Lunch break.
Shuu sat by the window, sandwich in one hand, chopsticks in the other, eyes casually scanning the classroom.
At one desk near the front: Hori Kyoko and Miyamura Izumi, whispering and smiling.
Across the room: Ishikawa Tooru laughing with Yoshikawa Yuki, their energy like a mini-sunshine burst.
In the back corner: Ayasaki Remi was braiding Sengoku Shou's hair while humming a tune.
Each pair looked like a complete picture—like puzzle pieces that had always belonged together.
It wasn't hard to see who the "main characters" were in this story.
Meanwhile, off to the side, just a few seats away from Shuu, Kouno Sakura quietly opened her lunch box and ate alone.
Her movements were neat, graceful, almost artistic.
She brought out a small thermos, a folded handkerchief, a tiny container with neatly arranged fruit—and not a single soul noticed.
Except Shuu.
"She's like a studio Ghibli character no one ever zooms in on," he thought.
Just then, a boy from another group passed by and almost bumped into her desk.
She looked up—but he didn't even notice her.
Didn't apologize.
Didn't even glance her way.
And Sakura… simply lowered her gaze again and kept eating.
As if she was used to being invisible.
Shuu stood up, walked over, and sat beside her.
Sakura blinked. "...Iura-kun?"
"You can call me Shuu," he said, unwrapping another sandwich. "And this spot had better lighting."
That was a lie. It was the same dim corner as always.
But Sakura didn't question it.
Instead, she scooted her lunch box slightly to make space.
They ate in silence for a while.
It wasn't uncomfortable—just quiet.
Until Shuu pointed at her bento.
"Did you make that yourself?"
Sakura nodded. "...Yes."
"It looks amazing. You could start a food blog."
She flushed lightly. "It's nothing special…"
Shuu smiled. "Then I guess I'm nothing special too. I just eat from the convenience store every day."
He held up his store-bought sandwich with mock pride.
Sakura giggled.
It was a small sound.
But it was real.
And that made it gold.
For a brief moment, Shuu looked past the roles—past the main characters, the spotlight, the script.
Because here, at this quiet little desk…
Something unscripted was blooming.
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