A silent bomb detonated in the morning classroom, its shockwave flattening all casual conversation. The perpetrator? None other than Asato Hitomi, the class monitor herself, who had just placed a meticulously crafted, luxurious two-tiered bento box on Kuroha Akira's desk with a soft click.
The air itself seemed to crystallize.
It wasn't just Akira and his neighboring desk-mate, Fujiyoshi Michio, who froze in their tracks. The entire class of 1-A collectively held its breath, a gallery of wide eyes and parted lips. The corner of the room where Akira sat, usually a quiet backwater, was now the burning focal point of every single gaze.
If Asato Hitomi's previous morning greetings to Kuroha Akira could be written off as the Class Monitor's diligent, slightly playful care for every member of her flock, this was different. This was… concrete. Substantial. A bento box, especially one that screamed 'homemade with effort,' was in the unwritten rulebook of high school life, a piece of solid evidence.
Could it be… their relationship is actually…?
The unspoken question hung in the sun-dappled air, buzzing like a trapped bee. It was the immediate, instinctive conclusion drawn not just by the love-struck boys in the class, but by everyone, including the flabbergasted Fujiyoshi beside him.
Kuroha Akira felt a cold sweat prickle at the nape of his neck. This pressure was utterly different from the special attention he'd received from Kobayakawa-sensei. A teacher's concern, no matter how pointed, existed within the acceptable narrative of duty. Even if rumors flew, they lacked the visceral, social gravity of this.
High school, after all, was a delicate ecosystem of cliques and social strata. Asato Hitomi wasn't just the Class Monitor; she was a shining star in the firmament of Hibiya High. A top-tier academic performer, socially adept, graced with looks that had already sparked whispers of 'new campus belle.' She moved in the elevated circles, her every action subtly steering the social currents of Class 1-A.
In stark contrast stood Kuroha Akira. Even after shedding his 'silent one' persona, he'd merely climbed from negative popularity to a solid zero. He was background noise, an extra in the grand play of first-year life.
The social map of the class had long since been inked after a semester together—friendships solidified, lunch groups ossified. Everyone orbited their familiar constellations. Only someone like Fujiyoshi Michio, a fellow traveler in the land of few friends and adjacent seating, would naturally strike up a conversation with him.
And now, Asato Hitomi had just ripped that unspoken social contract to shreds.
Seeing Akira stunned into statuary, Hitomi turned her serene smile upon Fujiyoshi. She raised a hand in a gesture of gentle apology that was somehow utterly final. "My apologies, Fujiyoshi-kun. Thank you for the invitation, but Kuroha-kun already has prior lunch plans with me."
Her tone! It was the polite, wifely refusal heard in a thousand domestic dramas—'I'm sorry, my husband can't go out for drinks tonight. We have plans for a family dinner.' It was a declaration wrapped in silk, leaving no room for argument.
"Huh? Uh… ah… I-I see! P-Please, don't mind me!" Fujiyoshi Michio stammered, his face flushing. Being directly addressed by the revered Class Monitor was nerve-wracking enough, but to receive an apology from her? It short-circuited his social protocols. He instinctively scrambled into honorifics.
While Asato Hitomi was famously kind and impartial, never looking down on even the most hardcore otaku, that was her duty as Class Monitor. Strip away that title, and she was Asato Hitomi the campus celebrity—a being from a different social dimension entirely. What could such a person possibly have to do with Kuroha Akira?
Just what is going on here? Fujiyoshi's eyes shot to Akira, brimming with incredulous curiosity. Could he be… a hidden master? A dark horse who charmed the academic beauty during summer break?
Kuroha Akira desperately wished he knew the answer himself.
Class Monitor… what is this performance? As the guardian of class harmony, aren't you the one lighting the fuse on a social grenade?
Logically, if she wanted to keep their Literary Club interactions separate from classroom politics, she shouldn't be making such a blatant, public approach. And Akira refused to believe the shrewd, observant Hitomi would simply forget that.
