Seems I've Angered the Little Angel

The ripples from the swimming lesson did not fade with the calming of the pool water.

That hideous scar, along with Shimiya Kuki's cold remark that he "barely made it through" and the even more puzzling "thank you," were like boulders thrown into the still spring water of Class B—stirring not only splashes but undercurrents sinking to the bottom. Curiosity, speculation, and a faint, hard-to-detect fear quietly altered the slightly awkward balance that had been forming within the class.

The "vacuum zone" around Shimiya Kuki's seat by the window seemed to grow more pronounced. The polite nods of greeting now carried hesitation and a subtle distance. During breaks, if a classmate accidentally dropped something near his feet, their movements would unconsciously stiffen, as if that area were lined with invisible thorns. Though whispers were no longer blatant, whenever he walked through the hallway or entered the classroom, he could feel probing gazes clinging to his back.

He turned a blind eye to it all—or rather, he was long accustomed to it. Life proceeded step-by-step: attending class, taking notes, quickly finishing lunch in the farthest corner of the cafeteria (the taste was indeed mediocre, but the 200 PP price was bearable for now), and returning to B-307. The kitchen utensils he had purchased were already installed by school staff. Brand-new pots and knives were neatly arranged beside the small induction cooker allowed in the dormitory, gleaming with the cold glint of metal, symbolizing the "cost control" practice he was about to begin.

Yet, the external reactions were not entirely negative.

Ichinose Honami's worry did not fade with Shimiya's indifferent response. As class president, she naturally cared for every classmate, especially someone like Shimiya, who clearly bore a heavy past and isolated himself. That pure concern clung to her heart like vines. She tried several times to find natural opportunities to approach him—lingering a few extra seconds when collecting homework, or "accidentally" sitting at the next table during lunch. But Shimiya Kuki's responses were always like frosted glass—polite, brief, and water-tight. The goodwill she extended sank like a stone into the sea, leaving only a faint, hard-to-notice sense of defeat and deeper worry in her bright eyes.

"Shimiya-kun, can I borrow your math notes from yesterday? I think I missed a part," Ichinose said during break, holding her own notebook as she walked to his desk, her face wearing a cloudless smile.

Shimiya Kuki looked up, his gaze calmly sweeping over her expectant face before landing on the notebook in her hand. "You may." He pulled a sheet of loose-leaf paper filled with neat handwriting from his open book and handed it over. "This is the key derivation part. The example problem on page 78 of the textbook is a variation."

"Ah, great! Thank you, Shimiya-kun!" Ichinose took the paper, her smile growing more genuine. She quickly scanned the handwriting, as clear as printed font, and couldn't help praising, "Your notes are so clear! And your handwriting is really beautiful."

"Just a habit. Thank you for the compliment." Shimiya's voice remained flat, without a ripple. He lowered his head again, his gaze returning to the open physics book, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the edge of the page.

Ichinose's smile stiffened slightly, a faint, hard-to-notice disappointment flickering in her bright eyes. She watched Shimiya Kuki, completely immersed in his book as if external interference didn't exist, puffed her cheeks as if she had made up her mind. She leaned forward slightly, her voice lighter but carrying a hint of a little complaint: "Shimiya-kun, you're really good at ending conversations like that!" She blinked, trying to break through the invisible barrier with a livelier tone.

Shimiya Kuki looked up again, meeting her eyes full of expectation, trying to pry open a crack. That pure enthusiasm and goodwill, as direct as sunlight, stirred an extremely faint ripple in his heart. He paused for a moment, and something in his calm, unwavering eyes seemed to move slightly, but it ultimately sank into silence.

"Sorry," he said softly, his voice still steady, but clearly signaling the end of the conversation.

"..." Ichinose Honami's smile completely froze. That "sorry" was like a tiny needle, popping the bubble she had worked so hard to maintain. Her bright eyes instantly dimmed, her long eyelashes fluttering rapidly as if to hide the embarrassment and grievance of being directly rejected. The corners of her mouth turned down slightly, and a faint, hard-to-notice blush crept onto her cheeks from the effort of holding back her emotions. She clenched the note paper in her hand, her knuckles turning white.

"O... okay." Her voice dropped, carrying a faint nasal tone and obvious sense of defeat. "Then... thanks for the notes, Shimiya-kun." With that, she spun around abruptly, her steps much faster than when she came, almost stomping back to her seat in small steps, her ponytail swaying behind her, her back exuding a sulky "I don't want to talk to you" vibe. After sitting down, she didn't immediately look at the notes but kept her head down, unconsciously curling the paper's corner with her fingers, her shoulders slightly slumped, enveloped in a layer of faint dejection.

In stark contrast to Ichinose's gentle approach, Kanzaki Ryuji chose a more direct and rational method. That scar and Shimiya's reaction strongly stimulated his logically meticulous, truth-seeking mind. This was no longer just a silent classmate but a contradiction-filled puzzle waiting to be solved.

The moment the school bell rang, Kanzaki Ryuji precisely appeared on Shimiya Kuki's path as he packed his school bag. He glanced at Ichinose Honami, who was still nearby with her head down, looking somewhat sulky, then turned his gaze back to Shimiya, his tone carrying a calm observation: "Ichinose-san really cares about you, huh. But it seems you've made her pretty upset."

