The afternoon sunlight at Sobu High, sliced into slanting pillars by the huge windows of the school building, spilled lazily across the empty hallway.
The air carried that unique new-semester scent—a blend of fresh paint, new books, and the faint, lingering fragrance of cherry blossoms.
Hikigaya Hachiman dragged his shadow along, moving at a sluggish, reluctant pace.
Being summoned by Hiratsuka Shizuka never meant anything good.
Especially during a sensitive time like the start of the semester—he could figure it out with his toes, really.
It was probably about his entrance essay again, the one brimming with “philosophical contemplation” but clearly failing to match the upbeat, “positive and proactive” main theme.
He let out a sigh and reached up to rub at his perpetually messy black hair.
At the far end of his vision, in the courtyard beyond the hallway windows, a few late-blooming double-flowered cherry trees were still struggling to hold onto their last bits of pinkish white.
A passing breeze sent them scattering in pieces, like a belated farewell.
‘What a pain.’ He grumbled inwardly again.
Eventually, he dragged himself all the way to the faculty office door.
He gave a token knock and, without waiting for a clear response from inside, pushed the door open and walked in.
The unique smell of a Japanese literature teacher’s domain—books and ink—rushed at him, mixed with a faint hint of…
cigarette smoke?
“Hiratsuka-sensei, you wanted to see me?” His voice carried its usual, subtly weary edge.
Behind the desk, the tall, commanding young woman set down her insulated mug—its contents most likely not tea.
She looked up at the sound, her sharp gaze sweeping across his face, and the corner of her mouth seemed to tug into a barely perceptible curve.
“Ah, Hikigaya, you’re here.” Hiratsuka put the mug down with a soft clack.
“Nothing major, just found you a good place.”
‘I knew it.’ Alarm bells shrieked inside Hachiman’s head.
In his life experience, “a good place” was almost always code for “a trouble magnet.”
“Given your unique…
shall we say, mental disposition, and excessively rich internal monologue,” Hiratsuka phrased it “diplomatically,” tapping her fingers on the desk, “I think you need a place where you can better integrate into the group and learn the spirit of ‘selfless contribution.'”
The corner of Hachiman’s mouth twitched.
“Sensei, I believe solitude is the ultimate form of humanity.
Groups are merely…”
“Denied.” Hiratsuka cut his philosophical exposition off cleanly.
She stood up, her movements brisk and leaving no room for argument.
“Follow me.”
Resistance was futile.
Hachiman knew that well enough.
Resigned, he followed behind her, watching her upright back while his mind rapidly calculated all the possibilities.
A volunteer group?
The disciplinary committee?
Surely not the brass band club…
One after the other, they walked through the school building, which had grown much quieter now.
The sunlight stretched and shortened their shadows along the way.
Finally, Hiratsuka stopped in front of an utterly unremarkable door at the end of the hallway.
The sign on it read three words:
[Service Club].
A trace of genuine bafflement, rare for his dead-fish eyes, flickered through Hachiman.
What kind of club was this?
He’d never even heard of it.
Without explaining, Hiratsuka pushed the door open.
The afternoon light inside was even more abundant than outside the door, surging in almost blindingly, illuminating the entire clubroom.
The air held that dry, tranquil scent unique to old books.
The room was not large.
Near the window sat a cleanly wiped, long wooden table.
A girl sat there by the window, head bowed, reading a thick hardcover book open on her lap.
The sunlight traced the delicate lines of her figure and the long, jet-black hair that fell over her shoulders.
The strands gleamed with a nearly translucent quality in the light, a few wisps brushing her overly fair cheek.
She wore Sobu High’s girls’ uniform, its tailored cut outlining a slender silhouette.
The whole image made her look like a carefully composed, perfectly exposed still-life photograph—quiet, translucent, carrying an impeccable sense of distance that brooked no disturbance.
As if startled by the sound of the door, she slowly raised her head.
In that instant, Hikigaya Hachiman felt his breath, along with all the trouble theories and the philosophy of solitude swirling in his head, grind to a halt.
