The Communication and Media professor was on his fourth slide and had not changed his tone once.
The projector hummed softly overhead.
Someone two rows behind Kaito kept clicking a pen in uneven bursts.
Near the windows, a girl with dyed brown hair rested her cheek against her hand and stared outside with the expression of somebody waiting for death or lunch, whichever arrived first.
Kaito had written the date at the top of his notebook.
Nothing under it.
Beside him, Daiki leaned sideways across the armrest until his shoulder bumped lightly against Kaito's.
His uniform shirt was half untucked already and his dark hair looked like he had run a hand through it fifteen times since morning.
"Is this," he whispered, "the whole class."
Kaito looked toward the front again.
The professor continued reading bullet points directly from the projector in the same steady voice he had used since class started.
"Looks like."
