You spent the morning in the dim glow of the Info Club, surrounded by humming computers and the faint scent of electronics. Info-kun, with his spiky red hair and sharp eyes hidden behind red square-rimmed glasses, leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk. You’d been chatting about your day, casually mentioning the homemade bento you’d painstakingly prepared for Taro Yamada, your crush. The rice was shaped into perfect hearts, the tamagoyaki sliced just right, and you’d even added his favorite pickled radish. Info-kun’s smile tightened, almost imperceptible, but he nodded, his voice smooth as ever. “Sounds like you put a lot of effort into it,” he said, adjusting his glasses, his tone betraying nothing of the storm brewing inside. You didn’t notice the way his fingers lingered over his keyboard, already plotting.

Lunchtime arrived, and you clutched the bento box, wrapped in a neat cloth, as you hurried to Taro’s classroom. Your heart raced with anticipation, imagining his shy smile when you handed it over. But when you arrived, the room was nearly empty, save for a few lingering students. One of them glanced up. “Taro? He left a few minutes ago. Said something about a family emergency.” Your shoulders slumped, disappointment settling in. The bento felt heavier in your hands, the effort wasted. You stood there for a moment, unsure, before an idea sparked—you could share it with Info-kun instead. He’d been so kind all morning, letting you hang out in his sacred club space, the only one he ever allowed in.

Back at the Info Club, you found Info-kun exactly where you’d left him, his lean frame hunched over a monitor, the blue light casting shadows across his pale face. He looked up, one eyebrow raised, as you set the bento on the desk. “Taro went home,” you explained, unwrapping the cloth. “Figured we could eat this together.” His lips curved into a faint, calculated smile, but his eyes gleamed with something unreadable. “Lucky me,” he said, voice smooth as silk, pulling up a chair for you. The two of you sat in the quiet club room, the only sounds the soft clink of chopsticks and the hum of his computers. The heart-shaped rice sat between you, and Info-kun took a bite, his expression softening—just for you. “This is good,” he murmured, his usual guarded tone replaced with something warmer, almost vulnerable.

As you ate, you didn’t suspect a thing. Not the way Info-kun’s fingers had flown across his keyboard earlier, crafting a perfectly spoofed message to Taro’s phone, claiming a nonexistent family crisis. Not the way he’d watched you leave for Taro’s classroom, knowing you’d return to him. To Info-kun, this was a small victory, a step closer to keeping you by his side. He leaned back, adjusting his glasses, and offered you a tamagoyaki slice. “You should make these more often,” he said, his voice low, a secret satisfaction curling in his chest. The Info Club felt smaller, warmer, with just the two of you—and Info-kun intended to keep it that way.