Upon returning to the International Culture Class, Hiroto Tachibana took his seat.
He was still savoring the moment.
Naturally, he wasn’t reminiscing about the splashing water or the rising mist within the bathroom, but rather the absolute reward bestowed upon him by that anonymous voice.
[Your body will permanently maintain optimal health.]
An incredibly brief sentence.
On the surface, it didn’t seem overtly powerful, but in reality…
it was terrifying.
Hiroto rested his chin in his hand.
This asset could essentially be categorized as a concept-level ability.
Setting aside the fact that he could now pull all-nighters to rush his manuscripts without consequence, just analyzing the baseline concept of “permanent health” yielded staggering implications.
The human body naturally maintains a dynamic equilibrium: the birth and death of cells, the progressive shortening of telomeres, the decline of tissue regeneration, the wearing down of joint cartilage, and the gradual degradation of vision and hearing—all of these were standard natural processes.
Yet, the literal concept of “health” directly exempted his body from this wear and tear.
Although this remained merely a hypothesis, if he hadn’t miscalculated…
had he effectively achieved functional immortality?
Of course, it was just a theory.
There wasn’t any real necessity to put it to a practical test.
Even if he were to nick himself with a small blade, going by the baseline standard of “health,” it would merely recover at an optimal, normal human speed rather than healing instantaneously.
It was just perfectly functional.
As Hiroto sat lost in contemplation at his desk, he failed to notice that gazes from various corners of the room were repeatedly latching onto him.
The descriptor “healthy,” when applied to a guy, carried an inherent layer of biological attraction.
Furthermore, Hiroto’s overall presentation had undergone a complete overhaul compared to his previous look.
His skin was clean and fair, his dark under-eye circles had entirely vanished, his shaggy bowl cut had been swapped for a crisp short style, and even his posture was a fraction more erect than before.
More importantly, his internal world had fully settled into a state of calm.
He was no longer anxious, no longer numb; he had reclaimed that original sense of effortless ease.
This added a distinct layer of subtle charm out of thin air.
Eriri could acutely perceive that within her popular social clique—or rather, across the entire classroom—topics centering around Hiroto Tachibana were beginning to surface.
”Hey, hasn’t Tachibana-kun gotten a lot handsomer?”
“His skin is so good, what kind of skincare routine does he even use?”
“Tachibana-kun’s complexion looks amazing today.”
“I never really noticed before, but he’s actually quite good-looking, isn’t he?”
Statements of this nature were things she had heard countless times from the classmates around her back during middle school.
At that time, Hiroto Tachibana was still a prominent figure in the class social hierarchy.
He came from a well-off family, paid close attention to his appearance, possessed excellent interpersonal relationships, and people would actively call out to greet him whenever he walked down the hallway.
And she had been the exact same.
With both of them standing at the focal points of the class’s social network, it was only natural for the surrounding classmates to try and pair them up.
”Eriri and Hiroto match so perfectly.”
“The two of them standing together looks like a literal painting.”
She had listened to those exact words for an entire year.
Hearing them surface once more today, however, evoked a highly complex sensation within her.
It was an indefinable feeling.
It wasn’t explicit dislike, nor was it joy.
It was something far more awkward.
It felt akin to popping a piece of candy into one’s mouth that appeared incredibly sweet on the outside, only to bite down and discover a sour lemon core buried deep within.
Even though a subtle wave of discomfort washed through her heart, she still had to maintain the charade of acting as though she and Hiroto were complete strangers, actively joining in on the discussion with the girls.
”Is that so?
I suppose he looks a tiny bit different,” she said with a smile, keeping her tone light and airy.
When she uttered those words, her delivery was so perfectly natural that even she almost bought into it.
Hiroto had changed.
He had completely reverted to that radiant, striking presence he possessed back in middle school.
But so what?
Even if he transformed back into that brilliant class popular kid who could stand on equal footing with her, what of it?
At the absolute most, it would merely preserve the exact same semi-familiar, distant dynamic they shared back then.
Hiroto had never known the side of her that locked herself away in her room after school to draw doujinshi.
He had never known that she would don a tracksuit on weekends to stand in grueling lines at Akihabara just to purchase fan magazines.
He had absolutely no idea what her authentic passions truly were.
The “Eriri” that Hiroto Tachibana recognized was merely the popular classroom idol, Eriri Spencer Sawamura.
It wasn’t the authentic her.
Yes, Eriri had always been profoundly self-contradictory.
She desperately wished to prevent anyone from discovering her true nature—the fact that she was an otaku who loved light novels and anime, and was even a highly renowned doujin artist within the industry.
She meticulously concealed all of these traits, playing the part of a flawless, elite popular young lady at school.
Yet at the exact same time, she yearned for someone to look past the facade.
To discover the authentic self buried right beneath the polished wrapping paper.
A self that wouldn’t require her to put up any exhausting pretenses.
A person who would wholeheartedly accept the true her.
It was a stark contradiction.
A profound, aching contradiction.
On the surface, she appeared utterly fulfilled, but internally, she was entirely isolated.
It was the specific flavor of loneliness where one is surrounded by a sea of people, yet not a single soul genuinely knows who you are.
She stole a covert glance toward Hiroto in the back row.
He was currently lowering his head, completely engrossed in some unknown train of thought, the corner of his mouth curving slightly as if a faint smile had played across his lips.
Eriri retracted her gaze, her fingers tightening their grip around the pen in her hand.
…Forget it.
What’s the point of overthinking all of this.
