The buzzing in his head finally faded, but those three ominous [Options] still hovered stubbornly in his field of vision, refusing to vanish.
The cramping in his stomach grew sharper.
Damn it.
It really is that thing.
This [Option] system, which had haunted him like a ghost throughout his childhood, had come slinking back—right at the start of the high school life where he craved stability most.
Option 1?
Talk to Yukinoshita in that flippant tone?
Just imagining the words “Yo, Yukino-chan” was enough to make Hikigaya feel his toes already starting construction work on the floor.
That was practically suicide.
Option 2, flee immediately.
That did align perfectly with his truest inner desire.
Escape the trouble, retreat into the safe sphere of solitude.
But Hiratsuka-sensei and this system itself felt like an invisible, inescapable net.
Running would probably only delay the verdict.
In that case, all that remained was…
His gaze settled on [Option 3].
Remain silent.
Sit in the farthest corner, and pretend nothing exists.
It suited his ostrich policy perfectly.
It wouldn’t solve anything, but at least it would buy him temporary peace.
And the reward sounded utterly useless, which meant no extra complications.
“…Tch.”
He clicked his tongue, barely audible, but his body had already acted on the decision.
Slightly raising his head, he averted his eyes from the figure by the window and walked stiffly toward the chair at the other end of the long table, near the door.
The metal scraped against the floor with a harsh screech as he pulled it out.
He could feel that ice-blue gaze linger on him for a moment, but he didn’t have the courage to confirm it.
He sat.
He took out his Japanese literature textbook.
He lowered his head and pretended to study the publisher’s information.
The muscles along his back unconsciously tensed.
[Option 3 in progress…]
[Reward granted: World History Knowledge +1.]
A faint, cool sensation flowed through his mind.
Scattered facts about the division of the Roman Empire became marginally clearer.
…As expected, completely useless.
He stole a glance toward the other end of the long table.
Yukinoshita was still holding her reading posture, the sunlight dancing on her hair and lashes, so focused she seemed like a sculpture.
But in the instant she turned a page, there was the slightest, almost imperceptible pause in those slender fingers.
She was not entirely unaware.
That realization made him even more restless.
The silence spread, every second stretched taut.
The text in his textbook became meaningless symbols.
His brain, beyond his control, replayed their earlier exchange on a loop.
“Your twisted personality is as consistent as ever.”
“And you haven’t changed one bit either.”
Truly, the worst possible lines for a reunion.
Just then, a cool, clear voice broke the silence.
“Hikigaya-san.”
He jerked his head up, meeting those ice-blue eyes.
At some point, she had closed her book and was now quietly watching him.
Her expression was calm, betraying neither pleasure nor displeasure, but in those always crystal-clear eyes there seemed to be an extra trace of scrutiny, almost too subtle to detect.
She had noticed his unease from the moment he walked in, and the deliberate choice of seating that put distance between them.
This person was, just as she remembered, still incapable of being honest.
“Since Hiratsuka-sensei has arranged for you to join the Service Club,” her voice was even, carrying the detached tone of official business, “I want to make sure you clearly understand the purpose of this club’s activities.
We accept requests and aim to help those seeking assistance through reasonable methods, not to cause unnecessary incidents, or…”
She paused briefly, her gaze sweeping over his face, which was written all over with resistance.
He always wore that troubled expression.
Even back then, it was the same.
He could have just said things directly, yet he always insisted on taking roundabout paths.
“…create unnecessary trouble.”
Hikigaya felt a wave of helplessness wash over him.
“Um…
Yukinoshita-san,” his voice came out dry, “I think this place probably doesn’t need me.
It’s quiet here, and you can handle things perfectly well on your own.
If I’m here, I’d most likely just…
well, ruin the atmosphere.”
“Ruin the atmosphere?” She tilted her head slightly, a few strands of black hair slipping forward.
She almost found his roundabout phrasing amusing, but her upbringing kept her expression composed.
“Hikigaya-san, are you perhaps mistaken about yourself?
This is not a social venue.
There is no so-called ‘atmosphere’ to speak of.”
Her tone was steady, but Hikigaya felt he could detect a very faint hint of mockery in it.
Watching him look so desperate to escape, for some reason, reminded her of when they were children—how he used to hide behind the tree after being ostracized by the other kids.
He had worn a similar expression back then, a mix of stubbornness and bewilderment.
“As for whether or not you are needed…” she looked him straight in the eye, her gaze sharp, “that depends on whether you can grasp the meaning of ‘selfless contribution,’ and whether you can rein in that…
excessively active thought process of yours that tends to complicate everything.”
She saw the chagrin of being caught red-handed flash across his face.
That reaction, unexpectedly, gave her a twinge of familiarity.
Just like when they were young—every time she pointed out the contradictions in his words, he would show a similar look.
“For instance, just now at the door, that complex expression on your face—a mixture of shock, nostalgia, mortification, and the urgent desire to flee—was a textbook precursor to ‘unnecessary trouble.'”
Hikigaya was left speechless, completely choked up.
She had seen it, crystal clear.
He drew a deep breath, deciding to be a bit more direct.
“I just feel that between us…
after all these years apart, suddenly being thrown together for club activities might be a little…
awkward?
It might not be all that convenient for either of us.”
Yukinoshita was silent for a moment, the sunlight casting faint shadows across her profile.
Her fingers unconsciously traced the spine of her book.
Awkward?
That was true.
But more than awkwardness, there was a complex swirl of emotions she herself was reluctant to examine too closely.
Seeing him still stuck in this same awkward, evasive state somehow made her feel, inexplicably…
a little relieved?
“Whether it is awkward or not is a subjective feeling.” Her voice had lowered just a shade from before.
“The Service Club’s activities are based on objectively existing requests.
Personal…
historical factors should not interfere with the normal operation of the club.”
She deliberately used the neutral term “historical factors,” trying to gloss over that stretch of the past lightly.
But when she met his direct gaze, her heartbeat inadvertently skipped a beat.
“Do you really think we can pretend nothing ever happened before and just act like ordinary club members doing ‘service activities’ together?”
His question carried an unexpectedly sharp edge.
The air seemed to congeal once more.
Yukinoshita held his gaze.
In her ice-blue pupils, his tense face was reflected.
She had asked herself that same question.
But before she could sort out her answer—
Knock, knock, knock.
A rapping on the door sounded, like a pebble tossed into a still lake.
Both of them turned toward the door simultaneously.
“Come in.” Yukinoshita regained her calm, composed club-president demeanor and spoke up clearly.
The door eased open a crack, and a girl wearing glasses timidly peered in.
“Um…
excuse me, is this the Service Club?
I…
I have a request…”
The girl’s appearance completely cut short the conversation that had been surging with hidden currents just moments before.
Hikigaya secretly let out a sigh of relief, though a tiny sense of loss also quietly spread through him.
He watched as Yukinoshita stood up and received the client with impeccable etiquette, as if the girl who had almost been about to delve into “historical issues” with him had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination.
In that instant when she turned her back to him, unseen by anyone, she drew a soft, quiet breath.
Her fingers gripping the book’s spine tightened, almost imperceptibly.
It was not, after all, complete indifference.
She had merely been interrupted.
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