In one of the cafes within the school's commercial district, it was surprisingly quiet despite being a weekday—a minor anomaly that Makoto Yuki was grateful for. The atmosphere offered a different kind of isolation; not total silence, but a constant, non-intrusive background hum. Makoto walked in with his hands in his pockets, ordered a lunch set, and paid with his points without hesitation. He chose a seat in the farthest corner—a position he found comfortable. With his back against the wall, he had a 180-degree view that covered the entrance, the register, and the large windows overlooking the main thoroughfare of Keyaki Mall.
He ate quietly, his movements methodical and efficient. Around him, several tables were occupied by students immersed in light chatter about clubs or dormitory gossip. However, at a long table on the right side of the room, the atmosphere felt different. There was a gravity there—casual yet serious. A small group had gathered, about four female students and one blonde male student, all surrounding a single focal point.
What caught Makoto's attention, even as he tried to remain indifferent, was a petite girl sitting at the center of the group. Her hair was a silky, pale lilac, framing a face that radiated a calm almost unnatural for a teenager. A cane leaned against her chair, a simple medical tool that somehow looked like a symbol of authority beneath her slender hands. Her way of speaking was incredibly soft, almost effortless, yet every syllable that left her lips seemed to be intently scrutinized by the others.
Makoto took another spoonful of rice. Snatches of conversation drifted over amidst the clinking of silverware. One name surfaced repeatedly from their discussion.
'Katsuragi.'
Makoto didn't have enough context to understand who that was, and frankly, he didn't feel the need to find out. However, just as he was about to finish his drink, his gaze shifted naturally toward the group—and in an unexpected moment of synchronicity, his eyes met a pair of deep violet eyes.
The girl was staring at him. Directly. Without hesitation.
Makoto didn't look away immediately. His life experiences had trained him not to show excessive reactions to surprises. Seconds passed, creating an imaginary silence between them. Makoto simply gave a small nod—a subtle acknowledgment, the kind exchanged between strangers after an awkward, accidental crossing of paths. But the girl was the first to break eye contact, her movement calm and deliberate, as if she had finished processing a vital piece of data and felt satisfied.
Instantly, the dynamics at that table shifted drastically.
The girl whispered something brief, and in a flash, the volume of the group's conversation plummeted. They didn't whisper like people gossiping; rather, they switched to a tone that was controlled and efficient. Makoto realized he could no longer catch a single word.
'...The way she looked at me. Is there something on myface?'
Makoto took a napkin and casually wiped the corner of his mouth. Everything seemed normal. He filed the name "Sakayanagi," which he had overheard earlier, into his memory—a footnote that might prove useful later. After finishing his meal, he stood up and left without looking back.
---
The sunlight filtered through the café's glass panes, casting sharp, geometric shadows across the table. It was a mundane scene, one that Arisu Sakayanagi usually filled with the mental mapping of her future kingdom. Beside her, Masumi Kamuro leaned back with her usual look of guarded boredom, while Masayoshi Hashimoto sat with the relaxed posture of a man who always kept one eye on the exit.
Sakayanagi's gaze, however, was anchored elsewhere.
Across the room, sitting with a methodical, almost unnerving stillness, was a boy with deep blue hair. He wasn't doing anything remarkable—just eating—yet he occupied the space with a weight that felt distinct from the chattering teenagers surrounding him. When their eyes met, Sakayanagi felt a rare spark of genuine curiosity. Most people flinched, looked away, or offered a hollow smile when confronted with her stare. This boy did none of those. He simply acknowledged her presence with a gaze as vast and indifferent as the deep sea.
The contact broke as she chose to look away first, a small, enigmatic smile playing on her lips.
"Princess? Did you find something that caught your eye?" Hashimoto asked, his voice low but laced with his signature opportunistic edge. He had noticed the linger of her gaze.
"That boy..." Sakayanagi murmured, her voice like silk.
Kamuro shifted, her eyes following the direction of Sakayanagi's previous stare. "Ah, him? Isn't he the one who pulled a perfect score on the entrance exams? Rank one. If I remember correctly..."
