The morning air in Class 1-B buzzed a little louder than usual.
Not surprising.
Ever since Saturday's outing — the arcade, the café, something had shifted. It was subtle, not explosive. Not the kind of change you could point to. But it was there.
People looked longer.
Whispered softer.
Laughed with slightly tighter circles around Saito Kagami and Riko Kumijo.
But Saito didn't mind. He catalogued the changes clinically, like lines in a ledger.
Observation Log, July 13th, 7:58 a.m. — Post-Outing Social Dynamics:
Increased eye contact from classmates: ~27% increase compared to pre-Saturday average.
Subject Kumijo, Riko: smile frequency in Saito's direction up 42%.
Proximity changes noted: shoulder bumps +2.4x, conversational initiations doubled.
He hadn't said much about the weekend.
He hadn't needed to.
That morning, Riko entered with her usual light-footed bounce. Her bag thudded into her chair, and she let out a small yawn as she stretched both arms skyward.
"Morning, Kagami."
"Morning."
He blinked.
Her hair — usually loose or in a low bun — had a new detail today. A soft pink ribbon tied neatly in the back.
"…New ribbon?" he asked, almost before he realized he was speaking.
She turned to him, surprised. "Huh? Yeah. How'd you notice?"
"It's different from your usual blue one."
She tilted her head, impressed. "You remember the color of my usual one?"
"I have a memory," he replied, eyes drifting to his textbook.
She smiled.
42% has become 50%.
The Next Day.
Riko hadn't arrived yet when Saito overheard it.
He was early — earlier than usual — reading alone at his desk with nothing but the shuffle of backpacks and idle conversations in the background.
Then came two girls from Riko's circle, passing behind him with barely hushed tones.
"Can you believe Riko's birthday is tomorrow?"
"Right?! I still need to wrap her gift."
"Oh, mine's in a cute bag with pastel tissue paper. You think she'll cry again?"
"She always cries on her birthday. It's like tradition."
Saito froze.
Riko's… birthday?
File update: Subject — Kumijo, Riko. Birthday: July 14th.
He stared at the textbook page in front of him.
Words blurred. Diagrams lost shape.
No one had mentioned it yesterday. Not even her.
He hadn't seen it coming — a variable he hadn't accounted for.
And that alone irritated him.
But deeper than that… was something else.
A dull, tugging curiosity.
Why didn't she say anything?
Did she not think he'd care?
Did he?
That question stayed in his head all through lunch, during biology, through afternoon cleaning duty.
By the time dismissal arrived, he had already initiated a mental task:
Operation: Birthday Retrieval
Sub-Objectives:
Determine subject's personal preferences.
Choose a meaningful gift.
Deliver at optimal emotional timing.
He moved swiftly into Phase One: covert data acquisition.
That afternoon, as Riko chatted with her friends about desserts and weekend plans, Saito tuned in from behind his propped-up textbook.
"…Not chocolate again," Riko groaned. "I like chocolate, but every year it's the same thing."
"Strawberry shortcake?" Saki asked.
"God-tier," Riko declared, pointing a dramatic finger to the ceiling.
Note: Preference — Strawberry shortcake > chocolate.
He flipped the page in his book without reading it, face unreadable.
Phase Two required greater finesse.
He approached Shun, the only classmate he half-trusted. Shun was sharp, observant, and known for his well-styled hair and unbothered sarcasm.
"Shun."
Shun glanced up from his desk. "Whoa. The elusive Kagami speaks."
"I require your assistance."
"…Are you planning a heist?"
"Classified."
Shun sat back, amused. "Alright, Mr. Mystery. What's this about?"
"What are Riko's interests?"
Shun gave him a long stare. "You're asking me about a girl's interests? This really is a heist."
"I'm expanding my understanding of peer relationships."
"You're creeping me out."
"Do you know or not?"
Shun scratched his chin. "Let's see… she likes cute stuff. Music boxes, plush toys, little trinkets. Also a huge fan of retro stuff — she has a GameCube and made me play Dance Dance Revolution once."
"Go on."
"She likes sentimental crap too. Movies where animals wear hats. She cried over a rabbit in suspenders."
Noted.
"And… why the sudden interrogation?"
Saito gave him a rare, blank stare.
"No reason."
He walked off before the curiosity could evolve into suspicion.
That evening, he took a train to the mall.
Phase Three: Field Investigation
The food court bustled with people. A violin cover of a pop song played faintly from the second floor. Saito moved with a mission, checking stores methodically.
He browsed accessory shops first.
One had flashy necklaces shaped like fruits.
Too loud.
Another had charm bracelets with initials.
Too cliché.
He tried a boutique called Minori, lined with glass displays and soft lights. The salesgirl smiled at him.
