Chapter 28: Actions Warm Enough to Melt Winter (VI)

"Shimizu-kun, can you come with me to the student council room?"

The last day of school, and the first bombshell of the day came from the bombshell queen herself, Kousaka-san.

Shūgyōshiki had just finished. The closing ceremony was the usual affair—tedious speeches, orchestrated applause, and the forced sentimentality of “See you next year.”

As for a side character like me, I don't think anyone would want me to be seen next year.

“Do I need to mess you up before you can answer?” as she raised a fist.

Panic struck me.

Even after all that happened between us—what we said, what we didn’t, what hovered in the gaps between a kiss and a memory—she still had the ability to make something sound more like a threat than a request.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Am I finally getting expelled?” I asked flatly. “You know, I always thought I’d go out in a more dramatic fashion. Maybe caught red-handed smuggling grilled squid into the science lab or vandalizing the vending machines.”

She didn't react. If anything, her eyebrows sharpened dangerously.

Okay, bad timing for jokes.

“Fine, fine, I'm going.”

“Much better,” she said.

I turned to the building behind me, raised an arm in mock farewell. “Goodbye, Shonan High. It’s been mediocre.”

“Goodbye, Shimizu,” she echoed without emotion, walking ahead.

It was oddly comforting that even in hypothetical expulsion, she’d still call me by my name.

As we reached the classroom halls, there was something anticlimactic about them—desks and chairs perfectly aligned, dust motes dancing on the pale light seeping through tall windows, and students filtering out in clusters, some rowdy with laughter, others filming goodbye videos or clinging to their senpai with that artificial sense of nostalgia schools specialize in.

We moved through the corridor in step, the distance between us neither close enough to imply anything, nor far enough to deny it. Yet that didn’t stop people from speaking.

“Oh my god—is that…Kousaka-san?”

“She’s with someone.”

“She never walks with people. That’s the Ice Queen, right?”

“She’s supposed to be…unreachable.”

“But that guy…isn’t he the gloomy dango seller?”

“Well, he’s kind of cute. Maybe they do suit each other.”

I didn’t react. I’d long gotten used to being part of the background—like a vending machine people passed by, sometimes used, rarely noticed.

But now, for some reason, I was walking beside the school’s living statue that caused boys to whisper, girls to tug on sleeves, and every pair of eyes to register the anomaly.

The Ice Queen, as they called her. Their voices were so loud they might as well have been on the intercom.

I glanced at her. She kept her gaze forward, composed and distant, as if the murmurs behind her were part of another dimension.

But her hands had retreated into her blazer sleeves. That was new.

I leaned in, just slightly.

“Are we walking to a public execution or a secret wedding?”

She gave me a look that was both flat and mildly exhausted. “Former.”

“Fair. I’d at least like to pick the epilogue music.”

She sighed, turning her gaze forward again.

When we finally reached the quiet corridor where the council office sat, the murmuring faded. The silence was more deafening than the noise.

She stopped walking, right in front of the sliding door.

“I’m kind of bad at this,” she said, voice lowered. Her hand hovered above the handle, but didn’t pull.

I tilted my head. “Bad at what? Giving death sentences?”

“Friendship,” she said. “And…things like that. Things that involve connecting to people.”

The door remained closed between us and whatever she was hiding behind her composure.

I rubbed my temple, exhaling softly. “You’re already connecting with me.”

Her expression turned deadpan.

“You don’t count.”

That stung more than I expected it to.

“…Thanks?”

“No, I mean…” Her voice faltered for once. “You’re not a stranger. You’re already inside the space I don't know how to manage.”

For a second, I couldn’t tell if that was an insult, a confession, or a cry for help. 

Possibly all three.

“I’m not good at this either,” I replied. “But I think it’s okay to slow down. There’s no deadline for getting used to people.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “But I can’t do that with everyone. You and other people…they’re not the same.”

“Then just treat them the way you treat me.”

“I don’t want to.”

I blinked. “Why?”

