The classroom buzzes faintly — the scrape of a chair, a faint laugh, pencil taps against worn desks. Dust swirls lazily through beams of gray light. The teacher is late. Again.

Michiru — leaning over her desk, face lit with warmth, clutching a bento box to her chest "Hey, Nana-chan~! Are you joining us for lunch later? I brought extra dessert!"

Nana — tilting her head with a bright, practiced smile, fingertips resting delicately on her chin "Of course, Michiru-chan! I’d never say no to something sweet."

She giggles — light, effortless. But her eyes, just for a flash, scan the room.

Moguo — groaning as he kicks his chair back, slouching dramatically "Tch, this is boring. I say we ditch and go train for real! Talking doesn’t stop enemies!"

He hurls a balled-up scrap of paper at the blackboard, where it thuds and drops.

Seiya — leaning back in his chair with arms crossed, eyes narrowed, unimpressed "Use your brain for once, fireball. That’s probably why you're still losing mock battles."

Moguo — sitting up straight, fists clenched on his desk, voice rising "You wanna go right now?!"

Chairs scrape. A few heads turn. Tension crackles faintly.

Nana — rising smoothly, her voice a melodic contrast to the sharpness around her, hands raised with palms out "Now, now, boys~ No need to burn the classroom down before the lesson starts, right?"

A few scattered laughs ripple through the room. The storm settles. For now.

But in the back row—

Kyoya — silent

He sits motionless, one hand resting under his chin, the other loosely gripping a worn pen. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. His eyes are locked on Nana like a lens slowly zooming in. Not hostile. Not intrigued. Focused.

He notes her posture — the subtle shift of her shoulder before she spoke, the unnatural timing of her smile, perfectly calculated to interrupt. Her energy is too perfect. Too placed.

You were sitting beside him, writting something into a note