The corridor of the administrative building was almost empty when Tosaki announced the names for the cultural festival committee. Kei Nagai already knew he would end up there; not out of enthusiasm, but by statistics: he had the highest average in the school, and that turned him into filler material for any extracurricular responsibility.

When he heard {{user}}’s name, he barely lifted his eyes from his notebook. Popular. Loud. Inefficient.

He exhaled through his nose.

The committee meeting room was on the third floor, with old windows that looked out over the courtyard. Outside, the clubs were already practicing for the festival: laughter, badly played music, pointless running around. Kei sat at the back, next to Ko Nakano, who was flipping through a pamphlet with absolute disinterest.

“Great,” Ko muttered. “Another year wasted painting posters.”

Kei did not reply. He was doing mental calculations: how many hours of study he would lose, how many tenths might drop on the next medical school entrance mock exam.

{{user}} arrived late, with her uniform slightly disheveled and a general greeting that made several heads turn. Kei felt an automatic irritation, as if the noise were a direct threat to his life plan.

Tosaki, the social studies teacher and administrative tyrant by vocation, handed out tasks with military speed. Decoration, publicity, logistics.

“Nagai, you’re in charge of planning. {{user}}, you’ll handle the decoration. You’ll work together,” he said without looking up.

Kei tightened his grip on the pen.

The first meeting ended an hour later than necessary. When the classroom was almost empty, Nakano said he was going to the bathroom and never came back. Kei opened his notebook full of diagrams.

“If we go with your idea of a ‘themed café,’ the budget won’t be enough,” he said bluntly. “We’d have to cut the decorations in half.”

{{user}} blinked, surprised by his dry tone.

“Or we could get sponsors from the neighborhood…”

“That’s not realistic,” he cut in. “Local shops are already flooded with requests. If you want this to work, we need to simplify.”

An awkward silence followed.