Sobu felt louder today, not the screams of hysteria, not the loud of ringing horrors... But the kind of clatter a building makes when it's full of ideas and not enough tape. Posters leaned against walls like sleepy soldiers. Extension cords braided in unsafe friendships. Somewhere, a chorus practiced scales that sounded like glass deciding what note to be. It was Preparations for Festival!
The student council room was already at capacity when I slipped in. Budget sheets. Sample paints. Two different rulers that disagreed about centimeters on principle.
Hayama sat at the center like a polite lighthouse. "We'll keep expenditures sane," he said, voice even. "Everyone gets a chance to shine."
"Shine costs money," Yumiko countered, arms folded like a judgment. "Imported streamers don't import themselves."
Ebina rested her chin on her hand, eyes sparkling with malice disguised as imagination. "Or we can spend the extra on a BL photo corner. Think of the traffic. Think of the pairings." She turned slowly. "Ras-kun and~"
"No," I said, not loudly.
She nearly giggled. "A typical rejection! Which makes it better."
Hayama breathed like someone meditating in a wind tunnel. "Let's stay on task."
I paged through printouts, thumb tapping against costs that had drifted into delusion. "We can source decorations from clubs. Theater has backdrops, art can paint for the cost of snacks. Save purchases for lighting and sound. And if anyone insists on fantasy corners, at least budget for good lighting."
"Lighting?" Ebina asked, innocent as a wolf.
"If you're going to objectify," I said, "respect the craft."
Laughter rippled. Even Yumiko's scowl softened enough to be worn in public. Hayama's eyes flicked toward me, tiny gratitude, the useful kind.
That's when a white smear moved across the hallway window. Not a ghost. Worse.
A woman in a school visitor's lanyard and a blindfold tilted up just enough to be illegal waved as if she'd been paid in chaos to show up. Gojo. Beside her, a redhead in uniform, sharp-eyed and unimpressed:Nobara, peered in like the meeting was a species she planned to classify as "weak."
Gojo pressed her hands to the glass like a kid at an aquarium, and waved. I did not wave back.
Hayato noticed the motion, followed the glance, and blinked. It is difficult to be a prince when a hurricane smiles at you through tempered glass.
Nobara said something I couldn't hear, expression flat as a sword. The mouth shape looked like, "Soft. Decorations, not survival." Gojo laughed and dragged her along. Like two weather systems deciding to share a sky.
"Friends of yours?" Ebina asked, teeth bared in joy. after seeing Gojo handsomeness, she felt that perhaps same coolness is also included in her fets.
"Acquaintances," I said.
"Dangerous," Hayama murmured, and tried to move the agenda along before the building learned a new way to be loud.
Hiratsuka-sensei watched from the back wall with the fondness of someone who lets a fire burn just enough to cook lunch. She caught my eye over the lip of a coffee can. Good. Keep going, the gesture said. I went.
We cut the budget clean, built a traffic plan that wouldn't turn hallways into trap dungeons, and set the time for an Inter-Club Clean & Showcase Day. When the bell rang, the room exhaled like a chest that had been holding in a sneeze for an hour.
---
The Service Club room had the scent of floor wax and paper that had made its peace with purpose. Yukino had two piles on the table: Schedule and Consequences. Yui worked washi tape onto a poster with a surgeon's seriousness. Hachika sprawled in a chair like a cat that had learned sarcasm.
"Miscellaneous duties," Yukino said, reading from a list with the disappointment of a god learning about paperwork. "We will be the hands that wipe away everyone else's mistakes."
"Sounds romantic," I said.
"Sounds troublesome," Hachika replied. "But, You were born for this."
Rikka exploded through the door as if subtlety were a smuggled good. "The East Magic Society shall shield the festival from malefic intrusion!"
Yuuta swept in behind her, cape and dignity intact. "By pact and rite, we stand ready."
"No incense, no summoning, no fires," Yukino said, as if she'd memorized their crimes in advance.
"Then we'll bind misfortune with ribbons," Rikka said, undeterred.
