The classroom buzzed with a joyful, chaotic din. The students chatted loudly, exchanging jokes and confidences, some throwing paper balls at each other, others scribbling hastily in their notebooks as if trying to catch up on imaginary work. The atmosphere was relaxed, almost carefree, until the door opened.
The teacher entered, a thick briefcase under his arm and a stack of papers clutched to his chest. Immediately, as if an invisible spell had been cast on the room, the commotion died down. One by one, the voices fell silent, the laughter stopped, and each student awkwardly returned to their seat. The chairs scraped across the floor in a final echo, then a heavy silence settled, punctuated only by the sharp sound of the teacher's footsteps as he walked to his desk.
He put down his things with measured slowness, almost savoring the palpable tension. The eyes of the class were fixed on him, filled with expectation and anxiety. Everyone knew what was coming next: the distribution of the last exam papers. Hands became clammy, hearts raced, and some students were already squirming in their seats, as if that could change the verdict to come.
Yet, amid this atmosphere saturated with nervousness, one student remained impassive: Reo. Sitting up straight, his elbows resting on the desk, his face showed no sign of concern. His eyes, calm and confident, stared at the pile of papers with unshakeable confidence. Unlike the others, who seemed on the verge of imploding under the pressure, he exuded serenity.
The teacher then began distributing the papers, walking between the rows. The sheets rustled under his fingers, and with each paper handed out, a breath was held, a murmur rose, a frown appeared. Little by little, the tension grew even more intense. Then, finally, he reached Reo.
As he placed the paper on his desk, a small, imperceptible smile crossed the professor's face. Reo, certain that he would see an excellent grade, grabbed the paper with a confident gesture. But as soon as his eyes fell on the number written in red ink, his expression changed radically. His pupils dilated, his lips parted slightly: he couldn't believe his eyes.
An excited murmur immediately rose from the class. One of the students, sitting two rows behind, whispered to his neighbor:
"He got the best grade again..."
Intrigued, his classmate turned to him:
"Why do you say that?"
His friend shrugged as if it were obvious and explained in a low voice:
"Don't you know? This teacher always starts by handing out the best papers... and ends with the worst. If Reo already got it, it means he's first. Again."
The other student's eyes widened, then he looked back at Reo, who remained frozen over his paper. His eyes shone with a mixture of astonishment and incomprehension. All around, the students held their breath, some jealous, others admiring, but all aware that once again, Reo had surpassed the entire class.
When class ended, the hallway echoed with the usual hubbub: laughter, hurried footsteps, bags slamming against hips. But for Reo, this day had a special flavor. No sooner had he crossed the threshold of the classroom than he found himself surrounded by a crowd of his classmates.
Some called out his name, others tugged lightly on his sleeve to get his attention. They all had the same goal: to ask him for advice, demand an explanation, and hope to gain some of his knowledge to prepare for the upcoming exams.
"Reo, could you explain exercise three from the last assignment?" asked one voice urgently.
"Could you show me how you manage to remember all these formulas?" added another, visibly anxious.
Among them, a laid-back-looking boy patted him on the back in a friendly manner, flashing a big smile.
"You're the smart one in our group! We can count on you, right?"
A wave of approval rose, heads nodding with conviction. Everyone seemed to be waiting for his answer.
Reo, who had never refused to help anyone, smiled discreetly. His eyes expressed sincere kindness: he didn't consider himself superior, just lucky to have a knack for learning. And for him, sharing his knowledge was a given.
"Okay," he said simply, without hesitation.
The atmosphere immediately relaxed, some sighed with relief, others rubbed their hands together as if some of their anxiety had just vanished.
"So here's the deal," Reo added, a little louder so everyone could hear, "we'll meet at my place after class. I'll help you study."
The faces around him lit up. You could almost see sincere gratitude in their eyes, but also barely concealed admiration.
As he made his way home along his usual route, his schoolbag tucked tightly under his arm, Reo allowed himself a moment's respite. The late afternoon sun bathed the streets in golden light, and the distant cries of students scattering to their clubs or homes filled the air. Then a female voice suddenly called out to him.
"Hey, you, wait a second."
Reo froze, surprised. In front of him, just a few steps away, stood a girl he was sure he had never seen before. Yet, judging by the immaculate uniform she was wearing, she was clearly from the same school as him. Her dark hair, held back slightly by a silver barrette, glistened in the sun, and her piercing gaze seemed to probe him with unsettling insistence.
Taken aback, Reo bowed slightly out of politeness.
"Excuse me... I don't think I've seen you before. Are you from our school?"
A heavy silence followed his question, as if she had expected a different reaction. She sighed deeply, almost exasperated, then took a step closer.
