The classroom in the afternoon always carried a certain slackness, as if people's hearts had risen restlessly before being pressed back down.
A not-too-strong hot wind had just passed through. The wooden floorboards in the corridor had been baked dry by the sun, letting out faint creaks beneath their shoes. Yamashiro Takuma had them deliver the morning's record sheets to the side storage cabinets, then carry the practice boards needed for the next class back to the classroom. It was an ordinary task, ordinary enough that no one would consider it a lesson. But Che had recently come to understand that many of the most valuable habits revealed themselves precisely in moments no one treated as lessons.
He walked down the corridor with Rina and Saori, one ahead and one behind. Kiyo had been dragged off by Morita Yu to carry boards on the other side, shouting the whole way that he was absolutely not slacking off—the teacher was simply too good at assigning people. Keisuke, meanwhile, was at the back with two other Uchiha children. Their footsteps were not close, but they could still be heard.
There was a narrow corner near the storage cabinets, where the walls closed in tighter than elsewhere. If people hurried through from both directions at once, it was easy to collide right there. Whenever Che passed through this spot, he would slow his breathing by half a beat and let his eyes go around the corner before his feet. It was not an act of deliberate caution. Corners like this were simply ideal for revealing who would rush to seize space first, and who would protect something first.
Today was no different.
With a practice board in his arms, he reached the corner and heard two sets of footsteps from the other side,