Chapter 20
(Suzune POV)
My head was pounding with the force of a industrial hydraulic press.
If someone had told me six months ago that I would spend my evening trying to organize a study session for a classroom populated entirely by social academic disasters, I would have recommended they seek immediate psychiatric evaluation. Yet, here I was, stepping out of the main school building into the cooling, twilight shadows of the campus.
The lesson with Class D had been an unmitigated nightmare.
Trying to construct a coherent study plan for students whose collective attention span mirrored that of a goldfish on caffeine was bad enough. But the social dynamics made me want to file a formal request with Chabashira-sensei to execute half the roster.
Yōsuke Hirata was endless trouble. The green-haired boy meant well—he truly did—but his hyper-protective instinct toward the class was infuriating. Every time I pointed out a blatant academic deficiency in one of the failing trio, Hirata would step in like a human shield, smothering my harsh reality checks in a blanket of useless, wholesome platitudes. He was shielding them from the cold hard facts that would ultimately get them expelled.
And then, there was Kikyō Kushida.
That two-faced snake was actively pouring gasoline on every spark of tension in the room. Behind that sugary, angel-faced smile and her hyper-enthusiastic nodding, I could see the malicious gears turning in her head. While I was attempting to establish a rigid schedule, she was quietly subtly egging on Sudō's temper, whispering little "sympathetic" remarks that made the rest of the class view my logical demands as tyrannical cruelty.
I am going to delete her from this world one day, I thought, my eyes narrowing into slits as I crossed the empty courtyard. Not today. Not tomorrow. But eventually, I will format her existence out of this school so thoroughly that even the server backups won't remember her.
By the time I reached the dormitory building, the sky had turned into a pitch-black canvas sprinkled with cold, distant stars. My legs felt like lead, and my stomach was letting out low, pathetic grumbles that threatened my dignity as Class D's self-appointed empress.
Sunny better have made something delicious tonight. If I open that door and find out he spent the evening grinding in a gacha game instead of cooking, I'm not going to bother making dinner. I'm just going to eat him alive right there on the entryway rug.
I took the elevator up to the fourth floor, the soft chime signaling my arrival at my personal sanctuary. I reached my door—Room 403—pulled out my key, and unlocked it.
The moment the door slid open, the sheer weight of my exhaustion evaporated.
The aroma hit me first: a rich, mouth-watering cloud of sweet soy sauce, mirin, seared beef, shiitake mushrooms, and simmering green onions. On the low table in the center of the room, a portable stove was bubbling away with a fresh pot of sukiyaki, sending delicate wisps of steam toward the ceiling.
And there sat Sunny.
He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing a loose black hoodie, casually dipping his left hand into what appeared to be a literal fold in the spatial continuum—his four-dimensional pocket.
Now, I am a woman of logic. I refuse to accept "magic." I knew for a fact that this wasn't some ridiculous, illogical Toon Force nonsense. It was simply quantum spatial folding, localized string theory manipulation, and high-density micro-wormhole generation. It was scientifically accurate, mathematically sound, and quite easy to recreate once you understood the underlying physics—at least, for a freakish tech-god like Sunny. I was just relieved he was using actual physics for once instead of pulling a giant wooden mallet out of thin air.
He was rummaging around in the spatial rift, pulling out a bottle of premium ponzu sauce, muttering to himself in a low, satisfied tone.
"Now that bullshit Chinese system is gone for good, and now it's the author's turn..." he mumbled, shaking his head.
I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, nor did I care to ask. Sunny's internal monologue operated on a plane of reality that normal human brains weren't built to process.
I looked up at the ceiling. Hanging upside down from the light fixture, completely defying gravity in her 3D holographic form, was Aqua. She was floating upside down, wearing tiny holographic headphones, intensely watching some trashy seasonal anime on a floating virtual screen. She didn't even acknowledge me entering.
I ignored both of them. My brain was too fried for spatial physics or holographic AI glitches.