"Yes, I'm from your school. My name is Takahashi Haruki."
Her voice was clear and calm, but carried a certain natural authority. Her crossed arms reinforced this impression. She continued bluntly:
"Class valedictorian of 3-C."
Reo blinked, taken aback by this solemn introduction. Slightly embarrassed by his own initial suspicions, he apologized sincerely.
"I see... sorry for my lack of discernment. For a moment, I thought you weren't from here. Did you need help?"
Haruki looked him up and down, not answering immediately, as if she were still weighing the value of the person she had just chosen to talk to.
Haruki's footsteps echoed alongside Reo's, rhythmic and determined, while he, his hands in his pockets, remained relaxed. She stared at him sideways, as if trying to figure something out about him.
"Tell me, Kanzaki." Her voice cut through the silence of the residential streets. "Is there a reason why you always help others?"
Reo looked up slightly, his characteristic quiet smile floating on his lips.
"A reason? Not really... It's just in my nature, I guess. When I see someone in trouble, I can't look away."
Haruki narrowed her eyes, looking unconvinced. She had crossed her arms over her chest, like a teacher trying to trap a student in a contradiction.
"Really? You want me to believe that you never expect anything in return? No gratitude, no advantage, no... a little personal gain?"
Reo burst out laughing softly, shaking her head.
"Absolutely not. I don't expect anything. The pleasure of seeing someone relieved, or simply happy, is enough for me." "
This answer seemed to upset her. She looked away for a moment, then continued with a hint of irony in her voice:
"You know... I was like you at first. Always rushing to lend a hand. But over time, I realized something: favors have value. They can be exchanged, even monetized. When you do someone a favor, you create a debt. And debts, Kanzaki, are useful."
Reo paused for a few seconds, deep in thought, then resumed walking with a sigh.
"If you do someone a favor in the hope of receiving something in return, you lose the very essence of your gesture. It's no longer an act of kindness, but a transaction. "
Haruki raised an eyebrow, as if to provoke him:
"So what? The world is made up of deals. You give, you receive. You help someone today, and tomorrow you reap what you have sown. It's rational, it's pragmatic."
Reo fixed her gaze on him with a seriousness she hadn't expected from him.
"But that's just it. If you don't expect anything... then one day, without warning, luck will knock on your door. Not because you demanded it. But because you've done enough good that life decides to give it back to you. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not in ten years... But sooner or later."
A silence fell between them, broken only by the sound of crickets beginning to sing in the fading light. Haruki, who usually always knew what to say, was momentarily speechless, surprised by Reo's simplicity and disarming conviction.
As Haruki's silhouette receded into the hallway darkened by the setting sun, Reo stood motionless for a moment, his schoolbag still slung over his shoulder. Her words echoed in his mind, but he shook his head gently, a slight smile on his lips. I don't need anything in return. I help because that's who I am.
The days resumed their course, punctuated by intense revision, hours spent in the library, and hushed discussions in corridors thick with nervous energy. Reo, true to form, never refused a request for an explanation, a summary, or advice. His classmates knew they could count on him, and even though some took advantage of his generosity, he never showed the slightest sign of weariness.
And so the weeks passed, until the fateful day arrived: the end-of-year exams. The tension in the school was palpable, with every student aware that these tests would determine part of their future. Reo approached the exams calmly, focused but without fear, as if he had already accepted that his efforts would pay off.
When the results came out, a wave of emotion swept through the school. There were cries of joy, sighs of relief, and sometimes even tears of failure. But among Reo's friends, it was a moment of celebration. They had all graduated. Some had exceeded their expectations, others had narrowly avoided disaster but had pulled through thanks to group study sessions and Reo's constant support.
They gathered at the exit, their diplomas still fresh in their hands, clutching the papers as if they were treasures. Everyone congratulated Reo gratefully. For him, it was just one step, but seeing the smiles on his classmates' faces, he realized that his actions, however selfless, had changed something bigger than himself.
And as they posed together for a souvenir photo, Reo couldn't help but think back to Haruki's words. Maybe she wasn't entirely wrong, he thought briefly. But deep down, he remained convinced that true happiness came from moments like these: giving without expecting anything in return and seeing, one day, that it bore fruit in unpredictable and wonderful ways.
On the way back, the atmosphere was light, almost festive. The small group laughed, already exchanging memories of the past year and plans for the future. Suddenly, one of his friends, looking mischievous, broke into the conversation:
"You'll be at the prom, won't you?"
An enthusiastic chorus immediately rose, each giving their answer with excitement. But after a brief silence, all eyes eventually turned to Reo. He stood back, his hands in his pockets, visibly uncomfortable with this unanimous expectation.
