Despite his efforts, Hikigaya Hachiman cannot escape his heart.

Only when I take the time to look at myself do I truly realize how unattractive I really am.

Of course, that isn't to imply that I ever thought of myself as attractive in the first place. Quite the opposite, in fact. In all honesty, I just never really took the time to really see what it is about me that makes me so... me.

The obvious surface-level stuff was there—the "rotten fish" eyes, my permanently-grim expression, etcetera, etcetra. Even my physique (or lack thereof) contributed somewhat to the non-stimulating conglomeration that was physical appearance. My lack of positive or "handsome" qualities was something I had accepted about myself long, long ago.

Still, that wasn't to say that I hadn't ever dabbled in the realm of the materialistic before. Back in my younger days, I frequently experimented with hairspray, combs and the like, in an attempt to exude some kind of positive image about myself in order to make some friends. I had tried really hard, in retrospect. Sleek hair, a confident stride—hell, I'd even convinced my mom to buy me a pair of those popular tennis shoes everyone seemed to be obsessed with back in the day. In all honesty, I could say that was the last time I had ever truly put an exuberant amount of effort into something, excluding club activities.

That venture had, predictably, blown up in my face. I managed to get a few admiring comments on the shoes, but that was practically it. I didn't magically manage to earn myself a bunch of new friends. Everyone still looked and treated me the same—that weird loner kid, except now he looks a little nicer and has the same shoes as we all do.

Those damn shoes. I had stumbled across them recently during one of my admittedly rare decisions to clean my room, stored in the farthest depths of my closet like a painful memory that didn't deserve to be revisited—which was pretty vindictive of what they represented to me. I stared at them awhile, before promptly discarding them with the recyclables outside.

I have since removed the idea of making a concerted effort to keep up any kind of appearance. Nothing I could have possibly done might have changed that constant slouch in my posture, or that slimy aura I gave off, or that unnerving slant in my eyes. You can change who you are on the outside all you want, but that dark, unattractive inner-conscious you have stays with you, like a stain you can't remove.

But, I digress. I don't have a problem with being ugly—in fact, I consider it part of some twisted, backwards kind of blessing. Were I some superficial, materialistic modern-day teenager with a God complex, there is little doubt that I would become another product of this unfathomably hyper-toxic society, thus never granting myself the chance to grow emotionally and develop the rational thinking skills I had come to cherish.

Plus, my revolting nature allowed there to be a chance—a small, one-in-one-million chance, but a chance nonetheless—of someone actually liking me for my personality, rather than my physical appearance. Yes, I am well aware of the fact that my personality is arguably worse than my appearance (depending on who you ask), but that doesn't seem to be a problem, at least, not in this day and age. I'm still holding out hope that a wealthy ojou-sama with a considerably strong nihilist fetish is out there somewhere, desperately searching for me with true love in the heart buried within her preferably-38DD cup-sized chest.

However, that day was still many, many moons from now. In the present day, I was camped out in front of a tall body-length mirror in Komachi's room, sitting obediently whilst my little sister dug around for some hairspray. The day of the festival had, unfortunately, arrived, and Komachi was making it a point that I look my best, much to my chagrin.

My ensemble was what I guess one would call standard formal protocol. An all-black button down with equally dark slacks, dark brown shoes, and a belt to bring it all together. Over the button down was a scarlet vest I had seen my father wear from time to time (Komachi had been quick to assure me that I was allowed to wear it), adding a contrast to my subtle but sleek theme. It actually looked kind of nice, for something I originally wasn't intent on wearing. Leave it to little sisters to make something look good.

Still, I couldn't help but feel a little silly. Aside from that one request to investigate Kawasaki's job, I hadn't had many other instances in wearing nice clothes. A few relatives' weddings here and there, a few of my parent's work parties, small stuff like that. This would be my first time wearing these kind of garments at a gathering outside of those two aforementioned venues—at a formal ball for school, no less. And if you remember my earlier spiel about parties, you typically know how those end.

Komachi returned with the hairspray—about as feminine a can of hair product I had ever laid my eyes upon, fuchsia in color, with little yellow butterflies imprinted throughout the label. Forget what I said about little sisters making you look good. Some just want to watch their brother's world burn.

Komachi apparently sensed the negative vibe I was giving off, and made to reassure me. "Now, I know what you're thinking, but trust me, this stuff will do wonders for your hair—one-hundred percent chick magnet, all the time, or your money back guaranteed."

I gave her a questionable glance. "That's the goal for tonight? For me to unleash my inner chick magnet?"

