A Lingering Warmth

Shion cleared his throat, the sound rough, like it was dragging itself out of him against his will. He looked visibly strained, his shoulders sagging under what could have been the weight of the world—or more likely, a chronic lack of caffeine.

“Ms. Tsukishima,” he began, his tone flat. “Do I need to remind you that hacking is precisely what landed you here in the first place?”

Oh, so that’s what this is about. Miyuu’s gaze flicked to his cybernetic eye, curiosity sparking as she imagined the intricacies of its design. Was it purely mechanical, or did it house its own information system? The thought of dismantling it just to see how it worked sent an excited little thrill through her. Shion, she suspected, wouldn’t share her enthusiasm.

"Hacking?" She feigned surprise. "Why, Mr. Aoyama, I would never. I have nothing but the utmost respect for the laws of this country." She clasped a hand over her chest dramatically.

Shion didn’t even blink. “Cut the crap.”

His voice was sharp now, all the exhaustion bleeding out of it as he focused on her. A moment ago, he’d looked like he was seconds away from falling asleep mid-sentence. Now, he was fully alert, and that abrupt shift made her uncomfortable.

He was barely restraining his rage. Miyuu could see it—raw and dangerous, like a monster crammed into a box two sizes too small. Miyuu could practically hear the hinges creaking under the pressure. One wrong move, and that box would pop open, and guess who’d be first on the menu? Yeah, her.

It was almost impressive, really, how quickly he flipped from a sleepy, overworked housecat to something out of a horror movie.

“Well,” she said, forcing a grin that she hoped looked charming instead of guilty. “This sounds like a great time for me to respectfully deny everything.”

Shion stood, absentmindedly twirling his ruler between his fingers. The motion was smooth, almost hypnotic, like a magician distracting you before pulling a rabbit out of a hat—or, in this case, launching into a lecture.

“I’ll admit,” he began, his tone casual enough to make her suspicious, “I have a certain… admiration for your skills. Slipping through cracks in SOLON’s system? Impressive. But it won’t do you any good here.”

He ran a hand through his messy, dark purple hair, the movement deceptively relaxed. "In fact, it will only make things harder for you."

"I’m not even particularly upset about the hacking," he added calmly.

“Oh, good,” Miyuu said, casually lifting a foot to edge toward the door. “Then I guess I’ll be on my way—”

A sudden, piercing crack echoed through the library as Shion slammed his ruler onto the table, cutting her off mid-step.

Her body tensed involuntarily, her pulse spiking as she registered the sudden shift in the atmosphere. The lazy, almost disinterested Shion she’d seen moments ago was gone, replaced by something far more intense.

Threat level increasing, K.A.T.O warned.

No kidding, she thought back, her gaze snapping to Shion.

For the first time, she actually looked at him—not just glanced, but really took in the person standing in front of her.

Shion was tall and slender, his uniform fitting just well enough to suggest he’d put in zero effort while still looking obnoxiously put-together. His long coat draped over his shoulders like a cape.

He was lean—almost willowy—with long limbs and narrow shoulders that made him seem more like a shadow than a person.

"What I’m really upset about," he said, "is you robbing another student of a genuine learning opportunity by spoon-feeding them answers."

His gaze hardened, holding her in place with an intensity she hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t anger—not exactly. It was something heavier, something that slithered under her skin and made her toes curl in her socks.

"I thought your arrogance was bad enough, Tsukishima, but I didn’t realize just how selfish you really are."

Miyuu blinked, her casual smirk faded. "Selfish? Excuse me—"

"Let me guess," he cut her off. " You think you’re above all this? That you don’t need to pay attention in class because you’re oh-so-gifted?"

Her jaw tightened, the heat rising in her cheeks under his gaze. Her pulse quickened, not because she was intimidated—obviously—but because she was mad.

Before she could fire back, Shion pressed on. "You might be smart, Miyuu, but intelligence without discipline is wasted potential. Or do you think your name and family status are enough to coast through life?"

