After Horikita Manabu finished his address, the ceremony moved into the usual graduation flow—roll call, graduates lining up to receive diplomas, the group song.
After that came the formal announcement of spring break. The school gave graduating students three days to stay on campus to say goodbye to teachers and underclassmen and to pack their personal belongings.
The school gates, which normally forbade students from going out, had already registered the graduates' information. The school even kindly arranged shuttle buses every thirty minutes to take them into the city.
The latest any graduate could leave was the evening of March 19, since the dorms and classrooms needed to be cleared and prepared for the freshmen arriving in April.
Once the ceremony ended, a very small number of graduates—like lone wolves in a forest—had no intention of talking to anyone and headed straight back to their dorms. As expected, they would probably leave today.
But the vast majority lingered outside the hall, chatting casually with the juniors waiting for them—or else waiting for a certain keepsake from the opposite sex.
Yes: a button. There's a graduation-season tradition in Japan—the second button on a boy's uniform, the one closest to the heart, symbolizes one's feelings. If, at graduation, a girl asks a boy for his second button, it's more or less a confession. Whether she gets it depends on whether the boy is willing to give it.
Of course, in Yukio's household, fat chance of that kind of good thing. The school uniforms he'd seen at home used a plain T-shirt in summer and a zip-up jacket in winter—good luck even finding a button.
Whenever a senior shyly asked the opposite sex for that second button, the juniors around them would erupt in waves of applause and playful hoots.
It also felt like the last glimmer of youth. Some might say there's still college after high school, but in Yukio's view, graduating high school is already the tail end of youth.
"Mmm, how romantic, the upperclassmen." Walking out of the hall with them, Shiina watched the seniors swap buttons. Whether it was a simple sigh or a subtle hint—hard to say.
Yukio knew exactly what she meant and reached to unfasten a button from his jacket—only for Shiina to stop him with both hands. "N-no need~ W-we can wait two years."
The farther she spoke, the softer her voice became. You'd think she was just shy—and that was part of it—but the other reason was Ibuki standing nearby, staring at Shiina with the look of a cat that just caught its owner sneaking snacks.
Yukio glanced at Shiina's smile, then at Ibuki's sour expression, and couldn't help but chuckle. "Just wait. I'll go buy a few extra jackets today and make sure when the time comes you both get a second button."
Shiina only smiled without asking why he'd buy several and not just one for Ibuki. The two of them understood each other.
As they followed the campus road outward, it was like waves parting around a reef: students leaving the grounds instinctively moved to either side of the girl standing motionless in the middle.
Yukio happened to walk up there. "Horikita? Waiting for your brother? He's over by the hall entrance." He pointed back the way they came.
Horikita heard him, and a faint spark flickered in her eyes, but her feet were as rooted as an old tree—she didn't move at all.
How interesting. If D Class had used this rooted feet technique yesterday against Ichinose's class, they wouldn't have worried about losing the tug-of-war.
"What? You argued with your brother?" Yukio studied Horikita's habitual cold face—and yeah, it was absolutely the face of someone who'd just quarreled.
A cross-shaped vein of annoyance popped on her smooth forehead. She wanted to snap back at Yukio, yet she also didn't want to miss a chance to speak with her brother. After a bout of inner conflict, she recalled that ever since they'd met, she had never once won a verbal spar with this guy. Forget it. Today, don't fight him.
Shiina seemed to catch on. "Horikita-san probably has something she wants to say to Horikita-senpai. That's why she's waiting here. If third-years are going back to the dorms, they have to pass along this road."
Ibuki perked up too. "Who knows? If Horikita-senpai gets a girl asking him for his button—or he asks a girl for hers—if it works out, he might not go back to the dorms at all and just head to Keyaki Mall for dinner."
Yukio gave Ibuki a thumbs-up. Good point—if this school didn't assign single dorm rooms and had actually built a hotel on campus, she probably wouldn't have said "go for dinner" and would've been far more direct.
Horikita accepted Shiina's words with a friendly nod—she was in decent spirits from that. But she looked a touch awkward after hearing Ibuki's line. If that really happened and her brother stood her up, she'd have no recourse.
It was a bit pathetic, honestly. She'd been here a full year, yet the number of sentences she'd exchanged with Horikita Manabu didn't even reach double digits.
Shiina lightly tugged on Ibuki's sleeve. She and Yukio both knew Ibuki wasn't trying to disgust Horikita; she just wanted Horikita to be decisive and go to Manabu instead of standing here like a fool. Standing around wouldn't accomplish anything. At best, you'd move yourself for no reason.
That was Ibuki's personality—daughter of a martial family, crisp and decisive. What she couldn't stand most was dithering.
Given how close Ibuki and Shiina had grown—always cooking together—Ibuki let the subject drop at Shiina's pull.
"You're… right," Horikita said. Whether it was because Ibuki's words had drowned out her resolve, or because she couldn't take that step in the first place, who knew. "I came to see how my brother has changed over these three years. I've seen enough. There's no point waiting here. I'll take my leave."
She turned to go. That was when Ibuki finally couldn't hold back. She was really annoyed! With one sharp step, she lunged to grab Horikita's wrist.
But Horikita trained too. Feeling the gust of force, she half-turned in an instant and raised her hand to block Ibuki's wrist precisely, preventing the grab.
Seeing it was Ibuki, Horikita sounded mildly surprised. "Ibuki, what are you doing?"
"What do you think?" Ibuki frowned but didn't want to start a fight here. "It just ticks me off to see you running away."
"If you've got something to say, say it. If you want to see your brother off, then go do it. You're just going to leave?"
"...Hah." Horikita lowered her hand and turned away again without blaming Ibuki. "You don't understand. My brother should be in a good mood right now. The burden of three years has finally lifted. Let him enjoy his graduation atmosphere."
"An unworthy little sister like me showing up would only sour that mood he just regained."
"You gotta be kidding me…" Ibuki nearly swore. How had she not noticed before how wishy-washy this woman was? Not the least bit straightforward! Then she paused—and thought, oh, right. Horikita actually is a woman. Then fine.
....
For every 100 Power Stones → +1 extra chapter.
Read 50+ chapters ahead on Patreon! [patreon.com/METARLN]