Chương 389: 176. Busy Day 2

It wasn't that this had never happened in the Seitokai before, but every time it did, it came with a bizarre sense of cognitive dissonance. After all, when we gathered here, it usually wasn't to foster warm, youthful camaraderie. It was because disasters, spreadsheets, procedures, and liability tracking forced us into the same room.

Taking this group—who had just been discussing how to strip the armor off an Upper House candidate—and dropping them straight into the "wanna grab dinner together" category felt a lot like storing a military rifle in a kitchen cutlery drawer. Logically fine, psychologically weird. Roy reacted first.

"If it's food, I agree."

"You agreed fast," I said.

"Because while I was calculating the budget just now, I started hallucinating. The numbers were starting to look like pork cutlets."

"You're one step away from being an overworked-finance casualty."

"Relax," Roy replied deadpan.

"I've already crossed that line." Lan slid her blueprints into a folder, voice still level.

"The only places still open nearby where we can actually sit down are the two shops on the street behind the back gate."

"One noodle place, one set-meal place," I added.

"You actually remember." Lan glanced at me.

"It's not like I don't eat." I pulled my jacket back over my shoulders.

"I just usually look like I survive purely on coffee and rage because the Seitokai squeezes me dry." Hedwig listened quietly, seemingly thinking something over. A few seconds later, she spoke.

"If no one minds, I shall join as well." I tilted my head at her.

"You're used to eating at places like that?"

"If the food is sufficiently warm, it generally does not pose a problem," she answered with absolute seriousness. For a second, I couldn't tell if that was incredibly well-bred or incredibly lethal. Because translated into plain speech, that sentence basically meant: Her Highness is hungry today, so standards can be lowered. Maki gathered the last stack of papers and finally stood up.

"Let's go, then." She said it so naturally that it was my turn to stare at her.

"You're going too?"

"What else?" she picked up her jacket from the back of her chair, sounding as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Weren't you just asking if we could call it a day?"

"I asked if we could call it a day, not if the Seitokai President was willing to lead a squad out for dinner."

"Do the two conflict?"

"Theoretically, no. Practically, it exerts a lot of pressure." Maki glanced at me, didn't answer, and just draped her jacket over her shoulders. It was a simple motion, but the way she did it made it feel like some kind of declaration. Not a loud one, just a since we're done here, you're coming with me kind of vibe. Sometimes this woman didn't even need to say anything; her actions were already formatted as imperatives. The annoying part was that I actually responded to it.

Saying that out loud would probably damage the Vice President's credibility, but unfortunately, credibility can't be eaten for dinner. We packed away the files, killed the lights, locked the cabinets, and made sure the versions we needed for tomorrow were separated out. Everyone was intimately familiar with the routine—so familiar it felt like a militarized shutdown sequence forged through countless repetitions of we survived today, we'll continue torturing each other tomorrow.

When we walked out of the Seitokai building, the night wind immediately hit us. It was cold enough that my shoulders instinctively hunched. The campus streetlights were already on. The winter night pressed down on the academy, keeping it straight and quiet. From a distance, it looked like a metal cage designed to train youth into standardized specifications. But it was exactly at times like this that the sound of footsteps walking out of the gates together became exceptionally clear.

Up ahead, Roy was talking to Lan about which set meal came out faster and which noodle shop had larger portions, sounding very much like a male finance officer who had finally regained his humanity under the duress of starvation. Hedwig walked slightly behind them, her pace steady, her scarf perfectly arranged, creating a subtle sense of unreality when placed next to this cheap-dinner itinerary. I walked next to Maki. That fact in itself wasn't anything special.

The problem is, when something that isn't special happens too naturally, you start becoming hyper-aware of it. I shoved my hands into my pockets, breathing out white puffs of air as we walked.

"So, Maki."

"Hm?"

"Does this meal count as a mental-damage subsidy for overtime?"

"No."

"Heartless."

"You can interpret it as group life-support."

"Sounds lovely. Translated into human speech, that means 'the Vice President isn't allowed to die yet, feed her first'?" Maki didn't even look at me. Her tone was brutally flat.

"If you want to interpret it that way, I won't stop you." I turned my head and glared at her. She still had the same face. Calm, steady, unreasonably pretty, and reliably unreasonable. The streetlight caught the side of her face, making her already sharp profile look even fainter, even cleaner. When someone like this sits behind the Seitokai desk, she feels like the system itself.

But walking down a street at night, she suddenly makes you realize she's actually just a student who hasn't had dinner yet, exactly like me. It was annoying. Because at times like this, it was easy for my head to get messy. I shifted my gaze back to the front.

"Can I order something expensive, then?"

"No."

"You won't even give me room to dream?"

"If I do, you'll take a mile."

"I didn't realize you understood me so well."

"It's not understanding. It's experience."

"... That's hurtful."

