Twice daily, the clock tower built atop the entrance of the academy building played a tune on the carillon, a set of bells inside the tower made to ring every twelve hours—once at six in the morning and again at six in the afternoon. There was no strict curfew at the academy, for the sake of granting freedom and independence, but the bells were a kind reminder to students to get to bed before midnight for a full night of sleep. At the sound of the evening bell, most students chose to wrap up club activities or study sessions and return to their dorms or head to the cafeteria. The doors closed prior to midnight, but students were free to return to their rooms at any time.
Thanks to this lenience, Blanc could afford to spend hours on end reading in the academy library as soon as classes ended, ensconced between the bookshelves. Even after her initiation into the Film Club, she found time to immerse herself in storybooks.
Not that the club mattered to her anymore.
Blanc had never realized, always so lost in her books, how much time she had on her hands without club activities. She had resolved to stop attending the meetings, which left her with nearly eight hours of spare time. Now, the six-o'-clock bell only meant it was time to pull out a snack from her bag by way of having dinner.
Food was normally prohibited in the library, but she made sure to respect the facility. She left no crumbs, no spills, no trash behind. It helped that she was on good terms with the librarian, a kind old man with a creased forehead and the kind of eyes that crinkled when he smiled.
Today, she had bought a steamed meat bun from the on-campus corner store and a can of juice from the vending machine. It was barely enough to hold her over until the next day, but she could eat more at breakfast tomorrow to compensate.
The bookworm unwrapped her dinner and took a bite of the doughy white bun, revealing the barbecued pork filling inside.
I can't focus today, she sighed inwardly as she ate. In the top corner of the page read the number 62, hardly an accomplishment after three hours of reading. Twenty pages per hour was barely a tenth of her usual speed.
Events from the day before plagued her mind, primarily her heated argument with Neptune, inarguably one of her closest friends to date. Things came back to her in bits and pieces, not unlike the way one recalled a movie years after watching it. Had she really threatened to quit her role as director? Had she actually interrupted Neptune that many times?
One thing etched into her memory, however, was the moment Neptune closed her eyes and opened them again, a totally different person. Finger pointed at the door, she had become the opposite of the hospitable girl Blanc thought she knew. Cold and unaccommodating, no longer content to let others have their way.
Are we still friends?
Blanc racked her brain for an answer to that question. Maybe Neptune no longer thought of her as anything such; the possibility hit her like a strike to the solar plexus.
She pulled up on the knit collar of her dark-gray sweater to hide her face. But doing so reminded her of the reason she had worn the sweater in the first place—to conceal the unwanted kiss mark on her neck. The root of all her troubles, little more than a temporary embarassment.
The club meeting would have ended just now at the bell. If Blanc were quick about it, she could still catch Neptune and apologize. It wasn't too late to make amends. But would she be able to speak her mind with the rest of the club watching, up to a dozen pairs of eyes on her?
Doubts filled her mind. This situation needed a game plan. She thumbed the corner of her book, taking care not to crease the page. Maybe she could talk to Neptune in private, when she wasn't around the others. Yet none of this would work if Neptune had decided not to give her the time of day. Blanc deserved it, damn she deserved it, but the last thing she wanted was for Neptune to hate her.
Before she could muster the courage to get off her ass, someone strayed into her aisle. That black-haired someone scanned the rows of books, completely unaware of the figure sitting against the wall. Blanc recognized that hairstyle in an instant.
"Here it is!" Noire pulled a book from the shelf. "The Delusionist's Apprentice," she read. "I must be the first one to get it!"
She stuck a finger under the cover and lifted it to look at the book summary inside the cover page. Blanc couldn't resist the chance to catch the impeccable model student off guard.
"First? No, that was me."
Noire gave a tiny shriek and spun around. "I read that one as soon as it touched the shelf," the writer finished with a smirk.
"B-B-Blanc! What the heck are you doing?" Stammering, the Ice Queen VP clutched the book in both hands and took a step back. Her eyes alighted on the brunette and narrowed. "Let me just tell you that it's super weird to sit in corners and judge people as they walk by. Why are you even here?"
Closing the book she had in her lap, Blanc responded, "I'm not judging anyone. This is a library, not a courtroom. As a rule, I never judge a book by its cover."
The initial surprise settled, Noire breathed out and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her voice had reverted to its usual, low-key annoyed tone.
"It's against the rules to eat in the library," she said pointedly, her gaze honing in on the unfinished meat bun in the reader's hand. Blanc just shrugged, knowing she was somewhat of an exception to the rules.
"Of course, but I have permission from the librarian. He knows I'm here. He could have even told you where to find me if you asked him."
"What makes you think I was looking for you?" Noire retorted. "You just happened to be in the same place at the same time."
Noire had already turned away, looking at another book she had pulled off the shelf. Blanc ignored her. Between them, they had little to talk about. It pleased her that Noire knew a good book when she saw one, but aside from that there was nothing more to be said.
