Intimacy

"I need to talk to you both." Horikita's voice was clear and cold, like a blade slicing through the air. "You should understand what Chabashira-sensei means."

She took a step forward, the setting sun stretching her shadow into a thin, sharp line. "Class D rising to Class A—that is the only goal. Your talents should not be wasted on meaningless self-preservation."

As Horikita Suzune's words fell, the air briefly stagnated.

Her gaze remained sharp, carrying an unquestionable certainty, as if she were proposing something so self-evident that no one would ever refuse.

Hoshino Kanade could clearly feel Kiyona's arm, tucked within his own, tense imperceptibly for a moment; that cool, soft touch instantly took on a hint of rigidity. He turned his head, his eyes falling on Kiyona's profile.

The golden glow of the sunset outlined her delicate jawline. On that face, usually as indifferent as a doll's, there was no change in expression, but deep within those glass-like eyes, a trace of something extremely subtle flickered—a coldness like cracking ice, the displeasure of being disturbed.

Hoshino Kanade withdrew his gaze and looked back at Horikita Suzune.

The calm on his face remained unruffled; he even reined in the almost invisible softness at the corners of his lips that he usually reserved for Kiyona, leaving only a polite yet exceptionally distant sense of detachment.

"Borrow our strength?" Hoshino Kanade's voice was low, his tone steady and devoid of any obvious emotional fluctuation, yet it clearly pierced through the sense of entitlement Horikita had cultivated. "Horikita, have you misunderstood something?"

His gaze met Horikita's calmly, without the slightest evasion or hesitation.

"Rising to Class A is a goal you are obsessed with, and that is fair enough." He paused, his tone still flat, yet every word was distinct. "But this goal itself holds no meaning for us."

Horikita Suzune's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, as if she hadn't expected the other party to so bluntly reject the core value she had determined.

At the same time, the silent Kiyona finally moved. She did not let go of Hoshino Kanade's arm; instead, as if to ward off some invisible intrusion, she pressed her body closer to him, her cool body heat pressing more tightly against his.

Her gaze slowly shifted from the intertwined shadows in the distance, and for the first time, she looked directly at Horikita Suzune.

There were no ripples in those clear eyes, only an indifference capable of freezing a person solid.

"Not interested." Kiyona's voice rang out, carrying her characteristic cold texture, thinner and colder than the evening breeze, as concise as if she were stating an objective fact that had nothing to do with her.

With those three words, she laid bare her attitude toward Horikita's grand plan.

Hoshino Kanade felt the subtle pressure and the undeniable chill coming from his arm. He nodded slightly, as if echoing Kiyona's words, his voice low and firm: "Chabashira-sensei's intentions, or your determination—neither has anything to do with us."

His gaze swept past Horikita, not lingering, his tone carrying the finality of a closed conversation: "We have our own pace to follow."

Having said that, he did not give Horikita another chance to speak. The two maintained their close, clinging posture, turned in silent agreement, and continued along the path beneath the cherry trees.

The setting sun stretched their shadows long and tightly intertwined, like an invisible barrier that completely shut out the noise and schemes of the outside world.

Horikita Suzune stood where she was, her straight figure appearing somewhat solitary and sharp against the elongated light and shadow.

She watched those two backs retreating without hesitation, and the sense of distance between them that allowed no one else to intervene. For the first time, a complex and unreadable emotion flashed through her sharp eyes—it was not anger or frustration, but a deeper scrutiny of something she perhaps had never truly understood.

In the air, only the rustling of the evening breeze through the leaves remained, along with the sound of footsteps that grew fainter and fainter until they were almost inaudible.

Horikita Suzune was not shaken by the rejection in the hallway. She sat alone by the classroom window, her fingertips tracing the notebook filled with class strategies, the sunset gilding her tense profile.

Class D rising to Class A was always my battle alone, she thought to herself. Chabashira-sensei's hints only made her more certain of the value of independence—the help of others was never in her strategic formula; reliance would only become a variable that caused interference.

From the first day of May, a week passed in the blink of an eye.

Since that brief exchange in the pantry, the relationship between Kiyona and Hoshino Kanade had become closer at a visible rate.