She turned to face me, expression already laced with agitation. “Can you stop asking me annoying questions?”

“You probably just don't want to admit that I'm being treated better than those chatterboxes.”

She exhaled, lips twitching again—caught between irritation and something too soft to be labeled.

“I should’ve brought earplugs.”

“I’d still talk louder.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she pushed open the door, her voice a breath softer than usual.

“…Let’s just get this over with.”

As we stepped into the quiet room, I couldn’t help but think—

Out of the two of us, I should’ve been the one nervous.

But here she was, the untouchable, unreadable Kousaka Akari looking more anxious than the boy who once gave her an umbrella in the rain.

***

The moment the door clicked shut behind us, I understood something was off.

The student council room was quiet—too quiet for any disciplinary proceedings. No stern-faced president. No lined-up teachers ready to issue verdicts. Only the scent of citrus-scented disinfectant, a half-open window letting in muted wind, and—

“Tsurugi-san?”

Our class rep and my close friend—Tsurugi Konomi—stood beside a pile of folders, crouched down near a cluttered shelf. She looked up with a bit of a jolt.

“Ah! Shimizu-kun, Kousaka-san?”

Her usual brightness hadn’t dulled with the end of the semester and my rejection.

She stood up and wiped the dust that accumulated from her skirt and cardigan.

“I didn’t think anyone else would drop by this late.”

I blinked. Then glanced to my side.

Kousaka-san didn’t say anything. She simply stood still, her bag strap curled tightly in her hand, fingers white around the leather. Her expression was too guarded for someone who supposedly dragged me here under false pretenses.

“I thought I was being called in for a crime or something,” I muttered. “For the rooftop fight.”

Tsurugi-san’s eyes widened with a gasp. “Ah… about that…”

I prepared myself for another round of awkward apologies, maybe some kind of probation report.

“The teachers reviewed the CCTV footage when the three of them went to report you on that incident. The footage though was clear, and you were just defending yourself and Kousaka-san.”

Her eyes flicked to the girl behind me, but only for a second.

“Yuuya, Morita, and Hirose were suspended indefinitely. You won’t be called to guidance.”

“…Huh.”

That was it?

No formal summoning? No calls home? Not even a stern warning?

Justice, the only thing that had no apparent interest with me before, finally treating me equally?

“So…that's all? I won't be writing two page letters for each victim next week?”

“You won't be.” as she smiled reassuringly.

A wave of relief washed over me, though still, something gnawed at the back of my head.

I turned, slowly, to the girl who’d dragged me here.

Kousaka-san’s eyes were cast toward the floor. The same girl who glared holes through bullies and cut through conversations like ice now stood as if cornered in an invisible cage. She wasn’t here to talk about the fight. She hadn’t even contributed to the conversation.

Her body was present. But her mind?

Elsewhere.

“...You lied,” I said inwardly.

I kept staring at her and she retained that innocent posture as if it would free her of guilt and the deductions I am currently making.

What were her reasons?

The way she talked about being bad with friends out of nowhere, the fear of interacting with strangers, it made sense.

And coincidentally, she chose a place where not just Tsurugi-san, but us, could be alone.

I'm not being called out.

I don't have anything to do here since Tsurugi-san confirmed it herself.

And Kousaka-san wouldn't have wasted her time dragging me along here just to bring that news where she could've told it herself.

I don't have a business here.

But Kousaka-san clearly has.

So I did something stupid.

I pinched her side.

A sharp yelp slipped from her throat—high and strangely feminine, so unlike her usual calm cadence that even I froze for a second, somehow, sadistically, enjoying hearing it.

A tinge of red flared on her cheek after I eased my grip.

“Did you just—!?” she hissed.

I smirked. “Just checking if you’re alive.”

Tsurugi-san blinked, unsure whether to laugh or look concerned.

I turned back toward her. “You have something to say to Tsurugi-san, right?”

She gasped, a more enticing tone, and the colors in her face just bloomed further.

I caught her right on the spot.