"Bind each other with common sense," Hachika muttered.
"And tied them underground"-Ras followed.
"Guard props," Yui offered quickly. "And… help with decorations."
Rikka saluted. Yuuta bowed. The room brightened with the kind of optimism that can't be argued with, only managed.
I took the map from Yukino, spun two blocks, and pointed. "Move calligraphy to the quiet corridor. Swap Go Home Club's 'urban zen corner' to the corner that actually lets people rest. Stage left for band. Give the Chuuni a room with a door that closes and a schedule that ends."
Yukino's mouth moved half a millimeter upward. "good."
"High praise," I said. "Frame it."
"Work!" she focused.
---
The building breathed different when work started. The gym echoed in the key of possibility. The choir's scales turned stairwells into glass. Theater dragged flats into the world like old gods being convinced to stand. The art club painted signs that looked like they'd always been meant to exist.
B-2 became Chuuni headquarters. Rikka's cardboard dragon rose scale by scale, gold fringe and giddy glue. Yuuta hung "runes" that were actually beautifully inked kanji for do not trip. They rehearsed a ribbon-dance they called the Rite of Lumina, which sounded like a threat and looked like a blessing.
I passed the council room, and through the window again: Gojo, this time inside, talking to a teacher with the shape of someone who had stopped asking questions because none of the answers would be true. Nobara spotted the cardboard dragon moving down the hall and made a face that could flavor coffee.
"Inspection," Nobara said when we crossed paths, voice clipped, bored, hunting for a battle that would justify her shoes getting wet.
"Everything's fine," I replied.
"Is it?" she asked, unimpressed.
Feeling her undisguised distance, and ill-kinda voice.
"For them, this is war." I nodded toward the gym. "You learn to respect civilians fighting the weather."
She stared a half-second, measuring. "Hmph." Which, from Nobara, could mean I disagree, I agree, or I'll decide later.
Feeling the tensions, Gojo chimed in. "Field trip! We're observing the resilience of youth and the limits of school property insurance."
"Welcome," I said. "Try not to adopt anyone without paperwork."
"Can't promise." She pivoted. "Lunch later?"
"I have jobs to do."
"Bring them," she said, and let the hallway continue being a hallway.
Ras: "..."
---
On the rooftop, Totsuka, Hachika, and I strung lights while the wind auditioned for an award. Totsuka's fingers were deft, careful; Hachika scowled at every knot like it had offended a code of ethics. One bulb slipped. I caught it without looking.
"You always make that look easy," Totsuka murmured.
"Repetition," I said. "Also skills!"
Hachika tied a knot so immaculate it could have applied to a top university. "If any of these fall on someone's head, that's your fault," she said to me, to the wind, to the concept of gravity.
"I'll apologize to gravity," I replied. "It likes letters."
She didn't smile. She also didn't undo my knots.
Downstairs, the Chuuni rehearsed their rite in the storage room because a room with objects is apparently better for channeling than a room with air. Rikka spun, Yuuta swept, a ribbon brushed a sensor, and the fire alarm began its career.
Screams. Feet. Scattering.
Gojo appeared with the timing of a punchline. "Oh no," she said, delighted. "A curse of high-decibel truth."
Nobara folded her arms. "We left a mission for this."
"I left a mission for this," Gojo corrected, and then, to me: "Fixable?"
I looked at the melting crowd, at the smoke-free room, at the mortified Chuuni frozen in contrition. "With shame and a towel."
We hit the panel, reset, opened doors, fanned air with banners, and convinced a nurse that yes, really, no one had been "summoned." The teacher responsible for the alarm looked ready to retire from oxygen. Yukino filed a mental lawsuit against fate and put it in her Consequences pile.
"It's sealed," Yuuta told me gravely, later, coiling the ribbon like contraband. "No further alarms."
"By contract," Rikka added, tapping her eyepatch.
"By signage," I said, pointing to a fresh NO RIBBONS PAST THIS LINE note in Yukino's handwriting that had all the warmth of law.