"Maybe not exactly, but it wouldn't hurt, right?" She continued to tend to my hair, humming a cutesy tune as I remained silent and watched. I hadn't realized how skilled Komachi really was with cosmetics until I had actually watched her in action, and in my completely unbiased opinion, she was damn good at it. Yet another thing my little sister had a potential future in.

"So, how are you feeling?" Komachi prompted, putting what looked to be the finishing touches on my hair.

I thought about that for a while. "I don't really know," I admitted. "I'm not particularly nervous, I guess, and I'm not going in thinking it'll be a once in a lifetime experience. It's just a dance at the cultural festival."

Komachi sighed, apparently displeased with my answer. "I don't even know why I bothered asking. I should've expected an answer like that from you."

"Wow, you know me so well."

"Unfortunately," Komachi resigned before shifting gears, spinning me around on her chair so that I could see myself fully in her mirror. "Whaddya think? Not too shabby, eh?"

My hair had been sleeked down, shifting over slightly to my right, falling in neat combs over my ears and forehead. It was an odd combination of messy and formal. Irregular enough to add flair and personality, but clean enough to make it look as if I put effort into it. My trademark ahoge still stood proudly atop my head, but disregarding that, I looked pretty different. I'm sure my classmates would get a kick out of this one. Imbeciles.

Still, I had to give credit where it was due. Komachi looked to have at least put effort into this whole getup. "It looks good. Thanks."

"Anything for my big brother!"

Getting a few more looks in the mirror, I wondered what my clubmates would gather from my new temporary look. Not that I really cared much about what they thought of my physical appearance anyway, but it helped to garner constructive criticism every now and then. For future endeavors. Yeah.

There wasn't any doubt that Yukinoshita would pounce on the opportunity to berate how I looked, now that I had appeared to make a conscious effort into looking good. I could envision her demeaning comments already—"My, Hikidumpster. To think that you of all people managed to pull off something presentable at a formal gathering. I suppose even a feral mutt can learn to behave if disciplined properly."—or something along those lines. Honestly, she was more predictable than she thought she was.

Maybe if I was lucky, I'd get a few positive words of faux-encouragement from my school acquaintances. Yuigahama maybe. Kawasaki would chime a good word or two in. Perhaps even Hayato, being the all-powerful shoujo-dreamboat that he was, would spare me an approving glance. That was fine—all I needed to do was make sure I didn't do anything dumb and everything would be fine. Maybe I'd even be able to take Totsuka home as a prize or something.

Still, despite my agenda of keeping a low-profile, I didn't entirely intend to have a bad time. I may not particularly enjoy school festivals, but I'd be damned if I felt ostracized and left out of an event that I (technically) orchestrated and managed from the get-go. I'd get my food and punch, check out everything else the festival had to offer, be back in time for the toast, and dip on out. To some, that might sound unappealing and hardly entertaining, but to an experienced outcast like myself, time spent fulfilling your own needs while avoiding responsibility was time well spent indeed. You can quote me on that.

Sensing that my free makeover trial had ended, I retrieved my schoolbag and made to leave. I had to get to school early for a few last minute preparations, per Hiratsuka's order. That she-devil. "Well, I should be heading out now. Thanks for... helping me, I guess."

"Of course!" Just as I was about to step out, however, her voice stopped me. "Oh! Hold on a minute!"

I turned to see my sister digging vigorously through her own bag, searching desperately for something, mumbling to herself all the while. After a few lengthy seconds, she grinned triumphantly, and whipped out a tiny object I could barely make out—a small, dark hairpin.

I was equal parts curious and cautious. "What's that for?"

"It's for you, silly!" Komachi chimed eagerly. "It's just a little something I found. I thought it would look good on you! Compliments the outfit, and stuff!"

While I was initially hesitant, I found myself realizing how ridiculous I sounded. It's a damn hairpin. Nobody will even know it's there. Komachi hadn't been wrong with her attire choices so far, why doubt her intentions now?

I leaned down a little, and allowed her to snap the piece on the right side of my head, a few inches above my ear. Komachi adjusted the hairpin carefully, trying to get a few loose strands of hair down. After a few seconds, she drew away, admiring her work.

"I was right! You look rather dashing, if I do say so myself!" Komachi nodded to herself assuredly. "I'm sure that—"

"Yes, yes, you got plenty of Komachi points for that one," I interrupted her as politely as I could, granting her a headpat in condolence. "I gotta get going. Be safe on your way to school. No talking to strangers, boys, and especially strange boys. I'll probably be home later tonight, so I'll catch you later. Bye."