"It's a fact." I choked on my words, suddenly unable to find a comeback. This was highly detrimental to my basic dignity as Hoshino Shimo. Unfortunately, Maki was clearly in a state where—having cut the process clean and loosened up slightly—even her follow-up stabs were smoother than usual. Going head-to-head with her right now usually just ended with me throwing myself onto the blade. Not worth it. So I chose to temporarily deposit my pride in my pocket, to be reclaimed after I was full.

Up ahead, Roy turned around and asked:"So which one are we eating at?" Lan answered instantly.

"Set meal. We're tired enough today. I don't want to start another meeting while blowing on hot noodles."

"Agreed." I immediately raised a hand to second the motion.

"Hot noodles make people tell the truth. We don't need any more truth today." Roy nodded.

"True. If we keep talking, I'm afraid I'll categorize the Upper House guy as 'a standard part packaged in a premium box'."

"You literally just said it," I pointed out.

"Which is exactly why I said we shouldn't eat anything too hot." This time, even the tail end of Lan's eyebrow twitched, as if expressing—in her own General Affairs way—that she was actually amused. Hedwig listened quietly beside them, and only when we turned out of the school gates did she add, very faintly:"In that case, I suppose I can attempt the set meal today." I looked at her.

"You made that sound like royalty making a major diplomatic concession." Hedwig blinked.

"Did I?"

"You did."

"Then you should be grateful." This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"... Have you been getting better at talking back lately?" She didn't answer directly, just pulled her scarf up a fraction. It was a tiny movement, but I swore I saw a glint in her eyes that could almost be called delighted. Great. Even the Secretary was evolving counter-attack functions after late-night Seitokai overtime. I was starting to lose track of whether this organization was cultivating talent or intensively breeding highly articulate hazards.

The street behind the back gate wasn't exactly bustling, but there were still lights on at this hour. The shop's noren curtain swayed in the wind, the glass was slightly fogged, and you could see the heat radiating inside from across the street. In that moment, I suddenly genuinely felt like we could call it a day. Not because the world had gotten better. Not because the team selection was suddenly hassle-free.

And not because the Upper House candidate was going to wake up tomorrow and magically understand what it meant to step outside the ten-ring others had drawn for him. Just that we saw what we needed to see today. We sorted what we needed to sort. We cut the process once, and we filtered the people once. The rest was for tomorrow. That was enough. I stood in front of the shop, exhaled a cloud of white breath, and looked at Maki.

"President."

"Hm?"

"We're really done for today?" She glanced at me and reached out to push the noren aside.

"Eat first, Shimo." Her tone was perfectly flat. After dinner, we all went our separate ways. It sounds like a perfectly normal sentence, but applied to Seitokai members, it carried the austere, tragic vibe of post-disaster tally complete, survivors RTB. Roy was the first to stand up, and his reasoning was solid—he said if he sat there any longer, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from doing a cost breakdown of the set meal we'd just eaten, which was entirely too ominous for any normal diner.

Lan packed up as efficiently as ever; even the way she placed her chopstick wrapper on the corner of the table carried the terrifying neatness cultivated by the logistics system. Hedwig thanked the staff, her tone so polite it sounded less like she was getting up from a cheap diner and more like she had just concluded a low-budget but respectable diplomatic visit. As for Maki. She paid the bill. Yes. She paid.

For a split second, I almost wondered if I was so hungry and tired that my vision had temporarily detached from reality. After all, Maki Kushima usually gave off the vibe of someone who would accurately point out that this gathering does not qualify as a necessary Seitokai expense, rather than someone who would reach into her own pocket. I stood by the door, scarf still half-undone, and tilted my head at her.

"... President, you're in a really good mood today, aren't you?" Maki slipped her wallet back into her jacket pocket, not even bothering to lift her eyelids.

"I just couldn't be bothered watching you all waste another five minutes arguing over who pays first."

"That answer has zero dreams in it."

"Dreams aren't dinner."

"But the fact that you treated us is a dream in itself."

"I'll remember to let you pay next time."

"I retract my previous statement. There are still no miracles in the Federation." Roy heard that from the side, gave a low laugh, and very self-awarely started walking in the opposite direction.

"We'll head back first." He pulled his scarf up, nodded to Maki, then looked at me and Lan.

"If the process hasn't grown legs and run away by tomorrow, I'll be there on time."

"That's a very ominous thing to say," I told him.

"Seitokai work is inherently ominous," Roy replied deadpan.

"Goodnight." Lan said her goodbyes as well. Before leaving, she looked at me, then at Maki. Her gaze was faint, but it was exactly because it was so faint that it made you wonder if she had actually seen everything.

"Be careful on your way back," she said.

"Miss General Affairs," I crossed my arms and looked at her.

