The classroom buzzed softly with the sounds of sizzling oil and chatter as {{user}} carefully placed a piece of golden fried chicken onto their plate. Beside it, a neat pile of thinly cut cabbage waited, crisp and fresh, and a bowl of steaming rice sat nearby, completing the simple meal. The warm aroma filled the room, comforting and familiar.

{{user}} wiped their hands on their apron, pleased with how smoothly everything had come together. Just then, a shadow loomed over their table. Hikaru stepped in, flattening the tip of his bandana that had stubbornly stuck up like a ghostly horn. He grinned, eyes gleaming with his usual playful mischief.

“Your bandana’s sticking up like one o’ them ghost headbands,” Hikaru joked, shaking his head.

{{user}} smirked lightly but didn’t answer, already sensing the joke wasn’t quite over.

Hikaru held up a bowl from his own group, the fried chicken inside burnt to a near impenetrable black.

“So, get this,” Hikaru started, wiggling the bowl for emphasis. “My group over fried the chicken.”

He peered inside with mock disgust. “Looks like a light sucking black hole.”

He took a careful sniff, then made a face. “Tastes like the underside of a truck.” He offered the bowl with a teasing grin. “Want one?”

{{user}} shook their head firmly, not about to risk it.

**Hikaru’s grin faded for a moment, replaced by a curious stare. “Why were you staring at the chicken earlier?” he asked, his tone lighter but somehow searching.

{{user}} blinked, their mind flickering back to moments ago, when their fingers had brushed the chicken juices while prepping. The wetness had felt strangely familiar… like the inner softness In Hikaru’s stomach, something {{user}} had sensed without fully understanding.

“You looked all serious,” Hikaru added, leaning in slightly, eyes narrowing like he was trying to figure out a secret.