She finished her steam bun and popped the tab on her juice can. When she lifted it to her lips to drink, she noticed Noire still hovering at the mouth of the aisle as if she were looking for something.
"What is it? If it's a book, I can help you find it."
Noire started and absently glanced in her direction. "No, it's not that..." She trailed away. Whatever she wanted to say, it didn't come out.
Blanc took a sip from her juice can. If her interlocutor wasn't going to speak, then she herself could. "Say, where'd you run off to yesterday? Uni was looking for you after the shoot. Vert told us you had something to do."
"Y-yeah, you got it exactly," Noire laughed and twined a finger through her hair. "It was just a bit too graphic for me. I couldn't bring myself to walk in there while you two were... busy."
Blanc nodded sagely, trying not to remember what had happened back there. "Don't worry, I understand. It's fine to get embarrassed over those kinds of things. Tamsoft ran off in the middle of the shoot, and I haven't seen her since."
At the mention of Tamsoft, Noire straightened. "Tamsoft showed up to the meeting today," she mentioned offhandedly, "but you wouldn't know since you didn't show up."
An unmade point hung in the air. Blanc cursed inwardly. "It's a difficult situation," she explained carefully, hoping to avoid an interrogation. "There are a lot of things going on right now, so I might have to step back from club activities."
She shrugged like it wasn't important and set aside her beverage, trading it for her book. She had hoped that the Ice Queen would get the hint, that the conversation was over, but unfortunately her subtlety went unnoticed.
"You?" Noire lifted an icebrow. "The Film Club's savant screenwriter needs a break from writing?"
"Even I can't handle everything at once. I'm a normal, flawed person."
The excuse didn't have much of an effect on Noire's stance. Two dark red eyes squinted at her, scanning for any signs of falsity. Noire was visually patting her down for secrets. "Neptune was acting really strange today," she said in an unreadable tone of voice. This got Blanc's attention in a heartbeat.
"How strange?" she prompted, almost afraid to hear the answer. "Was she more meta than usual?"
"Not any more than she usually is. But she seemed... listless. Almost like she didn't want to do anything, but more like she didn't know what to do with the club."
Of course Neptune would do a terrible job directing club activities. Her position as president was more of a sinecure than anything else. Blanc had practically run the club in her stead. Unless one of the other members took charge, the Film Club was a headless chicken.
"... And so for the entire time, we're sitting around doing absolutely nothing at all," Noire continued. "Then Neptune stands up to say that we're finished early and that she'll contact us when we start having meetings again."
The writer blinked and looked up. She wasn't sure she had heard that right. "What do you mean 'again'?" she asked, almost in a daze.
"You heard me. According to Neptune, our scriptwriter is apparently nose to the grindstone right now, trying to come up with enough material so we can continue filming."
Neptune must have lied to Noire why Blanc hadn't been there today. Now Noire had found the no-show in the library. Neptune's lie debunked, Blanc herself was in the line of fire. Well, shit.
Butt of many jokes or not, the vice president was a smart girl, no doubt about it. Blanc had predicted from the second Noire appeared that the topic of her absence would come up, but she hadn't readied an answer. Regardless, Noire wasn't budging. The only way out of this was to start talking.
The brunette crossed her arms, scrunched her shoulders, and reluctantly uttered the name she had purposely avoided speaking aloud.
"I got into an argument with Neptune after the filming about... my work ethics, I guess. And well, she kicked me out of the club." Near the end of her sentence, a shred of emotion bled into her voice. Keeping her voice level proved to be an impossible task no matter how much she tried.
"An argument? With Neptune?" Noire gaped. Blanc didn't blame her; probably neither of them had ever met anyone else as complacent as their mutual friend.
"I guess I did something stupid that she didn't appreciate. But it was my fault everything escalated this far. All she said was that I couldn't show anyone the script without her approval."
Even her own actions seemed shallow now that she had calmed down. A lingering sense of shame ate away at her. She felt awful for losing her temper, but how did Neptune feel? Worse? Depressed?
If there was any justification for her mistakes, she saw none of it.
"Noire," began the troubled writer, "if... if you tell anyone what I'm about to tell you, then—"
"Don't bother with the threats. Trust me, what would I gain from gossiping about you?"
Noire moved closer and sat down, laying aside the book she had picked out to give the girl her full attention as if saying, "Go on. I'm listening."
Blanc took a second to breathe. Inhale, exhale. Then she filled her lungs and prayed the story would tell itself. "Neptune was upset with me. And I know it's because of the shot we filmed, even though she never said it directly. But I'm not stupid, Neptune's never cared about what we do for the movie. If it's silly, she laughs at it. If it doesn't make sense, she'll just go with it. But this is the first time she's ever openly complained about anything."
She stopped to collect herself. Not knowing how to explain what happened next. In the pause Noire asked, "Did you ask her about the shot before you started filming?"
Blanc shook her head. The script had been finished the night before at an ungodly time, its writer asleep moments after climbing into bed. Calling someone at that hour had never even crossed her mind, and surely Neptune wouldn't have appreciated a post-midnight phone call about recording a sex scene, of all things.
