The next morning, the air in the hallway was clean. My apartment was calm. The chaos of the night before felt like a strange dream that I had somehow cleaned and filed away.
When I stepped out to leave for school, Himari-san was waiting by her door. She was back in her uniform, everything perfect. Her dark hair was flawless, her shoes were spotless, and her face was calm and distant. The Ice Queen had returned.
"Good morning, Hoshino-kun," she said, her voice smooth and formal, perfectly matching her school persona.
"Good morning, Himari-san," I replied, matching her polite, distant tone. We were just two neighbors leaving for school. Nothing else.
"I took the liberty of purchasing something for you," she said, holding out a small, heavy paper bag with a department store logo. "A small thank you for your help yesterday. And for the library, as promised."
I looked at the bag. I didn't like taking gifts. It drew attention and made things messy. "You really didn't need to,"
"It is necessary," she cut in, her voice holding that quiet authority that commanded respect. "Please accept it."
I took the bag. It felt heavy. I didn't open it, but held it awkwardly. "Thank you."
We walked to the school gate together, silent but side-by-side. Students saw us. I could feel their eyes on my back, watching. Usually, I was invisible. Now, I was walking next to the most visible person in the school. I felt my skin crawl with discomfort.
"Is that your bag, Hoshino-kun?" she asked suddenly, pointing to my old backpack.
"Yes. It's just my school bag," I said. "It works fine."
"It has a small tear near the bottom, and the zipper is sticky," she noted, her eyes sharp. She saw the details I usually kept hidden. "I'll buy you a new one. It will be part of the payment."
"Don't," I said quickly. "I like this one. Please stop trying to buy me things. My help is the payment for your secret, not a shopping trip."
She gave me that long, piercing look again. She understood. I didn't want money or gifts. I wanted order and control. And I didn't want my own chaos,like a torn backpack,to be exposed.
When we reached the school entrance, the unspoken agreement kicked in. She paused, gave me a polite, formal nod, and walked toward the Student Council room. I walked toward my classroom, blending instantly into the crowd. I was invisible again. My world was back in order, but the scent of her expensive soap seemed to linger on the paper bag I carried.
Later, in the empty classroom during lunch, I finally opened the bag. Inside was a high-quality, new backpack. It was plain black, functional, exactly what I would buy myself. But underneath it was a small, well-made sewing kit.
A note was tucked inside the sewing kit. It was written on elegant, expensive paper, but with her neat, fast handwriting:
Hoshino-kun,
I apologize. I crossed a line by attempting to replace your property. Please keep the sewing kit instead. I noticed your jacket cuff needs mending, and I cannot accept being taught efficiency by someone who is not efficient himself. I will refrain from buying you another item.
I look forward to Lesson Two tonight.
— Himari A.
I looked at the sewing kit. Then I looked at the small, loose thread on my own sleeve, which I hadn't even consciously noticed. She hadn't just noticed my old backpack. She had noticed a tiny flaw on me. The same kind of tiny, correctable flaw I had noticed on her the day before