The sound of collective suffering filled the classroom.
It began with one groan.
Then another.
Then suddenly the entire room sounded like a dying orchestra of disappointed students.
The cause of this tragedy was standing at the front of the room holding a stack of papers.
Our teacher.
And those papers meant exactly what everyone feared.
Group work.
"Alright everyone," the teacher said with the cheerful energy of someone who clearly would not be doing the assignment themselves.
"We will be working on a collaborative problem-solving project."
Another groan.
Louder this time.
Someone in the back whispered something dramatic about academic oppression.
The teacher ignored this.
"As part of the assignment," the teacher continued, "you will form groups of three or four and analyze the scenario described in the worksheet."
A stack of papers hit the desk at the front.
The sound echoed like a warning bell.
Groups.
I personally don't dislike group work.
But group work has a very predictable social structure.
The highly motivated student.
The quiet student.
The student who says "we should start soon" but never actually starts.
And the student who mysteriously disappears the moment actual work begins.
Statistically speaking, I often become the first category.
Not by choice.
But by gravitational pull.
People slowly rotate toward the person holding the most organized notebook.
Which unfortunately… is usually me.
The teacher finished explaining the assignment.
"Alright," they said. "Form your groups."
And just like that, the room exploded into movement.
Chairs scraping.
People calling to their friends.
Entire alliances forming within seconds.
Aoi immediately spun around in her chair.
"Gabu."
"Yes."
"Let's team up."
"That seems statistically predictable."
Then someone behind us spoke.
"Mind if I join?"
I turned slightly.
Haruto Kanzaki stood there with his worksheet already in hand.
For a brief moment my brain paused.
Not dramatically.
Just… a small pause.
Then I nodded.
"That's fine."
Aoi grinned like she had just discovered entertainment for the afternoon.
"Sure," she said. "Join the intellectual powerhouse."
I'm not sure who she was referring to.
Hopefully not me.
Three chairs shifted closer together.
Our temporary academic alliance was formed.
The teacher walked around distributing the worksheets.
A single page filled with diagrams, data, and a question at the bottom that clearly expected more thought than anyone wanted to give it.
Haruto looked at the page.
Then leaned back slightly.
"…okay."
That pause carried meaning.
Aoi immediately noticed.
"You don't understand it," she said.
"I understand some of it," he replied.
"That is the polite way of saying you don't understand it."
"I understand the question."
"That is not the same thing."
He laughed.
A relaxed, easy laugh.
Then he looked toward me.
"Alright," he said honestly. "I'm stuck on this part."
He pointed at one of the formulas.
The exact section where the logic became slightly complicated.
Not impossible.
Just… layered.
I leaned forward slightly to see the page better.
"Oh," I said.
"That part?"
"Yeah."
"It's easier than it looks."
Aoi leaned back in her chair.
Which was her official signal for "I am not participating in the intellectual portion of this activity."
I picked up my pencil.
"Look," I said.
I drew a small arrow between two lines of the problem.
"The trick is that this variable isn't independent."
Haruto leaned closer to the page.
Not interrupting.
Just watching the explanation carefully.
"It depends on the previous value," I continued.
"So if you solve this section first—"
I circled a small piece of the formula.
"—then the rest becomes simpler."
He nodded slightly.
Not the distracted nod people sometimes use when they pretend to understand something.
A real nod.
Focused.
Following the logic step by step.
"So you isolate this part first," he said slowly.
"Yes."
"Then plug the result back here."
"Exactly."
He looked back at the paper.
Then back at me.
Then the paper again.
Another pause.
Then his expression shifted.
Understanding.
"Oh."
He leaned back slightly.
"That actually makes sense."
Aoi clapped slowly.
"Congratulations."
"Thank you," Haruto said.
"Your intellectual growth has been inspiring," she continued.
"I aim to improve daily."
She pointed at me.
"You should thank the genius."
I opened my mouth to correct that label.
But Haruto spoke first.
"You explain things better than the teacher."
For a moment the world paused.
Not dramatically.
Just a small quiet moment.
Then something surprising happened.
I laughed.
It wasn't a polite laugh.
Or the careful laugh I usually use in conversations.
It was a real one.
Short.
Unexpected.
Even I looked slightly surprised.
Haruto blinked once.
Then smiled.
"Was that the wrong thing to say?"
"No," I said quickly.
"It's just…"
I paused.
Thinking about the sentence.
Most compliments make me uncomfortable.
They usually feel heavy.
Like expectations wrapped in polite words.
"You're so smart."
"You're amazing at this."
"You always understand everything."
Those compliments always feel like someone placing a small statue on a pedestal.
Which is strange.
Because I never asked to be a statue.
But his compliment felt different.
It felt light.
Simple.
More like appreciation than admiration.
So I answered honestly.
"It was just surprising."
"Why?"
"Most people don't compare me to the teacher."
"That's probably because most people don't explain the problem."
Aoi leaned forward again.
"Wow," she said dramatically.
"Gabu just got praised and didn't immediately deny it."
"I did not—"
"You laughed."
"That does not mean—"
"Character development."
Haruto laughed again.
And somehow the conversation drifted back to the assignment.
We solved the problem together.
Slowly.
Piece by piece.
Haruto asked questions.
Good questions.
Not the kind people ask when they're pretending to participate.
Real questions.
The kind that show someone is actually thinking.
Which made explaining easier.
And strangely…
More enjoyable.
By the time the teacher walked past our desk, the worksheet was already half completed.
They glanced at it.
Then nodded approvingly.
"Good progress."
Then they continued walking.
Aoi leaned back again.
"I contributed emotionally," she said.
"That was extremely helpful," I replied.
Haruto smiled.
Then looked at the paper again.
"You know," he said casually.
"What?"
"This is actually kind of fun."
Aoi looked horrified.
"Did he just call homework fun?"
"I meant solving it together."
"That is still suspicious."
He laughed again.
And the sound was relaxed.
Comfortable.
The kind of laugh people make when they feel completely normal.
Which is strange.
Because for some reason…
This conversation felt normal too.
Not like people talking to "the smart student."
Not like someone asking for help.
Just…
three classmates solving a problem together.
And somehow that felt different.
In a good way.
Later, when class ended and everyone started packing their bags, I looked down at the worksheet one more time.
Then at my notebook.
A small thought appeared quietly in my mind.
Compliments usually make me uncomfortable.
But his didn't feel heavy.
It didn't feel like admiration.
It felt like something simpler.
Something lighter.
Appreciation.
And strangely…
I didn't mind it.
Not even a little.
Which was… curious.
Very curious.
:)