The week passed like shifting clouds—calm on the surface, but swirling just beneath. Sora had barely spoken to Leo since the recording room incident. Yuki avoided the topic, but her eyes lingered on him longer than before. Hana, ever blunt, asked him twice if he "planned to fix the mess or let it marinate like bad leftovers."
And Aiko?
Aiko had returned to the background, like she always did.
Until Friday.
It was announced that the following week, the school would host the annual Community Portrait Project—a collaboration between students and the nearby town's newspaper. Volunteers would pair up to interview faculty, staff, or local residents and write short profiles to be published in the regional digest.
Extra credit was offered.
Leo didn't volunteer. He was drafted.
His homeroom teacher handed him a form with a smile. "You've got a way with words. This'll be good for you."
He stared at the name listed beside his.
> Partner: Aiko Kanzaki
---
Monday morning came with coffee-colored skies and the scent of ink.
Leo waited near the administration office, where students were gathering before heading to their assigned interviewees.
Aiko arrived two minutes late, hair slightly damp from the mist, holding a plastic folder and a half-eaten sweet bun.
"Sorry," she said, not breathless, just Aiko. "I overslept. Again."
Leo offered her a napkin.
They were assigned to interview the groundskeeper—a man named Mr. Nakamura who'd worked at the school since its founding. He was known for maintaining the campus gardens and talking to squirrels.
They followed him as he raked leaves and pruned hedges, listening quietly as he told stories about how the sakura trees had been planted by the first graduating class. He had a dry sense of humor and a surprisingly poetic way of speaking.
Aiko took notes with quiet efficiency. Leo occasionally asked questions.
It was smooth.
Effortless.
When the interview was over, Mr. Nakamura offered them each a tiny tangerine from his bag and said, "Take a break. Don't grow up too fast."
They found a bench under the camphor trees and sat in companionable silence.
Aiko peeled her fruit, her fingers turning slightly orange.
"I like him," she said. "He reminds me of my grandfather."
Leo nodded. "He said we shouldn't grow up too fast. But I feel like I already did."
Aiko looked at him. "Because of everything going on?"
He didn't answer.
She leaned back on the bench.
"You know, I used to think we'd be main characters," she said casually. "You and me. Same town. Same school. Same festivals."
Leo turned to her.
"But now, I'm starting to think I was more like… the character who shows up to remind the hero who he used to be."
"That's not fair."
"Maybe not." She smiled, a little sad. "But I'm okay with it."
Leo opened his mouth—then closed it.
The quiet between them was full of something unspoken, fragile.
Then Aiko pulled out her notes.
"Come on. We've got to write this thing."
---
They found an empty classroom and worked at the same desk. Their fingers brushed once reaching for the same pen. Neither commented.
Leo found himself glancing at her—noticing the way she bit her lip when she edited, how her hair curled near her neck, how the pencil tapped three times before she wrote a sentence.
At one point, Aiko said softly, "You've got three girls looking at you like you're a question they don't know how to answer."
Leo paused.
She looked at him. "I'm not asking the question. Just... hoping you find the answer."
He met her gaze.
And smiled.
A warm, tired, grateful smile.
Not the smile of someone in love.
But the smile you give to someone who understands you even when you don't.
---
That evening, Leo turned in the profile write-up to their teacher.
It was clear, heartfelt, and lightly poetic. He'd included a quote from Mr. Nakamura:
> "Flowers bloom quietly. They don't fight for attention—they just wait for someone who notices."
The teacher read it, smiled, and said, "Nice work, Shen. You and Kanzaki make a good team."
Leo walked away, the words echoing in his head.
> A good team.
> But not a story.
He understood now. What Aiko had given him wasn't competition.
It was clarity.