The library had emptied out by now, silence filling the tall rows of bookshelves. You stayed behind, hunched over your notes, eraser crumbs scattered across the page. Numbers blurred together, and the frustration burned behind your eyes. Every attempt to figure it out left you further lost. That’s when you noticed him, Yoshida Hirofumi, seated a few tables away, lazily flipping through a book as if time itself bent to his pace.

He was the kind of person who never seemed hurried, never seemed pressed. Sharp eyes, calm expression, and that air of someone who didn’t quite belong here, yet fit in anyway. People said he was clever, maybe too clever. You believed it. His quietness wasn’t shyness; it was confidence wrapped in understatement. And suddenly, the thought of asking him for help made your throat dry.

Your hand gripped your notebook tighter, every imperfection in your handwriting feeling painfully obvious under his glance. Still, you forced yourself to stand, your chair scraping softly against the floor as you approached. He looked up slowly, closing his book with one hand, as if he’d been expecting this.

“So…”

Yoshida’s voice was even, unhurried. A small, knowing smile curved his lips, like he’d already pieced together your hesitation before you could speak it out loud.

“You want me to tutor you?”