"Adios! Have fun! Tell Kawasaki I said hello!"

Mounting my trusty iron steed, I set my course towards the school building, trying to ignore the last line Komachi said as I was leaving. Damn kids and their secret agendas. As if I, the great loner Hachiman, would make an effort to talk to a girl at a party. Nothing would happen, I was certain of it.

At least, I hoped I was certain.

If you'd have shown me a before and after picture of my homeroom class during the festival, I'd have been hard pressed to believe that a bunch of high school students were capable of possessing such an affinity for décor and design.

Not that I really cared, of course. A classroom was still, at the end of the day, a classroom, regardless of how fancy it looked. No matter the number of elegant streamers, posters, tablecloths, and other elaborate decorations. That wasn't to undermine the work of the few who actually put effort into it (specifically Kawasaki, who had shouldered the bulk of the labor involved into creating the aforementioned decorations), it was just a fact. It's just a classroom.

Still, to someone who didn't know any better, it might have looked otherwise. Dimly lit for ambience, the room gave off a regal and upper-echelon kind of feel, with more than a few expensive items adorning the scene. The color scheme had apparently been chosen to be darker, more inconspicuous colors (there was a lot of scarlet and purple, mixed in with a few deep blues), which was subtly highlighted by the candles lining the edges of the room.

How we, a simple high school class, could afford all of these rather pricey expenses? I couldn't say for sure—though I did have a hunch.

"I had to string a few calls to some... business associates of mine," Oshino admitted under his breath. He occupied one of the chairs in the corner of the room, staying within earshot as he continued. Joining him as we talked, I guessed that we looked pretty shady to any possible onlookers. "Of course, these kind of expenses aren't nearly as expensive as I presume you're thinking they are. I'm quite a bit of a haggler, you see. It also helps that I've pitched in with a few favors over the years."

"Favors?" I repeated questioningly. "Of what variety?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with, I'm sure," My employer waved dismissively at me. "I'm just simply trying to provide some assistance to your festival. Think of it as thanks, for being such a well-behaved employee."

"This isn't coming out of my paycheck, right?"

"... we'll see. For now, enjoy the final preparations! I'll be out and about, should you need me. I haven't experienced a cultural festival in ages!" Oshino stalked off into the hallways shortly after, presumably with Tobe, if that all-too-familiar guffaw was any indicator. Damn moron.

So, that left me to my own devices, watching some of my classmates implement a few last-minute changes to the room. Contrary to what I was insinuating, there wasn't anything that needed to be adjusted or removed at all. Coming here early felt redundant, and outright stupid. I knew I should've slept in.

Unfortunately, my brief outpouring of negative energy drew the presence of similar beings towards me. This was a trait of mine I despised, but ultimately couldn't change. I just had a knack for attracting the most crude, abusive, and downright evil people towards my person.

Hiratsuka took the seat next to me that Oshino had been occupying previously. "Hey, fish-eyes."

"What do you want, you old hag?"

Half-expecting a right hook to the jaw (it wouldn't have surprised me—I've built a sort of immunity to it), I was pleasantly surprised when my teacher simply laughed at me. "So you really are that shitty of a person during all hours of the day? I can't believe Yukinoshita was right about that."

"Again, what is it that you want, Hiratsuka?" I grunted irritably, the mention of the Ice Bitch only making my irritable fuse that much shorter. Who is she to place bets on my livelihood? I'm spitting in her tea next club meeting.

"Relax, I didn't come here to kick your ass," She chortled, though the smirk on her face implied she wasn't entirely against the idea. "I actually came to thank you."

April Fools already? I must really be bad with dates. "Don't mock me. I'm hardly in a mood for any kind of chastising you have for me."

This time, she actually did punch me. "Ow!" I hissed rather effeminately.

"You're a bona-fide dumbass, you know that? Not everyone falls for that far-off loner vibe you think you have going for yourself," Hiratsuka sighed, gently shaking her enclosed fist in what looked to be an effort to remove some Hiki-germs. "Has it ever occurred to you that some people actually appreciate the work you do for them?"

"Well, I can already tell you that you're wrong on account of the fact that I don't work. Have you already forgotten the fact that I have always hated the toxic concept of modern-day employment, and its despicable efforts to weasel away at the middle-classes' earnings by forcing them into decades of underpaid labor in hostile, unclean conditions, in addition to—"

"Save it. Your pal Mr. Oshino already spilled the beans about your job. Also told me that you have yet to miss a shift, or even show up late, for that matter. I'm proud of you! Internally, at least."

