Chapter 3
Emilia Laurent did not wake up thinking about Ren Takahashi. She woke up thinking about improvement, strategy, and control.
But as she tied her hair neatly behind her shoulders and caught a glimpse of her own faint lavender eyes in the mirror, something from yesterday lingered stubbornly in her mind.
"Je pourrais tomber amoureuse... fais attention." [I might fall in love... be careful.]
She had said it casually. Strategically. But she had watched him with clinical precision afterward, and she had undeniably seen it: the pause, the sudden spike of tension. He wasn't immune; he was just remarkably disciplined. Which, in her eyes, only made this whole game infinitely more interesting.
Seiryo Academy hums with comfortable normalcy the next morning. Shoes line the entryway lockers, students shuffle lazily through the hallways, and someone laughs just a bit too loudly near the corner. Emilia walked through it all with complete composure. Second place no longer felt like a humiliation. Now, it felt like motivation.
But the moment she stepped over the threshold into the classroom, she noticed something that stopped her in her tracks.
Ren was already there. And he was smiling.
It wasn't one of his faint, polite acknowledgments, either. He was smiling genuinely.
Across from him stood Hana Mori. She was the picture of pure sunlight energy wrapped in a school uniform, her short honey-blonde hair tucked neatly behind her ear and her bright amber eyes flashing with amusement. She was laughing, and Ren was saying something in response.
Emilia froze just inside the doorway.
That smile on his face—it was softer than the one he gave Kaito. It was less restrained, totally unaware, and completely comfortable.
She did not like that at all.
Yui bumped lightly into her back from behind. "Why did you stop—oh." Yui followed her gaze, her eyes lighting up. "Ooooh."
Emilia immediately resumed walking with calm, measured, and controlled steps.
"They're just talking," Yui whispered, keeping pace beside her.
"Yes."
"You look like you're preparing to assassinate someone."
"I am not."
"You are."
Emilia took her seat, opened her notebook, and kept her expression perfectly neutral. But she watched.
Hana leaned slightly forward as she spoke, and Ren tilted his head to listen, nodding along before laughing softly again. Emilia's pen pressed too hard against the paper until the ink blotted against the page.
Since when does he laugh like that? she thought, her mind churning with unexpected frustration. He doesn't laugh like that with me. Why would he, though? I'm not trying to make him laugh. That's not the point of any of this. Then why does it matter? It doesn't. It absolutely does not matter.
The teacher entered the room, and the students quickly scattered toward their respective seats. Hana gave Ren one final, bright smile before heading back to her desk, and Ren turned forward.
Just like that, he was back to calm. Back to unreadable. Back to controlled. It was as if that burst of warmth had been entirely momentary.
Emilia did not look back at him. Not yet.
Halfway through the first period, the teacher posed a difficult question to the class. Hana raised her hand and answered it confidently and correctly. From two rows back, Ren glanced at her briefly in approval.
Emilia's jaw tightened. The reaction was subtle—almost completely imperceptible—but Emilia saw it anyway. Something entirely unfamiliar and unpleasant twisted sharply in her chest.
Yui leaned slightly toward her desk. "You're glaring again."
"I am observing."
"Same thing."
Emilia closed her notebook with painstaking care. If this was a competition, it was clearly no longer just academic.
During the break between classes, Hana approached Ren's desk again. Emilia pretended not to notice, which required far more effort than she would ever care to admit.
"Thanks for explaining that solution yesterday," Hana said, leaning against the edge of his desk.
Ren shrugged faintly. "It wasn't complicated."
"It was to me," Hana replied, smiling brightly. "You're just really good at simplifying things."
There it was again—that easy smile, that natural comfort. Ren shifted slightly in his chair, looking a little self-conscious. "You would've figured it out on your own."
Hana laughed. "You're too nice."
Emilia's chair scraped faintly against the floor as she stood up. Both Hana and Ren glanced up at the sound. Perfect.
Emilia walked toward them with unhurried, graceful steps. "Hana," she said smoothly.
Hana's face lit up instantly. "Emilia! Congratulations on second place!" There wasn't an ounce of malice in her tone—just pure, painful sincerity.
Emilia maintained her poise, offering a practiced smile. "Thank you." She shifted her gaze briefly to Ren before locking eyes with Hana again. "You two seemed quite comfortable discussing exam strategy just now."
Hana tilted her head slightly. "Oh, Ren was just explaining a problem to me."
"Did he?" Emilia turned toward him fully now, giving him her absolute, undivided attention. "Tu sembles très occupé." [You seem very busy.]
Her tone was light—almost playful. Ren met her gaze, his expression characteristically calm. "Just talking."
That simple answer irritated her far more than it should have. "Tu souris plus avec elle." [You smile more with her.]