Time seemed to be violently yanked backward by an invisible hand, pulled all the way back to that distant summer brimming with the scent of grass and the shrill drone of cicadas.
A torrent of memory fragments surged up.
The community children’s party where a little girl always sat alone in the corner, quietly reading books meant for adults.
The stubborn, slightly distant, ice-blue eyes when other kids ostracized her.
And that dusk when a sandcastle was built high only to be smoothed away by the tide—the fleeting, barely-there gentle smile she had shown.
Yukinoshita…
Yukino.
It felt like something had pinched his heart, not too hard, sending a vague, dull ache through it.
He could almost hear the roar of blood rushing past his eardrums, a buzzing hum.
It was her.
No mistaking it.
Though she had shed the naivety of childhood and blossomed into someone even more coldly refined and beautiful, that singular, pristine, and dignified aura—like a clear plateau lake—overlapped seamlessly, perfectly, with a corner of his memory he had deliberately sealed away.
Yukinoshita Yukino’s gaze also settled upon him.
In those ice-blue pupils, a flash of surprise, almost too fast to catch, darted through before returning to calm, like a windless lake surface.
She closed the book on her lap with an elegant, unhurried motion.
Hiratsuka seemed not to notice—or had simply, deliberately ignored—the subtle atmosphere that had solidified in the air in that instant.
She looked contentedly at Hikigaya, frozen stiff at the door, then at Yukinoshita by the window.
Her voice rang out cheerfully.
“Perfect timing, Yukinoshita.
This is the new club member, Hikigaya Hachiman.
Hikigaya, this is the Service Club president, Yukinoshita Yukino.
From now on, you two will be working together.”
“The Service Club,” Hiratsuka continued explaining, as if reading out an utterly ordinary notice, “is dedicated to helping others and accepts all kinds of requests from the student body.
The goal is to cultivate the fine virtue of joyful self-sacrifice in its members.” She glanced pointedly at Hikigaya and added, “Especially suited for certain individuals whose thinking requires correction.”
Hikigaya finally managed to break free from that frozen state.
His mind was a chaotic mess.
Childhood friends?
Reunion after a long separation?
In this bizarre club?
You’ve got to be kidding…
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something.
Like “Sensei, this is too sudden,” or “I might not be suited for this,” maybe even “Yukinoshita, do you remember me?” But all the words stuck in his throat, ultimately dissolving into a vague, barely audible mutter.
Yukinoshita’s gaze paused on his face for two seconds.
That look was calm and penetrating, as if it could easily see through all his embarrassment and confusion.
Then, she tilted her head slightly and spoke, her voice cool and betraying no discernible emotion.
“Hikigaya…-san.” She paused briefly, as if confirming the name.
“Your expression still looks as troubled as before, carrying that same sort of twisted distress.”
The familiar phrasing, carrying her unique, merciless bluntness.
Like a tiny splinter of ice, piercing precisely through the surface calm he was trying to maintain.
Inexplicably, a wave of emotion—a mixture of chagrin and faint irritation—welled up, washing away some of his discomposure.
Hikigaya’s lips twisted.
Almost on instinct, he responded in an even lower voice, laced with self-mockery.
“Is that so?
Yukinoshita…-san.
You, on the other hand, look no different from the past.
Still as…
perfectly flawless.”
His words carried a sting.
Even he noticed it.
Like he was defending against something.
Watching their brief, barbed exchange, Hiratsuka not only didn’t stop it but seemed even more satisfied.
She crossed her arms and nodded.
“Seems like you two have quite the rapport already!
Not bad, not bad.
I feel relieved about the Service Club now.”
Rapport?
Hikigaya Hachiman and Yukinoshita Yukino both fell silent almost simultaneously.
Only they knew, it wasn’t some damn rapport at all.
It was the debris lying across the vast chasm of eight years—a pile of uncleaned, chaotic shards.
It was the shadows of two children crouching side by side by the goldfish-scooping pool at a summer festival.
It was the accidental brush of fingertips when sharing a popsicle.
It was the “goodbye” left unspoken at their parting.
And the subsequent, tacit, complete severance of contact through all those long years.