Damn Oshino. He might have just earned himself an entry on my To-Kill journal. Ice Bitch, looks like you have a new roommate.

"You're a better kid than you—and most anyone, for that matter—gives you credit for," Hiratsuka continued to serenade me with despicably kind compliments. "Keep up the good work. I'll be expecting halfway-decent things from you in the future!"

I gave my teacher the most malicious look I could muster. "Is that all you came to tell me?"

Feigning contemplation, Hiratsuka placed a slender finger upon her chin. "Hmm... while we could discuss your abysmal grades, your lack of participation within your club, or even your sour attitude in general, I'll let you off the hook. Just this once. Call it a favorite student discount."

God, as much as I despised her, especially whenever she harped on my school life, I had to admit that she was attractive when she acted coy. Seriously, if she were born even a few years later, we'd already be at the altar.

She got up to leave, grabbing her bag as she made for the door, much to my surprise. "You're leaving already?"

Giving me a look that screamed "duh?", she turned. "What makes you think that I would stay for something as ridiculous as hormonal kids dry-humping each other in public? Please, I have much better things to do. Like drink!"

I raised an eyebrow. Dry humping? What? "This is a cultural festival."

She smirked. "I know."

She slid the door shut on her way out rather ceremoniously, apparently forgetting that she was in the presence of more than just me. As the other students gave odd looks to the door, and then each other, I leaned back into my chair and attempted to catch a few more fleeting minutes of sleep, realizing my help was unneeded. No one noticed me as I placed a light novel upon my face for hiding.

If only a few years younger.

After my quick nap, I chose to meander through the halls in search of something lowkey to do. Since the festival was already well underway, I was free to do as I pleased, for the most part. The few requirements that were in place stated that I was to stay on campus, as well as to participate in my classes' "cultural showing", as they deemed it. Our little ballroom dance wouldn't be starting until much, much later, so in present time, I had an inordinate amount of time to myself.

The festival had started a little less than a few hours ago, yet the school was already packed. Many of the classes had elected to start early so that they could finish well before the festival ended, see what the other classes had to offer, and get home before supper. It was practical on their part, but due to the amount of students that were bustling through the halls, it seemed that too many had thought of the idea. It would only get worse when more of the parents and student body trickled in, but I didn't want to think of that right now. Crowds made me sick, in more ways than one.

Thus far into the festival, I hadn't seen anything truly innovative from my fellow students. A movie showing here, a magic parlor there, among similar gimmicks. One class even had the balls to run a maid café. Though initially tempted by the outright hilarity and plain horniness of such a scheme, upon quickly remembering I was on the first floor—the floor for first years—I quickly turned tail and left. I was in no mood to be caught by one of acquaintances (especially a certain student council president). The last thing I needed was people thinking I actually was a siscon-slash-pedophile.

So, as I usually did, I settled on keeping to myself. I had yet to stumble into any of my classmates or clubmates, and for the moment, I lounged leisurely in the cafeteria, slurping quietly on some udon from one of the food booths outside. It was serviceable. Nothing like Komachi's cooking. God, just the thought of home brought about a feeling of comfort and warmness that I missed dearly.

It was then brought to my own attention that I looked sorely out of place in the public eye. I was still adorned in my fancy getup for the ball, rather than the comfortable school rags I was far more accustomed to. I was itchy, uncomfortable, and most importantly, drawing attention. The most extravagant outfit I'd seen (excluding my own) was someone stuffed into a bear costume. I don't quite remember why that was a thing, but it reminded me of how silly I must have looked to folks passing by wearing a uniform that wasn't a maid costume.

If I wasn't careful, I'd start having people come try to talk to me. Trying to strike up asinine conversation as to why the weird kid was dressed nice.

Though, I typically know how these sort of scenarios played out. Extravagance draws attention. Attention draws people. People would only draw more people. And if more people came, then that increased the likelihood of a certain someone—

"Well, well, well."

Perfect.

Yukinoshita plopped herself in the seat across from me as gracefully as she knew she could, her cold, calculating eyes never once leaving me. "What a surprise, seeing you here."

"I go to school here."

"That's news to me," the raven-haired girl quipped. "Jokes aside, may I inquire as to why you're dressed like..." she conducted an obvious once over. "... that?"

I was started to think that Yukinoshita honestly believed that she was entitled to me. Maybe that's why she felt as though she could strike up conversation with me so freely. I certainly wouldn't put it past her. "My class is doing a formal dance for the cultural festival."

