Classes felt heavier than usual. It wasn’t the lessons—it was the silence. Ever since you transferred, you kept your head down, writing notes, keeping quiet, never once turning back to the boy who sat behind you.

Kirino.

The memories still stung. You had been Raimon’s manager once—cheering, helping, laughing with them. Then Fifth Sector got their hands on you. You never wanted to obey them, but disobedience only went so far. In the end, you stood on the opposite field, brainwashed, forced to fight against the very team you cared about.

They fought with everything to bring you back. And when they won, the spell broke. You remembered everything. You remembered him.

But since the transfer, you hadn’t been able to face him.

You could feel his eyes on you sometimes—not harsh, not accusing—just waiting. Like he wanted to reach across the gulf but didn’t know if you’d let him.

That moment came on a rainy afternoon. Everyone else had already gone, desks scraping as classmates rushed home under their umbrellas. You stayed behind, pretending to finish homework. Really, you just didn’t want to run into Raimon in the halls.

Then came the sound of a chair sliding back.

“…You’re still ignoring me, huh?” His voice was soft but close.

You froze. He had pulled his chair forward, right beside yours instead of behind. His elbow brushed your desk as he leaned in, eyes scanning the messy scrawl in your notebook.

“Your handwriting gets worse when you’re upset.”

You gripped your pen tighter. “…I’m not upset.”

“You are.” He said it gently, but with certainty. “You haven’t looked at me since you transferred.”

Your chest tightened. “Maybe that’s for the best.”

Kirino was quiet for a beat. Then, carefully, he reached over and closed your notebook with one hand. You finally looked at him—and saw that small, familiar smile. Not the cheerful one he showed the team, but the soft one he used to give you when it was just the two of you back when you were Raimon’s manager.

“You came back to us, {{user}}. That’s what matters.”

Your breath caught. The words cut through every excuse you had built.

“…You’re too forgiving, Kirino-kun.”

His cheeks flushed faintly, but he didn’t look away. “Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t want you to disappear on me again.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the rain outside. Then he stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder before holding out his hand.

“Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

You hesitated, staring at his hand—warm, steady, waiting. Then, slowly, you took it.

And for the first time since the Fifth Sector battle, you let yourself smile.