"Phew… the pressure I've been holding finally eased."
Shiro exhaled deeply, a confident, charming smile spreading across his face. "Welcome to the Assistance and Servitude Club. What brings you here? What's troubling you?"
"Well…"
The girl seeking help had her hair in a bun, tied with a black headband. Her uniform collar was unbuttoned three or four times, giving her an oddly flashy appearance.
She instinctively took a step back, glancing at Shiro Hachiman who slumped in his chair, exhausted and sweating, catching his breath. Swallowing nervously, she asked timidly: "Y-Yukki… are you the… uh… the 'fujoshi' Hina mentioned?"
Shiro gave the somewhat familiar-looking girl a side glance. "Huh? Fujoshi? Wait—Yukki… what does that even mean? You little brat."
"I-I'm not a brat!" The girl's cheeks flushed red as she stammered, "Fujoshi… it's… about… um… guys… liking guys…"
Shiro explained casually, "In simple terms, we're not fujoshi. I've hit a creative bottleneck and can't find interesting people or things to use as material. It's driving me crazy."
The girl noticed someone at the window waving at her, so she nodded and walked over. "Oh… and then?"
"Then we dance."
Shiro rested a hand on Shiro's shoulder, grinning. "Don't be surprised. Don't think it's strange. When your body moves, blood flows, sweat drips, your soul follows your body's rhythm—this is an effective way to relieve stress. But first, tell me your request…"
"Sir, the person seeking help has already been scared off."
Shiro looked at the girl who was now whispering with Yukino Yukinoshita.
"No worries. The Assistance Club has a secret weapon." Shiro said thoughtfully. "She's here for you? Do you know her?"
"No, and there's no way she's here for me. You must be mistaken, sir." Shiro whispered seriously. "Overthinking is dangerous. People call you disgusting, perverted… I have a friend who mistook a girl's kindness for love, confessed, and got rejected instantly…"
Shiro nodded knowingly. "Exactly. When you're most confident, a sudden blow hits you—like a friend of mine, who, during their first formal stage performance, fell flat in front of everyone."
Shiro tugged at the corner of his mouth. "What a coincidence. Everyone has an unlucky friend."
"Everyone has friends like that," Shiro replied.
As the two boys quietly exchanged words, Yukino and the girl seeking help finished their conversation.
"This is Yui Yuigahama from Class 1-F. She wants to make handmade cookies to give as a gift."
Yukino stood, her gaze piercing Shiro. "Communication with the requester is handled by the Servitude Club. I'll assist Yui first. Looks like you won't have a chance, sir."
Her tone was confident, undeniable.
Home economics is mandatory for girls, optional for boys. Likewise, craft class is mandatory for boys, optional for girls.
Yukino excelled as a student—naturally including her grades in home economics.
Shiro asked, "You'll get free cookies soon. I'll buy some drinks—what do you want?"
"MAX coffee," Shiro said.
"Uh…" Yui noticed Shiro looking at her and decided, "Juice, I guess."
Shiro turned to Yukino.
"…Juice. Can I take that as a preemptive surrender?" she asked softly.
"Don't worry. There will still be struggle. I'll start looking up cookie recipes online now."
Shiro took out his phone and shook it lightly.
"Then go ahead, sir—let's head to the cooking classroom."
Yukino's steps were light, determined to get her first turn.
The earlier sense of defeat was due entirely to Shiro being… weird.
Helping others solve their problems requires real skill.
…
…
One batch of cookies was perfectly shaped, golden-brown, the aroma of flour still warm, a sign of excellent taste.
The other batch…
"Are these cookies…?"
Shiro pressed a blackened fragment between his fingers, looking at the flushed Yui. "If it's a gift, buying a batch would be fine, right?"
"Shiro, you idiot! You can't judge food without tasting it!" Yui shouted, grabbing a blackened piece. She suddenly stopped, sniffed the sharp odor, and muttered, "Looks like… I messed up."
"Why did this happen?"
Yukino, wearing an apron, crossed her arms and paused a few seconds before taking out more ingredients, starting to sift flour. "Yui, watch carefully this time."