"I know that, you ignoramus." Were it not for the fact that she actually had the gall to say "ignoramus" out loud, I might have actually been mad at her for insulting my intelligence. "I was asking about your outfit specifically."

"You're asking the wrong person then," I shrugged, partaking in some more noodles. "Komachi's the one who assembled this. Mostly."

A look of slight realization and what looked to be relief dawned on the Ice Queen's face. "Ah... I suppose that makes sense."

"Of course it does," feeling particularly bold, and a little tired of being around people, I shooed her away with my free hand. "Now, scram. I'm eating in peace."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. I immediately regret my decision. "Excuse me?"

Why the hell did I say that? That was profoundly stupid of me. A true ignoramus moment, perhaps. "I... uh..."

"You're awfully gutsy now, aren't you, Hikitrasha?" Yukinoshita slowly began to bore into me with freezing jabs at my livelihood. "I suppose when a filthy mutt gets groomed, it subsequently gains an irrational amount of confidence."

Despite the current state of danger I was in, I found it difficult to suppress a growing smirk. My prediction from earlier about her demeaning comments weren't all that far off. The mutt comments in particular were almost spot on. Maybe a career as an Oracle was worth a shot?

"Oh, you find this humorous now, Yuckigaya?" Eyeing my facial features, Yukinoshita didn't even give me a chance to breath. She was already aiming for the jugular. "I suppose we need to add 'masochist' to your growing list of titles. Among other things."

Deciding to humor her, I prompted her to keep going. Maybe I really was masochist. "I'm curious to hear the rest of that list of titles."

She didn't hesitate for even a second. "Fool. Simpleton. Dunce. Cretin. Imbecile. Moron. Degenerate. Womanizer. Pervert. Deviant—"

"Okay, okay, I get the point," I waved my hand, urging her to stop. "I'm sorry for provoking you."

With a dignified harrumph, she relented. "As you should be."

I was partially surprised. Yukinoshita didn't let go of certain insults made at her, especially by me. She had made a habit of developing a rotation of recurring jabs against me, particularly in the throes of semi-heated arguments. The fact that she had ended the verbal battle so quickly had me suspicious, especially when she was obviously wiping the floor with me.

"Are you feeling okay?" I gestured to her in as friendly a manner as I could sustain in public. "You're not one to let me off the hook like that."

Instead of some snarky response, she sighed. "How very perceptive of you."

"I do my best," I shrugged.

"It is nothing particularly glaring," Yukinoshita continued after a brief silence. "To put it simply, my class is full of braindead idiots."

That was odd to hear from her. Insulting me was one thing. Insulting other people she likely had no close connection to, or particular issue with was another matter entirely. Since when did she get so hostile?

I threw her an educated guess. "Is your class's idea stupid?"

"Very much so." She rubbed her temples with a fatigue I felt on a personal level. "Our classroom representative suggested that we operate a... well..." she trailed off inaudibly.

It was obvious that talking about it made her uncomfortable. It was, in all honesty, kind of distressing—seeing a rather attractive young lady squirming in her seat opposite from you, being forced to explain something she very obviously disagrees with. Perhaps, were she a little more forward, she might have been able to forego this event entirely.

However, that wasn't important right now. What she needed now was a shoulder to lean on. Someone she could confide in with trust. A good friend in this situation would pat her on the back, and as delicately as they could, try to reassure her and help put her worries behind her. It would be the right thing to do.

Though, according to her own word, we aren't friends. Far from it, actually. And acting within my nature as the despicable and detestable earthworm she claims me to be, I chose to dig further.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" I answered with faux curiosity. "I'm afraid I can't hear you with all of this noise in the cafeteria."

She glowered at me. Considering that there were roughly twelve other people in the cafeteria, all of whom were seated considerably far from us, she caught on to my ruse rather quickly.

Regardless, I found myself grinning devilishly—on the inside, at least. I couldn't give myself away that easily. The Ice Bitch's day had finally come, and what kind of person would I be if I were to let this chance pass me by?

"I mean, you don't have to tell me," I gestured with an understanding air. "I wouldn't dare to make the princess of Sobu High flustered or shy. As a fellow clubmate, it's my job to ensure your—"

"Cease your posturing. I'll tell you, if only you'll stop rambling as if you care." Her face conveyed that she wasn't too thrilled with what I was pulling. It was an image I would treasure for the rest of my life. "My class is doing a..." she had to force the words from her mouth. "... dine-in."

