Chapter 5
The morning after something changes is always the most dangerous.
Emilia Laurent knows this.
It's the moment where you either regain control—
Or reveal too much.
She stands in front of the mirror longer than usual, smoothing the front of her blazer for no reason other than to steady her thoughts.
Tu vas t'accrocher.
(You're going to get attached.)
She shouldn't have said that.
It had slipped out instinctively.
Too honest.
Too forward.
He hadn't understood.
Or at least—
He hadn't reacted as if he did.
Which means either:
He truly didn't understand.
Or he chose not to.
Both possibilities irritate her.
Seiryo Academy feels deceptively normal when she arrives.
Students talk about festival booths.
Decorations.
Food plans.
Nothing in the hallway suggests anything significant happened in the library the day before.
Which is correct.
Nothing significant happened.
Except—
Their hands overlapped.
He misinterpreted her sentence.
He said bonne nuit in careful, imperfect French.
She noticed the pronunciation was slightly wrong.
Which means—
He's learning.
That thought lingers longer than she wants it to.
When she enters the classroom, Ren is already seated.
Again.
Predictable.
His posture is the same as always.
Notebook open.
Pen aligned neatly beside it.
If he feels anything different—
He hides it well.
Emilia takes her seat without hesitation.
She does not look at him immediately.
She will not measure him first today.
If he wants to test reactions—
He can begin.
Yui leans in immediately.
"So."
Emilia keeps her eyes forward.
"So what?"
"You met him in the library."
"Yes."
"And?"
"And we planned a study booth."
Yui stares at her.
"You look like someone who did not just plan a study booth."
Emilia adjusts her pen.
"You're projecting."
Yui narrows her eyes.
"You're glowing."
"I am not."
"You are."
Emilia refuses to answer.
Because glowing implies something she does not want to name.
Behind her, Ren closes his notebook quietly.
He is aware.
Very aware.
The memory of her leaning forward.
The way she said c'est mignon.
The way their hands touched.
And the sentence he misunderstood.
Si tu continues comme ça... je vais m'habituer.
He replayed it twice before sleeping.
If you keep this up... I'll get used to it.
Used to what?
Losing?
Him?
Being near him?
He doesn't know.
He doesn't understand enough yet.
And that frustrates him more than he expected.
Midway through the first period, the teacher announces paired discussion again.
Students groan lightly.
Emilia keeps her expression neutral.
Before Yui can speak—
Ren's chair shifts slightly behind her.
A subtle movement.
He stands.
Walks toward her desk.
Stops beside it.
"Partner?" he asks calmly.
The word is simple.
But the intention behind it is not.
Yui's eyes widen theatrically.
"Oh my—"
"Yes," Emilia says smoothly before Yui can continue.
She stands.
Moves toward the back.
This time, she sits beside him without hesitation.
The distance between them is slightly smaller than yesterday.
Not accidental.
She places her notebook down deliberately.
"Tu apprends."
(You're learning.)
Ren glances at her.
"I am."
She studies him carefully.
"You said that well yesterday."
He pauses.
"You noticed."
"Évidemment."
(Of course.)
He suppresses the faintest hint of a smile.
Internal Ren:
She's testing pronunciation now.
That means she's aware.
That means she's watching.
That means she cares.
The last thought sits heavier than the others.
They begin the discussion exercise.
It should be simple.
It isn't.
Because proximity is different now.
Less sharp.
More... charged.
Emilia flips a page in her notebook.
Their shoulders brush lightly.
Neither moves away immediately.
She decides to escalate.
Softly.
"Tu m'as manqué hier."
(I missed you yesterday.)
The lie is smooth.
Dangerously smooth.
Ren freezes.
He catches manqué (missed) because it resembles manque (lack), and because her tone is different.
Lower.
More dangerous.
He looks at her slowly.
"You saw me yesterday."
She tilts her head.
"Ce n'est pas pareil."
(It's not the same.)
He doesn't fully understand the sentence.
But he understands the feeling.
And that's worse.
"You shouldn't say things like that," he replies quietly.
Her eyes narrow slightly.
"Pourquoi ?"
(Why?)
He hesitates.
Because he doesn't know if she's teasing.
Or testing.
Or being serious.
And he cannot tell which would be worse.
"Because you don't mean them," he says finally.
That lands harder than she expected.
Her posture stiffens.
"You're very sure."
