Midterm

Fingertips unconsciously traced the edge of the book pages. Shiina Hiyori gazed at the naturally overlapping shadows of the two people opposite her, her thoughts sinking into a deeper vortex.

Where is the boundary between "longing" and "need"? she asked herself silently.

If her admiration for Hoshino Kanade was a pure attraction to her knowledge, then what was this resonance she felt with Kiyona's unguarded dependence right now?

It was as if, through Kiyona's glass-like pupils, she glimpsed a form of connection she had never experienced—a more primal, softer symbiosis: simply by sharing the same space, breathing in sync, loneliness was quietly dispelled.

This realization startled her. She had always firmly believed books were her only reliable sanctuary, and social interactions were merely necessary adornments of civilized society.

But when Hoshino's fingertips brushed Kiyona's hand, what surged in her chest wasn't jealousy, but a craving for "warmth"—not lust, but the comforting warmth felt on fingertips when holding a hot teacup on a winter day, a sense of groundedness confirming she hadn't been forgotten by the world.

"Hoshino-san..." she suddenly spoke, her voice lighter than expected, like a feather falling in silence. Both looked up simultaneously, and she immediately regretted it—the prepared question (about an existential metaphor in the book) got stuck in her throat, and what blurted out was an awkward everyday phrase: "Would... would you like more coffee?"

Hoshino Kanade paused slightly, then smiled and nodded, "Thank you, Shiina-san. I could use some."

This moment exposed her fluster. She was adept at reading people, but utterly helpless when it came to "naturally integrating into intimacy."

As she handed over the coffee pot, she deliberately let her fingertips brush against Hoshino's cup rim, then recoiled as if shocked under Kiyona's gaze.

What am I doing? Her inner alarm bells blared.

This childish physical probing felt ridiculous even to herself, yet it was like a drowning person grasping at straws—as if a trivial contact could chip away a gap in the transparent barrier.

As she packed her books to leave, Kiyona unusually spoke first, "Shiina, for tomorrow's study group... will you bring Klein's Bottle?"

Her glass-like pupils reflected Shiina's shadow, devoid of hostility, only pure curiosity.

Shiina suddenly realized: that "wall" separating them might have been built by her own preconceived aloofness.

She always assumed intimate relationships were inherently exclusive, but overlooked Kiyona's fundamental purity—how could someone with such a faint concept of "personal space" deliberately exclude others?

What truly trapped her was the fear of "rejection," and a deeper confusion:

If she successfully integrated into that "triangle," could she bear the responsibility that came with intimacy?

When Hoshino and Kiyona argued, could she resist retreating into the fortress built by books?

When she herself needed to confide her vulnerabilities, could she honestly reveal the Shiina Hiyori who "makes mistakes" and "gets flustered"?

Shiina Hiyori paused and looked back. The sunset stretched their three shadows long, briefly overlapping on the library floor tiles.

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

She saw her desire clearly: not to replace anyone, but to tear off the mask of the "perfect observer" with her own hands, letting her true joys and sorrows shine through.

Afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting lazy patches of light in the Class D classroom.

Compared to the chaotic scenes at the beginning of the semester, the classroom discipline had indeed "calmed down" considerably.

Students like Yamauchi Haruki and Ike Kanji, who couldn't sit still before, could now barely manage to stay in their seats. Although their eyes occasionally wandered, they no longer caused loud disturbances.

The only exception was Sudo Ken, who still shamelessly buried his head in his arms, sleeping soundly at his desk. His faint snores were somewhat jarring in the silence.

The teacher's chalk scraped across the blackboard on the podium, making a rustling sound.

No one openly criticized Sudo's behavior—the class points remained a glaring zero, and any potential sparks of conflict were carefully avoided.

But this silence wasn't approval. An invisible sense of distance enveloped Sudo like thin ice. The other classmates tacitly kept their distance from him, rarely even letting their gazes linger on him.

His presence was like an isolated island, out of place in the classroom.

The dismissal bell finally rang, breaking the stagnant air.

Hirata Yosuke stood up, walked to the podium, and gently tapped the desk, drawing the attention of the entire class. His voice, though gentle, carried clearly throughout the room:

"Everyone, please stay for a moment. To prepare for the upcoming midterms," he paused, his gaze sweeping over the "troublemakers" in the back rows, "I propose organizing a study group. Its main purpose is to tutor students whose grades might be unstable. Of course," he emphasized, a forgiving smile on his face, "anyone who wants to improve themselves is very welcome."

His gaze finally settled on Sudo, who had just been woken by the bell and was rubbing his eyes with an annoyed expression. Hirata's tone became more earnest: "So, I hope students who feel uneasy or want to consolidate their knowledge will come to our study group. It will be held in this classroom, starting at 5 PM today, and we plan to hold it for about two hours every day until the exams. You can join anytime, and it's okay to leave if something comes up." Hirata finished and waited quietly for a response.

The classroom was silent for a few seconds. Soon, several students clearly belonging to the failing group, as if grabbing a lifeline, quickly got up from their seats and surrounded Hirata with a mix of eagerness and gratitude, bombarding him with questions about the details.

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

Sudo abruptly turned his face away when Hirata looked at him, hugged himself tightly with his arms crossed, his lips turned down, and let out a clear "tsk." He then simply closed his eyes, adopting a posture of refusal to communicate.

Ever since he had rudely refused Hirata's suggestion for self-introductions on the first day of school, the rift between the two had never healed.

Ike and Yamauchi appeared hesitant.

Their gazes flickered between the students eagerly surrounding Hirata and Hirata himself, then they secretly glanced at Sudo, who was exuding a low-pressure aura beside them.

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

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

In the end, that invisible pressure and the concern of "betraying" their companion (or perhaps mixed with a subtle defiance towards a "normie" leader like Hirata) suppressed their urge to stand up. They simply lowered their heads awkwardly, pretending to tidy non-existent pages on their desks.