The Shattering of the Lens and the Knock on the Heart

The aftershocks of the Midterm Exam had yet to fully settle when the Special Exam, like a Sword of Damocles hanging overhead, cast an invisible layer of pressure over every student in Class D. Fūki Ran was accustomed to wandering the quieter corners of the campus while thinking, trying to untangle the various deductions about the future situation in his mind. That afternoon, he was walking briskly along the shaded corridor connecting the main School Building to the Art Building, his mind racing as he analyzed the hidden implications behind Chabashira Sae's mention of a "Special Exam" and the strategic value the vast amount of points in his possession could offer.

Perhaps because his thoughts were too absorbed, at a right-angle turn in the Corridor, an accident occurred.

A dull impact came from in front of him, followed by a startled, animal-like short cry.

Feng Qi snapped back to reality and focused his gaze. He saw a petite girl in a Class D uniform sitting on the ground. She wore thick, black-rimmed glasses that covered nearly half her face, and her signature bobbed hair was slightly disheveled. Her face was drained of color, written all over with panicked bewilderment—it was Sakura Eri, a classmate with such a low presence that she almost never initiated conversation with anyone. More eye-catching was the digital camera she had been clutching tightly to her chest, now thrown from her hands and crashing onto the hard floor nearby with a heartbreakingly crisp sound. The Lens Cap had popped open, and the originally precise structure seemed misaligned from the violent impact, looking in bad shape.

"S-sorry! I'm really, really sorry! It was my fault, I wasn't watching where I was going!" Sakura Eri, not even bothering to check if she was injured or brush the dust off her skirt, immediately apologized in a tearful, faint voice. She struggled to stand and retrieve the camera, her eyes, visible through the thick lenses, filled with an unmistakable pain and a deeper fear, as if what had shattered wasn't the camera but the only bridge connecting her to the world.

Feng Qi's mind returned to absolute calm within a thousandth of a second. He quickly assessed the Current Situation and acted immediately.

"Please don't move. First, make sure you're not hurt." His voice was steady and firm, carrying a strange soothing effect. He crouched down first, extending an arm for Sakura to steady herself, carefully confirming that she was only startled and not injured before walking toward the camera lying on the ground. His movements were gentle and professional, carefully avoiding areas that might cause secondary damage as he picked it up. His fingertips meticulously checked the connection between the body and the lens, quickly identifying the problem: "The Lens Mount took a hit, it's deformed and misaligned, preventing normal recognition and focusing. Fortunately, the lens itself isn't cracked, and the core components are likely intact. But it'll need professional tools and calibration to fix."

Hearing this diagnosis, Sakura Eri's shoulders trembled slightly, her eyes visibly reddening. She clenched the hem of her skirt tightly, her knuckles turning white from the strain. To her, this camera was far more than an object; it was a vital support for observing the world, building a safe distance, and even maintaining her inner balance.

"The fault is entirely mine. I was too focused on my thoughts while walking and didn't watch the turn." Feng Qi shifted his gaze from the camera back to Sakura Eri's face, his tone calm but carrying an undeniable decisiveness. "I know of a professional Camera Repair Center outside school with an excellent reputation and top-notch skill. I'll take you there now and make sure it's restored to its original condition. All costs during that time will naturally be borne by me. This is my fault, and it's only right that I make amends."

"No... it's fine... really... it was my own..." Sakura Eri instinctively tried to refuse, habitually taking the blame onto herself, her body shrinking back slightly—a reflexive response from long-term self-protection.

"Sakura," Feng Qi interrupted her, his gaze calm but firm as he looked at her, a look that seemed to pierce through the thick lenses and reach her uneasy heart, "Please give me this chance to make up for my mistake. Otherwise, this isn't just about a damaged item; it will leave me carrying the guilt of my carelessness. That's not what I want."

His attitude was sincere and open, without a trace of impatience or condescension—just a straightforward acceptance of responsibility. This attitude subtly dissolved most of Sakura Eri's fear and resistance. She lowered her head, her fingers still nervously twisting together, but eventually, in a voice so faint it was almost inaudible, she murmured, "Then... I'll trouble you... thank you..."

Feng Qi said no more, merely nodded slightly, and led Sakura Eri, who looked like a startled fawn, out of the school. The repair shop he chose was in a quiet neighborhood, small but clean and professional, run by an Old Master with a Magnifying Glass and a focused expression. Feng Qi not only readily paid an expedited fee higher than the usual repair cost but also accurately described the camera model, lens structure, and potentially damaged precision components when communicating with the Old Master. His use of technical terms and precise description of the problem made the Old Master look up at him several times with appreciative eyes, solemnly promising to repair it to the highest standard as quickly as possible.

During the hour-plus wait for the repair, Feng Qi didn't, as most people might out of curiosity or politeness, pry into why the camera was so important to Sakura or try to dig into the story behind her thick glasses and silence. Instead, as if casually, he steered the conversation toward photography itself—from the mysteries of aperture and shutter coordination under different lighting conditions, to the emotional nuances conveyed by various compositional rules, to legendary stories of famous Photography Masters capturing decisive moments. His words were unhurried, his insights unique and profound, as if chatting casually or imparting knowledge.