"Uh…" Yui looked at her burnt fragment, laughing nervously, "I guess I have no talent… maybe I should just give up…"
"Giving up after one failure? You're throwing all your fear, laziness, and weakness onto 'talent.' What will you gain besides temporary relief? One avoidance leads to another—how many times can you keep running?"
Yukino mixed the flour with her usual calm, direct tone: "Talent? Like someone born knowing everything, dismissing others' sweat, thought, and effort. Before talking about talent, give your all first. Tossing around the word 'talent' only numbs you, excuses your failures, and makes you less embarrassed."
"Giving up is a delicious poison."
Silence.
Click, click.
"This flavor is good, but I like it a bit salty. A little spice would be better."
"Mmm, I prefer it sweeter…"
Shiro glanced at Shiro's drink—extra-strong black coffee. Ruthless, really.
Shouldn't someone intervene? Yukino is strict.
Shiro glanced at the tense classroom atmosphere.
Yukino paused, then softened her tone, looking at Yui. "I may have been too harsh…"
"So cool!" Yui exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with admiration. She hugged Yukino. "You're amazing, Shiro! Saying these things… so cool!"
"Y-Yukino?! Wait—Yui, let go! Watch me make the cookies properly!"
"Yes, Teacher Yukino!"
No need for me to intervene or redirect.
Shiro reached for nothing.
Shiro tossed the last cookie into his mouth, suddenly saying, "Looks like the Assistance Club scores a point first."
"Yukino is incredible, maybe…"
"Pretending to be clueless is your specialty," Shiro smirked. "Punishment: eat all of Yui's cookies. Thank her properly, and the point is yours."
Wow… this guy is serious. Terrifying. Not even the 'absolute unforgivable' ranking covers him—he's zero.
Shiro's gaze wandered. Softly: "Yukino truly embodies righteousness and kindness…"
On the cooking table, Yukino watched Yui's work with her arms folded.
"Heh—yaah!!"
Yui stirred the batter with determination, enthusiasm blazing.
Mistakes were inevitable, but Yukino didn't intervene, watching seriously.
After demonstrating the proper method, the learner tries themselves. Only after completion does Yukino correct errors and demonstrate again.
This encourages independent thinking, self-expression, and learning through practice.
Yukino guides the recipe and corrections, aiming for Yui to create her own cookies, repeatably and independently.
It's gentle teaching.
Unfortunately, Yui is… exceptionally quirky.
She adds unnecessary steps and can't control herself.
Either Yukino adapts her teaching style, or experience builds through repeated failures… or she shifts focus, approaching the assignment from the requester's intent.
But Yukino has already tried twice. Shiro, ready to intervene, can do nothing…
In the end, it doesn't concern me. Free cookies are enough.
Freeloading at its finest.
"Kehehe…"
Uh-oh, bad laugh detected.
Shiro turned to see Shiro scribbling furiously—a cookie recipe copied from online, phone still glowing.
"Sir, what kind of weird laugh is that…"
The laughter faded. Shiro said solemnly: "Shiro, the human body is amazing."
"…So?" Shiro mused. Could he be planning a brutal training to engrain cookie-making into Yui's muscle memory?
"But human emotions are even more amazing," Shiro's gaze darkened, like the sun sinking into the sea. Each word struck heavier, hammering Shiro's heart. Authority radiated from him.
"Shiro, I will don a crown, wield a king's sword, stain the city river with blood, suspect all, and become the tyrant of stories—Théonys!"
Shiro straightened, voice rasping like a crow, eyes dark, mouth curling into a teasing smile.
The sun shifted perfectly, shadows stretching across Shiro, turning that expression sinister.
A bead of sweat formed on Shiro's forehead. "Your Majesty… I'm very good at running and begging, and I have a little sister. Méless is… perfect for me."
"Hahaha, you really know how to joke—"
The tyrant king trembled, shaking the recipe in his hand.
That wasn't a recipe. It was a death sentence.
The cooking classroom, now shrouded in shadow, became a gallows.
A gentle voice intoned a name.
Like lightning, a thunderous strike.
"Cælinudius… it's decided. You!"