Just like in his previous life back in China, Sakurajima High adopted the duty student system.
A duty roster was drawn up according to the number of students in each class, assigning specific people to open and close the classroom doors and windows each morning, as well as handle daily cleaning duties.
Even though St. Eden Academy was a prestigious private school, its roots were in an old church institution. To instill a sense of discipline and simplicity — and to suppress the snobbish attitudes often found among the wealthy — the academy had chosen to retain the traditional duty student system instead of outsourcing those tasks to janitorial staff.
It was Friday today, and according to the rotation chart, Class 1-A's duty student was Chika Fujiwara.
So, she arrived half an hour earlier than usual.
But just as she reached the classroom door with the key in hand, she froze at the unexpected sight before her—
Hara Kei was there.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning the back of his head against the door, his chin slightly raised as he breathed softly and evenly in his sleep.
Why is Hara Kei here? He's not on duty today. How long has he been sitting here? And why is he asleep at the door?Those questions had barely surfaced in Fujiwara's mind before a single thought filled her chest to the brim—
"…He's beautiful."
Hara Kei occupied a strange place in Class 1-A's social landscape.
He was solitary and self-contained, utterly uninterested in socializing.
While other transfer students tried their hardest to fit in — chatting, smiling, networking — he just quietly did his own thing off to the side.
But this didn't make his classmates look down on him.Because he wasn't timid, and he certainly wasn't insecure.
He carried himself with an unshakable self-confidence — a quiet strength that needed no validation from anyone else.After a month together, everyone in class had reached the same conclusion about Hara Kei:
Even if you dropped him into the jungles of Shennongjia, the Bermuda Triangle, the Caribbean, or the Middle East — he'd still manage to survive just fine on his own.
That was the kind of impression he gave.
But at this moment, the usual aura surrounding him — that silent, "stay away from me" pressure — was gone.
Bathed in the soft morning light, he looked peaceful, even tender, like a lazy black cat dozing in the sun.
If the other girls in class saw this, they'd probably clasp their hands together and sigh, "Thank you for the feast."
Normally, Fujiwara should have woken him up — opened the door, let him inside, maybe even scolded him gently for staying up too late and not getting enough sleep.
But she hesitated.
On one hand, it felt almost sinful to disturb his sleep.On the other… they had argued yesterday.He probably hated her now.
And as the saying goes, "the first thing you see in the morning sets the tone for your day."If the first person Hara Kei saw when he opened his eyes was her…
Fujiwara bit her lip indecisively.
Then, before she could act, a pale, delicate hand reached out — and pressed lightly against Hara Kei's forehead.
A black-haired girl had appeared out of nowhere behind him.She brushed his forehead with practiced care, as if checking for fever, then gently touched his wrist — as though taking his pulse.
By the time she was done fussing over him, Hara Kei's eyelids fluttered open.He blinked groggily, and in those deep eyes, the reflection of the girl above him slowly came into focus.
"Touma-san… I remember we agreed on three days, right? Wait— no, it's been two, hasn't it?"
"Don't play dumb. Give me that score. Did you really think I wouldn't come for it?" Touma Kazusa's voice was as cool and clear as spring water. "I thought you might've fallen sick or lost your mind."
Once she confirmed he was perfectly fine, Kazusa let out a faint sigh of relief. Only then did she seem to notice the pink-haired girl standing off to the side.
"You're the duty student, right? Could you open the door for us?"
"O-oh, right!" Fujiwara jolted out of her daze, fumbling for her keys as she hurried to unlock the classroom.
She didn't even realize that while her back was turned — facing the door — her expression had quietly shifted into something small and sad.A faint trace of hurt.
I was the one who found him first…That fleeting thought flitted through her mind like a dragonfly skimming the surface of a pond.
"Is this the 'composition' you mentioned?"A few freshly printed pages, still faintly smelling of ink, landed on Hara Kei's desk. Across the white paper, a tangle of tadpole-shaped black notes wove an impossibly dense web.
"That's right." Kei nodded after glancing through it. "This is the piece for the competition. Any problems?"
Competition?Fujiwara, in the middle of sorting classroom supplies, perked up her ears.
"Plenty of problems." Kazusa jabbed a finger at the final section of the sheet music. "Are you serious about this part? Do you honestly think a human being can play this?" Her voice rose, sharp as a bowstring, eyes narrowing like blades.
Touma Kazusa used Glare!…But it wasn't very effective.
Hara Kei didn't so much as flinch. Instead, he looked amused.
"What's wrong? Don't tell me Touma-san can't handle it?"
Kazusa bit her lip and said nothing.Because he'd hit the mark.
If you've ever played the game Twister, you'd understand. You stand on a mat covered in colored circles, and as the spinner commands you — "right hand red," "left foot blue" — your body contorts more and more until you're tied up like a pretzel.
Playing piano, in a sense, isn't all that different.You just follow the notes — press the right keys at the right time — and it works.Except human anatomy has limits.
Just like a mischievous Twister referee might call impossible moves, there are composers like Hara Kei who write music that deliberately breaks human limits — practically designed to torment the performer.
This wasn't a matter of "difficulty."It was… inhuman.
The only creature capable of performing this piece flawlessly would probably be a slime or an amorphous blob with no bones.
"Yukinoshita Yukino can do it," Kei said casually, rubbing a little salt into the wound. "Under my guidance, she'll hit every note perfectly."
"...So that's why you gave up the judge's seat," Kazusa muttered. "I see now."
Exactly.
Music evaluation is subjective.One listener might be moved to tears by a piece, while another might find it unbearable.So whoever controls the judging usually holds the upper hand.
But that advantage only stands if one crucial condition is met—No mistakes.
If one performer plays flawlessly while the other slips up even once, victory is obvious.
Yesterday, Kazusa had felt certain of her win.Now she realized she'd been drawn neatly into Kei's little trap.
Still—That made things interesting.
Without another word, Touma Kazusa gathered the sheet music, turned on her heel, and walked out of Class 1-A.
The competition was in two days.Time was running out.
As he watched her leave, Hara Kei let out a long yawn, then dropped his head onto his desk again, dozing off until the lunch bell rang.
After all—He hadn't slept a wink last night.