Midterm Exam

Her fingertips traced the edge of the page unconsciously as Shiina Hiyori gazed at the naturally overlapping shadows of the two people across from her, her thoughts sinking into a deeper whirlpool.

Where was the line between "admiration" and "need"? she silently asked herself.

If her feelings for Hoshino Kanade were a pure attraction born of admiration for her knowledge, then what was this resonance she felt with the unguarded dependence Kiyona placed in her?

It was as if, through Kiyona's glassy eyes, she had glimpsed a kind of connection she had never experienced—a more primal, softer sense of coexistence. Simply sharing the same space and breathing in sync could quietly dispel loneliness.

The realization unsettled her. She had always believed books were the only reliable refuge, and that socializing was nothing more than a necessary ornament of civilized society.

Yet when Hoshino's fingertips brushed the back of Kiyona's hand, what welled up in her chest wasn't jealousy, but a longing for "warmth"—not sensual desire, but the comforting warmth that spread through her fingertips when she held a cup of hot tea on a winter's day, the reassuring sense that the world hadn't forgotten her.

"Um, Hoshino..." she blurted out. Her voice was softer than she had expected, like a feather falling into the silence. The two looked up at the same time, and she immediately regretted it. The question she had prepared, about an existential metaphor in a book, caught in her throat. What came out instead was a clumsy bit of small talk: "W-Would you like some more coffee?"

Hoshino Kanade blinked in surprise, then smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Shiina. I could use some."

That moment laid bare her fluster. She was good at reading people's hearts, but utterly helpless when it came to "naturally fitting into an intimate relationship."

As she handed over the coffee pot, she deliberately let her fingertips brush the rim of Hoshino's cup, then snatched them back as if shocked by electricity when Kiyona looked at her.

What am I doing? Alarm bells blared in her mind.

The childish attempt at physical contact struck even her as ridiculous, yet she clung to it like a drowning person grasping at a straw—as if one insignificant touch could chisel a crack into the transparent barrier.

As they gathered their books to leave, Kiyona unexpectedly spoke first. "Shiina, will you bring The Klein Bottle to tomorrow's book club?"

Her glassy eyes reflected Shiina's image. There was no hostility in them, only pure curiosity.

Shiina suddenly realized that the "wall" between them might have been built from her own preconceived distance.

She always assumed intimate relationships had to be exclusive, yet overlooked Kiyona's essential purity. How could someone with so little understanding of "social distance" deliberately exclude others?

What truly trapped her was her fear of "being rejected," and an even deeper uncertainty:

If she managed to join that "triangle," could she bear the responsibilities that came with intimacy?

When Hoshino and Kiyona argued, could she stop herself from fleeing back into the fortress she had built from books?

And when she needed to confide her vulnerabilities, could she calmly reveal the Shiina Hiyori who "made mistakes" and "got flustered"?

Shiina Hiyori paused and looked back. The setting sun stretched the three of their shadows, briefly overlapping them on the library's tiled floor.

Shiina Hiyori gently pressed a hand to her chest. What surged there was no longer a dull ache, but a burning hope that was almost painful.

She understood what she wanted: not to replace anyone, but to tear away with her own hands the mask called the "perfect observer" and let her genuine joys and sorrows shine through.

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting lazy patches of light across Class D's classroom.

Compared with the chaos at the start of the school year, class discipline had indeed "improved" quite a bit.

Students like Yamauchi Haruki and Kanji Ike, who had once been unable to sit still, were now managing to stay in their seats. Their attention still wandered now and then, but at least they no longer made a racket.

The sole exception was Ken Sudō. He still brazenly buried his head in his arms and slept soundly at his desk, his faint snoring somewhat jarring in the otherwise quiet classroom.

The teacher's chalk scratched across the blackboard, making a soft, rasping sound.

No one spoke up to criticize Sudō. Class Points were still an eye-catching zero, and everyone carefully avoided any sign of a possible confrontation.

But their silence didn't mean they approved. An invisible sense of alienation hung around Sudō like a thin sheet of ice. The other students kept their distance by tacit agreement, and rarely even glanced his way.

He was like an island in the classroom, completely out of place.

At last, the bell rang, breaking the stagnant silence.

Hirata Yosuke stood up and walked to the front of the classroom. He lightly tapped the desk to get everyone's attention. His voice was gentle but clear as it carried across the room:

"Could everyone stay for a moment? To prepare for the upcoming Midterm Exam," he paused, his gaze sweeping over the few students at the back of the classroom who were generally regarded as "troublemakers." "I propose that we organize a study group, mainly to tutor anyone whose grades might be unstable. Of course," he added for emphasis, his face wearing a welcoming smile, "anyone who wants to improve is more than welcome."

His gaze finally settled on Sudō, who had just been woken by the bell and was rubbing his eyes with an irritated look. His tone grew more earnest. "So I hope anyone who's worried or wants to review the material will come to our study group. We'll meet here in this classroom, starting at five this afternoon. We plan to meet for about two hours each day until the exam. You can join at any time, and it's fine to leave early if something comes up." After he finished speaking, Hirata waited quietly for a response.

The classroom was silent for a few seconds. Soon, several students who were clearly at risk of failing sprang from their seats as if they had grabbed a lifeline. With a mix of urgency and gratitude, they crowded around Hirata, asking questions all at once.

However, the three "core" members of the failing group—Sudō, Kanji Ike, and Yamauchi Haruki—seemed rooted to their seats.

As soon as Hirata looked his way, Sudō jerked his face aside and folded his arms tightly across his chest. His mouth turned down as he gave a distinct "Tch," then he simply shut his eyes, pointedly refusing to communicate.

Ever since Sudō had rudely rejected Hirata's suggestion that everyone introduce themselves on the first day of school, the rift between them had never healed.

Ike and Yamauchi seemed uncertain.

Their gazes shifted between the classmates eagerly surrounding Hirata and Hirata himself, then darted toward Sudō, whose mood seemed to darken the air around him.

The two shifted restlessly in their seats, their lips moving as if they wanted to say something.

Ike even half rose from his seat, but Yamauchi quietly tugged at his sleeve.

In the end, invisible pressure and their reluctance to "betray" their friend—or perhaps a subtle resentment of Hirata, that "popular" leader—held them back. They merely lowered their heads awkwardly, pretending to straighten pages that weren't even on their desks.