The concert had ended to thunderous applause, but the melody that lingered in Riko's mind wasn't any of the performances—it was the image of Kaito's subtle shift in attention when Hikari had taken the stage. She still couldn't quite process it.
As the crowd dispersed through the main gate, Riko walked beside Kaito in comfortable silence. The evening air was cool, carrying the fading sounds of departing students and families. Kaito's phone buzzed—a message from Aiko that he glanced at briefly before pocketing it without comment.
"Heading home?" Riko asked, attempting casual conversation.
"Yes." His usual economy with words.
They walked past the well-lit areas near the school, approaching a quieter stretch where the streetlights grew sparse. That's when they heard it—a sharp, angry voice and the shuffle of feet.
In a narrow side path between buildings, a third-year student with a sneer was looming over a smaller, trembling underclassman. The victim's glasses were on the ground, one lens cracked, as he tried to shield himself.
"I told you to watch where you're going, you useless first-year—"
Riko's mind immediately catalogued the scene. Bullying. Third-year. Should report this to the Council tomorrow. Gather evidence first, intervene later to avoid escalation. It was the logical, strategic approach.
But before she could even formulate the thought into action, Kaito moved.
He stepped forward with a quiet purpose, placing himself between the bully and the victim. His voice, when it came, was not cold—it was firm, controlled, and carried an authority that made the third-year pause mid-sentence.
"That's enough."
The third-year's face twisted in anger. "Who the hell do you think you are? Mind your own business, you—"
He stepped forward, fist clenched, clearly intending to strike. Riko's breath caught. He's going to hit him—
But at that moment, voices echoed from the main road. Teachers. A group of them, probably heading home from the concert as well.
The third-year's eyes darted toward the sound, his aggression dissolving into panic. He shot Kaito a venomous glare. "This isn't over. Watch your back." And then he fled, disappearing into the shadows of a side alley.
Kaito didn't chase. He simply turned to the boy still cowering on the ground. Without a word, he bent down, picked up the broken glasses, and gently handed them back. The boy stared up at him, tears in his eyes, mouth opening and closing without sound.
"Get home safely," Kaito said quietly. "And report this to your homeroom teacher tomorrow. Use my name if needed." He waited until the boy nodded, then straightened and walked back to Riko as if nothing had happened.
They continued walking in silence for several steps.
Riko's mind was a storm. The Kaito she had just witnessed—the one who intervened without hesitation, who protected a stranger, who showed kindness without expectation of reward—was not the Ice Prince of classroom whispers. He was not the cold fortress who made presidents apologize. He was something else entirely.
Her carefully constructed understanding of him crumbled and reformed in an instant.
Not just a talented, gifted student. Not just a cold loner.
A good person.
The thought settled in her chest with unexpected warmth.
She glanced at his profile—still expressionless, still walking with measured steps—but the meaning behind that mask had shifted forever. The unseen kindness she had just witnessed painted every previous interaction in a new, profound light.
(End of Chapter 46)