A morning bell rang. Students shuffled in. The air carried a strange mix of caffeine, crepe wrappers, and creative ambition.
Class 1-B was abuzz.
"Okay, settle down, settle down!" their homeroom teacher clapped her hands, standing in front of the blackboard now covered in colorful sticky notes.
"This year's school festival is two weeks away. And guess what? You get full control over your class project."
A cheer went up—some real, some sarcastic.
Saito Kagami, sitting in his usual seat by the window, didn't respond. He was writing a vocabulary word in the margin of his notebook:
Festival (noun): an annual event characterized by disorganized enthusiasm and mild structural collapse.
The teacher continued. "Your only restriction is budget. You'll be expected to plan, decorate, promote, and staff the entire thing yourselves. So! What's our theme, 1-B?"
"Café!"
"Escape room!"
"Maid café!"
"Nooo, I'm not wearing that!"
The class devolved into debate, voices overlapping, suggestions tossed like paper airplanes.
Saito glanced at the sticky note board.
Chaos initiated.
"Alright, alright!" a voice rang out over the noise—clear, confident, and powered by equal parts sugar and conviction.
All eyes turned to Riko Kumijo, standing at the front like she owned the room.
She smacked a marker against her open palm. "I propose a combination idea. One that draws people in during the morning and gives them a reason to stay till the afternoon."
She spun toward the board and wrote in large, confident script:
MAID CAFÉ + MINI LIVE CONCERT
Gasps. Chatter. Intrigue.
"Maid café in the morning," she explained, "with full service, costumed staff, themed menu, and decorations. Then in the afternoon, we convert the space for a live performance from a band—our class has one, right?"
Shun, the tall quiet kid in the corner, lifted a hand. "We play rock. Originals and covers."
"Boom. Live music. Sell tickets. Double the draw."
The class broke into impressed murmurs.
Saito raised an eyebrow.
He had to admit—logistically, it was a clever structure. One event building off another. Maximize flow. Capitalize on interest.
But also:
Maid uniforms.
Noise.
Public exposure.
Pass.
Riko turned, beaming. "Let's vote!"
Voting was anonymous but spirited.
In the end, Riko's plan won by a landslide.
The class cheered.
The teacher smiled. "Alright then! I'll leave you to it. Start forming task groups. You'll need leaders, decorators, cooks, promoters, costume managers…"
Riko grabbed the chalk and began writing out roles like a general drawing battle lines.
Saito resumed writing in his notebook.
Avoid visibility. Remain auxiliary. Acceptable outcome: supply coordination.
"Alright," Riko clapped her hands. "We need someone to manage logistics and supplies. Who's good with spreadsheets and efficiency?"
Fifty heads turned.
Straight to Saito.
He slowly looked up. "I did not volunteer."
Mari leaned in from the next desk. "Too bad. You've been drafted."
Saito sighed. "Define logistics."
The bell rang for lunch. The class buzzed with excitement, forming small groups to sketch out café themes and decorations. Riko sat across from Saito now, arms crossed over her desk, chin in her hand.
"You're not excited?"
"I don't process excitement the way others do."
"You look like you're bracing for war."
"Close. I'm bracing for disorganization."
"Not under my watch," she grinned. "I've already made a schedule template. Color-coded."
Saito blinked. "…You what?"
She pulled out a rough printed chart, complete with blocks for café shifts, practice slots, and budget tasks.
"Here. We can adapt it if you want. I figured you'd want a head start."
He stared at the paper for a moment. The handwriting was rounded, bubbly, with little hearts next to some titles.
Not efficient… but passionate.
He nodded slowly. "I'll input this digitally."
"Aw, look at us," Riko teased. "We're like a festival power couple."
"We are not a couple."
"I said 'power couple,' not actual couple."
"That's still inaccurate."
She smirked. "You're fun to poke at."
"I'm reconsidering my decision to participate."
"No you're not. You're the only reason this festival might run on time."
He didn't reply. But he didn't argue, either.
That afternoon, the first real work session began.
Desks were moved into rows for layout simulations. Half the class debated what type of maid uniforms to use—cute and classic? Modern and sleek? Over-the-top frills?
Riko oversaw multiple stations at once, directing traffic with natural ease.
"Kenta, you and Aki work on the props list. Mari, we need a calligrapher for the welcome sign. Saito—"
He was already pulling out his laptop.
"—update the order form. We'll need a stock check by Tuesday."
"Already syncing with the budget file," he said without looking up.
She paused.
"…Okay, wow. That was fast."
"I work better when I know exactly what I'm avoiding."
"You're avoiding me?"
"I'm avoiding theater."
She laughed, and he couldn't tell if she was entertained or offended.
Maybe both.
As sunset crept through the windows, most students filtered out.
Only a handful remained: Riko, Saito, Mari, Shun, and the band crew rehearsing quietly in the background.
The desks had been pushed to the walls, the floor cleared, the mock café layout taking shape with painter's tape and props.
Riko sat cross-legged on the floor, measuring curtain lengths. Saito stood over a spreadsheet projected onto the whiteboard.
"We'll need better quality speakers," he said. "The current set maxes out at medium volume before distortion."
Riko groaned. "Budget's already stretched."
"I can request secondhand rentals. I'll email the committee."
"You're seriously good at this."
"I don't specialize in festivals. I specialize in preventing collapse."
She grinned again.
"You know, I was worried you'd be hard to work with."
He glanced down. "Why?"
"You seemed like a lone wolf. Or like… a robot who hates fun."
"…Not entirely inaccurate."
"But," she added, "you're detail-oriented, you don't complain, and you never miss anything."
Saito blinked.
It wasn't flattery. She said it like a fact.
"…I'm just doing the job."
"Exactly. You're reliable. That's rare."
For a moment, silence.
Only the hum of a backing track in the distance.
Then Riko shifted to her feet and dusted off her skirt. "Alright, partner. Let's call it a day."
"I'll finalize the shift chart tonight."
"You don't have to do it all alone."
"I don't mind."
"Still. Save some room for surprises."
"I don't enjoy surprises."
She tilted her head and smiled.
"Too bad. Festivals are full of them."
Later that night, Saito sat in his room, working on the updated supply list.
The shift chart was almost done. The new equipment requests were submitted. Even the digital table layout was color-coded.
Aoi poked her head in.
"…You're still awake."
"Yes."
"Festival stuff?"
"Yes."
She stepped in, peered over his shoulder.
"You like this girl."
Saito didn't look up. "Irrelevant."
"You're doing unpaid labor for a team you didn't sign up for. That's new."
He paused.
"…She's competent."
Aoi blinked.
"I see."
Then she left.
No teasing. No smirking. Just her usual, simple logic.
Somewhere else, Riko lay in bed, scrolling through the finalized layout and calendar he'd emailed her.
Her friends were texting her already:
Mari: Wow. Kagami actually made a Google Drive with tabs??
Kenta: Did he automate the vendor quotes??
Riko: He's just… like that.
She rolled over and looked at the ceiling.
"…He's really doing all this," she murmured.
Her cheeks felt warm.
But she didn't know why yet.