102. Then, the cultural festival was approached with unwavering determination. (6)

At three in the afternoon, Tsuki Jinguji returned to the conference room, which was still bustling with activity. Especially on Morino Hoshino’s desk, the piles of documents were nearly as tall as she was.

“President, please review this,” came a voice.

“President Morino, please check this part of the list.”

“Senpai, these reports…”

One task after another was being handed to the girl without pause.

So this was what it meant to simulate a soul-crushing corporate environment, Tsuki mused inwardly with a sigh.

“Hey, how’s the issue over there? Has it been resolved?” Sakura Koshiro approached, clutching a stack of files, and stopped beside Tsuki.

“Well… it’s been settled through negotiation. I think leaving the rest to Yohmiya should be fine.”

Sakura’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Tsuki asked.

“I just thought someone like you wouldn’t enjoy dealing with people.”

“I thought so, too.”

Sakura glanced at Morino, who was tirelessly at work, and sighed in admiration. “As expected, Morino-senpai is impressive.”

The boy silently watched the busy figure and gave a heartfelt “hm.”

“That’s why I want to share her burden…”

The girl paused slightly, looking up at her childhood friend. His eyes gleamed with a different light than usual, filled entirely with the radiance of that person.

Sakura wished he would look at her like that.

But if things continued as they were—just staying by his side in ordinary quietness—she couldn’t change him, nor herself.

She was just a little short of the courage she needed to move forward, to decide firmly.

“Well then, I’ll get back to the publicity team’s work. Don’t slack off, Tsuki.”

Sakura waved with a smile and headed toward a corner of the conference room. Tsuki silently walked toward Morino’s desk.

“President.”

“Hmm… Jinguji, how’s the club situation?”

“Barely resolved,” the boy replied.

“I knew you could handle it.”

Morino smiled at him. Tsuki said nothing, quietly opening his laptop and pulling half the documents from Morino’s desk in front of him.

As the sunlight outside shifted to a golden hue, a crow perched on a wire let out a lonely cry. The laptop screen gradually blurred under the slanting rays.

“President, vice president, we’re heading out now.”

“Thanks for your hard work, everyone.”

“Good work.”

There had been several similar exchanges before, and after an unknown length of time, the sound of typing ceased. Tsuki snapped back to reality and found the conference room empty.

Beside him, Morino lay face down on the desk, gently asleep, her soft breathing filled with an exhausting grace that tugged at the heart.

Her sky-blue hair spread like the galaxy across the universe, her long eyelashes, pale cheeks, and soft pink lips occasionally pursed, stirring a sudden urge to offer her water.

Tsuki merely sat still, continuing to work a while longer. The student council president beside him seemed to be playing with a springtime bear in her dreams, occasionally letting out a cute whimper, quite unlike a certain girl who once drank detergent in her sleep.

As the quiet deepened, the sound of typing grew sharper, and the boy reluctantly slowed his hands.

Soon after, he sighed softly, took off his navy blazer, and tiptoed out of the conference room.

Leaning against the hallway wall, Tsuki sipped the coffee he’d just bought from the vending machine, gazing through the window at boys working on woodworking by the school gate. They sawed boards together, while a girl painted vibrant colors on one, seemingly making an archway.

Midway through the task, several boys suddenly clustered, scrambling for a saw and urging one of them to approach the girls.

Reluctantly, the boy went over, blushing deeply, crouching beside the girl. Gradually, they painted together, occasionally brushing shoulders or the backs of their hands, silently sharing a quiet understanding, savoring this ordinary yet fulfilling moment under the sunset.

Watching all this through the window, Tsuki suddenly found the cultural festival more interesting than he’d imagined. Even such tedious tasks seemed fresh when performed by high schoolers like them.

Perhaps his shattered, deadened heart was already being infiltrated by youth, trying to paint his gray world in brilliant rose hues.

Tsuki longed for it, yet still lacked the courage to immediately cast away his guilt, fearing becoming a guiltless machine.

The boy was equally unable to decide.

The conference room door opened behind him, and light footsteps approached. Tsuki glanced sideways as the student council president came to his side.

“Really, you should have woken me up when I fell asleep,” she said.

“When did I fall asleep? How long?”

“Not long. Fifteen minutes.”

“Hopefully no one saw me sleeping in the conference room. I don’t want that rumor spreading next week.”

“They’d all left already.”

“Good.”

She patted her chest in relief, then squinted mischievously. “What about you? Did you prank me while I was asleep?”

Tsuki ignored her, still staring out at the school gate.

Seeing his silence, Morino couldn’t help but pout—lips that made one want to offer her a drink.

“You’re so boring,” she said.

He took a tea drink from the vending machine, twisted off the cap, then slightly retwisted it before handing it over.

“Tricky. Why didn’t you buy me coffee? I wanted that more.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You should get to bed earlier. You haven’t slept well for days.”

“Oh, so you care more than I thought, Jinguji. That’s a bit surprising.”

“Not at all.”

Morino smiled faintly, removing his jacket still warm with his body heat and returning it to him.

“Thank you, Jinguji.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

His face remained cold, his voice emotionless.

The girl offered a warm smile, as if trying to melt his expression.

“Even so, thank you.”

“...Hm.”