So, she didn't care about being misunderstood? Or… was he being used as a shield?
Romantic interest was out of the question. Their conversation yesterday had been pleasant, even mildly teasing, but he'd sensed not a single spark of that nature from her. Of that, he was confident. And even if, by some cosmic joke, she were interested, Akira wanted no part of it.
Dating the top-tier genius campus belle? Even the rumor would paint a target on his back, making him Enemy Number One for every secret admirer and self-appointed member of the FFF Brigade. Kuroha Akira had no love for the spotlight; it brought nothing but pressure and the high risk of becoming the designated scapegoat.
A sensible person knows how to endure and avoids unnecessary trouble. His mind raced, analyzing the crisis, searching for an escape route.
On the other side, Fujiyoshi, unable to bear the tension of the silent standoff between the smiling Hitomi and the paralyzed Akira, finally blurted out the question haunting everyone's mind.
"Um… Asato-san… are you and Kuroha-san… dating?"
The moment the words left his mouth, he paled, slapping his hands over his lips as if trying to stuff them back in. His fearful glance darted not to Hitomi, but towards the seat of a certain other classmate known to be particularly devoted to the Class Monitor.
Asato Hitomi didn't answer immediately. Instead, her smile deepened, and she slowly turned her gaze back to Kuroha Akira, as if handing him the microphone.
Akira nearly groaned aloud. Class Monitor, why are you looking at me now?! That's just adding fuel to the fire!
He shot a desperate, wordless plea back at her with his eyes: What is the meaning of this charade?!
Hitomi's smile remained, the curve of her lips softening into something knowingly playful. She seemed to be savoring his flustered state, enjoying the way his carefully maintained low-profile was crumbling. Her look communicated clearly: The ball is in your court. You define this relationship.
What a troublesome pass to make…
But Hitomi wasn't merely teasing. She had approached with a certain resolve, a willingness to let the 'dating' misunderstanding stand. Her primary goal, however, was a test—a continuation of yesterday's 'underwear inspection.' She wanted to see his reaction. Would he desperately clarify and distance himself, or would he… perhaps, own the narrative? His choice would reveal another layer of his character.
Seeing his prolonged silence, a thought crossed her mind. Has he decided to submit? To accept the role of 'forced boyfriend'?
Hmm… If Kuroha-kun is willing to play along to this extent…
She took a soft breath, mentally ready to acknowledge this relationship-born-of-implied-social-pressure. "Actually, Kuroha-kun and I are—"
"I AM THE CLASS MONITOR'S DOG!"
Kuroha Akira's voice, loud and clear, cut through the anticipatory silence like a blade, dropping a second bomb that dwarfed the first.
For a second, there was absolute stillness.
Then, the classroom erupted.
"EHHHHHHHH?!"
A chorus of shock echoed off the walls. Every single pair of eyes locked onto Akira, their expressions morphing into pure, unadulterated disbelief, as if he'd just grown a second head.
After the initial shockwave, the reactions split along gendered lines. Most of the girls' faces twisted into masks of utter disdain and visceral disgust. How pathetic! How revolting! Meanwhile, a spark of something like horrified admiration lit in the eyes of many boys. To go that far… to sacrifice your very dignity to cover up a scandal… Salute! You are a man of conviction, a master of distraction!
To bury one shocking revelation with an even more outrageous, self-detonating statement—thereby obliterating the original context and scrambling all assumptions.
This was the art of social grenadiation! The noble, if utterly catastrophic, tradition of self-sacrifice passed down through generations of situationally desperate loners!
As the uproar continued to swell, Asato Hitomi, the epicenter of the storm, simply stared at the boy who had just declared himself her canine companion. Her carefully prepared script was in ashes. And then, slowly, a truly genuine, brilliantly amused smile spread across her lips, far brighter than any of her practiced, monitor-appropriate ones.
Well played, Kuroha-kun, she thought, her eyes sparkling with newfound interest. This test… yielded a far more fascinating result than I ever imagined.