Yui arrived with apology cookies she hadn't planned to bake, flour on her nose like a deliberate aesthetic. Nobara stole one, chewed, and didn't insult it. That was approval of the rarest kind.
In props, Yui spilled paint on the banner and looked like her soul had slipped on the same puddle. I took the brush, pulled three clean arcs, handed it back. "Now it's art."
"Now it's abstract art," she corrected, smiling.
"Trendier," I said.
Hayato's group came when the gym needed bodies with lifts and smiles. Ooka carried a crate of tongs with reverence for metal; Yamato apologized to every chair he moved; Tobe tried to staple a streamer to air and looked betrayed when physics refused.
"Helping?" I asked.
"Heroically," Tobe said.
"Photogenically," Yumiko muttered, but less dagger than usual.
Even Yukino's mouth made a shape near humor when she saw Tobe attempt to wield a hammer like a microphone. For a minute, the world wasn't complicated. Just tasks and a clock and people being, in their specialized ways, helpful.
---
Lunch, rooftop. A bench that had learned friendship. Totsuka offered me a bite from a neat bento that believed in ratios. I tasted pickled plum and a sweetness that belonged to rice and not to chemistry.
"You always make things less… sharp," she said, searching for the word.
"Rounded corners are a public good," I answered.
"Ugh," Hachika said, sliding the door open, dead-fish eyes brighter than she wanted. "Are you two dating or just aggressively sharing carbohydrates?"
"Jealousy is not a nutritional category," I said. "Do you want some?"
She sat anyway, at a distance that was almost a decision. "If there's leftover lunch break after this, go help the band. They're eating cables."
"I'll rescue the cables," I promised.
Yui burst in with drinks, declared herself "peace ambassador," and gave Hachika the one with more cream because manipulation is a language of love. Hachika scowled and drank all of it.
Below, on the grounds, Nobara and Gojo walked in the strip of shade along the fence. Nobara looked up once, considered us, dismissed us, not unkindly. I pretended not to notice. Gojo waved like she was guiding a plane.
"Please don't," I mouthed.
She grinned wider.
---
By afternoon, the sky lost its patience. A line of gray rolled in from the coast with the confidence of someone who never hears no. The first drops hit like punctuation. Then the paragraph arrived.
Stalls panicked. A banner gave up and attempted to become a cape. The choir screamed in harmony. The band attempted to cover an amp with the kind of plastic that only protects feelings.
"Electronics first!" I called, not shouting, just choosing where to put sound. "Tables under the breezeway. You! get tarps from storage. You! take the cord off the floor, I don't want anyone conducting electricity with their spine."
Hayato found the rhythm and matched it. "Two lines to the gym," he said, pointing, voice an easy second instrument. "Skewers inside the supply hall. Don't block the fire exit."
Yukino directed like a traffic god learning to be kind. Yui distributed towels with mercy. Hachika moved with a clarity that made other people efficient by proximity. The Chuuni tried to shield a paper dragon by chanting at the rain while I brought it a tarp, which, in the end, is a kind of magic too.
At the edge of the grounds, under an umbrella that was violating several laws of posture, Gojo watched, smiling like weather. Nobara stood beside her, unimpressed and taking notes with her face.
"He's just bossing kids around," Nobara said.
"Bossing is also a skill," Gojo replied. "You'll learn it when you stop breaking everything in reach."
"Hmph."
We saved most of it. The rest was a lesson in humility. When the rain relented into something a city can pretend is temporary, students stood in damp shoes and laughed like survivors do—too loud, too relieved.
"That could have been worse," Yukino allowed, which from her is near ecstasy.
I wrung my sleeve and watched water choose a path down my wrist. Hayato came to stand a polite distance away.
"Thank you," he said. Simple.
"Thank the tarps," I replied. "They did the dramatic work."
He smiled, genuine, the kind he generally saves for when nobody's grading him. "Drop by later. We'll save you a skewer with too much sauce."
"Bribery is effective student governance," I said.
"Noted," he said, and left before the moment had to perform meaning.