"You always smile when you say things in French."
Her breath falters faintly.
That's observant.
Too observant.
She leans closer.
Voice softer now.
"Et si je suis sérieuse ?"
(And what if I'm serious?)
He understands sérieuse (serious) because she says it slowly.
His heart stumbles.
He doesn't answer immediately.
Because he doesn't trust himself to.
Emilia watches the hesitation carefully.
There it is again.
That almost-reaction.
The delayed breath.
The tightening of fingers around his pen.
Good.
She sits back slightly, satisfied.
He doesn't fully understand the language.
But he understands her tone.
And that's enough.
Across the room, Hana glances back at them once.
Just once.
She doesn't look upset.
She looks curious.
Emilia notices.
Of course she does.
She decides to sharpen the edge.
Just slightly.
"Tu es distrait."
(You're distracted.)
Ren exhales quietly.
"You're the one leaning closer."
"C'est stratégique."
(It's strategic.)
He almost laughs.
Almost.
"You don't need strategy for a worksheet."
"I do with you."
That silences him for half a second.
She likes that.
When the bell rings, students begin gathering their things.
Ren closes his notebook.
Emilia stands first.
But before she can walk away, he says quietly—
"You said something yesterday."
She pauses.
"What?"
"About getting used to it."
Her pulse jumps.
He remembered.
Of course he remembered.
She keeps her back straight.
"Yes."
"What did you mean?"
The hallway noise rises around them.
This is the moment.
She could clarify.
She could explain.
She could tell him it wasn't about grades.
It wasn't about losing.
It was about—
No.
Not yet.
Instead, she turns slowly.
Meets his eyes.
"Tu devrais apprendre plus vite."
(You should learn faster.)
His jaw tightens faintly.
"That's not fair."
"Ce n'est pas censé l'être."
(It's not supposed to be.)
She walks away before he can respond.
Internal Ren:
She wants me to catch up.
Not just academically.
Linguistically.
Emotionally.
She wants me to understand.
And I don't.
Not fully.
He doesn't like not fully.
He doesn't like gaps.
That night—
He opens his French textbook for reasons that have nothing to do with school.
Gaps
Ren Takahashi does not like gaps.
In math, gaps mean miscalculation.
In essays, they mean weak arguments.
In language, they mean misunderstanding.
And lately—
Emilia Laurent has been speaking in gaps.
He sits at the low table in his living room, French textbook open, notebook beside it. Mina is sprawled on the floor drawing something that looks like a cat with wings.
"You're studying?" she asks without looking up.
"Yes."
"You don't look happy."
"I'm fine."
She hums skeptically.
"You look like when you try to fix things."
He pauses.
That's uncomfortably accurate.
He stares at the page in front of him.
Je vais m'habituer.
I will get used to it.
He writes it down.
Then circles m'habituer.
Habituer. Habit. To get used to.
He exhales quietly.
That sentence wasn't about losing.
He's almost certain now.
The tone had been different.
Softer.
Less sharp.
He closes his eyes briefly and replays it.
If you keep this up... I'm going to get used to it.
Used to what?
Him?
The meetings?
The proximity?
The thought unsettles him more than it should.
He flips to another page.
Vocabulary.
Expressions.
He underlines sérieuse.
Serious.
She had asked him—
Et si je suis sérieuse ?
(And what if I'm serious?)
He hadn't answered.
Because he didn't know what she was serious about.
Because he didn't know if she was serious at all.
He doesn't like not knowing.
Across Seiryo City, Emilia sits at her desk with a book open in front of her.
She hasn't turned the page in five minutes.
"Tu m'as manqué hier."
(I missed you yesterday.)
She had said it casually.
Too casually.
And he hadn't dismissed it.
He had questioned it.
"You shouldn't say things like that."
That had irritated her.
But not for the reason she expected.
She leans back in her chair.
Why had she said it?
To test him.
Yes.
To see if he'd flinch.
Yes.
To see if he'd misunderstand.
Maybe.
To see if he would want it to be true?
Her jaw tightens.
Ridiculous.
She does not want him to want that.
That would complicate things.
This is supposed to be a competition.
A controlled one.
Not—
Whatever this is becoming.
The next morning at Seiryo Academy feels sharper.
Like something is waiting.
Ren arrives first.
Emilia notices immediately.
She notices everything about him lately.
He looks slightly more focused than usual.
