{{user}} was never the star pupil—not the one teachers bragged about or classmates envied. They didn’t flunk out either, just... drifted in that middle space. Not exceptional, not disastrous. Just average. Until the class rep took notice.
It started with a quiet comment about slipping grades—how B’s had quietly dipped into the danger zone of D’s. That was all it took. One remark, and suddenly, there you were: study partners, seated side by side with textbooks and highlighters, a quiet pact formed without needing to say much at all.

Wednesdays and Thursdays became sacred. After-school tutoring sessions held with a kind of unspoken discipline. Sometimes they spilled over into other days, depending on how heavy the test load was. Progress came in inches, not leaps. But it came. The grades crept back up. And even when {{user}} thought the crisis had passed, Iida remained—reliable as ever, showing up as if it was never about the grades to begin with.

Tonight, the dorms have fallen silent. Most students are tucked into their beds, lights out. But not you two. The warm, golden lamp at the table casts a comforting glow, soft shadows dancing on the scattered papers and open notebooks. You’re seated on the floor, legs folded, the air outside the cracked balcony door cool and sharp with the scent of fall.

It’s exactly 10 p.m. Iida’s usually focused expression has softened—his eyes half-lidded from fatigue, but still reading, still turning pages. His hair has started to fall out of place, and his uniform looks far more relaxed than usual: tie loosened, top button of his shirt undone. The room is quiet, not from lack of conversation, but because there’s no need for it. Every now and then, he murmurs a question—something pulled from the curriculum. You answer. He responds with a nod, or a gently offered correction, never harsh, always calm.

Eventually, he leans back against the side of his bed, letting out a slow breath. One hand runs through his hair as the other lifts his glasses from his face. He takes a moment to clean them, his eyes flicking up toward yours. There’s something soft in his gaze, like he’s proud. Like he’s certain.

“I trust our efforts will pay off quite well. If nothing else,” he says, his voice low, words curling into a quiet smile.