When school ended in the afternoon, Kiyona would naturally take Hoshino Kanade's arm, and the two would walk side-by-side through the cherry blossom-filled campus paths, their silhouettes stretching and overlapping in the twilight.

At lunch in the cafeteria, they no longer ate in quiet isolation. Occasionally, Hoshino Kanade would use his spoon to naturally offer food from his tray that Kiyona liked to her lips, and Kiyona would lean forward slightly, accepting it quietly, a silent understanding flowing between their movements.

Even in the library, they often occupied only one seat.

Kiyona would turn slightly to sit close to Hoshino Kanade, the two of them holding a single book together. When Hoshino Kanade's slender fingers turned the pages, Kiyona's gaze would follow, their breathing almost audible to one another.

This intimacy was as natural as breathing, already integrated into every tiny habit of their bodies, yet it stirred a secret confusion in the depths of Kiyona's heart: was she so obsessively drawing near, absorbing this warmth, because she craved the unique existence of "Hoshino Kanade" himself, or was she merely greedy for the illusion he brought—the one that seemed to instantly fill and soothe a cold, empty black hole deep within her soul?

The thought drifted across the lake of her mind like a feather, without creating much of a ripple.

The confusion existed for only a brief moment before it was covered by a stronger, more unquestionable realization—it didn't matter at all.

Names, definitions, reasons, motives... these things that others might need to repeatedly clarify were meaningless to her.

The only thing she could clearly perceive and confirm was the strange peace and satisfaction she felt when close to him, and the uncontrollable anxiety and emptiness in the depths of her soul when she was far away.

Kiyona did not need to analyze the components of this attachment, nor did she need to investigate whether the filling of the void was real or an illusion.

She only knew that only by his side did that cold, noisy, and exhausting world recede like a tide, leaving behind only a reassuring, near-vacuum-like tranquility.

She only wanted to be with him, just like this, sharing the same air, reading the same lines of text, and feeling the same stillness.

"I need to talk to you both." Horikita's voice was clear and cold, like a blade slicing through the air. "You should understand what Chabashira-sensei means."

She took a step forward, the setting sun stretching her shadow into a thin, sharp line. "Class D rising to Class A—that is the only goal. Your talents should not be wasted on meaningless self-preservation."

As Horikita Suzune's words fell, the air briefly stagnated.

Her gaze remained sharp, carrying an unquestionable certainty, as if she were proposing something so self-evident that no one would ever refuse.

Hoshino Kanade could clearly feel Kiyona's arm, tucked within his own, tense imperceptibly for a moment; that cool, soft touch instantly took on a hint of rigidity. He turned his head, his eyes falling on Kiyona's profile.

The golden glow of the sunset outlined her delicate jawline. On that face, usually as indifferent as a doll's, there was no change in expression, but deep within those glass-like eyes, a trace of something extremely subtle flickered—a coldness like cracking ice, the displeasure of being disturbed.

Hoshino Kanade withdrew his gaze and looked back at Horikita Suzune.

The calm on his face remained unruffled; he even reined in the almost invisible softness at the corners of his lips that he usually reserved for Kiyona, leaving only a polite yet exceptionally distant sense of detachment.

"Borrow our strength?" Hoshino Kanade's voice was low, his tone steady and devoid of any obvious emotional fluctuation, yet it clearly pierced through the sense of entitlement Horikita had cultivated. "Horikita, have you misunderstood something?"

His gaze met Horikita's calmly, without the slightest flicker of evasion or hesitation.

"Rising to Class A is a goal you pursue with obsession; that much is understandable." He paused, his tone remaining flat yet every word ringing clear, "But that goal itself holds no meaning for us."

Horikita Suzune's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, as if she hadn't expected him to so bluntly dismiss the core value she had staked her claim on.

At the same time, the silent Kiyona finally moved. She did not loosen her grip on Hoshino Kanade's arm; instead, as if to ward off some invisible intrusion, she pressed her body closer to him, her cool skin clinging even more tightly.