At first, Sakura Eri just kept her head down, occasionally responding with a single syllable. But gradually, perhaps moved by the pure appreciation and understanding of photographic art in Feng Qi's words, or perhaps because the safe, judgment-free atmosphere he created put her at ease, she began to occasionally lift her head, sneak a glance at him through her lenses, and then quietly, tentatively ask one or two questions about specific shooting techniques. Whenever she did, Feng Qi would patiently answer, his tone calm, as if discussing it with her was the most natural thing in the world.

The camera was finally restored to its original state, and after the Old Master's careful calibration, the focusing was even sharper and faster than before. Sakura Eri took the camera with great care, her fingertips gently brushing the cool metal body. After confirming it was truly intact, a relieved, faint, yet genuinely real smile finally appeared on her face, like the first ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds after a storm.

"Really... thank you so much, Feng Qi. Not just for fixing the camera, but for... keeping me company for so long." She mustered the greatest courage of her life and spoke clearly, though her voice was still soft, it had lost much of its trembling.

"I'm relieved that it's back in your hands and functioning perfectly." Feng Qi returned a gentle smile. "No need to thank me. It was what I should have done."

But the threads of fate didn't seem to loosen there. A few days later, at dusk, Feng Qi was taking a detour past a corner behind the School Building where old equipment was stored, to confirm the layout of surveillance cameras on the campus boundary (in preparation for the possible Special Exam), when he happened to see Sakura Eri cornered against a wall by three rough-looking students who seemed to be from Class C. Sakura's back was pressed tightly against the cold wall, her face pale as paper, her body trembling uncontrollably like a leaf withering in the cold wind. The boys were grinning and saying something, with snatches of words like "photo," "help," and "don't refuse" audible.

Feng Qi's eyes sharpened instantly. Without a moment's hesitation, he walked over with steady steps, inserting himself directly between Sakura and those delinquent students, using his tall frame to shield her completely behind him.

"You there, looking for my classmate Sakura—is there something important you need to discuss?" His voice wasn't loud, nor did it carry obvious anger, but the calm and intangible pressure it contained made the three originally arrogant students freeze. They recognized Feng Qi, this boy who had recently started to seem somewhat mysterious in Class D and even the grade.

"N-nothing... just saying hi, chatting..." The lead student's eyes flickered as he muttered, forcing calm, clearly not wanting a direct confrontation.

"Does saying hi require cornering someone against a wall?" Feng Qi's gaze swept calmly over the three, his tone still flat but carrying an undeniable interrogation. "If there's nothing, please leave. It's getting late; our classmate needs to return to the dorm."

The three exchanged glances, spat resentfully, and ultimately didn't dare say anything more, slinking away quickly.

Only when their figures had completely disappeared from sight did Sakura Eri seem to collapse, her body swaying slightly. She looked at Feng Qi's back—not broad, but at that moment, incredibly reliable—and her heart was filled with an unprecedented emotion called "a sense of security," her eyes growing warm.

"They... they happened to see me taking pictures of the scenery from a distance before... and wanted me to secretly take some photos for them... of them bullying other classmates, or... or some bad things... to show off or threaten others... I refused, and they kept coming to bother me..." She explained the situation in fragments, her voice still trembling with lingering fear, speaking softly to Feng Qi.

"If something like this happens again, don't bear it alone." Feng Qi turned around, looking at her still-pale face, his tone serious. "You can tell me directly, or tell Hirata, Kushida. Remember, you're a member of Class D now. Class D might have its problems, but it will never stand by and let its own classmates be bullied by outsiders without doing anything. That's the bottom line."

"Class D... is a whole..." Sakura Eri murmured, repeating the words. They struck her like a warm, powerful current, violently crashing against the dam of her long-sealed, self-isolating heart, which had always borne everything alone. No one had ever said such words to her, no one had ever so firmly told her that she wasn't alone.

From that day on, something hard deep inside Sakura Eri began to quietly melt. She started involuntarily, secretly paying attention to everything about Fūki Ran. In class, when he stood to answer a question, she no longer lowered her head to avoid him but listened intently through her lenses to his clear, logical explanations. When they happened to meet in the hallway, she would suppress her racing heart, muster the courage to greet him in a tiny voice with a "Feng Qi." And sometimes, without his knowledge, she would use her recovered, treasured camera—with its uniquely delicate, emotional perspective—to secretly capture his furrowed brow as he pondered alone by the Basketball Court, his quiet, focused silhouette reading by the window in the Library, or his tall, slightly lonely figure strolling in the sunset. These images were carefully encrypted and stored, becoming her most precious secret treasure, belonging only to her.

Feng Qi naturally noticed the subtle shift in this shy girl's attitude toward him. He maintained an appropriate distance, neither too close to startle her nor too distant to seem cold. During occasional group studies or class activities, he would patiently listen to her even faintest remarks and offer affirming glances. When she encountered academic difficulties and hesitated to ask anyone, he would seem to pass by casually, then offer simple, clear guidance. His strength, his gentleness, his calm, his reliable, precision-like way of doing things—like rays of sunlight—gradually pierced the thick gloom of her inner world, warming the barren land within her.

A seed called admiration quietly sank into the depths of her heart, a place she herself hadn't fully understood, and began to silently absorb nutrients, waiting for the day it would break through the soil.

And all these delicate ripples of emotion unfolded quietly in the oppressive, storm-laden atmosphere before the official announcement of the Special Exam. Unbeknownst to him, in this cold, merit-based, calculating campus, Feng Qi had gained another pure, sincere, yet fragile emotional bond. This bond, perhaps at some critical moment in the future, would reveal unexpected strength.