Haruaki slid into class with the kind of last-minute momentum that made chair legs scrape and a few heads turn. The bell hadn't rung yet, but the teacher was already stacking handouts like a warning shot.He muttered a quiet apology, set his bag down, and only then realized he'd been holding his breath. His pulse had the tempo of a sprint but for no good reason—unless "fixing a grand piano with a girl who makes your brain misfire" counted.
Aika twisted around in her seat with a grin that said I smell gossip. "You're cutting it close today, champ."
"Lost track of time," he said, neutral. Honest enough.
"Doing what? Don't tell me—rhythm games before homeroom?" Her eyes sparkled. "Daring."
"Not today." He tugged out a notebook, flipped it open, then promptly stared straight through the page like it was a window to last period's music room.
Aika squinted. "You have the face."
"What face."
"The one that looks like you solved a puzzle and then found a bigger puzzle behind it." She poked his shoulder with her pen. "Spit it out." He didn't. Not because he couldn't—because naming it out loud would make it real in a way his chest wasn't ready for. "It was nothing. Just… got roped into fixing something."
"School's handyman strikes again." She leaned in, whispering, "Was it for your mysterious shogi rival?"
He blinked. That was technically true and also miles off. "It was a piano."
Aika paused, recalibrating. "You fix… pianos now?"
"Temporarily." He kept his tone flat. "Emergency tuning. No autographs."
She laughed under her breath, pleased enough with the crumbs. "Fine, keep your secrets. But remember—you owe me a study session before exams. My house. I pay in ice cream."
"I remember," he said, and the faint smile that snuck onto his face betrayed him more than any confession would've.
The bell rang. Paper whisper, chair shuffle, morning announcements. Haruaki tried to fold his brain back into the lesson, but the edges of yesterday kept tugging—Mizuki's hands steady on the tuning lever, her focus sharpened to a point, the way her expression had flickered when he'd called eight-year-old her cute. Who says that out loud?
Apparently, him.
He stared down at his notes, realized he'd written the word "resonance" in the margin twice, and very carefully drew a box around it like that made it less obvious.
Outside the window, a sliver of sun caught the corner of the music wing's glass. He told himself to pay attention. He mostly succeeded.
Mostly.
The lesson bled into lunch with the usual rustle of bento lids and trading snacks like stock shares. Haruaki was halfway through unwrapping a sandwich when a shadow fell across his desk.
Aika stood there with her hands on her hips, looking far too triumphant for someone who hadn't done anything yet. "So. Today. My house. Don't you dare say you forgot."
Haruaki blinked, sandwich halfway to his mouth. "I said I didn't forget."
"You did forget until I reminded you this morning," she said, tapping her temple. "Good thing I keep track of your memory lapses."
"I just filed it under… pending."
"Mmhm. Pending until your brain finishes buffering." She leaned closer. "Well, now it's buffering toward my place. Three o'clock. Bring notes. And an appetite, because ice cream is happening whether you want it or not."
He sighed, but there was a twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "Ice cream bribery is kind of heavy-handed."
"Effective though." She wiggled her eyebrows. "Don't think I won't enforce it with sprinkles."
He let her declaration stand, mostly because trying to argue against Aika in this mood was like trying to shout down a fireworks show.
By the time the final bell rang, she was already waiting by the door with her bag slung over one shoulder, tapping her foot like she'd been rehearsing impatience. "Come on, handyman. We've got equations to wrestle and sundaes to demolish."
Haruaki adjusted his glasses, resigned. "Lead the way."
The sun was just starting its lazy dip, painting the streets with that after-school glow. Aika set the pace like she was dragging Haruaki into battle—except her "battle" was equations, highlighters, and at least two tubs of ice cream waiting in her freezer.
"You walk too slow," she called over her shoulder.
"You walk too fast," Haruaki countered, adjusting the strap of his bag. "It's not a race."
"It is a race. Against your goldfish memory."
He sighed. "You're never letting that go, huh?"
"Nope." She grinned, twirling once as she walked backward in front of him. "One of us has to keep track of things. And let's be honest, it's not gonna be you."
Her house wasn't far—tucked in a quiet street, the kind of place that smelled faintly of flowers even before they reached the gate. Aika tossed her shoes off with practiced ease, calling out a quick "I'm home!" before dragging Haruaki into the living room.
The place was… comfortably chaotic. Stacks of manga by the TV, throw blankets everywhere, a couple of cosplay wigs perched on mannequin heads like silent roommates.
"Don't stare too long," she warned, shoving a pile of magazines off the couch to make space. "The wigs stare back."
Haruaki let his gaze linger just long enough to make her squirm before setting his bag down. "Feels very… you."
"Translation: messy."
"Translation: lived-in."
She stuck her tongue out but clearly preened a little at that. Then, clapping her hands, she announced, "Study first, ice cream second. Otherwise I know you'll sabotage the math problems with brain freeze."
