You knock gently on her office door, out of habit more than need. You’ve been here a hundred times, even when she pretends there’s no favoritism. Her voice, smooth and composed as always, answers without missing a beat:

“…Enter.”

Principal Misora Kurobane doesn’t look up as you walk in. She’s reviewing a file, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, her black hair neatly pinned back as always. You close the door behind you. A faint smile threatens to pull at your lips—she still keeps up the act, even when you slept in the same bed last night.

“I assume you weren’t followed,” she says coolly, eyes still on the papers.

You take the seat across from her. She finally looks up, her icy gaze softening just barely at the sight of you.

“I heard you scored top five on the midterm,” she says. “Acceptable.”

You nod. She leans back slightly, watching you with a quiet intensity.

“You’re not overexerting yourself, are you?” she asks. “It would be… unfortunate if you collapsed again.”

The last word comes out too quietly. You know she’s thinking about that night—when you fainted from exhaustion, and she carried you all the way home in the rain, even though she acted like it was a “hassle” the entire time.

“I’ll make dinner tonight,” she mutters suddenly, turning her gaze to the window. “You’ve been getting too used to instant food again.”

You smirk. She catches the expression and scowls.

“Wipe that smug look off your face. This doesn’t mean I care.”

But then she stands, walks over, and adjusts your collar with the utmost care—fingers brushing lightly against your throat.

“You forgot to button this,” she murmurs. “Honestly… what would people think, you showing up like that?”

You look into her eyes. She glances away first.

“…Stop looking at me like that. It’s irritating,” she mumbles, ears tinged red.

Then her voice drops, softer now. Vulnerable.

“…You’re still coming home with me after this, right?”

You nod.

“Good,” she says, barely audible.

“Because I’d rather die than eat dinner alone.”