"And Neptune had no time to think it over," Noire said aloud, coincidentally finishing Blanc's thoughts. "Since you told her ten-minutes-to. If I were in her shoes, I'd have stopped you right there and told you we weren't filming."
"But when we were on camera, she..." Blanc bit her lip, recalling the moments Neptune had kissed her. "She seemed more into it than I was."
"She was acting," the girl cut in. "You know, following a script? She was probably just going with the flow so she wouldn't cause a scene. Think about it: Neptune of all people. She's always aware of her surroundings to the point of self-aware. Chances are, she was being considerate for you. Do you think she would have stood up in front of the entire club and said she didn't want to... do it with you on camera?"
Blanc couldn't say anything in defense. Hearing Noire say it aloud made it inescapable—no more excuses. Of course Neptune, for all of her flaws, would have done something like that. It was more than plausible, it was probable. No matter how much the extrovert tried the patience of everyone around her, her heart always led the way. Nobody had more charisma than she did. Yet she still had feelings of her own. There was only so far she would allow herself to be shoved around and trampled underfoot until she started to push back.
Somehow without realizing, Blanc had crossed that line without knowing. Somehow, she had forgotten to think of her as an individual. It was no surprise that Neptune lashed out like she had. If anyone acted with that much scorn for another person's feelings, then it was only right.
I know what I did was terrible, Blanc conceded. From the very start, she had figured it herself but refused to admit it. She had been the one pushing the limit of what was acceptable. Putting her good friend in that situation in front of so many other people was thoughtless. Heartless. What was I even thinking?
She had been so wrapped up in making the movie something amazing that she forgot to consider her own partner.
Guilt choked her. Guilt was her least favorite feeling in the world. Blanc hated dwelling on her past mistakes. She hated feeling helpless when things went wrong. Even worse, because of her. She felt bad, and punching a wall or screaming and cursing couldn't clear it away like it could frustration. It wasn't that simple.
Wit failed her. Words didn't form. She couldn't speak, crushed by the weight of breaking the heart of the happiest person in the world, her own best friend. Almost unforgivably.
What could she say right now that wasn't cheap and superficial? An apology? An affirmation? I'm sorry or I'll make it up to her? There wasn't a single thing she could do in this moment that would make up for the emotional pain she had caused.
Noire stood up and dusted off her skirt.
"Lemme just say this. You're either a bitch or the stupidest dreamer I've ever met."
Blood began to boil in Blanc's veins at the barefaced insult. True or not, that was something she couldn't take sitting down.
"But that's just my opinion," Noire went on. "Neptune liked you. The way you two act outside of the Film Club, the way you two are like inside the clubroom. And it's pretty freaking obvious that she didn't mind making out with you in front of a camera. I don't know how you managed to mess things up this badly, but whatever you said or did to her seriously made her change her mind. I can't tell if she's worried about you or if she wants nothing to do with you. Knowing her, it's probably some combination of both.
"So listen Blanc. You only have one chance at this. If you want to stay friends with Neptune, then just get your shit together and talk to her. But don't go running up to her door as soon as I leave, and don't come crawling back to her on hands and knees either. Pathetic doesn't suit you."
Noire ran a hand through her hair and walked away, leaving Blanc lost in her thoughts all alone.
For a few seconds, Blanc gawked in disbelief at the space where Noire had been. After saying all those things, she just left. Just like that.
She sighed and rubbed her temple. This whole thing was a pain in the neck, but Noire was right. Instead of feeling sorry for herself, she had to get it together and talk to Neptune before the damage done became irreparable.
A new sense of purpose, Blanc nodded to herself and drew in a deep breath. Then she put her face in her hands and let out a long tired sigh.
Just Another Love Story
Noire found Uni in the rec room, seated around a circular table with the three other Candidates. Her younger sister was listening intently along with Nepgear to a story the two twins were telling. Then the four of them burst into laughter.
"Uni?" Noire cleared her throat, waving awkwardly. The four of them stopped and looked at her, smiles fading ever so slightly. "Uh, sorry... Can I talk to you for a second?"
"N-Noire?! Um, of course." Uni nodded and pushed her chair back, leaving a bottled soft drink on the table. "I'll be right back, guys."
Beckoning for her to follow, Noire led her outside into the hallway. Nobody was hanging around outside, so it was perfect for what Noire needed to ask. Her younger sister stopped a short distance away and stood at nervous attention, arms bolted to her sides.
Her voice trembled a bit. "What is it, Noire? Is everything okay?"
"Yes, but I wanted to ask you something. I met Blanc in the library earlier."
"O-oh, I see. So that's where she was hiding. Aha ha." Uni fidgeted a bit. "W-what did you find out from her?"
"Uni..." Tired of beating around the bush, Noire crossed her arms and frowned. "She was wearing one of the sweaters I gave you."
"... I can explain."