"Makoto Yuki from Class B," Hashimoto interjected, already lifting his drink to take a casual sip. "To be honest, it's a bit of a shame he ended up in Class B. Based on the data, I thought for sure he'd be sitting among us in Class A. He's a bit of an anomaly."
"Fufu, I remember the name now. So, that's him?" Sakayanagi tilted her head slightly, her violet eyes shimmering with a calculated light. She didn't look at the data of Class B often, focusing mostly on the internal schism with Katsuragi, but Makoto Yuki was a variable that refused to be ignored.
"What is it, Sakayanagi? Fallen in love or something?" Kamuro quipped, her tone dry and blunt as always.
"That is a charming joke, masumi-san," Arisu replied, her smile widening just a fraction, though it didn't reach her eyes. "However, I suggest you all start controlling your voices. It would be a pity to give away our hand so early."
Hashimoto paused, his glass halfway to his lips. "...What do you mean?!"
"He seems to be listening," Arisu whispered.
The clique instinctively stiffened. Hashimoto felt a slight prickle of apprehension crawl up his spine. He glanced toward the corner where Makoto sat. The distance wasn't exactly 'close,' but it wasn't 'far' either—it was that deceptive middle ground where a sharp ear could pick up the cadence of a conversation if the environment was right.
Hashimoto tried to recall their volume. They hadn't been shouting, but they hadn't been whispering either. To be warned about eavesdropping at this range implied either extreme paranoia on Sakayangi's part or a terrifying level of perception on the part of the boy in the corner. Given Sakaya's track record, he banked on the latter.
"You're serious?" Hashimoto muttered, leaning in closer to the table, his voice now barely a breath of air. "I don't remember us being that loud."
"It isn't about how loud we are, Hashimoto-kun," Sakayanagi countered, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. "It is about how much he is capable of filtering. Look at him. He isn't just eating; he is existing in a state of constant, passive observation. A very dangerous habit for a 'normal' student to have."
Under sakayanagi's silent command, the atmosphere at the table shifted instantly. The idle gossip and casual speculation died away, replaced by a much more clinical, hushed dialogue. They moved their conversation into the shadows of the café's white noise, ensuring that not even a stray syllable reached the blue-haired boy.
Sakayanagi watched Makoto from the corner of her eye as he eventually stood up to leave. He didn't look back, didn't acknowledge them again, and moved with a gait that was neither hurried nor sluggish.
"Class B, led by Honami Ichinose, is full of well mannered students, right?" Sakayanagi mused to herself, watching the door swing shut behind him. "But if a wolf like that is hiding in a flock of such bright, earnest sheep... things might become much more entertaining than I anticipated."
She tapped her cane against the floor—a soft, rhythmic sound.
---
Makoto was walking back toward the Class B building through a relatively quiet corridor. His mind was drifting toward the grocery list he needed to buy that afternoon when a student from the opposite direction turned the corner with an overly aggressive stride.
Bruk.
The collision hit right at the shoulder. Makoto was jolted back a step, his heel scuffing against the clean floor. He managed to stabilize himself quickly.
"Hey, watch where you're going, moron!" the student barked immediately, his voice raspy and full of provocation.
"Sorry," Makoto said, his tone flat.
He regained his balance. His expression remained stoic, as if the outburst were nothing more than a passing breeze. He showed no signs of the fear typically expected by a bully, but he didn't counter with anger either. He just stood there, staring at the student in front of him—a young man with the unmistakable aura of a delinquent.
The student didn't immediately continue his verbal assault. He stared back into Makoto's clear blue eyes, searching for a flicker of fear or at least a hint of aggression he could use as an excuse to explode. However, all he found was a profound stillness.
As someone who had led a rough life due to street fights, his instincts told him not to mess with this type of person before seeing what they were truly capable of.
"...Tch. Who are you? What class?" he demanded. His voice was slightly higher than before—a defense mechanism to mask the sudden awkwardness he felt.
"Makoto Yuki. Class B," Makoto answered briefly.
