The fluorescent lights of Class 3-A hummed with a clinical intensity that matched Rika’s headache. She sat at her desk, spine perfectly straight, eyes fixed on the chalkboard. To any outsider, she was the picture of academic composure.
In reality, her lower back ached from sleeping on a thin futon she’d barely managed to unroll, and her stomach was currently staging a small rebellion over the 100-yen cup of black coffee that had served as her breakfast.
"Results for the mock chemistry exam are in," Sensei announced, tapping a stack of papers against the lectern.
The room went silent. Rika felt a familiar prickle at the back of her neck. She didn't have to look to her left to know that Rentaro Hanamachi was sitting there, leaning back in his chair with a bored expression that she knew was entirely fake.
One by one, the papers were returned. When Sensei reached her desk, he laid the sheet face down. Rika flipped it over.
99/100.
A small, sharp breath escaped her. She’d missed a single point on a complex polymer chain.
"And Hanamachi," Sensei said, dropping the final paper on the desk next to hers.
Rika’s eyes darted sideways. Rentaro didn't even pick his up. He just glanced at it where it lay.
99/100.
A tie. Again.
"Tch," Rentaro muttered, finally sliding the paper into his bag. He didn't look at her, but the way his jaw tightened told her everything. He was just as frustrated as she was.
"You missed the catalyst on question fourteen, didn't you?" Rika whispered, her voice low enough that only he could hear.
Rentaro cut his eyes toward her. "And you forgot the temperature-dependent equilibrium on the extra credit. Typical Shinozaki. All theory, no practical application."
"At least I don't settle for 'good enough,'" she shot back.
"At least I don't look like I'm about to pass out from a stiff breeze," he countered, his gaze lingering a second too long on the dark circles under her eyes. "You look terrible, by the way."
"I am fine," Rika lied, her voice cracking slightly.
"Right. See you at the finish line," he said, standing up as the bell rang for lunch.
Rika watched him walk away, her fingers gripping her pen so hard the plastic groaned. She wanted to stay and study, but she had a more pressing concern: her first day at work. She had to navigate the bus system to a 7-Eleven on the other side of the district—a place where, she hoped, nobody would recognize the "Shinozaki Ice Queen" as she learned how to operate a microwave.
The 7-Eleven was bright, smelling of floor wax and fried chicken. Rika stood in the back breakroom, fumbling with the buttons on her new green-and-red striped vest. It felt itchy and three sizes too big, making her feel small and out of place.
"Alright, new hire," the manager, a middle-aged man named Tanaka, said as he poked his head in. "I’m short-staffed, so I’m putting you with my best night-shifter. He’s been here a year and knows every trick in the book. He’ll show you how to handle the register and the stocking."
Rika smoothed her apron, taking a deep, professional breath. I can do this. I am a top student. A cash register is just a basic calculator with a drawer.
"Hanamachi! Get in here and meet the trainee!" Tanaka shouted toward the aisles.
Rika’s heart stopped. No.
The sound of sliding footsteps approached. A boy in a matching vest stepped into the breakroom, a crate of milk cartons balanced on one shoulder. He looked up, and for the second time in twenty-four hours, the world seemed to shrink down to the two of them.
Rentaro frozen. Rika’s jaw dropped.
"You've got to be kidding me," Rentaro deadpanned, the crate nearly slipping from his grip.
"Shinozaki, meet Hanamachi," Tanaka said, oblivious to the sparks flying between them. "Hanamachi, this is Shinozaki. She’s your responsibility for the next four hours. Don't break her."
The manager disappeared into his office, leaving them in a deafening silence.
Rentaro let out a long, weary sigh and set the crate down. He looked at Rika—really looked at her—from her perfectly pinned hair to her trembling hands.
"The 7-Eleven on 4th Street?" he asked, his voice flat. "You picked the one store in a five-mile radius where I actually have seniority?"
"I didn't pick it because of you!" Rika hissed, her face flushing crimson. "I needed a job!"
Rentaro stepped closer, crossing his arms. He was taller than he seemed in the classroom, his presence filling the small breakroom. "Listen, Shinozaki. At school, you’re the Queen. But here? You’re a rookie. You listen to me, or you’re going to get us both fired. Clear?"
Rika bit her lip, the humiliation stinging more than her empty stomach. But she looked at the "Trainee" badge on her chest and then at his "Senior Staff" pin.
"Clear," she whispered.
"Good," Rentaro said, reaching out and adjusting her collar with a sharp, impersonal tug. "Fix your vest. You look like a mess. Let’s go—we have a delivery coming in ten minutes."21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBLxZHMyBKM
and then Add to home screen.