Her gaze slowly shifted away from the intertwined shadows in the distance, and for the first time, she looked Horikita Suzune directly in the eyes.

There were no ripples in those clear eyes, only a detachment capable of freezing anyone in their tracks.

"Not interested." Kiyona's voice rang out, carrying her signature cold texture, thinner and colder than the evening breeze, as concise as if she were stating an objective fact that had nothing to do with her.

With those three words, she laid bare her attitude toward Horikita's grand plan.

Hoshino Kanade felt the subtle pressure and the undeniable chill emanating from her arm. He nodded slightly, as if echoing Kiyona's words, his voice low and resolute: "Chabashira-sensei's intentions, or your determination, have nothing to do with us."

His gaze swept past Horikita, not lingering, his tone signaling the end of the conversation: "We have our own pace to keep."

Having said that, he gave Horikita no further chance to speak. The two maintained their close, clinging posture, turned in perfect sync, and continued along the path beneath the cherry blossom trees.

The setting sun stretched their shadows long and tightly intertwined, acting like an invisible barrier that completely shut out the noise and schemes of the outside world.

Horikita Suzune stood where she was, her straight figure appearing somewhat lonely and sharp against the elongated light.

She watched those two backs retreating without a moment's hesitation, and the sense of distance between them—a space no one else could possibly enter—caused a complex, indefinable emotion to flash through her sharp eyes for the first time. It wasn't anger or frustration, but a deeper kind of scrutiny directed at something she perhaps had never truly understood.

In the air, only the rustling of the evening breeze through the leaves remained, along with the sound of footsteps that grew fainter and fainter until they were almost inaudible.

Horikita Suzune was not shaken by the rejection in the hallway. She sat alone by the classroom window, her fingertips tracing the notebook filled with class strategies, the setting sun gilding her taut profile.

Class D rising to Class A was always a battle I had to fight alone, she thought to herself. Chabashira-sensei's hints only made her more certain of the value of independence—the assistance of others had never been part of her strategic formula; reliance would only become a variable that caused interference.

From the first day of May, a week passed in the blink of an eye.

Since that brief exchange in the pantry, the relationship between Kiyona and Hoshino Kanade had grown closer at a visible speed.

When school ended in the afternoon, Kiyona would naturally hook her arm through Hoshino Kanade's, and the two would walk side-by-side through the cherry-blossom-strewn campus paths, their shadows stretching and overlapping in the twilight.

At lunch in the cafeteria, they no longer ate in quiet isolation; Hoshino Kanade would occasionally take food that Kiyona liked from his own tray and, with extreme naturalness, offer it to her lips with his spoon. Kiyona would lean forward slightly and accept it quietly, a wordless rapport flowing through their movements.

Even in the library, they often occupied only a single seat.

Kiyona would turn slightly to sit pressed against Hoshino Kanade, both of them holding the same book. When Hoshino Kanade's slender fingers turned the pages, Kiyona's gaze would follow, their breathing almost audible to one another.

This intimacy was as natural as breathing, already integrated into every tiny habit of their bodies, yet it stirred a secret confusion in the depths of Kiyona's heart: was she so obsessively drawing close, drinking in this warmth, because she craved the unique existence of "Hoshino Kanade" himself, or was she merely greedy for the illusion he brought—the one that seemed to instantly fill and soothe the cold, empty black hole deep within her soul?

The thought drifted across the lake of her mind like a feather, without stirring much of a ripple.

The confusion existed for only a fleeting moment before it was covered by a more powerful, unquestionable realization—it didn't matter at all.

Names, definitions, reasons, motives... things that others might need to repeatedly clarify were meaningless to her.

The only thing she could clearly perceive and confirm was the strange peace and satisfaction of being close at this moment, and the uncontrollable anxiety and emptiness in the depths of her soul when they were apart.

Kiyona did not need to analyze the components of this attachment, nor did she need to investigate whether the filling of that void was reality or illusion.

She only knew that only by his side would that cold, noisy, exhausting world recede like a tide, leaving behind only a reassuring, vacuum-like tranquility.

She only wanted to be with him, just like this, sharing the same air, reading the same line of text, and feeling the same stillness.