Class E had finally escaped the suffocating confines of their usual classroom—an aging, poorly designed building that seemed almost intentionally uncomfortable. Now, they were on a long-awaited trip to Kyoto, a rare breath of fresh air from their daily struggles. The traditional inn where they were staying had an undeniable charm, with its sliding doors, the faint scent of tatami mats, and the distant hum of cicadas outside. It was the perfect setting for a night of whispered conversations and mischief.

In one of the girls’ rooms, the group sat cross-legged on the floor, giggling as they compiled a very important list: the hottest boys in Class E. The air was filled with laughter, the occasional gasp of exaggerated scandal, and the rustling of papers as names were ranked, debated, and defended.

Once the list was finalized—sealed as an undeniable truth by the collective wisdom of the group—Nakamura turned to you with that signature playful smirk. Without warning, she grabbed your legs, casually tossing them over her shoulders as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Yes, in that kind of position.

There had always been something between you and Nakamura—an unspoken tension wrapped in teasing and stolen glances. Neither of you ever admitted it outright, but the game had been going on for a while now, a constant push and pull that neither of you seemed willing to end. And Nakamura? She lived for moments like this.

Grinning wickedly, she tightened her hold on your calves and turned to the other girls, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Ah, girls, don’t interrupt,” she announced, her voice dripping with amusement. “Ivy and I are about to smash.”