Hellooooo I'm just gonna get on with this. There's some math concepts that you may not understand, but it isn't important. So don't worry about it.

By the way, Mari isn't just some OC. She's second gen, too. He he.

Review or follow or whichever.

~Blaze


"Awwwww… I'm so sorry, Mari," Tomone sighs, giving me a pitiful stare. "I thought you were finally get some form of recognition. You know, win a spot for us underdogs?"

"Right," I say, rolling my eyes. "Because Kashino's recognition is all I need in this life."

"Well, it's a good start," Tomone says logically, raising a finger and looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "I mean, consider the possibilities. Dating Kashino is like… getting a couple legs up in the system. And if you were to break it off, you'd be even more popular. Just think of it!"

"I don't want to be popular. I just want to live my life."

"Well, at least you get to tutor him," Jun jokes, nudging my shoulder.

"Can we talk about something else?" I ask, slightly annoyed. I get back to my workbench and set an empty bowl on top. "Look, we gotta get these cookies done, or else Sensei's gonna make us work longer."

Thankfully, the others shut up at the reminder, and we go back to shuffling around with our ingredients.

It's finally Friday around noon. And of course, the A and B groups at the high school have to stay after class for an extra hour to prepare something for the French supervisors. The higher ups from the St. Marie branch in France have decided to show up, and our teacher thought it was appropriate to have us bake for them. I sigh, grabbing a carton of milk from the back fridge. Somehow, I'm not feeling so great about being questioned by everyone about the whole tutoring situation. Everyone wants to hear something juicy, so they've been asking me all sorts of embarrassing things and making up rumors that circle back around. Whether it was during lunch, in between classes, or random crumpled notes thrown in my direction during french, I was bombarded by… by people. Not just Jun or Tomone… everyone in St. Marie had made their assumptions. And I just spent the whole day tackling all of them.

A part of me is wondering if I'll ever get used to the attention. No doubt there will be people unhappy that I'm taking out at least a couple hours of the week with Haruto for myself, even though that wasn't even my intention. I was only in it because he asked for it.

As I start whisking the wet ingredients with the dry, I look up to see Haruto bending over his own work with rapt attention. It's hard to imagine a guy with that much focus could struggle in class. Then again, he did sit behind me, so I never could catch a glimpse of his work ethic in french or math.

Shohei had walked with me to the kitchens earlier. When I asked him about it, he snickered.

"Haruto sleeps through class all the time. He only gets real when he's in the kitchens. Maybe it runs in the family? His mom sucked at school, too. She told me once."

He fist bumped my shoulder after that, and I had half a mind to never wash my apron again.

I guess Haruto feels my eyes on him, because he looks up and meets my gaze. I blanch, suddenly yanked out of my trance. He gives me an amused smirk.

If this boy keeps giving me looks like that I swear I'll fall for it one day. Goddamn.

"So what are you helping him with, anyway?" Tomone asks, kneading dough under her fingers. "Math, or what?"

"Yeah, that and French," I respond, tearing my eyes away. "He's apparently barely passing and his dad's pissed."

"Honestly, Kashino Makoto always looks pissed," Jun says with a smile. "I remember seeing once in the beginning of the semester. He has a scowl on his face no matter who he talks to."

"Really? That's odd. I'd say Haruto's the exact opposite of that," Tomone says, thoughtful.

"Probably gets it from his mom, then," I say, thinking of the bubbly Kashino Ichigo I've seen in interviews. Though, Haruto does have a snarky side to him. Maybe he's got a combination of both sides? Huh.

It's not long until the hour hits three in the afternoon. Sensei calls it a day. We start to clean up. While I'm putting the last of our table's bowls away, Haruto joins me near the cupboards.

"Hi, Kashino-kun," I say, trying to sound casual. He raises his eyebrows. Clearly, he can tell I'm uncomfortable. He doesn't make any comment on it, though.

"You up for meeting at the library tonight? Around six o'clock?" He asks, looking hopeful.

I can't help but smile, raising a thumb. "Sure," I say. "I'll be there."

"Is there anything I can do for you, though?" Haruto pauses, raising a hand. "I mean, I owe you a lot for helping me out, so I think it's only fair if I pay you back somehow."

I look at him, considering. As much as I'd like to say I wouldn't mind doing it for free, he is taking some time out of my day. Not that I want money, or anything. I get enough of a pity allowance from my mom, since she hasn't taken the time to see me since… I blink a couple times. Wow. It's been five months since I've last talked to my mom. Ever since last summer, when she bailed on a vacation for her company's dumb exhibition or whatever -

" - still with me? Inoue-san," I hear Haruto say, waving his hand in front of my face. I snap back into reality, taking a step back. "Uhhh, sorry. Um, I was thinking," I say slowly, trying to make an excuse, "but I can't come up with anything. For now, just consider it as a "IOU" sort of situation."

"Okay," Haruto says. "Yeah. That seems fair."

"Six o'clock," I repeat, heading back to my table.

And of course, Haruto picks the worst wording ever, making a couple demon eyes swivel in our direction.

"It's a date!"


"Okay. The derivative of any given function is generally...?"

"The slope of a given point on a curve."

"So… if the function is y=x-2, the slope of the function, and ultimately, the derivative, is…?"

"Uhh… is it just y'=1?"

"Exactly!" I shout, raising my hands up to my chest in fists. "I think you finally understood it! Now, I'm sure you still haven't wrapped your head around it, and this is a simpler problem, but if you're having trouble, just let me know."