He looked away for a moment, seeking escape in the twilight. The idea of a noisy, crowded social evening held no appeal for him. Yet, faced with the shining eyes of his friends, he couldn't bring himself to give them a negative answer. After a few seconds of thought, he smiled timidly and finally said:
"...Yes, I'll come too."
A sigh of relief immediately swept through the group. Several of them patted him on the shoulder, while others cheered loudly. For them, Reo's presence had a special meaning. After all, he was the silent pillar who had carried them through their exams, the friend who had given his all for their success. The prom wasn't just an end-of-year party: it was also an opportunity to show him their gratitude.
As the small group arrived at their usual crossroads, each headed home, exchanging a few more jokes before disappearing into the neighboring streets. Reo, who had stayed behind, looked up at the sky for a moment, as if he were still hesitating. Then, in a calm but firm voice, he called out:
"Soma, wait."
His friend stopped, intrigued, and turned to him. Reo approached, his hands clenched on the strap of his bag, and after a slight hesitation, he asked:
"Say... could you accompany me to the evening ball? I... I'm almost certain my parents won't be able to."
A brief silence passed between them. Soma, surprised, widened his eyes for a moment before smiling. He placed a reassuring hand on Reo's shoulder and replied simply:
"Of course I will. Count on me." "
The weight that had been weighing on Reo seemed to lift immediately. He nodded gratefully, unable to hide the slight relief in his eyes. Soma, still smiling, added in a lighter tone:
"Besides, it'll be a chance to make sure you have a good time. You deserve to enjoy this evening, too. "
Reo smiled timidly. For the first time since he had heard about the ball, he no longer felt like he was going alone.
The next day, the sun was shining brightly, but for Reo, the day was already off to a gray start. True to his promise, he headed to the meeting point, his bag slung over his shoulder and hoping that Soma would accompany him to the dance.
When he arrived, he saw Soma standing in front of his car. But instead of waiting alone, Soma was laughing and joking with three other friends. The doors were already slamming shut, the seats filled with guests who had nothing to do with the promise made the day before.
Reo approached, looking perplexed. Soma, noticing his presence, frowned slightly, as if he had just remembered an embarrassing detail.
"Ah, Reo... sorry... I completely forgot that... well, there's no room left. You see, they had asked me a long time ago and... well... "
His words were confused, his gestures nervous. He was desperately searching for a plausible excuse, but his evasive eyes said otherwise.
Reo stood motionless, looking frozen. Then, slowly, he smiled. A smile too perfect, too controlled to be sincere.
"It's okay," he replied calmly. "I'll find another solution."
Soma insisted awkwardly:
"I'm sorry, really... I'll explain better later..."
But already, one of his friends was calling him from the car. Soma closed the door and the engine roared. As the vehicle drove away, Reo stood rooted to the sidewalk, his artificial smile still frozen on his lips, but his eyes told a different story: deep disillusionment.
Further away, in the car, one of the passengers asked Soma, intrigued:
"That was your friend, wasn't it? The one you were talking to?" "
Soma, caught off guard, let out a light laugh, as if to downplay it.
"Friend? No... not really. He was mostly useful for his notes. Thanks to him, I was able to get my grades and now I can go study in South Korea. But between us, if his notes hadn't been there to help me, I wouldn't have even noticed him. "
The others burst out laughing, finding the confession almost trivial.
They resumed their walk, more united than ever, and Reo, despite his reserve, felt a new warmth rising within him. Perhaps, he thought, this ball was not just a formality, but a moment when he would discover another facet of the friendship he had helped to build.
Reo stood motionless on the sidewalk, staring into space, as if frozen by the weight of a revelation he had never wanted to admit. Soma's words still echoed in his mind, but even louder were those of Haruki that came to him.
He thought back to their conversation, the day she had told him with cold assurance that everything was just a game of power relations, benefits, and calculated exchanges. At the time, he had refused to believe her, convinced that his altruism would eventually open the right doors for him, those of sincere friendships. But now, he could no longer lie to himself.
Humans formed social bonds as one signs a contract: always to the advantage of the one who gains the most, and rarely with any intention of reciprocating. Behind every smile lay a silent transaction, behind every outstretched hand, a carefully concealed calculation. It was a world where individualism reigned supreme, where relationships were nothing more than fragile bridges that were burned as soon as they had served their purpose.
"I'll repay you for this." This phrase, which Reo had always found reassuring, had now lost all meaning. It was nothing more than an empty promise, a bargaining chip that was never intended to be honored. For him, these words were now worthless.
And in the heavy silence of this realization, Reo felt something inside him crack: a part of his innocence, a part of his trust that he would probably never be able to recover.
[Time remaining before the announcement of a faulty equipment zone: 01:27]