More deliberate.
He glances at her once as she takes her seat.
Then looks away.
That almost bothers her.
Almost.
Yui leans in.
"Okay. Something changed."
"Nothing changed."
"He's looking at you differently."
Emilia's pen stills for half a second.
"How?"
"Like he's thinking too hard."
She resists the urge to turn around immediately.
Instead, she speaks lightly in French.
"Il réfléchit toujours trop."
(He always thinks too much.)
Yui blinks.
"I assume that was about him."
"Perhaps."
Yui narrows her eyes.
"You're both weird."
During second period, the teacher announces a small presentation rotation for festival volunteers.
Study booth volunteers must present their plan to the class by the end of the week.
Murmurs ripple through the room.
Emilia sits straighter.
Presenting is easy.
Ren shifts slightly in his seat.
Public speaking is... manageable.
But presenting with Emilia?
That feels like something else entirely.
At lunch, Hana approaches Emilia's table unexpectedly.
"Hey," Hana says brightly. "Are you two presenting together?"
"Yes," Emilia replies smoothly.
"That's kind of cute."
Emilia's expression does not change.
"Cute?"
"Yeah. You balance each other."
Yui chokes on her drink.
Emilia blinks once.
"We are not a balance. We are a system."
Hana laughs.
"That's even cuter."
Emilia doesn't like how easily Hana says that word.
Cute.
It's too soft.
Too casual.
She glances across the cafeteria.
Ren is watching the exchange.
Not nervously.
Not defensively.
Just—
Observing.
She decides to escalate.
Not sharply.
Subtly.
She stands.
Walks across the cafeteria.
Stops at Ren's table without hesitation.
Kaito looks up immediately.
"Oh, this is happening."
Emilia ignores him.
She leans slightly closer to Ren.
Just enough.
"Tu as entendu."
(You heard.)
Ren recognizes entendu (heard).
"Yes."
She tilts her head.
"Et ?"
(And?)
He hesitates.
Because he doesn't know what answer she wants.
"That's her opinion," he says calmly.
Emilia studies his face.
"You don't agree?"
Kaito's eyes flick between them like he's watching a live drama.
Ren keeps his tone steady.
"I think we work well."
The words are neutral.
But they land differently.
Emilia's pulse betrays her for half a second.
She lowers her voice.
"Tu penses que c'est mignon ?"
(Do you think it's cute?)
Ren recognizes mignon.
Cute.
He pauses.
He could dismiss it.
He could deflect.
Instead—
"I think," he says carefully, "it's effective."
Kaito groans.
"You two talk like a contract negotiation."
Emilia straightens.
"Tu es insupportable."
(You're unbearable.)
Kaito squints.
"That felt personal."
Ren almost smiles.
Almost.
Emilia notices.
She notices everything.
Later, during a quiet moment in class, she leans back slightly again.
Her voice is softer than usual.
"Tu apprends vraiment."
(You're really learning.)
Ren glances at her.
"Yes."
Her eyes narrow slightly.
"How much?"
"Enough to know when you're not saying what you mean."
That stops her.
Her fingers still against the edge of her notebook.
"What do you mean?"
He keeps his voice low.
"When you tease, your voice changes."
Her breath tightens faintly.
"That's your imagination."
"No."
She doesn't like how certain he sounds.
She doesn't like that he's observing her back.
She decides to test him one more time.
Softly.
Dangerously.
"Tu veux comprendre ?"
(Do you want to understand?)
He recognizes veux (want) and comprendre (understand).
He meets her eyes.
"Yes."
The answer is immediate.
Unfiltered.
That was not part of the script.
Her composure fractures for half a second.
She looks away first.
"Alors travaille plus."
(Then work harder.)
He nods once.
"I will."
And for the first time—
She believes him.
That evening, Ren sits at his desk again.
He writes down phrases from memory.
mignon
nerveux
sérieuse
m'habituer
He repeats them quietly.
Pronunciation careful.
Focused.
Because this is no longer just about vocabulary.
It's about clarity.
He doesn't want to mishear her again.
He doesn't want to misunderstand something important.
Across the city, Emilia lies on her bed staring at the ceiling.
She replays his answer.
"Yes."
He wants to understand.
That wasn't teasing.
That wasn't competition.
That was—
Honest.
She exhales slowly.
The game is shifting.
And she's not entirely certain she's the one in control anymore.