"Okay," Haruto says. His eyebrows are furrowed, but a small smile is lifting his lips. "Right. I think… I think I can do this."

"It's a hard concept, I know. We'll be addressing the product and quotient rules - shortcuts to figuring out derivatives," I clarify, seeing the blank look on Haruto's face, "so it will get much simpler from there. I'll help you unravel it in case you have trouble later so that it's easier to understand."

"Thanks, Inoue." Haruto looks up at me with a smile. "You're really saving my butt here."

I swallow. "I just read a lot. I'm not that impressive. But I'm glad it's helping."

It's been two weeks since we started the tutoring sessions, and Haruto and I have made some good progress. We've been in the library for about an hour now, cracking the whip on the basic concepts we need to know for our next math exam. It took a long time to drill it into his head. Haruto is smarter than he sells himself out to be, and it doesn't require a lot from me to make him understand, but he isn't patient. He's constantly jumping in his seat with a scowl so big it hurts to look at. I was sure he was going to punch me in the face a some point; he didn't look like he was enjoying himself.

Maybe that's why he struggles in class? His attention span is basically nonexistent when it comes to dry subjects like calculus or grammar.

"We can call it a day," I say, pulling a thermos and a box of cookies out of my bag. "Want one?" I ask, handing one over the table. "It's called a snickerdoodle."

He takes it carefully with the napkin I already wrapped it in, stares for a second, then takes a rather large bite. I sip my hot tea, waiting for his judgement.

"Mmmm! This is really good! It melts straight in my mouth!" He looks at it, then looks at me. "You made this?"

"Yep!" I smile, taking a bite myself. Well, what do you know. My cookie is pretty decent. I did spend a lot of time on them, after all. "They're pretty simple to make. My cousin from America introduced it to me, and so I got into the habit of making them when I have time during class."

"They're so… they're so…" he looks at my bag. "You wouldn't mind me asking for another one, would you?"

"Be my guest," I say, setting the box onto the table.

As I watch him eat, I sit back and drink more of my tea. This is actually… nice. I've been tutoring Haruto for about two days a week for the past three weeks, going over simple math and french concepts that he's been struggling with. And his company has been… pretty cool. He's incredibly kind and and bubbly, his personality much like a crazed puppy, but he also carries himself rather tall and with pride. There were times when he snapped out with snarky comments, catching me off guard.

It was hard at first; I was very withdrawn, feeling unworthy in his rather godly presence. But now I guess I looked at him like a loyal peasant friend; not worthy in status, but grateful for receiving such a gift like friendship from an immortal.

God, I really am self-deprecating.

"Hey, Inoue?" he asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. It surprises me that he's stopped using an honorific with my name, but somehow, it doesn't bother me.

I swallow the last of my tea. "Yeah?"

He leans in, lacing his fingers together and balancing his elbows on the table. "Have you thought of a way for me to pay you back yet?"

I blink. Oh, crap. I completely forgot about that. "Umm, no," I admit. Best if I'm honest, I guess. "I haven't given it much thought. Why? Have you thought of something, or…"

His eyes tell me yes, he has. "What's your offer, then?" I ask, interested.

"Well, since you're helping me increase my rank in school…" He trails off - most likely for dramatic effect, that jerk, "how about I help you move up a rank in our patissiere groups?"

I do a double-take. Okay, I was not expecting that. "Wh-wh-what? No, I can't - sorry, are you serious?" I don't know what the expression on my face is, but it seems that Haruto's amused by it. Damn him.

"I mean, yeah," he says, half laughing under his breath. "I think it's only right, you know? You aren't bad at making sweets," taking a chance to chew on another snickerdoodle, "but to make it to A Group, you gotta not just make them. You gotta know the ins and outs of every single ingredient. That's what helps you make something good into something great. Like, these cookies taste amazing, but I know you probably used really soft butter to make them because they aren't holding together too well. See?" He takes the one he's holding and splits it too easily. "It's one thing to know what goes in, but it's another to understand the how, or why."

I sit there with my jaw dropped, stunned beyond comprehension. Haruto waits patiently for me to begin functioning again, wiping a napkin across his mouth.

"You… you really think I can make it that far?" I ask weakly, staring at him. "I mean, I'm not exactly talent. I-I just read, and reading doesn't really mean you can do it."

He raises an eyebrow, as though its obvious. "You work hard to get your grades. You're helping me pass my making me practice. So that's all you need. Practice."

The word practice echos in my head fifty times. "But when?" I say, feel lightheaded. "We have classes all day, and we aren't allowed to use the kitchens on the weekends."

That's when the evil glint in Haruto's eye glows for the first time in my presence. I stare, bewildered, as he leans in. "Meet me at the statue of the fairy queen after 11. And bring your apron."

"But that's after curfew, and - "

"Just trust me," Haruto says, standing. He starts packing up his stuff. "You better show up, or else you're gonna leave me out there by myself."

"O-okay," I say, grabbing my own stuff. I reach for the box of cookies that I had, and then I stop.

"Kashino."

"Yeah?"

"I had made, like, ten of these."

"So?"

"You ate all of them?!"

He smiles sheepishly. "Hey. They were pretty nice."

I shake my head. I'd planned on saving a couple for Tomone, but whatever. "Alright. Fine. Eleven o'clock, then."

"Great. So it's a - "

In one swift movement I whirl the empty box at his face. Haruto yelps, shielding his face as it bounces off of his forehead and clatters back onto the table.

"Do not," I grumble, shutting him up, "call it a date."