The student eyed Makoto from head to toe with a searching gaze, as if scanning the specifications of a piece of hardware. After a few silent seconds, he pulled out his phone and typed something rapidly, his thumb moving nimbly across the screen.
"Cih, lucky you. Be careful next time, idiot," he grumbled, before gesturing for his two companions to keep walking.
Makoto stood still for a moment; it was clearly a rude and aggressive encounter. His eyes watched their retreating backs. In the quiet corridor, far from the sight of others, Makoto Yuki's blue eyes flickered with a brief, faint glow.
"...Pixie."
His voice was barely a murmur. He felt that something was off. That student's attitude—the question about his name and class—wasn't just typical delinquent bluster. It was purposeful.
"...Ishizaki from Class C," Makoto muttered to himself, then resumed his walk.
From what he could logically deduce, Class C might have already realized the hidden nature of this school. They weren't just wasting points; they were moving to map out information and trying to understand the school's intentions in their own way.
Still, on a personal level, it felt unpleasant. Were all Class C students this aggressive and rude? He thought back to his encounter in the library. Hiyori Shiina is also in Class C, isn't she? She was the polar opposite of the boy he just met. Perhaps the student earlier was just an outlier.
Makoto let out a short sigh, unwilling to spend his energy thinking about a trivial problem caused by a brat.
'Whatever their goal is, as long as they don't drag me into their mess or some trouble, I don't care.'
---
Makoto stepped into Class B exactly four minutes before the bell. The atmosphere was a stark contrast to the corridor—warm, loud with overlapping laughter, and radiating an effortless sense of unity. As he headed toward his window seat, an enthusiastic wave caught his eye.
"Ah, Yuki-kun! Over here for a second!" Amikura Mako called out with a bright grin.
Makoto turned to find a small circle formed around a cluster of desks. Honami Ichinose stood at the center, flanked by Chihiro Shiranami and Yume Kobashi, while Shibata So and Kanzaki Ryuji leaned against the nearby row.
"Quite a crowd..." Makoto murmured, stepping closer.
"Well, Shibata-kun was just telling us about a new menu item at the mall cafe for next month," Yume Kobashi chirped.
"Right! A limited-edition chocolate parfait," Chihiro added shyly. "We were thinking of all going together once everyone is free."
Ichinose let out a soft laugh. "You should come too, Yuki-kun, if you have the time. We haven't really celebrated finishing our first month here yet, have we?"
"Isn't May still ten days away...?" Makoto blinked, catching himself. "Oh, that's right. It's almost time."
Ichinose nodded warmly. "Everyone seems excited to welcome Golden Week."
"A parfait, hmm..." Makoto paused, considering. "Sounds good. But doesn't Shibata have a packed club schedule?"
"That's the challenge!" Shibata slapped Makoto's shoulder with easy camaraderie. "As a soccer player, I need the sugar rush to keep running. What about you, Kanzaki? Don't tell me you're going to decline again."
Kanzaki Ryuji, usually the picture of stoic discipline, let out a short sigh. "As long as it doesn't interfere with study hours, I don't mind. Besides, Ichinose is right. Strengthening class bonds is important."
"See! Even Kanzaki-kun is on board," Mako teased, lightly nudging Makoto's arm. "So, Yuki-kun? Don't tell us you'd rather hide in the library again."
Makoto looked at the earnest faces before him. There was no hidden agenda, no underlying pressure—just a simple invitation to be a high school student. The contrast to the cold calculations he'd observed earlier in the day allowed a rare sense of relaxation to settle over him.
"If nothing urgent comes up, I'll join," Makoto finally answered.
"Great! It's a plan then!" Ichinose clapped her hands together happily. "I'll send the details to the class group chat later."
The conversation drifted into trivial topics—from the monotony of English assignments to rumors of a new merchandise shop opening in Keyaki Mall—until the bell signaled the start of class. The group dispersed in an orderly fashion toward their respective seats.
As Makoto sat down and gazed out the window, a thought crossed his mind. For this moment, he was just Makoto Yuki: a Class B student planning to eat parfaits with his friends. It was an ordinary daily life, yet in this school, it felt like something worth protecting.
