Midterm

Her fingertips traced the edge of the book page unconsciously. Shiina Hiyori gazed at the shadows of the two people opposite her as they naturally overlapped, while her thoughts sank into a deeper vortex.

Where was the boundary between "longing" and "need"? She asked herself silently.

If her attraction to Hoshino Kanade was a pure fascination with his knowledge, then what was this resonance she felt toward the defenseless sense of reliance she had on Kiyona?

It was as if, through Kiyona's lapis-lazuli pupils, she had caught a glimpse of a form of connection she had never experienced before—a more primitive, softer sense of symbiosis: simply existing in the same space, breathing in sync, and loneliness was quietly dispelled.

This realization startled her. She had once firmly believed that books were the only reliable sanctuary, and that human interaction was merely a decorative necessity of civilized society.

But when Hoshino's fingertips brushed the back of Kiyona's hand, what surged in her chest was not jealousy, but a craving for "warmth"—not carnal desire, but the heat felt on one's fingertips when holding a hot teacup on a winter day, a sense of grounding that confirmed she had not been forgotten by the world.

"Hoshino-kun..." she spoke suddenly, her voice lighter than she intended, like a feather landing in the silence. Both of them looked up at once, and she immediately regretted it—the question she had prepared (regarding an existential metaphor in the book) stuck in her throat, and what tumbled out instead was a clumsy, mundane remark: "Would... would you like a coffee refill?"

Hoshino Kanade was slightly taken aback, then nodded with a smile: "Thank you, Shiina-san, I could use one."

This moment exposed her agitation. She was adept at measuring the human heart, yet she was helpless when it came to "naturally integrating into intimacy."

As she handed over the coffee pot, she intentionally let her fingertips brush the rim of Hoshino's cup, then pulled back as if electrocuted under Kiyona's gaze.

What am I doing? Her internal alarm bells rang.

This childish physical probing felt ridiculous even to herself, yet it was like a drowning person clutching at a straw—as if a trivial touch could chisel a crack into a transparent barrier.

As she packed her books to leave, Kiyona spoke up with rare initiative: "Shiina, at tomorrow's reading circle... will you bring The Klein Bottle?"

The lapis-lazuli pupils reflected her shadow, devoid of hostility, holding only pure curiosity.

Shiina suddenly realized: the "wall" that stood between them was perhaps something she had built herself, cemented by her own preconceived detachment.

She had always assumed that intimate relationships were inherently exclusive, yet she had overlooked the essential purity of Kiyona—how could someone who possessed such a thin concept of "social distance" ever intentionally exclude others?

What truly trapped her was the fear of being "rejected," and a deeper, more profound confusion:

If she succeeded in integrating into that "triangle," could she bear the responsibilities that came with intimacy?

When Hoshino and Kiyona argued, could she refrain from fleeing back to the fortress built of books?

And when she needed to pour out her own vulnerabilities, could she calmly reveal the Shiina Hiyori who "makes mistakes" and "gets flustered"?

Shiina Hiyori paused and looked back; the setting sun stretched the shadows of the three of them, causing them to overlap briefly on the library floor tiles.

Shiina Hiyori pressed her hand gently against her chest; what surged there was no longer a dull ache, but a scorching, almost painful hope.

She saw her desire clearly: it was not to replace anyone, but to tear off the mask called the "perfect bystander" with her own hands, and let her true joys, angers, sorrows, and delights shine through.

The afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting lazy patches of light across the classroom of Class D.

Compared to the chaos at the start of the school year, the classroom discipline had indeed "restrained" itself quite a bit.

Students like Yamauchi Haruki and Ike Kanji, who originally couldn't sit still, were now barely managing to stay in their seats; though their eyes wandered occasionally, at least there was no more loud clamoring.

The only exception was Sudo Ken, who still buried his head in his arms without a care, sleeping soundly on his desk, his light snoring sounding somewhat abrupt in the silence.

On the podium, the teacher's chalk scratched against the blackboard, emitting a rustling sound.

Regarding Sudo's behavior, no one spoke up to criticize him—the class points were still a glaring zero, and any spark that might ignite conflict was being carefully avoided.

But this silence was not an endorsement; an invisible sense of alienation hung around Sudo like thin ice, and the other students tacitly kept their distance from him, rarely even letting their gazes linger on him.

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

The bell for the end of the period finally rang, breaking the stagnant air.

