Voluntold You So

Poke.

Ow.

A second poke.

Ow.

"Don't make it a third time Tomoe, what's up?" I said, shuddering in my seat.

"How'd your weekend go?" She leaned over and smirked.

"Uneventfully eventful?" I offered.

Tomoe shook her head, "What did you do?"

"Eh, nothing special. Went for a scooter ride. Played a VN." I answered.

"Lucky! I always wanted one of those, you know how convenient errands would be? Beep Beep!"

The train reached our stop, and I hopped out with Tomoe.

Just like that, another school week begins.

We took our seats for homeroom.

Yuta was sitting in his spot, then again so was everyone else.

I'm not crazy for zooming in on him, right?

We'd broken the touch barrier, shoulder to shoulder. Heck, we're on first name basis!

Why am I getting like this?

I buried my face in the textbook.

No point looking at the boy across the hall.

Then again he did say not to be a stranger.

God, this is driving me crazy.

"Morning, class!" Our teacher said with the detached energy of a bear in hibernation.

"Morning." We all replied matching him on cue.

"Today you'll be in groups of three, randomly assigned of course. Our homeroom has been tasked with coming up with ideas for the culture festival, brainstorm ideas with your partners for a little while, okay?"

Eyes began darting around to see who'd get partnered with who.

I felt a tug on my sleeve.

Tomoe.

"Heya, what's up?"

"I hope we're partners, Honomi and Machiko are eyeing us too."

I turned to see them winking and teasing me playfully.

I shot a silly look at them back.

Then my eyes moved to Sugihara, who despite all the chaos was still very intently focused on a watch piece.

It was the same one he showed me at his family workshop.

His eyes lifted up and over to me.

I instinctively looked away.

Then slowly back at him.

He gave me a gentle wave, eyes closed, lips slightly parted.

I felt my heart skip a beat and I waved back, my face turning red again.

Why does he have to be so cute?

To make matters worse, the teacher got to my name.

"Ishikura."

A beat.

"You're partnered up with Uchimura and Sugihara, please join up with them."

My heart sank, but I managed to keep it together.

Great! So now I'm stuck with the creep and the cupid!

"Go get em, tiger." Tomoe whispered.

I don't even wanna know who she's referring to.

I got up from my desk and grabbed my chair to meet with the guys.

Uchimura did not look particularly happy to see me.

Totally get that. Sorry not sorry, meathead.

He grumbled.

I didn't.

Uchimura didn’t look at either of us when he said it.

“The teacher will pick my idea regardless,” he repeated, leaning back like the decision had already been archived. “We’re doing a watch restoration presentation for the cultural festival. It’s clean. Educational. Traditional.”

His eyes flicked to Sugihara.

“And relevant.”

Sugihara blinked. “R-Relevant?”

“You repair antique watches,” Uchimura said. “It’s authentic. Faculty loves authenticity.”

He turned to me then.

“And since you seem so eager to contribute opinions,” he added lightly, “you can handle the promotional materials.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Promotional materials?”

“Handmade flyers,” he replied without missing a beat. “Calligraphy preferred. Antique show demands aesthetic consistency.”

Tomoe snorted from across the room.

“You’re joking,” I said.

“I’m not,” he answered. “Digital prints would cheapen the presentation.”

That was absolutely retaliation.

For meathead.

And maybe creep.

Sugihara looked between us. “We… could do printed ones. It might be easier—”

“No,” Uchimura cut in smoothly. “If we’re presenting craftsmanship, our advertising should reflect craftsmanship.”

There it was.

Weaponized consistency.

The bell rang before I could argue further.

***

The student council office was nothing like I expected.

Sunlight instead of shadow. Stacks of paper instead of polished intimidation.

“You must be Ishikura, Sugihara, and Uchimura!” a bright voice chimed.

Fujimoto.

Ribbon in her hair. Easy smile. The kind of presence that steadies a room instead of claiming it.

Behind her, two boys and a girl were organizing materials and debating color palettes like it was life or death. One waved at us cheerfully.

Not a meathead in sight.

“So!” Fujimoto clasped her hands. “I hear we’ve got a live restoration idea?”

Uchimura stepped forward, composed as ever. “A demonstration of antique watch repair. Emphasis on preservation of traditional techniques.”

“And handmade promotional materials,” he added smoothly.

Fujimoto’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I love that. It’ll feel authentic.”

I shot him a look.

He didn’t blink.

Fujimoto turned to Sugihara instead. “Are you comfortable leading something like that?”

Sugihara hesitated.

Then, steadying himself, “I’d need to prepare a mechanism safe enough to demonstrate. But… yes.”

His voice didn’t waver by the end.

“Wonderful!” Fujimoto beamed. “We’ll reserve a corner space near the entrance hall. High traffic.”

Logistics followed. Safety guidelines. Time slots.

Uchimura handled scheduling with unnerving efficiency.

Sugihara asked thoughtful questions.

I mentally calculated how many hours hand-lettering fifty flyers would cost me.

When we stepped back into the hallway, the late afternoon light stretched long across the floor.

Uchimura checked his phone.

“One more thing,” he said casually. “Flyer drafts by Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?” I repeated. “That’s two days.”

“You wanted to contribute,” he said evenly. “Consider it an opportunity.”

Oh he's petty and annoyingly within his rights.

He slipped his shoes on and walked off without another word.

Just like that, it was the two of us by the shoe cubbies.

Sugihara crouched to change his shoes.

“…You don’t actually have to do all of them by hand,” he said quietly.

I blinked. “You heard that?”

He smiled faintly. “He wasn’t subtle.”

I huffed. “It’s fine. I can do calligraphy. I think.”

He stood, sliding into his outdoor shoes.

“For what it’s worth,” he added, a little closer now, “I think it’ll look really nice.”

I crossed my arms. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But if we’re going to present something about restoring things carefully… it makes sense.”

He leaned back against the lockers, thoughtful.

“I was thinking we could let people bring in something small. A broken watch. A keepsake. And fix one live.”

“Together?” I asked before I could stop myself.

He nodded.

“Together.”

The hallway got quieter.

“And the flyers…” he continued, almost shy now, “maybe we could design them after school? I’m not very good at handwriting, but I can draw the mechanisms.”

My heart did something inconvenient.

“So this is you volunteering?” I asked.

He gave me that same old workshop smile.

“If you don’t mind the help.”

Of course I didn’t.

Because I needed it.

I just couldn’t tell Sugihara that.