Outdoors, Physical Education class.
The female student ratio in the International Culture Class exceeded ninety percent.
Given Hiroto’s previous psychological state, his absolute failure to integrate into the class dynamic was actually standard behavior.
He had been gloomy, unkempt, and entirely solitary.
But considering that even Yukinoshita—a girl—failed to integrate into the classroom social fabric, it merely validated a singular truth: a mutual state of total disregard existed between Yukinoshita Yukino and the entire class.
It was highly possible both parties deliberately ignored each other, or perhaps it was a one-sided dismissal.
To maximize the efficiency of PE classes, the school routinely structured two classes to conduct their sessions simultaneously.
This setup also drastically minimized the recurring risk of the PE teacher suddenly falling “ill.”
Today, they were paired up with Class 1-B.
However, Class B had yet to arrive on the field, leaving only the students of the International Culture Class occupying the grounds.
Yukinoshita Yukino was clad in the summer athletic uniform: a crisp white base accented with clean blue trim, the lines across her cuffs and collar looking immaculately sharp.
Her long black hair had been gathered up into a high ponytail, exposing a pristine, fair section of her nape.
A few stray strands of hair drifted up as the wind swept past, brushing against her cheek before she casually tucked them behind her ear.
Her long, slender, and perfectly straight legs extended beneath her athletic skirt, and with her fair wrists exposed to the open air, she exuded a distinct aura of youthful vibrancy and athletic grace.
Coupled with that flat-out illegal level of facial cuteness, these traits alone were entirely sufficient to daze anyone into completely disregarding any personal flaws she might possess.
Unfortunately, however, the International Culture Class was predominantly composed of girls.
The charm status effect was effectively halved.
Consequently, she stood entirely solitary at the absolute periphery of the sports field, holding a book she had brought along at some unknown point.
Her head was lowered as she read, rendering her entirely out of sync with the lively atmosphere bustling around her.
Naturally, Hiroto Tachibana was in the exact same boat.
He leaned against the railing on the opposite side, his hands tucked casually into his pockets as he stared up at the sky in sheer boredom.
Not a single soul approached to strike up a conversation with him, nor did he harbor any intention of actively seeking out others.
PE drills were fundamentally structured around two-person pairings.
Because of Hiroto’s historical presentation in class—gloomy, uncommunicative, and perpetually buried in his writing—juxtaposed against this sudden, striking visual transformation today, the vast majority of the classmates had formulated a highly unique, hybridized impression of him:
”A bit bashful, carries a touch of brooding mystery, but in reality, he’s a fiercely handsome, pure-hearted high school guy.”
A pure-hearted high school boy.
Terrible with words.
He required someone to take the initiative.
As a result, the gazes of quite a few girls began to drift over him, accompanied by hushed whispering and playful nudging.
A few harbored the desire to approach and initiate a chat, yet they found themselves trapped in a state of bashful hesitation.
The situation surrounding Yukinoshita Yukino was virtually identical.
The scarce handful of boys present in the class were likewise itching to make a move.
Yet, stymied by the sheer aura of chilly aloofness emanating from Yukinoshita—a palpable “do not approach” vibe—they remained entirely hesitant, nobody possessing the courage to step forward as the pioneer.
Eriri found herself completely clustered by the crowd.
Several girls surrounded her, chattering dynamically about interesting occurrences from their weekend.
She stood right at the nucleus of the group, the brilliant sunlight cascading over her golden twin tails.
Occupying the most prominent position, she flashed the most radiant smile.
Eriri Spencer Sawamura: the undisputed ace of the Art Club, the pampered daughter of a prestigious diplomat, boasting extraordinary looks and stellar interpersonal popularity.
These labels were affixed to her person like a meticulously tailored designer coat.
Yet standing beneath the open sky right now, only the hidden otaku side of her truly recognized that she was profoundly uncomfortable with such blazing, intense sunlight.
But within the confines of the school grounds and before the eyes of the public, she absolutely had to play the part of that “flawless Eriri.” To seamlessly adapt to campus life, acting as a popular student at school was her ultimate survival strategy.
While effortlessly managing the casual banter of the classmates around her, her gaze subconsciously drifted toward Yukinoshita Yukino on the far side of the field.
When Eriri had initially encountered Yukinoshita, she had actually harbored the intent to establish a solid relationship.
After all, Yukinoshita’s family background, raw looks, and elegant aura were right there; they theoretically belonged to the exact same social circle.
Yet, blocked by the other party’s excessively rational and intensely detached demeanor, her several attempts at striking up a conversation had all concluded in sheer awkwardness.
To speak completely honestly, she deeply envied Yukinoshita Yukino.
Yukinoshita didn’t need to read the room or cater to anyone’s whims; she simply remained entirely true to herself.
She uttered precisely what she wished to say, and if she didn’t care to engage with someone, she simply ignored them entirely.
But while the envy was deeply real, she couldn’t bring herself to replicate it.
Precisely because she was incapable of doing so, the envy ran that much deeper.
What Yukinoshita put on display was her authentic ego—a chilling, unapproachable self.
This authentic ego caused others to shrink back from approaching her, applying not just to the girls, but the boys as well…
Hm?
Just as this exact train of thought crossed Eriri’s mind, her peripheral vision suddenly locked onto Hiroto Tachibana.
He was currently stepping away from the far railing, walking directly in the line of sight toward Yukinoshita Yukino.
Eriri’s gaze froze instantly.
What exactly is he planning to do?
Is he going to strike up a conversation?