It was regret.
An unfinished sentence.
A tiny, long-scabbed-over wound from youth, suddenly torn open, aching dully.
Hiratsuka clearly did not intend to probe the undercurrents beneath this silence.
After giving a few instructions about club activity rules, she turned and left decisively, leaving behind the suffocating stillness that once again permeated the space.
The door to the clubroom clicked shut softly.
Only the two of them remained.
The sunlight continued its quiet flow, the scent of book pages faintly present.
Yukinoshita had already redirected her gaze to the book on her lap.
The line of her profile seemed cold in the light, as if that brief conversation moments ago had never happened.
Hikigaya stood rooted to the spot, unsure where to put his hands and feet.
He watched her, countless thoughts colliding in his mind.
Should he say something?
Apologize?
Catch up?
Or maybe just be direct, turn around and leave right now, treating this absurd reunion as an accident?
His heart beat a dull, heavy rhythm in his chest.
That choice he hadn’t been able to make eight years ago seemed to lay before him once again.
And this time, the part of him accustomed to running away, inclined toward self-preservation, was screaming frantically—
Leave this place.
Now.
Immediately.
He couldn’t afford to get involved with her again.
The person he was now and the boy who could once barely keep up with her pace were worlds apart.
Maintaining this laughable distance was better for both of them.
That’s what he would do.
He’d go find Hiratsuka-sensei soon, come up with some excuse, and quit this ridiculous Service Club.
He could just say…
he suffered from severe gynophobia, or had terminal antisocial disorder that would contaminate the club’s positive, proactive atmosphere…
His resolution was set.
He even took a tiny step back, ready to execute this perfect escape plan.
Yet, in that very instant—
A burst of extremely brief, yet piercingly sharp pain suddenly drilled deep into his mind!
The scene before his eyes violently shook, twisted—color stripped away for a moment, then rapidly restored.
A high-frequency humming, like the whine of malfunctioning electronic equipment, buzzed in his ears.
Then, a synthesized, mechanical voice, absolutely devoid of emotion and belonging to no known technology of this world, resounded without warning directly within his consciousness.
[Critical Destiny Node Detected: Reunion.]
[Special Existence Detected: Yukinoshita Yukino.]
[Core Logic Circuits Reconnecting…
Energy Level Low.
Maintaining Basic Operation Mode.]
[Limited Function: Options.
Initiating Forced Activation.]
The humming faded.
The sharp pain receded like a tide.
Hikigaya Hachiman stood frozen, his pupils contracting slightly in shock.
This voice…
This bizarre voice, nearly forgotten in the corners of his childhood…
It was back?!
As if to confirm his horrified suspicion, a pale blue, semi-transparent screen unfurled before his eyes like a waterfall.
On it, several lines of cold text clearly materialized.
[Option 1: Walk up and say to Yukinoshita Yukino in a casual, familiar tone: “Yo, Yukino-chan, long time no see.
Didn’t expect to run into you here.
Looks like we’ve got quite the fate, huh?” Completion Reward: Slight Affection (?) from Yukinoshita Yukino and a sustained, icy stare.]
[Option 2: Obey your truest inner desire.
Turn around immediately, flee out the door, and find Hiratsuka Shizuka-sensei as quickly as possible to request withdrawal from the Service Club.
Completion Reward: Skill “Leg It (Basic)” — Slightly increases movement speed while escaping.]
[Option 3: Remain silent.
Walk to the corner of the clubroom farthest from Yukinoshita Yukino and sit down.
Take out a textbook and start studying, pretending that neither she nor this club exists.
Completion Reward: Random Basic Academic Knowledge +1]
Hikigaya Hachiman stared at these three options, each wildly different in style and riddled with so many absurdities he didn’t even know where to begin mocking them, and felt a dull ache starting in his stomach.
Damn it…
This familiar, malice-tinged style…
He could almost feel it—his high school life, which he had envisioned as pursuing peaceful (rotting) tranquility, was now careening uncontrollably toward a future that was absolutely, utterly troublesome, with no way to pull it back.
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