Nobara passed by, looked me up and down like I was an answer on a test she wasn't convinced belonged on the page. "You didn't do much," she said.
"Exactly," I said.
She paused, blinked once in the language of reassessment, and kept walking.
Gojo lingered. "Proud of you," she said, sweet and insulting. "No special effects. Just competence."
"Painful, isn't it," I said.
"Excruciating," she agreed, and tipped her umbrella toward the sky like that would matter.
---
Evening rewrote the gym in warm light. The Rite of Lumina got its full rehearsal: ribbons tracing circles and blessings that didn't claim more than they could carry. Students clapped, relieved to have something frivolous to believe in. I added my hands to the collection and let my mouth make a real smile for a second.
Hiratsuka found me by the stage curtains, sipping black coffee like it had been banned and she'd smuggled it in. "Report."
"Traffic braids," I said. "Sprinklers intact. Hayama's grill won't fumigate the photo wall. We made friends with tarps."
"Good," she said. "Keep it PG and keep the 'service' in Service Club strictly administrative."
"If anyone offers premium service," I said, straight-faced, "I'll make sure it's all logistics."
She lifted one eyebrow. "I'm grading you on how boring you keep that sentence."
"I'll aim for extra credit."
She almost smiled. "Try not to recruit new cults by accident."
"No promises," I answered, and she let me live, which was another kind of praise.
---
On the way out, the sky had dried itself to a memory. We followed instincts to the shopping street. Crepes. Milk tea. The good stand with the owner who pretends not to remember your face and remembers your order.
"Two strawberries," Yui chirped, then, to Hachika, "Split?"
Hachika glared at the offer and took it. "Give me the side with more cream."
"That's both sides," Yui said, victorious.
Rikka held her crepe like a relic. "Urban ward complete!"
Yuuta lifted his cup like a chalice. "The east remains stable."
"Because sugar," I said.
"Because friendship," Yuuta corrected solemnly.
Ras: "..."
Totsuka took a careful bite and smiled at something in the middle distance. "You'll come to the tennis exhibition?"
"If invited."
"I'm inviting you."
"Then I'll come."
"Good," she said, and her cheeks admitted it.
At a corner table, Gojo and Nobara split taiyaki. Nobara ate like she didn't want joy to get the wrong idea about her personality. Gojo watched us over the rim of a paper cup and didn't wave. Growth.
---
Night, room, desk. The Book stayed quiet like a good engine. I opened the Guild chat with the same caution you use to open a window when you don't know what weather thinks of you.
> Ras: Rain nearly sank the festival. Fortunately, no casualities - (Huff.jpg)
> Lin: Eh, you're already in festival arc! ahhhh I want to go there!!!
> Gojo: man commands umbrellas like a general. i rate 11/10. sunglasses taiyaki.gif
> Kazumi: it rained here too. i blame aqua on principle. also your festival needs a gambling booth
> Yaya: RAIN = FREE BATH = SAVINGS!!! need odd job for shampoo sponsor??
> Satsuki: trivial, but coordination noted. wind changes before cracks. watch the edges.
> Ainz: morale events reduce panic index. continue.
Lin's icon flashed, then paused like a breath trying to pick a speed.
> Lin: Do your best. (fireworks emoji x2)
I typed, then backspaced, then let the line exist.
> Ras: Thanks (*Smile emoji)
Stickers detonated. Someone (Kazumi) posted a brick. Someone (Gojo) posted me holding a cartoon umbrella the size of a sin. I closed the chat while it was still laughing.
At the vending machine outside, the can thudded into my palm like a friend remembering your name. I cracked it. The bitterness told the truth and didn't ask to be sweetened.
No scan pinged my periphery. No corner bent too far. The day had been exactly what it was supposed to be: work and a small victory that smelled like damp tape and pastry.
"Normal holds," I said to no audience that needed it, and took a drink.
Tomorrow: more logistics, more ribbon, a tennis exhibition, a skewers bribe. A festival.
Ras tugged a smile on his lips: 'I could live with that.'