"Looking for something for a girlfriend?"
"Negative."
"Ah… a sister, then?"
"Also negative."
She blinked.
"Someone who matters."
His tone was so blunt it startled her into silence.
Still, she guided him through rows of fine jewelry. Gold bands. Heart pendants. Lockets.
He held one chain up to the light — a crystal shaped like a snowflake — and frowned.
Too dramatic.
After an hour of browsing ten stores, he sat at the food court table with nothing.
No box.
No bag.
Just a lemon water and quiet frustration.
Emotional note: Friction with variables. Ideal result not located. Market saturation renders unique identification difficult.
He pulled out his phone.
Searched online: "gifts for girl classmate — not romantic meaningful, elegant, subtle."
Scroll. Click. Dismiss.
Scroll. Click.
Pause.
There a small sterling silver necklace.
Minimalist star-shaped charm. Delicate trail engraved on the back.
Engraving read: "for new beginnings."
He stared at it longer than anything else that day.
It wasn't flashy. Wasn't too sentimental. Just… soft. Hopeful.
Like her.
Click. Purchase.
He selected in-store pickup a downtown shop that would have it ready by tomorrow morning.
His hands shook slightly on the confirm screen.
Not from nerves.
From… anticipation?
Maybe.
Riko's Birthday
Riko arrived later than usual.
Still on time, but for Riko queen of punctuality ten minutes before the bell was "late."
She burst through the door, cheeks slightly flushed, hair half windblown.
"Morning!!"
That was the signal.
Kana squealed. Mari pounced with a pastel bag. Someone handed her a bouquet of mismatched daisies. Shun gave her a ceramic charm shaped like a cat playing a guitar.
Even the class rep handed her a mechanical pencil wrapped in washi paper.
"Is this strawberry lip balm?!"
"It's the expensive one!"
"Oh my god, I'm gonna cry."
Saito remained seated.
The box was in his bag neatly tied, star necklace inside.
But the moment hadn't arrived.
Each break, he waited.
Watched.
Measured.
But she was never alone.
Class break: someone brought her a card.
Lunch: group bento picnic in the classroom.
After school cleaning: the girls roped her into sweeping while wearing a paper crown labeled "BIRTHDAY GODDESS."
He watched from the sidelines, unreadable.
She met his eyes once.
During math.
Then again, during gym.
And again during dismissal.
Each time… she glanced.
Each time… he hesitated.
At final bell, she packed up quietly. Smiled at her friends. Thanked them all.
Her voice was softer.
Not fake.
Just… dimmer.
She didn't say goodbye when she left.
That was unusual.
That broke the pattern.
Subject has departed. Status: emotionally withdrawn. Delivery window: missed.
He stared out the window.
Then stood up.
He slung his bag over one shoulder.
And without a word…
…ran.
He jogged through campus.
Past the school gate.
Into the orange-lit streets of their district.
The sky was turning apricot at the edges, warmth bleeding into cloud lines.
He traced side streets she often took.
Through the alley beside the stationery store.
Past the corner bakery where she once bought him melon bread.
Down the long stretch where the vending machine stood, humming quietly.
And finally…
He spotted her.
Halfway down the shopping street.
Her bag bounced against her hip with each step. Her head hung low. No headphones. No phone.
Just silence.
He broke into a sprint.
Paced, measured, efficient.
She turned when he called out.
"Riko."
Her eyes widened. "Kagami?"
He stopped in front of her.
His breath was steady despite the run.
"I've been trying to give you something."
"…You have?"
He nodded. Reached into his bag.
Pulled out the ribbon-wrapped box.
Held it in both hands.
"I'm not good at this," he admitted. "I've never given a gift before. Or received one."
She looked stunned.
"I didn't know what to choose," he went on. "I visited stores. Compared options. Researched birthday gifting etiquette. Analyzed emotional impact versus utility. I wanted something that matched your energy."
He extended the box.
"Happy birthday, Kumijo."
Her hands trembled as she took it.
She unwrapped it slowly.
When she opened the box, her breath caught.
The silver necklace gleamed softly. The star charm shimmered. The engraving on the back sparkled faintly:
"for new beginnings."
"…You…" she whispered. "You picked this?"
"I filtered by design, symbolism, and quality."
"You're ridiculous," she said — laughing suddenly, almost tearfully. "You're so ridiculous."
Then softer, she looked at him — not amused, not overwhelmed, just deeply, unguardedly moved.
"…But I love it."
He didn't respond.
Just watched her expression shift.
From surprise…
To joy…
To something quiet and real.
She took a step forward and didn't hug him — just stood close.
And he felt it.
That warmth again.
Unquantifiable.
But vivid.