Afternoon

The commotion by the pool gradually transformed into the noisy chatter of students dispersing after class. Just as Yun Lan stuffed his final piece of clothing into the locker and the latch clicked shut with a crisp sound, a vibrant figure, still radiating lingering heat and dampness, slammed against him from the side.

"Hey! Not bad at all, Yun Lan. You're seriously impressive at swimming."

The person who approached was none other than his classmate, Sota Shibata. A smile so bright it seemed to hold no shadows hung on his face as he naturally threw an arm around Yun Lan's neck, pulling him into a "headlock"—a common gesture of camaraderie and celebration among boys. The pressure was perfectly controlled; it wasn't uncomfortable, yet it conveyed plenty of enthusiasm.

Sota Shibata's hair was still dripping wet, and he smelled faintly of chlorine and youthful vigor. He shook Yun Lan's shoulder vigorously, his tone filled with genuine admiration: "I was stunned! That speed, that form! I lost fair and square, and I'm completely convinced! That first-place finish was well-deserved!"

His voice was loud enough that several nearby boys packing their bags looked over. Sota Shibata was popular in class, known for his cheerful personality and athletic prowess. His proactive and candid admission of defeat and praise served to "validate" Yun Lan—a student who usually kept to himself—at least within the realm of sports, where strength spoke for itself.

Yun Lan's body stiffened slightly at the sudden physical contact and intensity, but he quickly relaxed, his face habitually assuming that gentle, slightly humble smile. He raised a hand—not to push him away, but to gently pat Sota Shibata's sturdy arm, signaling for him to let go.

"Thanks." Yun Lan's tone was polite, carrying just the right amount of flattered surprise. "You're too kind, Shibata. Your level is quite good, too; you swam very hard." He smoothly recited the standard social pleasantry used to encourage an opponent, looking at Sota Shibata with a friendly gaze as if he truly remembered the other boy's performance.

That was a lie.

Internally, Yun Lan calmly punctured his own social script. In reality, from the moment he entered the water until he touched the wall, his focus had been entirely on his own rhythm, breathing, and the distance to the far end. The other competitors in his heat, including Sota Shibata, were nothing more than blurred background noise that he quickly overtook while sprinting at full capacity. How many seconds did Sota Shibata actually swim? Was he second or third? Did he have any breathing errors? Yun Lan hadn't noticed, nor did he care. His goal was only the finish line and first place; the "results" of others did not constitute data worth collecting in his current frame of mind.

But for now, facing Sota Shibata's sincere (or at least seemingly so) congratulations and proactive display of goodwill, responding appropriately was a necessary social cost to maintain basic classmate relations and avoid being labeled as "arrogant." A vague compliment about his "good level" was low-cost but potentially effective.

Sota Shibata seemed to buy it, laughing heartily as he released his arm from around Yun Lan's neck and patted his back instead: "We should race again sometime! But racing you in swimming is too much pressure. How about basketball? I'm actually pretty good at that!"

"If there's a chance." Yun Lan smiled noncommittally, neither agreeing nor refusing. He pulled the key from his locker, tucked it into his pocket, and made a gesture indicating he was ready to leave.

"Alright! It's a deal then!" Sota Shibata took this vague response as a definitive agreement, waved at him, and turned to find his other friends, his back still radiating energy.

Watching him walk away, the polite smile on Yun Lan's face slowly faded. He didn't dislike Sota Shibata's straightforward personality; on the contrary, people of this type were usually simple-minded and easy to deal with, potentially becoming useful "covers" or "sources of information" in certain situations. However, he was also clear that he and Sota Shibata were not the same kind of people. The other boy's enthusiasm was based on recognition of athletic performance, and to Yun Lan, such recognition was merely a byproduct of achieving his goals, not the core value he pursued.

(The swimming teacher's invitation, Sota Shibata's proactive friendship... the side effects of showing off my "physical ability" are coming faster than expected.) Yun Lan thought silently as he followed the crowd out of the changing room.

He caught a glimpse of Ryuji Kanzaki, who had already changed and was standing not far away, seemingly recording something. Their eyes met briefly in the air; Kanzaki adjusted his glasses without any reaction, but Yun Lan knew that his interaction with Sota Shibata had likely already been calmly logged into the record.

Carrying the 5,000 points he had just earned and the lingering dampness on his skin, Yun Lan stepped out of the gymnasium. The campus under the sun remained bustling, and the small ripples he had just created in the pool seemed to have already begun to spread subtle, unpredictable waves through the class's interpersonal network.

The afternoon sun filtered through the clear window glass, casting a warm, golden hue over the desks in Class 1-B. Most students had already left for the cafeteria, the convenience store, or the courtyard, leaving only a few people in the classroom to enjoy the quiet of the lunch break. A faint aroma of food drifted through the air.

Beside a set of desks by the window, Yun Lan and Honami Ichinose sat facing each other. The desks had been pushed together, covered with simple, clean placemats. What was striking was that in front of Yun Lan, there wasn't just one bento box, but two square ones placed side-by-side: one blue, one orange. The blue was like a tranquil deep sea, the orange like a warm sunset—a sharp contrast, yet strangely harmonious.

The origin of the bento went without saying. Early this morning, in Yun Lan's somewhat cold and empty dormitory, it was Honami Ichinose who, wearing an apron, had skillfully used his nearly brand-new kitchen set to prepare the meal by hand. The aroma of the rolled omelet had briefly dispelled the loneliness of the room.

At this moment, both bento boxes were open. The blue box contained a balanced meal of staples and protein: rice balls shaped into small animals, carefully pan-fried teriyaki chicken, and blanched, vibrant green broccoli. The orange box was filled with various side dishes and treats: tamagoyaki, sugar-glazed cherry tomatoes, crisp pickled radish, and a few strawberry daifuku that looked delicious. The nutrition, colors, flavors, and even the portion size—considering Yun Lan's appetite—had been arranged with meticulous care.

Honami Ichinose had only a pale pink bento box in front of her, the contents equally exquisite but clearly smaller in portion. She ate her meal in small bites, her gaze frequently drifting to Yun Lan and the lavish "double" bento before him. Her blue eyes rippled with a satisfied smile, as if watching him eat heartily brought her more joy than eating herself.