Books sprawled across the low table like a paper battlefield. Aika had her notebook flipped open, pen spinning between her fingers like a weapon. Haruaki sat across from her, already scribbling through the first problem with his usual absentminded calm.
"Hold it," Aika leaned forward, squinting. "You didn't even read the question."
"I did." He slid the notebook toward her. "Answer's there."
Her eyes darted over the neat steps. Perfectly correct. Of course. "...You're the worst."
He smirked. "That's gratitude?"
"Do you know how annoying it is to study with someone who doesn't even try but still wins?"
"Yeah. Must be tough."
She groaned and flopped onto the couch dramatically, clutching her pen like a fallen soldier. "This is why I hate math. I can't just wing it like you."
Haruaki leaned back, arms crossed. "You wing everything else just fine."
That got her. She sat up, cheeks puffed. "That's because everything else can be winged! Equations don't care about my charm points."
"Charm points?"
"Yes! Charm points!" She jabbed her pen at him. "I have at least +50 in them, thank you very much."
He raised a brow. "Out of…?"
"Out of 100.""Generous self-scoring."
She threw her notebook at him.
They kept at it, bickering and trading jabs until Aika actually started cracking through problems—her pout softening into little grins every time she nailed one without asking for help. By the time the sun dipped fully, both were leaning against the couch, tired but satisfied, their notes scattered everywhere like a conquered field.
Just then, the front door clicked open.
"Aika?" A woman's voice carried in, warm but weary. Aika shot up immediately.
"Mom! Welcome home!" She darted out, quick footsteps and the rustle of a bag being set down. A moment later, she returned with a woman in tow—taller than Aika, same bright green eyes, her work blazer still on, hair pinned back hastily.
Her mother blinked at Haruaki, then smiled. "Ah, you brought a friend."
"Study buddy," Aika declared proudly, planting her hands on her hips. "Don't worry, I actually studied."
Haruaki stood and bowed politely. "Tsugihara Haruaki. Thank you for having me."
Her mother chuckled softly, eyeing the battlefield of papers. "I can see that. You'll have to visit more often, Haruaki-kun. She only gets that serious when someone's watching."
"Mom!" Aika whined, tugging her away toward the kitchen.
The study war had ended with a truce: two bowls of ice cream, dripping under the kitchen's fluorescent light. Aika dug into hers like she'd just won a championship, spoon clinking against the glass.
"This," she announced, pointing at the bowl, "is the only reason I put up with quadratic functions."
Haruaki smirked. "You bribed yourself?"
"Exactly. Positive reinforcement." She took a huge bite, then squinted at him over her spoon. "So… what about you?"
"What about me?"
"Love life."
He nearly choked on a spoonful of vanilla. "Excuse me?"
"Don't play dumb. You've got that face."
"What face."
"The face that says, 'I definitely have a crush but I'll die before admitting it.'" She leaned her chin into her palm, mock-serious. "Come on. Who is it?"
He stirred his ice cream slowly, pretending to focus on the swirl. "No one."
"Liar."
"I'm not lying."
"Then prove it—say it out loud: I, Tsugihara Haruaki, do not have a crush."
He gave her a flat look. "…You sound like my little sister."
"That's not a no." She grinned, spoon hovering like a microphone. "C'mon, Haruaki. Even if it's unrequited, even if it's dumb, you can tell me."
His silence stretched a beat too long.
Aika's grin faltered just slightly—then she laughed it off, kicking his shin lightly under the table. "Fine, be mysterious. I'll just assume it's some upperclassman or a teacher or something scandalous."
"Don't." He deadpanned.
She leaned back, smug. "Got it. Someone in school, then."
Haruaki sighed and went back to his ice cream. He wasn't about to confirm anything, but the way the spoon clicked against the glass gave him away more than words ever could.
Aika caught it, eyes narrowing, but she didn't push further. Instead, she smirked and muttered, almost to herself, "Guess I'll find out eventually."
The bowls were scraped clean by the time Aika leaned back with a satisfied groan. "Worth every integrals-worth of suffering," she declared.
"You didn't even finish half the practice set," Haruaki said, stacking their empty bowls in the sink.
"Details," she shot back, sticking out her tongue. "Besides, you'll bail me out on exam day."
He shook his head, grabbing his bag. "That's not how exams work."
"That's exactly how friendship works." She hopped off her chair and trailed him to the door. "Anyway, thanks for coming over. I had fun. Even if you're still being all suspicious and secretive."
"Suspicious is your word," he replied.
She smirked. "My correct word."
At the door, she gave him a casual wave. "See you tomorrow, Haruaki."
"Yeah. Thanks for the ice cream."
The evening air outside was cooler than he expected, cicadas already humming their late-summer chorus. He slipped his hands into his pockets, the quiet streets guiding him home. Aika's teasing still clung to his ears, but it wasn't her voice that lingered—it was Mizuki's, clear as the notes that had resonated from the piano the day before.
He exhaled, the faintest smile tugging at his lips, and kept walking.