Hirata Yosuke stood up, walked to the podium, and tapped the desk lightly, drawing the attention of the entire class. His voice was gentle yet clear as it reached every corner of the room:

"Everyone, please stay for a moment. In order to prepare for the upcoming midterm exams," he paused, his gaze sweeping over the few recognized "troublemakers" in the back row, "I propose organizing a study group, primarily aimed at tutoring students whose grades might be a bit unstable. Of course," he emphasized specifically, a tolerant smile on his face, "regardless of who you are, as long as you want to improve yourself, we are very welcome."

His gaze finally settled on Sudo, who had just been woken up by the bell and was rubbing his eyes with a look of annoyance, and his tone became even more earnest: "So, I hope that those who feel uneasy, or who want to consolidate their knowledge, will come to our study group. The location will be this classroom, starting at five o'clock this afternoon, and until the exams, we plan to hold it for about two hours every day. You can join at any time, and it doesn't matter if you have to leave halfway through." After Hirata finished speaking, he waited quietly for a response.

The classroom was silent for a few seconds. Soon, several students who clearly belonged to the failing tier, as if they had grabbed a life-saving straw, quickly left their seats and gathered around Hirata with a mix of urgency and gratitude, asking for details in a jumble of voices.

However, the "core" trio of the failing group—Sudo, Ike Kanji, and Yamauchi Haruki—remained as if nailed to their seats.

Sudo had turned his head away sharply the moment Hirata looked over, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, the corners of his mouth turned down, and he let out a clear "tsk" sound before simply closing his eyes, adopting a posture of refusing to communicate.

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

Ike and Yamauchi, meanwhile, appeared hesitant.

Their eyes darted between the students eagerly surrounding Hirata and Hirata himself, then snuck glances at Sudo, who was radiating a low-pressure aura beside them.

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

Ike even lifted his hips halfway, but Yamauchi pulled on his sleeve quietly.

In the end, that invisible pressure and the concern about "betraying" their companion (or perhaps mixed with a subtle resentment toward a "popular" leader like Hirata) made them suppress the urge to stand up, and they merely lowered their heads in embarrassment, pretending to organize non-existent pages on their desks.

Her fingertips traced the edge of the book page unconsciously. Shiina Hiyori gazed at the shadows of the two people opposite her as they naturally overlapped, while her thoughts sank into a deeper vortex.

Where was the boundary between "longing" and "need"? She asked herself silently.

If her attraction to Hoshino Kanade was a pure fascination with his knowledge, then what was this resonance she felt toward the defenseless sense of reliance she had on Kiyona?

It was as if, through Kiyona's lapis-lazuli pupils, she had caught a glimpse of a form of connection she had never experienced before—a more primitive, softer sense of symbiosis: simply existing in the same space, breathing in sync, and loneliness was quietly dispelled.

This realization startled her. She had once firmly believed that books were the only reliable sanctuary, and that human interaction was merely a decorative necessity of civilized society.

But when Hoshino's fingertips brushed the back of Kiyona's hand, what surged in her chest was not jealousy, but a craving for "warmth"—not of a carnal nature, but like the heat felt on one's fingertips when holding a hot teacup on a winter day, a sense of grounding that confirmed she had not been forgotten by the world.

"Hoshino-kun..." she spoke suddenly, her voice lighter than she intended, like a feather landing in the silence. Both of them looked up, and she immediately regretted it—the question she had prepared (regarding an existential metaphor in a book) was stuck in her throat, and what tumbled out instead was a clumsy, mundane remark: "Would... would you like a coffee refill?"

Hoshino Kanade was slightly taken aback, then nodded with a smile: "Thank you, Shiina-san, I was just in need of one."

This moment exposed her agitation. She was skilled at measuring the hearts of others, yet she was helpless when it came to "naturally integrating into intimacy."

As she handed over the coffee pot, she intentionally let her fingertips graze the rim of Hoshino's cup, then pulled back as if electrocuted under Kiyona's gaze.

What am I doing? Her internal alarm bells rang wildly.

This childish physical probing felt ridiculous even to her, yet it was like a drowning person clutching at a straw—as if one insignificant touch could chisel a crack into the transparent barrier.

When she packed her books to leave, Kiyona spoke up, which was rare: "Shiina, the study group tomorrow... will you bring The Klein Bottle?"