A prick of anger flared in her chest, sharp and hot. “You don’t know anything about me, Aoyama,” she snapped. “I don’t need your lectures on—”

“Stop wasting your breath,” he interrupted smoothly, his expression downright unimpressed.

Her words caught in her throat as he turned to the holo-screen, pulling up her student profile with deliberate slowness.

With the faintest of smirks, he tapped a few commands. “I’m deducting 10 XP from your balance,” he said, his tone as flat and cold as the screen in front of him. “Maybe that will remind you that actions have consequences.”

The words hit her like a slap. Miyuu’s mouth fell open, and a wave of shock surged through her veins. Did he just—was he serious?

Her mind scrambled, panic creeping in as she processed what he’d done. “Are you for real? You can’t just—” Her voice faltered, the sharp edge she’d intended barely masking the fear underneath.

Did he have any idea what this meant? She was already clinging to 50 XP like it was her last shred of dignity. Now she was down to 40? One wrong move, one bad decision, and she’d be skidding toward a prison cell.

Shion stared her down, calm and unaffected. “I can, and I just did,” he said. “And if you have any intention of succeeding here, I suggest you adjust that attitude.”

Her hands balled into fists at her sides, anger swirling hot and sharp in her chest. He was a cat toying with a mouse—no, worse. He was a cat toying with her life, batting it around like it was nothing.

She opened her mouth, a retort already forming, when the library door abruptly slid open.

Standing there, looking impossibly small but somehow determined, was Natsuki. Her cheeks were flushed a deep pink, embarrassment radiating off her in waves, but she took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“Um… Mr. Aoyama?” she stammered, her voice barely louder than a whisper. She forced herself to meet Shion’s gaze, her hands trembling but her shoulders squared like she was bracing for impact. “If you’re going to deduct XP… then, um, please deduct some from me.”

Miyuu blinked, her frustration momentarily overridden by disbelief. What are you doing? she thought, flicking her eyes between Natsuki and Shion.

“She… she was only trying to help,” Natsuki continued, her voice trembling but steady enough to land the words.

Miyuu’s pulse spiked, anger replaced by a gnawing sense of dread. “Suzuki, just—stay out of this,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

But Natsuki, wasn’t budging. She clenched her fists, her knuckles white. She somehow held her ground, staring Shion down like she hadn’t spent the last several weeks shrinking into the background of every room.

“I… I can’t just let someone else get in trouble when I’m to blame too,” she said, her voice shaking.

Miyuu’s stomach twisted. Idiot, she thought. Brave, ridiculous idiot. And worse, she was starting to feel guilty. For someone else. This was not her usual operating mode, and she didn’t like it one bit.

Shion’s gaze shifted to Natsuki, his expression unreadable. Was that amusement? Irritation? Miyuu couldn’t tell, and it annoyed her even more.

“Very well, Natsuki,” he said smoothly. “If that’s how you feel.”

With a few swift taps on his holo-screen, he made the adjustment. Miyuu’s stomach twisted as she watched him work, her heart sinking.

This guy has no mercy.

Miyuu could feel her self-control slipping like sand through her fingers. “Oh, I get it,” she snapped, her voice trembling with rage. “Big bad librarian lording over us lowly SEEDs. Gotta flex that XP authority, huh? Must be exhausting ruling your tiny, miserable kingdom.”

Shion raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement ghosting across his face. “Nice try,” he said calmly, “but this isn’t about me.” He stepped closer. “This is about a girl who thinks she can bend the rules just because she’s never had to face the consequences.”

His words hit harder than she wanted to admit, and her anger flared brighter. “Oh, please.” She threw her hands up. “You’re one to talk about consequences. What would you know about being held accountable, perched up there with your shiny council badge and unlimited XP? Must be nice.”

Shion’s eyes narrowed, and the air in the room seemed to shift, growing heavier. It was suffocating, like the gravity had been cranked up to pin her in place. Does XP give you Demon Lord powers?

“Let me be clear,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, the ruler in his hand tapping against his palm in a slow rhythm. “This isn’t about privilege or status. This is about you making excuses for your reckless behaviour.” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-growl. “You’re not as untouchable as you think, Tsukishima.”

