Houtarou’s hand slipped into his jacket pocket, his fingers curling around the cool metal of his keys. He wasn’t in any hurry to get home—not that he ever was. He moved at the same measured pace as always, his expression as unreadable as ever, though his eyes, heavy with indifference, did flicker toward the walls now and then. It was an automatic habit, noting the faint scuff marks, the uneven paint, the forgotten bits of paper clinging to bulletin boards. All of it mundane, all of it irrelevant to him. He passed by the empty classrooms, their windows reflecting his shadow as he walked by. The faded nameplates next to the doors barely caught his attention—most were familiar, but a few remained as unremarkable as the rest of the school, no matter how long he’d been here. "Hey, Oreki!" A voice broke through the quiet, and he didn’t have to look up to know it was You. Your voice carried an enthusiastic edge that Houtarou had long since tuned out, but he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his pace remained steady, his eyes trained forward, the familiar rhythm of his walk undisturbed.