"Why does that sound like you're giving final instructions to two people highly prone to causing trouble?" Lan pulled her folder a little closer to her chest, tone flat.

"Because I know you two."... Damn it, that was convincing. Hedwig was the last to leave. She stood in front of the shop, the night wind catching the edge of her scarf. She gave a slight nod, the motion so proper it looked like she had a fixed geometric angle for late-night farewells.

"I shall take my leave as well, then." I looked at her and couldn't help asking:"Are you really used to eating at places like this?" Hedwig blinked, as if evaluating whether my question was out of concern or just picking a fight. Finally, she answered, perfectly calm:"Rather than 'not being used to it,' I am far more concerned with 'not being full'." I went quiet for a second. Then Roy laughed first, Lan looked away, and even the corner of Maki's mouth seemed to twitch.

I pointed at her, taking half a minute to force out a sentence.

"... You're really getting dangerous lately." Hedwig didn't talk back. She just let her eyes curve in a very slight smile.

"Likewise, Vice President." With that, she turned and left. The night swallowed her silhouette down another street. I stood there watching for two seconds before finally pulling my gaze back. Maki had already started walking toward the school, so I had to hurry to catch up.

"Wait, President, why are you walking so fast?"

"Going back to get my bike."

"That answer is so concise it hurts my feelings."

"What did you want to hear?"

"At least something like, 'Is the Vice President full? If you can't walk, I can wait for you'." Maki finally looked at me from the side. The streetlight brushed past the corner of her eye, making that glance look fainter, and closer, than usual.

"Didn't you just eat two orders of fried food?"

"... That came with the set meal."

"And the extra side dish."

"That was to maintain brainpower."

"Looked more like maintaining your ability to bicker."

"So you were quietly observing me this whole time?"

"Not observing." Maki turned her eyes back to the front, her tone ruthlessly steady.

"You're just too loud." I nearly choked on the spot. Fine. Because Maki Kushima had had such a smooth time butchering the process today, even her follow-up stabs were landing cleaner than usual. If this woman ever switched careers to become an interrogator, the Federation could save a fortune on equipment budgets. The walk back to the school wasn't long. Looping back to the academy from the street behind the back gate, there were very few people out.

Just the streetlights lined up one after another, cutting the way back into warm, segmented squares. The wind was still cold, but after eating, I didn't feel as hollow as I had when I first stepped out of the Seitokai. At least my stomach was warm, and my brain had finally stopped running at the redline speed it had held all day. To be honest, humans are incredibly easy to fool. As long as you eat first, even the biggest systemic disasters can temporarily look like something that can wait until tomorrow.

When we entered the school gates, only one light was on in the guardhouse. The uncle on duty took one look at us, his eyes carrying that familiar, resigned it's you Seitokai kids again look, but he had long since learned not to ask. Because at this school, asking the Seitokai why they were out so late was like asking why winter was cold. The answer was usually long, annoying, and not worth it. The bike shed was behind the administration building.

At night, the metallic smell of the shed was heavier, the ground a little damp. Rows of bicycles leaned quietly in their racks, like a flock of vehicles that had been disciplined to the point where they couldn't even be bothered to complain. Maki and I walked in one after the other, the sound of our heels clicking against the concrete suddenly very distinct. My bike was parked near the back. Which normally wasn't a big deal, since that's where I always parked it.

But whether it was because the wind was colder tonight, or because the streets had emptied out, standing alone in the shed with just the two of us suddenly made a "not a big deal" situation feel like a very big deal. I bent down to unlock it. My fingers were a little stiff from the wind, and the metal lock wasn't cooperating. I tried twice, still hadn't pulled the lock free, when I heard Maki ask, very faintly from beside me:"Hands cold?"

"No." I instinctively talked tough.

"This lock just really wants to fight me today."

"You manage to pick fights with locks now."

"That's rude, President." I was about to complain some more when Maki, having righted and parked her own bike, walked over to me. She didn't say let me, and she didn't ask need help? She just reached out naturally, her fingertips brushing against the lock in my hand. It wasn't a heavy touch. But because her hand was warmer than mine, my pulse hitched for a second. Maki seemed completely oblivious to my pathetic little pause. She just looked down.

"You jammed it in backward."

"... What?"

"The keyhole is backward." Her tone was flat, almost like she was reading a deeply embarrassing self-reflection report out loud.

"If you twisted it two more times, you'd probably have to ask General Affairs to bring a saw tomorrow." I went silent. She turned the lock cylinder the right way, gave it a light pull, and with a click, it popped open. Clean. Efficient. Absolutely merciless. I stared at the open lock, momentarily unsure whether I should thank her first, or find a hole to bury myself in.

"... I'm just a little tired today."

"Mm."

"That 'hm' sounds a lot like 'I know, you're usually like this anyway'."

"You're very self-aware."

"Maki Kushima, you're a really annoying person."