---
After school
The sun was beginning to dip lower when Makoto sat in a small restaurant in the heart of the school's shopping area. He had just finished his business at the library and was feeling a bit hungry. At the table directly next to him, a tall young man with shoulder-length blonde hair sat in a very conspicuous manner.
The young man leaned back with total relaxation, nearly sliding off his chair as if the laws of gravity didn't apply to him. Two girls by his side talked enthusiastically, occasionally laughing flirtatiously and trying to grab his attention.
Makoto glanced over briefly, momentary surprised by the contrast of the aura at that table, then returned his focus to his plate.
'He's certainly making the most of his high school life.'
A few minutes later, the two girls stood up and headed to the counter to order extra food. Once they were far enough away, a deep yet elegant voice came from the neighboring table.
"If you're going to stare that obviously, it's a bit rude, blue-haired boy."
Makoto raised his gaze. The blonde young man didn't even turn toward him. God knows since when, but he was now holding a small mirror, inspecting every strand of his hair with an incredibly serious expression, as if it were a matter of life and death.
"Isn't that an exaggeration?" Makoto said calmly. "I only glanced because you're quite striking. You have two flowers on your right and left. Should I say, I'm impressed?"
"Hmm." The mirror tilted slightly, catching the reflection of Makoto's eyes. "A poor reason is still a poor reason. Beauty is a curse, but that doesn't mean a stranger can enjoy it without permission."
"My apologies then, it wasn't my intention," Makoto replied, sipping his juice and considering the interaction over.
The blonde chuckled softly, a rich sound full of confidence. "Ah, my charm often causes trouble for the common folk. It's far too dazzling, isn't it?"
He lowered his mirror and looked at Makoto for the first time. It was a sharp gaze, filled with intellectual assessment behind his facade of narcissism.
"Koenji Rokusuke. Class D."
"Yuki Makoto. Class B."
"Class B?" Koenji placed his mirror on the table with an overly graceful movement. "Ah, now I remember. The one with the perfect score on the entrance exam. The genius. Is that what you want to hear?"
Makoto shrugged slightly, unimpressed. "You're making me blush."
"Even your tone sounds pathetic," Koenji countered bluntly. "You seem to have no ambition at all in your eyes. I look in there and find no desire to conquer. Are you truly 'alive'? And yet your academic performance is at the peak."
"Doing my duties as a student is normal. Following lessons and answering questions doesn't require special effort if you're serious," Makoto answered flatly.
"Depends on your definition of effort," Koenji observed him longer, as if trying to peel back Makoto's layers with his eyes. "Well... whatever the case, you're somewhere between two spectrums: very interesting or very boring. I wonder which one you'll turn out to be."
Koenji laughed lightly. "I haven't decided yet myself."
"...I don't care," Makoto said with low energy.
"Haha, ah, I see!" Koenji laughed loudly, drawing the attention of several other patrons. "You're that type, aren't you? A bit like the one in my class—that gloomy boy with the brown hair. There's a resemblance in the way you both hide yourselves, but your aura is different. It's much more... subtle."
Koenji ran his fingers through his hair, slicking it back. "I wondered if this was some ridiculous trend where predators wear sheep's clothing among the commoners. You might think your indifference is 'grounded' or humble. But in my opinion? It's laughable, how amusing."
Makoto didn't respond. He simply continued to chew his food, letting Koenji's provocation evaporate into the air. He felt no need to defend himself or explain his life philosophy to someone he had met only five minutes ago.
The two girls returned with trays of food, and Koenji's attention immediately snapped back to them in the blink of an eye. The conversation at the next table became boisterous again, as if Makoto Yuki had never existed or was merely a piece of the restaurant's decor.
Makoto finished his dinner in peace.
A truly eccentric person.
He tucked the observation into the corner of his mind, but Makoto didn't take Koenji's words to heart.
As far as Makoto was concerned, he was more interested in going home soon, listening to music in his room, cooking, then eating and going to sleep.
Chapter 5 — End
So... What do you think?
Sorry, but, there is no omake...~