. He selected a few basic necessities—a towel, a toothbrush, laundry detergent—all mid-priced and practical. For a monthly allocation of 100,000 points, such expenditures were negligible, yet he was accustomed to frugality.
"Another annoying coincidence," a cold, distant voice spoke beside him.
Ayanokoji turned. Horikita Suzune stood at the adjacent shelf, her posture rigid, eyes glancing briefly at him before returning to her task. In her hand, she held a plain, colorless shower gel, and in her shopping basket, the cheapest toothbrush and a simple white towel already rested.
"Don't be so wary of me," Ayanokoji said flatly. "We'll be desk mates from now on; please take care of me." He let his gaze linger on the unremarkable items in Horikita's basket, then added, "Although we've spoken in class, I still don't know your name. It wouldn't hurt to tell me, would it?"
Horikita's fingers traced the row of shower gel bottles without looking at him. She finally picked up the cheapest one and replied sharply, "It's fine if I refuse, isn't it?"
"Desk mates who don't know each other's names," Ayanokoji said evenly, "is a bit strange."
Her movements paused. The remark—direct and awkwardly blunt—seemed to momentarily unsettle her. After a few seconds of silence, she responded coldly, as though completing an unavoidable task: "Horikita Suzune." Without another word, she placed the shower gel in her basket and turned away.
"Horikita…" Ayanokoji repeated softly. The surname, familiar from Student Council President Horikita Manabu, flickered briefly through his mind, though his expression remained unchanged. His gaze drifted over the meager items in her basket once more.
"Since the points are already given," he said, picking up a more elegantly packaged, subtly scented shower gel and holding it out, "why not try something different? Experiencing something new isn't bad."
Horikita didn't look at the bottle. Her gaze remained forward as she began pushing her cart toward the checkout, voice as cold as ice: "There's no need." Her wine-red uniform moved with her, radiating stubborn aloofness.
Ayanokoji watched her retreating figure, then placed the shower gel back on the shelf with neutral composure. He pushed his cart and followed toward the checkout.
The line was not long. Ayanokoji scanned his surroundings habitually—but then his attention was drawn to a figure at the store entrance.
Sakamoto.
Ayanokoji's gaze narrowed. He had seen him by the classroom window, had discreetly inquired about him—First Year, Class A. Now, Sakamoto entered the store with a composed gait, hands naturally at his sides, his stride as measured as if strolling through a private garden. His well-fitted wine-red uniform outlined his tall figure, and his gaze behind black-rimmed glasses swept over the store with the calm appreciation of someone observing a living exhibition.
Without hesitation, Sakamoto did not approach the display of dazzling goods. Instead, he walked directly to the store's most inconspicuous corner: the Free Pick-Up Zone. A few simple shelves displayed the most basic items, crude in packaging, with a prominent sign indicating they were provided at no cost.
Ayanokoji recalled the handbook: the school offered minimal daily necessities for free, but only the barest essentials.
Sakamoto stopped in front of the free items. Without hesitation or embarrassment, he began selecting items with elegant precision. His slender fingers moved fluidly, lifting a plain, rectangular white bar of soap as if it were a smooth piece of jade. A flick of his wrist settled it neatly into his open left palm, each motion deliberate, effortless, and composed.
Next, Sakamoto picked up the most basic plastic-handled toothbrush. He didn't look at the bristles; instead, he pinched the middle of the handle with his thumb and forefinger, twirling it lightly and rhythmically, as if it were a pen in a delicate exercise of dexterity.
Finally, he took a bottle of equally plain, unscented shampoo. Rather than gripping it, he cradled the bottom with his index, middle, and thumb, his pinky slightly raised, as if holding a cup of sake.
He did not use a bag or basket. The white soap rested in his left palm; the toothbrush and shampoo were held in his right, his fingers supporting each with careful balance. The three simple items, handled with such elegance, seemed transformed into a quiet work of art.
He stood upright, his posture as straight as a pine tree. Behind his black-rimmed glasses, his gaze was calm, unruffled, and precise. The afternoon sunlight caught him just so, turning an ordinary selection of free necessities into a strikingly composed tableau.
Ayanokoji noticed that Horikita Suzune, ahead of him in line, subtly shifted her head. Her eyes flicked toward the Free Pick-Up Zone. The moment her gaze landed on Sakamoto and the three items in his hands, a complex ripple of emotion passed through her. Recognition, shock, and perhaps a quiet awe crossed her features—she understood, instinctively, that this was the boy from Class A. That effortless grace in holding the simplest items… it left her momentarily speechless. Her fingers tightened slightly on her basket, and her lips parted as if to ask a question, yet no words emerged.
Sakamoto appeared to finish his selection. He did not approach the checkout, nor did he acknowledge any gaze directed at him. Instead, he shifted his stance, scanning the area with calm precision, and then stepped forward. His movements were steady, fluid, and unhurried; his arms swung naturally, shoulders squared, back straight. With soap in one hand and brush and shampoo in the other, his posture exuded effortless composure.
Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, outlining his tall frame in gold. Even the humble free items in his hands seemed imbued with an almost ethereal brilliance.
Soft whispers rippled near the checkout, punctuated by a few admiring gasps:
"He's from Class A…?"
"So cool…"
"His posture… unbelievable."
"He just walked out like that? Didn't he need to pay?"
"What he's holding… all from the free zone!"
Sakamoto appeared oblivious. He passed through the parting crowd like a gentle breeze, vanishing into the bright exit, leaving behind only the faint, lingering scent of soap and an aura of calm authority.
Ayanokoji's gaze followed him, then dropped to his own cart with its modest, mid-priced items, and finally scanned Horikita's simple basket. Horikita remained frozen, her cool profile still facing the direction Sakamoto had gone. Her eyes carried lingering confusion, still processing the quiet yet overwhelming impression of the scene.