"You didn't just figure that out today." She handed the lock back to me. Her tone was still faint, but just as she turned to go back to her own bike, she seemed to think of something and added a line.

"But today, it's excusable." I held the lock, freezing for two seconds. Then I looked up at her, half a beat late.

"... President."

"Hm?"

"Were you just comforting me?" Maki wheeled her bike out of the rack. Her profile was expressionless, her voice level.

"No."

"Then what was it?"

"A statement of fact."

"That sounds even rarer than comfort." She finally looked at me. It wasn't a long look. But I couldn't help pathetically wondering if the lights in the bike shed were a little too yellow. Otherwise, why would she just glance over, and a small corner of my brain suddenly start acting entirely unbecoming of a Seitokai Vice President?

"You did well today, Shimo," Maki said. I went completely quiet. Honestly, compared to when she had taken a red pen and butchered the original process in broad daylight, I had far less idea how to react to this. Because the former was something Maki Kushima did on a regular basis. The latter was not. Especially when she used my name. Not Vice President. Not you. Not one of those titles with a layer of duty and paperwork shoved between us. Shimo. It was short. It was ordinary.

But it was exactly enough to make a woman who had just been outsmarted by a bicycle lock suddenly forget where to put her eyes. I cleared my throat and decided to pull my bike out first, just to make myself look a little less like I'd been struck dumb by a single sentence.

"... Are you on the wrong meds today?"

"If I were actually on the wrong meds, you'd be writing a reflection report right now."

"Fair point."

"So you can treat it as a standard evaluation."

"Standard evaluations don't usually make people this uncomfortable."

"That's because you usually read too much into things."

"Hey." I finally couldn't help glaring back at her. Maki had already swung a leg over her bike, both feet still on the ground. The night wind pushed the hair at her temple slightly. She looked at me, her eyes perfectly steady, as if what she'd just said was the most natural thing in the world to her. That was the worst part. She was the one dropping lines guaranteed to scramble a person's head, but now she was the one who looked perfectly composed.

As if I were the only one standing here experiencing a brief, un-military-like loss of equilibrium over a simple "You did well today." Damn it. This woman was entirely too good at doing highly unusual things in the most ordinary tone of voice. In the end, I could only wheel my bike out, look down to adjust my gloves, and pretend I was just checking the brakes.

"... Then I'll reluctantly accept it."

"Mm."

"That 'hm' was way too dismissive."

"Did you want me to say it again?" My head snapped up almost instantly. Maki looked at me, the corner of her mouth moving in a very light, very short twitch. It was so faint it looked like an illusion. But I saw it. And because I saw it, I suddenly couldn't keep talking tough. I could only turn my head away and feign composure as I put my foot on the pedal.

"No need," I said quietly.

"Once is enough." Maki didn't push it. She just turned her handlebars toward the exit, her tone as calm as if she were writing the final concluding sentence for tonight's chapter.

"Let's go."

"Yeah." By the time we rode out of the school gates, the night was deep. The winter wind cut past my face, cold and clean. The streetlights stretched out in segments ahead of us, the sound of our tires rolling over the pavement rhythmic and almost peaceful. At this hour, the city had finally learned to pack away the excessive noise of the day, leaving only the necessary light, the necessary roads, and two bicycles riding one after the other toward home. Maki rode slightly ahead of me and to the right.

Not too far, not too close. The kind of distance where, even if we weren't talking, it was very hard to ignore that she was right there. We didn't speak at first. There was only the wind rushing past my ears and the occasional faint click of the bike chains. I thought the ride would probably stay quiet the whole way back, but after we crossed an intersection, Maki suddenly spoke.

"Shimo."

"Hm?"

"Don't be late tomorrow." I almost laughed.

"You rarely open your mouth in this kind of atmosphere, and that's your opening line?"

"It's important."

"Couldn't you say something a little more like a chapter-ending line?"

"For example?"

"For example...

'Good work today,' or something." Maki rode ahead, her back steady. She didn't answer immediately, as if she were genuinely thinking about it. Only when we passed under the next streetlight did she reply, her voice faint.

"Good work today." My fingers tightened around the handlebars without me realizing. And then I pathetically discovered that, even though the wind was just as cold, my ears were suddenly a little hot. That was entirely unfair. I even suspected she was doing it on purpose. But her tone was so flat, so level, like she was just casually handing my own request back to me. And precisely because of that, it was even harder to defend against.

"... President."

"Hm?"

"You've really gotten mean lately."

"I have not."

"You have."

"You were the one who asked for it."

"So you just actually say it?"

"Didn't you want to hear it?" I went quiet for two seconds, and finally had to admit defeat.

"... Yeah, fine." Maki didn't laugh out loud, but I could practically picture the expression on her face right now—very faint, very short, and entirely unwilling to let me catch the evidence.