Reina Saeki finally returned.
The faint metallic scent of polished instruments and faint traces of chemicals welcomed her as she pushed open the door to her lab. She stood still for a moment, not even setting her bag down. Three long days of responsibility, wilderness, cooking experiments, endless questions from younger students, and constant supervision had left her body heavy. But here, in her domain, she felt something different. Something lighter.
She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and whispered.
"...Home."
Her shoulders dropped, the tiniest smile flickering at the edge of her lips before she could stop it. She had missed this place more than she thought.
But the illusion of peace shattered when her gaze swept across the room.
Boxes, tarps, cooking sets, insect cages, ropes, tents, and piles of neatly folded camping gear occupied half the lab. It looked more like a military depot than her sanctuary.
Reina sighed. "Right. All of that."
She rubbed her forehead. These weren't cheap tools, after all. The academy had poured three months' worth of research funding into equipment for just three days. And now all of it, by circumstance or expectation, had been entrusted to her to store. It wasn't wrong—after all, she was the one who oversaw the most efficient campsite. Still, every item stacked here felt like a heavy weight pressing against her shoulders.
Her budget. Her research. Her dreams of pursuing a new engine design for her spacecraft prototype… gone, or at least delayed.
"Three months of budget… burned for mosquito nets and portable stoves. What a tragic investment."
Her mutter echoed in the empty room. But she didn't linger. She walked across the floor, weaving past the stacked crates, and gently ran her fingers over the workbench. Clean. Untouched. Exactly as she left it.
Her chest loosened again. Yes—this was hers. The lab didn't judge her, didn't expect her to smile or perform. It simply accepted her presence.
But outside her little haven, the noise of returning students spread through the halls. Laughter, complaints, yawns—it was obvious that other groups had come back from their trips as well.
Reina eventually stepped out, curiosity tugging at her. And almost immediately, she saw the difference.
A group of first-year students slumped against the corridor walls, looking like they had just survived a natural disaster rather than a school activity. Their supervising teacher leaned heavily against the doorframe, his face pale, eyes sunken, and posture resembling that of a man who had aged ten years in three days.
Reina blinked once. Then twice.
"...That bad?"
The teacher noticed her and forced a laugh. "Ah, Saeki-san… you're back already? You don't look nearly as dead as us. Congratulations."
Reina tilted her head slightly. "...Thank you?"
She glanced past him at his group. The students weren't just tired—they were miserable. Clothes stained with soot, hair tangled, a faint burnt smell clinging to them. Some even had small bandages or scratches.
Her sharp eyes pieced together the story without needing words. Disorganized tents. Probably no plan for firewood. No structured meal preparation. Arguments over responsibility. And yes—she could already imagine some sneaking off into the woods at night.
"...Unorganized," she said bluntly.
The teacher gave a helpless chuckle. "That's one way to put it. I'd say catastrophic. They nearly set half the forest on fire. No baths, food so bad some refused to eat, and one of them—don't even get me started—thought it was a great idea to wander outside camp after midnight. I think we aged twenty years in those three days."
Reina crossed her arms, her gaze softening just a fraction. She had known that her group, under her, Arisa, and Sei, had been unusually fortunate—or perhaps engineered for success. But now, seeing this stark contrast, she realized just how extraordinary their results had been.
Without thinking, she spoke. "...My group wasn't like that."
The teacher lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Reina nodded, and though she had no intention to boast, her words came out matter-of-factly.
"We organized tasks. Everyone contributed. Meals were balanced, and there was bathing. No one strayed from the camp, and spirits remained high. Three days passed with minimal incident."
The teacher blinked at her, stunned into silence. His students, however, perked up just enough to listen.
"And yet," Reina added after a pause, "I do not want to experience it again."
That statement seemed final. Cold. Detached. Reina herself thought she had meant it that way.
But she didn't realize—her lips had curled just slightly upward when she spoke, her voice lighter than usual, her eyes shining with faint recollection. She didn't notice her posture loosening, as if a hidden fondness had leaked into her words.
The teacher saw it. The students saw it.
Even though she denied it, her honest expression betrayed her. She had enjoyed it.
The hallway buzzed with whispers. A few first-years nudged each other, whispering Reina's name like she was some sort of untouchable idol. The contrast between their disaster trip and her seamless leadership only deepened the image they held of her—brilliant, composed, almost otherworldly.
But Reina? She had already turned away, uninterested in gossip. She had said her piece and that was enough.
Still, her mind wandered back as she returned to her lab. She pictured Arisa's laughter when she teased her about responsibility. She remembered Sei's commanding voice booming across the campsite, rallying the boys like a drill sergeant. She remembered Himari's shy smile as she dipped into the lake with her, the rare moment of closeness when Reina allowed herself to let down her guard.
She told herself it was exhausting. She told herself she would never repeat it.
And yet… the warmth in her chest told another story.
She set her hand against the cool metal of the workbench again. A long exhale escaped her lips.
"...I suppose… it wasn't entirely a waste."
Her own words startled her. They weren't logical. From a practical perspective, yes, the trip had drained resources, stolen her research funds, and forced her into leadership roles she hadn't asked for.
But the memories.
The way the younger students looked at her—not with fear or awe, but with genuine trust. The sound of laughter under the stars. The cool water of the lake with Himari and the other girls.
For three days, she had been… not just the solitary genius in her lab. She had been something else. Something more.
She didn't have the words for it. Not yet.
But as she sat in her chair, glancing at the camping gear stacked in the corner, a quiet smile softened her features.
Maybe she didn't need words. Not for now.
The academy soon buzzed with rumors. Whispers of "Reina's perfect camp" spread among first-years, mixed with envy, admiration, and disbelief. Some joked that her group must have cheated. Others insisted that with Saeki Reina at the helm, perfection was inevitable.
Reina ignored it all. She returned to her experiments, her calculations, her endless pursuit of knowledge. And yet, when her hands grew tired and her eyes strained, her thoughts wandered back to the campsite.
She would sigh, shake her head, and mutter:
"Never again."
But each time, her smile would say otherwise.