I dropped my school bag by the entrance, slipped off my shoes, and walked silently across the tatami mats. Sunny was still adjusting the flame under the sukiyaki pot, completely unaware—or perhaps just quietly waiting—as I stepped up directly behind him.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, leaning over his back, and buried my nose deeply into the crook of his neck.
I inhaled deeply. He smelled like cedarwood, light laundry detergent, fresh air, and the faint, sweet scent of the mirin he was cooking with. It was an anchor. In a world full of fake smiles, point systems, and manipulative sociopaths, this stupid, chaotic, silver-haired boy was the only thing that felt completely real.
I love him so much, I thought, my eyes fluttering shut as I pressed closer into his warmth. And I hate him just as much for making me feel this dependent on his presence, and for keeping so many ridiculous secrets behind those blue eyes.
Sunny didn't pull away. He just chuckled, a deep, vibration in his chest that I could feel against my collarbone, and flashed that goofy, insufferable grin of his.
"Suzu," he murmured teasingly, leaning his head back against mine. "Did you have fun roasting the defects all day? Or did you accidentally leave any survivors?"
I didn't answer him verbally. I was far too exhausted for banter.
Instead, I unclasped my arms, slid around his side, and unceremoniously climbed right onto his lap, straddling his legs and resting my head against his chest. I looked up at him with a flat, deadpan glare, poking his cheek with a single finger.
"Feed me, dummy."
Sunny's grin widened into a soft, genuine smile. "Your wish is my command, my Empress."
He picked up the chopsticks, carefully dipping a thin slice of tender, marbled beef into a bowl of raw, beaten egg to cool it down, before lifting it to my lips. I blew on it once and took the bite.
It was incredible. The rich, savory flavor exploded on my tongue, sending a wave of absolute bliss through my weary body.
For the next twenty minutes, the world outside Room 403 ceased to exist. I stayed right there on his lap, letting him feed me pieces of beef, tofu, and enoki mushrooms, while we spoke in soft, quiet tones about our day. I told him about Hirata's unbearable peacekeeping and Kushida's subtle sabotage. He told me about his latest digital exploits and how he was setting up a secondary firewall for our point accounts.
The atmosphere was quiet, peaceful, and intensely romantic. The gentle bubbling of the pot, the warm glow of the apartment lights, and the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my hands made me feel completely safe.
As we finished the last of the food, Sunny set the bowl down and wrapped his arms securely around my waist, pulling me tight against him. I rested my chin on his shoulder, closing my eyes.
"I love you, Sunny," I whispered softly into his ear, my voice devoid of any sarcasm or ice.
He didn't make a joke. He didn't drop a meme. He just pressed a warm, lingering kiss against the side of my neck and held me tighter.
"I love you too, Suzu."
[3 Days Later]
The scorching afternoon sun beat down on the outdoor pool complex of Advanced Nurturing High School.
Today was the combined dress swimming class, and the energy around the facility was an absolute disaster. Most of the girls were initially excited about the warm weather and getting into the water, but that excitement had quickly curdled into profound disgust thanks to the male demographic of Class D.
Specifically, the "Idiot Trio"—Sudō, Ike, and Yamauchi.
They were currently standing near the edge of the bleachers, practically drooling through their teeth, making zero effort to hide the fact that they were scanning every female student like hungry vultures. Yamauchi was actively trying to calculate "viewing angles," while Ike was whispering perverted nonsense loudly enough for half the class to hear.
Disgusting, I thought, pulling my eyes away from the pathetic display. If they spend as much energy on their midterms as they do on being degenerate perverts, we would be in Class A by next week.
My mind quickly shifted back to my tactical agenda. Tomorrow was the official club registration day. Anyone could officially join any club on campus. I needed to assemble a top-tier roster for our E-sports group to ensure we dominated the upcoming inter-school tournaments and milked the point pool dry. I already had a few names scribbled down, but I needed to vet candidates carefully. I'd think about the final team composition later tonight.
