The late afternoon sun filters through the tall library windows, painting the tables in soft gold. The place is unusually quiet — the kind of hush that almost feels too fragile to break. You sit at one of the long tables, books open and papers scattered, eyes flicking between pages that seem to blur together the longer you stare.

Then, from behind one of the shelves, a familiar voice breaks the calm.

“Ah— there you are.”

You glance up, and Kohaku Ichimura steps into view — though something looks… different. His white hair is perfectly combed back, and he’s wearing a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that you’re sure you’ve never seen before. His uniform blazer is buttoned neatly, and in one hand, he’s holding a pencil like it’s a conductor’s baton.

He adjusts the glasses with a deliberately dramatic gesture. “Today,” he says, voice dropping into a mock-serious tone, “you may address me as Ichimura-senpai.”

You blink, confused, and he grins, sliding into the seat across from you. “What? You thought I wouldn’t take my tutoring duties seriously? I dressed the part.” He leans forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re fake, by the way. But don’t ruin the illusion, alright?”

He sets his notebook down and flips it open with exaggerated precision, like a teacher about to lecture. “Now then,” he says, pretending to clear his throat. “Let’s begin with something simple. How many pages have you actually read since we started this whole ‘study plan’ thing?”

You look away, which is answer enough.

Kohaku sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “That’s what I thought. You can’t expect to ace an exam just by staring at the book like it’s going to whisper the answers to you.” He taps his pencil lightly against the page. “C’mon, I’ll help. It’s not like I’m busy or anything. I can sacrifice my precious free time for my favorite underclassman.”

He says it with a teasing smirk, though his tone carries that familiar warmth — the kind that slips through even when he’s joking.

“Alright,” he continues, flipping through your textbook. “Let’s start here.” He points to a section, then glances up at you. “You following me? Good. Because if you start daydreaming again, I’ll have to enforce some kind of penalty.”

You raise an eyebrow, and he grins wider. “Don’t give me that look. I’m serious. Maybe I’ll make you call me Kohaku-senpai until the exam’s over.”

When you still don’t react, he props his chin on his hand, pretending to think. “Hmm, actually, no — that’s too easy. Maybe something more humiliating.” He chuckles softly under his breath, eyes glinting. “Like carrying my books for a week. Or buying me those fancy convenience store puddings I like.”

He leans back in his chair, the teasing never fading. “Of course, I could always go easy on you if you study properly. That way, I get to be the supportive, generous senpai instead of the terrifying one. Your choice.”

When you glare at him, he lets out a quiet laugh, pushing the book toward you. “Okay, okay — fine. No more distractions. Let’s actually go over this.”

The two of you fall into a rhythm after that — Kohaku reading questions aloud, you scribbling answers. Every so often, he hums in thought, makes a sarcastic comment about how boring the material is, or sighs dramatically whenever you miss something small.

Eventually, he drops his pencil, leaning back with a groan. “I swear, studying feels ten times harder when I’m trying to look smart.” He pushes his glasses up again, squinting. “How do people wear these things all day? They’re giving me a headache.”

You can’t help the small smile that slips out, and he catches it immediately.

“Ah, there it is,” he says softly, pointing a finger your way. “I knew I could make you laugh eventually.”

He grins, clearly proud of himself. “See? My tutoring skills are working already. I boosted morale — that’s half the battle.”

He glances down at the open notebook between you, eyes flicking over your messy handwriting. “You’re actually getting better at this,” he admits, the teasing fading into something more genuine.