The words slipped out much sharper than she had intended. Hana blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the atmosphere. "Sorry?"
Emilia blinked once, her immaculate composure returning in an instant. "Nothing."
Hana laughed a little awkwardly. "Oh! Right, French. You're always so cool when you switch languages like that."
"It's a habit," Emilia replied with a polite, dismissive smile.
She looked at Ren one last time. He was watching her much more carefully now. He didn't look confused, and he certainly didn't look indifferent. He was simply watching her every move. Good.
She turned to leave, but before she took a step away, she leaned slightly closer to him—not enough for Hana to notice, but just enough for him to catch her scent.
"Tu es jaloux quand je parle à d'autres garçons ?" [Are you jealous when I talk to other boys?]
Her voice was soft and perfectly measured—a direct, dangerous challenge.
Ren's fingers tightened faintly around the edge of his desk. That's new, he thought, a sudden spike of adrenaline hitting him. She's testing something. But why? Is she actually—no. Don't assume anything.
Outwardly, he kept his expression steady and simply countered, "Are you?"
Emilia's eyes widened a fraction of a millimeter. That was absolutely not the answer she had expected from him. She straightened up slowly, her gaze sharpening. "Je n'ai aucune raison de l'être." [I have no reason to be.]
Their gazes locked, and neither of them looked away immediately. The tension hummed in the tight space between them, thick and undeniable.
Then, Hana spoke up again, completely oblivious to the silent battlefield. "Are you two studying together after school? Because I was thinking—"
"No," Emilia said smoothly.
At the exact same time, Ren murmured, "Not today."
They both paused, the simultaneous refusal hanging in the air. Hana laughed lightly, looking back and forth between them. "You two are weirdly synchronized."
Emilia stepped back, reasserting her immaculate posture. "Excuse me."
She returned to her seat, her heart beating significantly faster than it should have been.
Why did I say that? she thought, staring blankly at the front chalkboard. That wasn't strategic at all. That was... impulsive. I don't care if he smiles at her. I don't. Then why on earth did I ask him that?
She refused to look back at him for the rest of the period—a task that proved to be noticeably more difficult than she had anticipated.
From two rows back, Ren watched her from the corner of his eye just once. She noticed, he thought, his own chest tightening. That wasn't about the French language. That was about Hana. That was... jealousy? No. Maybe. Don't overinterpret this.
But deep down, he knew something fundamental had shifted. The competition had changed shape entirely, and neither of them had acknowledged it aloud. Yet.
Unnecessary Reactions
Emilia Laurent did not get jealous. Jealousy implied insecurity. Insecurity implied weakness. And Emilia Laurent was absolutely not weak.
She told herself this three times on the walk home, but the thought simply refused to settle. The image of Ren smiling at Hana replayed in her mind with irritating clarity: the angle of his eyes, the softness in his voice, and the complete absence of calculation. His behavior hadn't been polite; it had been easy. Which, to her, was utterly unacceptable.
At home, she set her school bag down onto her desk with far more force than usual. Her room remained immaculate, orderly, and entirely predictable—unlike her thoughts.
Sitting down at her desk, she opened her notebook to review tomorrow's material, but the words blurred together on the page. Instead, the echo of her own voice rang in her ears: "Tu souris plus avec elle." [You smile more with her.]
Why did I say that? she groaned internally, resting her forehead against her palms. That wasn't strategic. That wasn't measured. That was... personal.
Her fingers tightened around her pen. It shouldn't matter if he smiled at Hana. He was perfectly free to smile at anyone he pleased. Of course he was.
She leaned back in her chair slowly, staring up at her ceiling. Then why did it feel so incredibly wrong?
Across the city, Ren sat at the low dining table while Mina drew exaggerated, lopsided stars on a blank sheet of paper.
"Big brother," Mina said, her voice dropping into a serious tone. "You're quiet."
"I'm always quiet."
"Not like this."
He paused, his pen hovering over his homework. Mina squinted at him suspiciously from across the table.
"Did you do something bad?"
"No."
"Did someone make you mad?"
"...No."
Mina tilted her head, her crayon resting against her chin. "Did someone make you think too much?"
He exhaled a faint breath, a small smile tugging at his lips. "That might be closer."
She beamed triumphantly. "I knew it!"
He didn't tell her about Emilia. He didn't tell her about the French phrases, and he certainly didn't tell her about the specific question that had been echoing through his mind all evening: "Tu es jaloux quand je parle à d'autres garçons ?" [Are you jealous when I talk to other boys?]
He stared down at the grain of the wooden table. Was she jealous? No, that couldn't be it. She was far too composed, too controlled, and too entirely intentional. If she were actually jealous, she would never have let it show.