The lapis lazuli pupils reflected her shadow, devoid of hostility, holding only pure curiosity.

Shiina suddenly realized: the "wall" that stood between them was perhaps something she had built herself, cast from the cement of her own preconceived detachment.

She had always assumed that intimate relationships were inherently exclusive, yet she had overlooked the essential purity of Kiyona—how could someone who possessed such a thin concept of "social distance" ever intentionally exclude others?

What truly trapped her was the fear of "being rejected," and a deeper, more profound confusion:

If she succeeded in integrating into that "triangle," could she bear the responsibilities that came with intimacy?

When Hoshino and Kiyona argued, could she refrain from fleeing back to the fortress built of books?

And when she needed to pour out her own vulnerabilities, could she honestly reveal the Shiina Hiyori who "makes mistakes" and "gets flustered"?

Shiina Hiyori stopped and looked back; the setting sun stretched the shadows of the three of them, causing them to overlap briefly on the library tiles.

Shiina Hiyori pressed her hand gently against her chest, where what surged was no longer a dull ache, but a scorching, almost painful hope.

She saw her own desire clearly: it was not to replace anyone, but to tear off the mask called the 'perfect bystander' with her own hands, letting her true joys, angers, sorrows, and delights shine through.

The afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting lazy patches of light into the Class D classroom.

Compared to the chaos at the start of the term, the classroom discipline had indeed "tightened" quite a bit.

Students like Yamauchi Haruki and Ike Kanji, who originally couldn't sit still, were now barely managing to stay in their seats; though their eyes occasionally wandered, at least there was no more loud shouting.

The only exception was Sudo Ken, who still buried his head in his arms without a care, sleeping soundly on his desk, his light snoring sounding somewhat abrupt in the silence.

The teacher's chalk scratched across the blackboard on the podium, emitting a rustling sound.

Regarding Sudo's behavior, no one spoke up to criticize him—the class points remained a glaring zero, and any spark that might trigger conflict was carefully avoided.

But this silence was not an endorsement; an invisible sense of alienation shrouded Sudo like thin ice, and the other students tacitly kept their distance from him, rarely even letting their gazes linger on him.

His existence was like an isolated island that didn't fit into the classroom.

The bell for the end of class finally rang, breaking the stagnant air.

Hirata Yosuke stood up, walked to the podium, and tapped the desk lightly, drawing the attention of the entire class. His voice was gentle yet clearly reached every corner of the room:

"Everyone, please stay for a moment. In order to prepare for the upcoming midterm exams," he paused, his gaze sweeping over the few recognized "troublemakers" in the back row, "I propose organizing a study group, primarily aimed at tutoring students whose grades might be a bit unstable. Of course," he emphasized specifically, a tolerant smile on his face, "we welcome anyone who wants to improve themselves."

His gaze finally settled on Sudo, who had just been woken up by the bell and was rubbing his eyes with an irritable expression, his tone becoming even more earnest: "So, I hope that those who feel uneasy or want to consolidate their knowledge will come to join our study group. The location will be this classroom, starting at five o'clock this afternoon, and we plan to hold it for about two hours every day until the exams. You are welcome to join at any time, and it's fine if you need to leave halfway through." After Hirata finished speaking, he waited quietly for a response.

The classroom was silent for a few seconds. Soon, several students who clearly belonged to the failing tier, as if they had grabbed a life-saving straw, quickly left their seats and gathered around Hirata with a sense of urgency and gratitude, asking about the details in a flurry of voices.

However, the "core" trio of the failing group—Sudo, Ike Kanji, and Yamauchi Haruki—seemed as if they had been nailed to their seats.

Sudo had turned his face away abruptly when Hirata looked over, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, the corners of his mouth turned down, and he let out a clear "tch" sound before simply closing his eyes, adopting a posture of refusing to communicate.

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

Ike and Yamauchi appeared hesitant.

Their eyes darted between the students eagerly surrounding Hirata and Hirata himself, then snuck glances at Sudo, who was radiating a low-pressure atmosphere beside them.

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

Ike even lifted his hips halfway, but Yamauchi quietly tugged at the corner of his shirt.

In the end, that invisible pressure and the concern about "betraying" their companion (or perhaps mixed with a subtle resentment toward a "normie" leader like Hirata) made them suppress the urge to stand up, and they simply lowered their heads in embarrassment, pretending to organize non-existent pages on their desks.