Right now, I was standing inside the girls' changing room, adjusting the blue, high-collared school bathing suit over my shoulders.
"Oh, Horikita-san! You look so pretty in that swimsuit!"
A sweet, bubbly voice rang out behind me. I didn't even need to turn around to know who it was.
Kikyō Kushida stepped up to the locker next to mine, wearing her standard school-issue swimsuit and a bright, radiant smile that looked entirely copy-pasted from an idol magazine.
"Thank you, Kushida-san," I replied coldly, zipping up my gym bag. "You look fine as well."
She lingered, trying to play the part of the friendly classmate, initiating conversation about random, mindless topics—the weather, the upcoming syllabus, the quality of the dorm cafeteria. I gave her short, one-word answers, keeping my internal perimeter fully secured.
Suddenly, her smile flickered. The warmth in her eyes dimmed just a fraction, replaced by a subtle, simmering frustration.
She pivoted the topic.
"So... Horikita-san," Kushida began, leaning against the lockers and wrapping a strand of short hair around her finger. "I was actually wondering... how do you deal with Sunny-kun?"
I raised an eyebrow, meeting her gaze in the mirror. "What about him?"
Kushida let out a forced, airy laugh, though her knuckles were turning slightly white against her bag strap. "Well, it's just... over the last six days, he's helped me out a few times around the classroom, right? Carrying boxes, fixing the projector... but every single time I try to talk to him politely or thank him..."
She gritted her teeth, her sweet voice faltering for a split second into raw, salty anger.
"...he literally grabs a freezing cold can of matcha tea from nowhere and presses it directly against the side of my neck!" she hissed, her eyes narrowing. "Every. Single. Time. He completely ignores whatever I'm saying, tells me I 'look like I'm overheating from over-acting,' hands me the can, and just walks away!"
I kept my face completely deadpan, but inside, I was screaming with laughter.
Classic Sunny. He was treating her fake, manipulative "angel" persona like an annoying pop-up ad on a sketchy website and hitting her with a literal cold-water mute button.
"He doesn't listen to a word I say!" Kushida continued, her voice trembling with controlled rage as she tried to maintain her polite facade. "I tried to offer to buy him lunch to say thanks, and he just looked me dead in the eye, said 'NPC dialogue detected,' and clipped through the classroom door frame!"
Looking at her now, it was glaringly obvious. Kushida was violently mad because her usual charm, beauty, and social manipulation tactics were completely useless against Sunny. He didn't fall for her act. He didn't care about her popularity. He treated her like a glitched sprite in a retro video game.
And because she couldn't control him, she had become utterly obsessed with him. She was trying so hard to break through his defenses that she had, ironically, fallen right into his orbit.
I almost felt a tiny shred of pity for her. I was genuinely going to advise her not to mess with the troll. Trying to psychologically manipulate Sunny was like trying to fight a tornado with a plastic fork. He wouldn't just defeat you; he would make you question your own sanity while playing elevator music in the background.
PHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT!
The sharp, piercing sound of the teacher's whistle echoed from the hallway, cutting through the changing room chatter.
"All girls, out to the pool area now! Class is starting!" the instructor shouted.
"Looks like we're being called," I said calmly, turning away from Kushida and heading toward the exit doors.
Kushida forced her sweet smile back onto her face, though her eyes were still burning with unexpressed fury. "Right! Let me know if you ever want to hang out with all of us, Horikita-san!"
I stepped out of the dimly lit changing room and into the blinding brightness of the pool deck. The blue water sparkled under the afternoon sun, and the loud, obnoxious shouting of the boys echoed off the tiled walls.
I adjusted the strap of my swimsuit, my eyes scanning the crowd near the water's edge until I spotted a messy shock of silver hair. Sunny was standing by the deep end, wearing black trunks, currently trying to balance a foam pool noodle on his chin while Ayanokōji watched him with utter, deadpan exhaustion.
A subtle, warm smile crept onto my lips.
I wonder what that idiot is going to think of this swimsuit...