Right?
The next day at Seiryo Academy felt different—subtly, but noticeably so.
Emilia arrived earlier than usual, sitting at her desk with her back perfectly straight and her expression entirely neutral. When Ren entered the classroom, she made a conscious effort not to look up, a task that required far more willpower than she cared to admit.
He noticed. Of course he noticed. He set his bag down quietly, took his seat, and did not initiate a conversation. The distance between them felt entirely deliberate.
Good, she thought. If I created an imbalance yesterday, I will correct it today.
During the morning class, the teacher assigned a group review for the upcoming quiz, prompting the students to rearrange their desks into small clusters. True to form, Hana drifted toward Ren again. Of course she does.
Emilia watched from the corner of her eye as Hana leaned over his desk. Ren shifted slightly to give her space, looking neither uncomfortable nor overly comfortable—just perfectly neutral. But Emilia didn't miss the way Hana laughed at something he said.
Yui nudged her sharply. "Breathe."
"I am breathing."
"You're about to snap your pencil in half."
Emilia looked down and realized her grip had tightened to a dangerous degree. She loosened her fingers immediately, a wave of frustration washing over her. This was utterly ridiculous. She was reacting to absolutely nothing. Ren was allowed to have conversations with whoever he wanted; she did not own his attention. In fact, she didn't even want his attention.
She wanted his reaction. That was entirely different. Wasn't it?
When the teacher finally called the class back to order, Hana returned to her seat and Ren looked toward the front again. Right then, Emilia came to a firm decision. Fine. If proximity unsettles me, then I will simply have to control the proximity.
When class ended, she rose smoothly and walked toward the back of the room once more. This time, there was no academic excuse, no assignment, and no mandatory pairing. There was just empty space.
Hana was still standing beside Ren's desk. Perfect.
Emilia stopped just close enough to insert herself naturally into their space, forming a tight triangle. "Hana," she said lightly, "are you struggling with today's material?"
Hana blinked, surprised by the sudden offer. "A little, yeah."
"I can help."
Hana smiled gratefully. "That would be amazing, thank you!"
Emilia shifted her gaze to Ren, keeping her expression calm and measured. "Tu veux rester ?" [Do you want to stay?]
The question was soft, but it carried a sharp edge. Ren studied her face closely. She was smiling, but her eyes were entirely cold.
"I can," he replied evenly.
They sat down—the three of them—and the air around the desks tightened instantly. Emilia explained the concept clearly and efficiently, and Hana listened attentively. Ren watched both of them, immediately noticing the subtle shift in Emilia's tone. It was precise and polished, but delivered slightly faster than usual. It was almost... competitive.
At one point, Hana leaned closer to Ren to glimpse something in his notebook, their shoulders nearly touching. Emilia's explanation faltered for a fraction of a moment. Half a second was enough.
She corrected herself immediately, but her thoughts slipped past her lips before she could stop them. "Tu es distraite." [You're distracted.]
She didn't realize she had said it aloud until Ren snapped his head up to look at her. Hana tilted her head in confusion. "Sorry?"
Emilia smoothed her expression instantly. "I said the equation can be distracting."
Hana nodded, completely buying it. "Oh, right."
Ren's eyes lingered on Emilia for a second longer. That wasn't about math, he realized, a quiet but crystal-clear truth settling in his chest. That was about me. She is jealous.
After Hana finally left, the classroom gradually emptied out. Ren began packing his bag while Emilia remained seated, pretending to review her notes. A heavy silence stretched between them until he finally spoke.
"You don't have to compete with her." The words were gentle, completely devoid of any accusation.
Emilia looked up slowly. "I am not competing."
He tilted his head slightly. "Then why were you trying so hard to prove something?"
She met his gaze fully now, forcing herself to remain calm and controlled. If she hesitated for even a moment here, she lost. "Perhaps," she said lightly, "I simply dislike losing."
"That wasn't about losing."
Her heartbeat stumbled. He sees too much.
Leaning back in her chair, she forced a faint, dismissive smile. Then, she murmured softly, "Tu réfléchis trop." [You think too much.]
Ren almost laughed. Almost. "Do I?"
"Yes."
She stood up, picked up her bag, and walked past him toward the door. But just before stepping out into the hallway, she paused. Without turning around to face him, she let one last line drop into the quiet room. "Je ne suis pas jalouse." [I'm not jealous.]
With that, she exited.
Ren sat there alone for several seconds. She absolutely is, he thought, a slow exhale escaping him. But why on earth does that make me feel... relieved?
The game was shifting. It was no longer about first place, or grades, or test scores. It was about something neither of them was willing to name just yet. And that, he knew, was far more dangerous.