Kousaka-san stared at me with murder in her eyes—but behind that, embarrassment. Hesitation. Then something far less noticeable: resolve.

“...Fine.”

She took one step forward.

“I…”

Her voice was soft at first. Unpolished—like a blade no longer used for cutting.

“Sorry for dragging Shimizu here today. I just needed a little…courage.”

So you really just used me as a wingman? Unfair.

“I also came here today because I owe you something. No—because I’ve been carrying something for too long.”

Tsurugi-san’s mouth slightly gaped.

In return, she simply stood, hands loosely held together in front of her.

Kousaka-san inhaled.

“Back at the sports festival preparations…” Kousaka-san trailed off, clearly overwhelmed. I didn’t waste time—I held her hand and squeezed it a bit. She wasn’t looking at me as I tried to give her some sense of comfort.

She acknowledged the gesture and didn’t let go.

“I was…horrible to you.” she continued, voice more steady now. “I mocked your leadership, your capability, humiliated you in front of others, disregarded the way you tried to help. You offered something—earnestness, responsibility—and I crushed it with cynicism. That wasn’t strength. It was cruelty.”

A long silence passed.

Tsurugi-san finally smiled and stepped closer.

“No, I should’ve minded my own business. I grabbed your wrist and acted like I knew better. At that time, I really didn't know the reasons behind your isolation and I should’ve understood you. Yet I didn’t.”

“I don’t think I was ready at that time to open up anyway. It was my mistake, and you didn’t deserve what I said.”

“And you didn’t deserve how I made you feel, Kousaka-san.”

The two girls mirrored each other now, not in posture but in vulnerability. One never knew how to express, the other never stopped giving. And yet, somehow, they stood on the same ground.

I let go of Kousaka-san and stepped quietly to the far side of the office. I offered them their needed space and silence.

“I apologize for my previous actions, Tsurugi-san. I promise to be better and more participative from today onwards.”

“I’m sorry too, Kousaka-san. I was too forceful back then and didn’t acknowledge that some people have strict personal spaces. I’ll respect them in the future. But if you feel like opening up to us, feel free and I’ll kindly help you out, okay?”

I didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t offer commentary.

For once, I didn’t even try to decode it.

I just watched.

There was a sort of pain in it—watching the people you care about reach one another while you stood just a few paces outside of it. But there was also peace whilst doing it.

The gap between them was closing.

I’m glad it did.

A silence followed—longer than the last.

Then Kousaka-san spoke again, and the hesitation in her voice returned just slightly.

“I don’t know how to do this…but I want to try. I want to…connect, even if I’m clumsy at it.”

She raised her bowed head fully toward Tsurugi-san.

“…Are you willing to be...friends...with me?”

There it was.

The bombshell.

The delivery was rough, but the message was clear beyond those words.

The girl that was labeled an “ice queen” and “delinquent” in whispers and half-lies. The girl who preferred to sit alone and away from the classroom, sketching memories of a home thousands of miles apart. The girl who had no real circle—offering friendship to someone she once pushed away.

Tsurugi-san blinked. Her lips parted in surprise.

Then: a warm, radiant smile.

“Of course!” she accepted cheerfully. “I’d love to!”

I closed my eyes for a moment.

There was no need for applause.

No need for grand celebrations or cheers either.

The atmosphere around us had certainly picked up in the right direction, along the weight of that moment anchoring itself deep inside the memory of this room.

The truth is, people don't change in grand epiphanies. They shift in whispers, in long silences, in half-steps toward someone else.

It’s less about monumental events and more about the accumulation of small, often imperceptible adjustments that, over time, lead to a profoundly different person. It's a testament to the power of consistent, gentle evolution rather than dramatic revolution.

Kousaka-san finally had another friend.

The second of many.

It was just a small beginning.

But small beginnings were how the rain always started, too.

One drop at a time. Until something bloomed.

And the little gesture of that red haired boy showed the golden porcupine.

I opened my eyes and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Even the loneliest flowers find sunlight eventually.

And Kousaka-san—she was finally reaching for it.