It started with a bracelet.
A small one. Woven navy thread, a little too thin to be fashionable, a little too worn to be new. But it had a charm at the center—flat, oval-shaped, silver-toned metal with a tiny engraving that looked like a shooting star.
It wasn't flashy.
Which is probably why Riko Kumijo didn't notice it was gone until the end of the day.
"Wait—what the—?!"
The words came out sharp and panicked, which was already unusual. Riko didn't panic. She got annoyed, or dramatic, or sarcastic. But panic wasn't really in her toolkit.
Saito Kagami looked up from his seat, where he had just begun zipping his bag with mechanical efficiency.
She was patting down her sleeves, glancing under her chair, checking the corners of her pencil case.
"Where is it?! I just had it—what the hell—no, no, no, no—"
"You've lost something," Saito said.
Riko looked at him, wide-eyed.
"Bracelet. Blue thread. Silver charm," she said quickly. "My cousin gave it to me last year. It's—ugh, I always wear it. I never take it off."
Saito stared for a moment.
Then stood.
"Let's retrace your steps."
"Wait, huh?"
"Retracing movement patterns can increase recovery probability by 64% within the first hour. We should begin immediately."
"I—uh—okay??"
She blinked after him as he walked past her, heading straight for the hallway.
"…You're not even gonna ask if I want help?"
"You do."
They started with the classroom.
No bracelet.
Then the hallway between Class 1-B and the lockers. Riko practically crawled along the floor while Saito scanned the walls and door handles.
"No one would steal it, right?" she muttered. "It's not even valuable."
"It holds sentimental value. That often makes an object appear valuable to others."
"Thanks, Sherlock."
"Incorrect reference. I don't smoke or deduce through intuition."
She groaned.
"God, even when you're helping you sound like a Wikipedia page."
Saito crouched, examining the space under the shoe lockers.
"…I take that as a compliment."
Next stop: the club corridor.
"Wait, I helped the drama kids move some cardboard today!" Riko said suddenly, snapping her fingers. "It might've come off when we were folding stuff."
Saito followed her toward the old supply room near the theater practice wing. The hallway was dimmer there—less foot traffic, fewer windows.
She opened the door.
They both froze.
Inside was a landscape of chaos—costume boxes, old props, two bent fans, an upside-down chair, and an entire fake Christmas tree lying on its side.
"Oh… right," she muttered. "I forgot how cursed this place is."
"I assume it's not organized alphabetically."
"You assume correctly."
They stepped inside together.
Saito moved like a machine—methodical, efficient, precise. He checked under crates, tapped boxes, lifted objects one at a time with the same clinical expression he used when solving equations.
Riko, on the other hand, moved like someone chasing a cat in the dark.
Ten minutes passed. Nothing.
She slumped onto a box and sighed, head tilted back.
"…I can't believe I lost it."
"You said it wasn't expensive."
"It's not about that."
He glanced over.
She wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were on the ceiling, unfocused.
"My cousin gave it to me before I started high school," she said. "She lives overseas now. Said it was lucky. 'For new beginnings.'" She paused. "Stupid thing's probably not even worth five hundred yen, but…"
She trailed off.
Saito didn't interrupt.
Then she laughed, just once, breathy and small.
"You probably don't get it, huh?"
"No," Saito said plainly. "But I'm trying."
She blinked.
Slowly turned her head.
And for a moment, her smile softened.
"…That might be the nicest thing you've said to me."
"I wasn't trying to be nice."
"That just makes it nicer."
They kept searching.
After nearly thirty minutes, Riko stood up and stretched.
"Okay. I'll double check the cafeteria just in case. I passed through there before lunch."
"I'll check the back stairwell. You took that route during break."
"…How do you know my break route?"
"You always turn right at the intersection. Toward the vending machines."
"…You memorize my walking patterns?"
"You're in my line of sight. Frequently."
"That's creepier than it should be."
"It's observational. Not emotional."
Riko raised an eyebrow.
"You sure about that?"
He said nothing.
Saito moved through the back stairwell like a chess piece across a board.
Every landing.
Every step.
Every corner.
Nothing.
His eyes traced the railing, the floor, the forgotten umbrella someone left hanging on a hook.
Still nothing.
Then—
There. At the base of the third step from the top.
A glint.
He crouched.
Blue thread.
Silver charm.
Half tucked behind the bottom lip of the step, barely visible.
He reached out and picked it up.
Riko's bracelet.
Untangled but dusty. The thread had frayed slightly at the clasp, but the charm was intact.
He stared at it for a few seconds.
Then closed his hand gently around it.
Found.
He didn't return to the classroom.
Instead, he waited by the school gate.
Ten minutes later, Riko came jogging around the corner, out of breath and panting.
"No luck in the cafeteria," she said, hands on her knees. "I asked the lunch lady, but she said—"
She stopped.
Looked up.
Saito was holding something in his palm.
"…Is that—?"
He walked over and placed the bracelet into her hand, not saying a word.
She stared.
Then clutched it to her chest.
"...You found it."
"I checked the steps. Third floor, southeast stairwell."
"I—I didn't even think to—"
"You used that stairwell earlier. I remembered."
She blinked hard, lips parting, like she was about to say something—
But nothing came out.
Instead, she looked down at the bracelet again.
"…Thank you," she said quietly. "Really."
Saito nodded once.
"I'll get a new clasp," he added. "This one's weak."
"…You can do that?"
"Yes."
She smiled.
Then looked up at him.
"You're a lot more helpful than you let on, you know that?"
"I function better when given a task."
"No, I mean…" She paused. Then grinned. "You're a softie. Under all that logic."
"I'm the same person."
"You say that, but… I think you care more than you admit."
He didn't reply.
The silence stretched.
Not awkward.
Just full.
Then, softly—
"Thanks again, Kagami."
Not "Serious-face-kun."
Just Kagami.
Again.
Saito looked at her hand, still holding the bracelet.
Then at her face.
She was smiling, but not teasingly.
Not mockingly.
Just… sincerely.
He didn't know what to say.
So he said nothing.
But in his mind, he logged it carefully:
Day 17
Subject: Riko Kumijo
Lost item recovered.
Emotional value confirmed.
Interaction level: high.
Emotional response: unquantifiable.
Nickname: not used.
Name used: Kagami.
New variable introduced: understanding.