She opened her mouth to argue, to fight, but the words caught in her throat. The fire in her chest cooled, replaced by an unwelcome realization that settled like a stone in her gut. She wasn’t in control here. Not even close.

“We’re done here. You can go.” Shion said finally, turning back to his holo-screen as though she were nothing more than an afterthought.

Dismissed. Like she didn’t even matter.

Miyuu’s teeth ground together as she spun on her heel, storming toward the door. She didn’t need his approval. She didn’t need anyone’s approval.

Behind her, she heard Natsuki’s hurried, muffled apology—a quick, polite bow to Shion—before she scurried after her.

The door slid shut behind them, but it did little to quell the fire raging in Miyuu’s chest. She yanked out her student device, needing something, anything, to focus on before she exploded.

The screen lit up, displaying her latest notifications:
-10 Points
Mandatory Reflective Mission added to calendar

Her fingers clenched around the device, and a sharp “Tch!” escaped her lips before she could stop it.

Beside her, Natsuki walked in uneasy silence, her hands fidgeting like she was trying to physically wrestle her guilt into submission. She kept glancing at Miyuu, hesitant, before finally mustering the courage to speak.

“I… I’m sorry, Tsukishima,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “I thought maybe I could h—”

“Help?” Miyuu cut in, her voice sharp enough to draw blood as she snapped her head toward Natsuki with a glare.

Natsuki flinched but didn’t look away, her face pinking under Miyuu’s intensity.

Miyuu turned her gaze forward, the muscles in her jaw tight as she forced herself to calm down. Her shoulders were rigid. “Next time,” she said, “don’t. I don’t need anyone’s ‘help.’ I can handle myself.”

Natsuki’s cheeks flushed deeper, and her gaze dropped to the ground. Her fingers twisted nervously as if searching for something to hold on to. “I… I just thought… it didn’t feel right, you taking all the blame.”

Miyuu stopped walking, exhaling sharply as her grip on her device loosened slightly. “And what did you think you were going to do?” she asked, her voice quieter but no less biting. She finally looked at Natsuki. “Throw yourself under the bus with me? How noble. Also stupid.”

Natsuki shrank back slightly, but she didn’t back down. Her voice wavered, but the words still came. “Maybe. But I couldn’t just… stand there.”

Miyuu stared at Natsuki for a long moment, caught somewhere between annoyance and… something she didn’t want to name. Finally, she shook her head, muttering, “Idiot,” before turning away.

“I just… didn’t want you to feel alone.”

The words hit Miyuu like a misfired drone strike—totally unexpected and landing somewhere that shouldn’t hurt but kind of did. Her hands shoved deeper into her pockets as if that might bury the strange warmth rising in her chest. She scoffed, her eyes fixed firmly on a spot in the middle distance.

“Fine,” she said, her voice clipped. “But don’t make a habit of it.”

Great. Now I’m the brooding protagonist people try to fix.

She kept her gaze fixed forward, pretending the exchange hadn’t just detonated some messy tangle of emotions she didn’t have the bandwidth to sort through right now.

Stay guarded, she told herself, her brain scrambling to run damage control. People get close. People leave. That’s how it works. Don’t forget that.

But despite her best efforts to shove the sentiment into a box labelled Do Not Open Ever, the warmth lingered.

Miyuu exhaled sharply, brushing it off like dust. Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

“Next time,” she muttered, half to herself, half to Natsuki, “try thinking a little less about me and a little more about yourself. Being self-sacrificing doesn’t suit you.”

Natsuki blinked, startled by the comment, her wide eyes brimming with confusion. Before she could respond, Miyuu quickened her pace, throwing a careless wave over her shoulder.

“Come on,” she said. “I’ve got a Reflective Mission to ignore for as long as humanly possible.”

With that, she strode ahead, her steps a little faster than necessary.

Behind her, Natsuki hesitated for only a moment before smiling softly and hurrying to catch up.