Shimiya Kuki's movements didn't pause. He stuffed the last book into his bag, zipped it up, his motions smooth and natural. He looked up at Kanzaki, his deep pool-like eyes calm and unwavering.

"I know. She cares about every classmate. I suppose I'm a bit more special, and I'm very grateful to her." His voice was very soft, as if carrying a barely perceptible sigh. "I might... not be used to school life yet. I'll try to improve on that." This sounded like a vague explanation, more like a self-statement, not directed at Kanzaki, indirectly addressing the part about Ichinose.

Kanzaki raised an eyebrow slightly, seemingly unsurprised by the answer, but didn't dwell on the topic of Ichinose. He cut straight to the core: "About the injury you mentioned during swimming class... I looked up some information." He got straight to the point without any pleasantries, his tone as objective as a laboratory. "Based on the scar's location, shape, and the possibility of a 'penetrating injury' you mentioned, combined with the hypertrophic scar traces after healing, the first aid at the time was likely delayed or had insufficient resources. It doesn't look like it was handled in a hospital, and the scar doesn't seem from a car accident. So I'd like to know if you've encountered any difficulties. As a classmate, is there anything I can help you with? At least I wouldn't want a classmate to be absent before graduation due to physical reasons."

His words were like a scalpel, precisely cutting toward the core Shimiya was trying to hide. The surrounding classmates unconsciously slowed their movements, pricking up their ears.

Shimiya Kuki's movements didn't pause. He stuffed the last book into his bag, zipped it up, his motions smooth and natural. He looked up at Kanzaki, his deep pool-like eyes calm and unwavering, as if Kanzaki wasn't analyzing his own fatal scar.

"Kanzaki-kun has strong analytical ability," he said flatly, impossible to tell if it was praise or a statement. "But logic isn't a universal key. Some things exist for a reason and don't need to conform to common sense logic." He paused slightly, his gaze lingering on Kanzaki's glasses for a moment, carrying an indescribable penetrating force. "Persisting in deciphering a past others are unwilling to mention can sometimes touch dangerous reefs."

His tone remained flat, even polite, but the phrase "dangerous reefs" was like a cold stone thrown into Kanzaki's heart. It wasn't a threat, more like a warning stated as fact. After speaking, Shimiya Kuki gave a slight nod, sidestepped Kanzaki, and walked straight to the classroom door, leaving Kanzaki standing there, frowning, his eyes flickering with a stronger but blocked desire to investigate, along with a hint of discomfort at being called out. He pushed up his glasses and muttered to himself, "Dangerous reefs... huh?"

Shimiya Kuki didn't head to the dormitory but toward the shopping street. He needed to confirm some matters. A week had passed, and the initial consumption frenzy seemed to have cooled slightly, but the air still carried a relaxed sense of "abundant points." People were still queuing at the vending machines, the convenience store wafted the aroma of baked bread, and a few students were excitedly discussing the price of newly released limited edition sneakers.

His target was clear: the [Basic Supplies · Free Collection] box next to the supermarket entrance. He walked to the corner and crouched down.

The contents of the box were almost unchanged from a week ago. The cheap pen refills were nearly gone, only a few thin notebooks with curled edges remained, a few pieces of inferior soap were missing, but the rough white sheets, pillowcases, and hard free towels were still piled up like a mountain. He picked up a free towel, and the unpleasant roughness met his fingertips again. Nearby, a boy in a slightly old T-shirt was frowning, hesitantly pulling out a set of free bedding, his face full of disdain and unwillingness. His companion, wearing a brand-new designer sports uniform, was munching on a freshly bought 500 PP cream bread, mumbling, "Ah, just use it for now! When next month's points come, we'll get better ones! See this bread? It's really good!" He smacked his lips contentedly, seemingly oblivious to his companion's predicament.

Shimiya Kuki put down the towel expressionlessly. The cold sense of reality confirmed his speculation once again. Free things were a safety net, but also a mark of shame. They clearly drew a line: relying on them meant accepting the lowest, most undignified existence. And the promise of "next month's points" was like a carrot dangled in front, sustaining the desire for consumption and temporary comfort.

He stood up, his gaze sweeping over the shopping street. The voices around him discussing sneakers, bread, and next month's "abundant points" echoed clearly in his ears. They seemed immersed in an optimistic expectation of the future, not yet truly aware of the harsh rules governing this island—points, the only "lifeblood," were not something to be taken for granted. The initial gift had been exhausted, and as for next month's point distribution, Hoshinomiya-sensei had only said "corresponding personal points will be distributed," never guaranteeing the amount. Over-reliance on "next month," ignoring current consumption and potential variables, was no different from building castles on quicksand.

After purchasing some ingredients at the shopping street, he turned and left the noise. The setting sun stretched his shadow long, casting it on the clean yet cold road surface. The grayish-white exterior walls of Dormitory Building B looked even colder and harder in the twilight.

He swiped his card and entered B-307. Inside the room, the soft bed sheets he had purchased gleamed faintly in the twilight.