My disappointment was palpable. That was it? Seriously? If I were to assume her class's theme based on how uncomfortable she was, I would guessed that she was running a strip club in her class. She was up in arms about a dine-in?

"What's so bad about a dine-in?" I wasn't against the decision, in all honesty, though I did question how a diner was in any way related to Japanese culture.

"It's not the dine-in itself, fool," Yukinoshita made to clarify. "It's the theme we chose. I tried everything I could to sway my classmates, but they weren't budging on it. They decided to make the idea more bold than previous renditions."

"And that means...?"

Yukinoshita sighed. "Our theme is a speed-date dine-in."

Yikes. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for her. No one should have to suffer through something as trite and ridiculous as speed dating, even if they're my mortal enemy. Though, I do know of some people that could benefit from that kind of frivolous nonsense in their love life. Maybe Hiratsuka shouldn't have left as early as she did.

"How does that even work?" I asked. After receiving another dirty look from her, I made to clarify. "I'm just curious. I have no intentions of going. I promise."

Apparently good enough of a reason, Yukinoshita made to elaborate, albeit reluctantly. "We set up desks in pairs of two around the room. Taking a select handful of students wishing to participate, we seat them and give them two or so minutes to converse with the person opposite of them. When time runs out, the students on the right side of each desk move over one spot to the next desk with a different student. This process is repeated five times, until the next batch of students are seated."

I nodded, somewhat attentive. It at least sounded like a functional idea. Horribly immoral, but functional nonetheless.

"And what's your role in all of this?"

"My role was to design and procure brochures and pamphlets for our class, so thankfully, my role has already been filled," she sounded relieved. "Unfortunately, I am still required to be physically present for the actual demonstration, so it seems as though I'll be reading in the corner of the classroom for an hour or so."

I actually understood the idea of keeping Yukinoshita present for the showing, at least from a marketing standpoint. She was a valuable asset, and (as loathe as I was to admit such a thing) an attractive piece of eye candy for simpletons willing to actually participate in such an affair. Her face alone could probably draw a good amount of people for her class's showing.

Of course, I was keenly aware of how much of an actual demon that Yukinoshita was, thus I was immune to her multitude of tricks. To this day, I was baffled by the sheer amount of people that were obsessed with this conniving woman. What kind of fetish does she represent for you degenerates?

"And how does the dine-in aspect work into all of this?"

Even she didn't seem to have a solid answer for that question. "Someone in my class can apparently make cheap snacks rather quickly. We're supposed to give those out before we seat our 'guests'. Though, I've yet to see this individual actually cook any food."

I narrowed my eyes in disbelief. "Seriously?"

Yukinoshita seemed just as irritated. "Quite serious."

For as much as I ragged about how dumb of an idea my class's idea was, the sheer idiocy of Yukinoshita's class had blown my own out of the water. At the very least, my class had a good idea that had effort put into it. Satiating horny teenagers and throwing in low quality "snacks" to justify the concept was downright embarrassing. The fact that Yukinoshita's class is full of minds that are supposed to be on par with her own—which is apparently equivalent to that of a pseudo-genius—and still managed to concoct this scheme is almost criminal. How are smart kids that dumb?

Still, I had to relax a little. Despite all the commentary I had made on her predicament, Yukinoshita's dumb festival idea wasn't any skin off of my back. I could only fake being sympathetic and caring for so long.

"Wow, I'm sorry to hear that," checking the watch we both realized I didn't have, I made to leave. "Well, it's been a pleasure, but I really must be going."

She cocked an eyebrow. "And just where are you needed so urgently?"

"My classroom," I lied on the spot. "Last minute preparations and such."

Though she seemed to know I was lying, as she had in times past, she didn't seem to have a concrete reason to keep me any longer than she already had. "Very well then. Good luck with your little dance party."

I scoffed audibly. "Have fun with your public orgy."

She allowed herself a small smile. "Touché."

Seeing as that was as nice a farewell I would receive, I parted with a small wave. She shot me that miniscule smile she always had whenever we greeted or adjourned ourselves from the others' presence. It was an unwritten understanding between us, our own dynamic—that despite the harsh words we would sling at one another, we still found it within us to care for each other.

Were we friends? I didn't know if I could answer that. Perhaps she couldn't, either. Observation from a third party hadn't yielded us an answer, and I doubted it ever would. We were two complex beings, with complex minds and complex ideologies to match. We were made to oppose each other, in the worst and best of ways. The fact that an odd sort of kinship came of that fact, rather than burning animosity, was just dumb luck.

Perhaps in another life, reality, or whatever multiverse theory you believe in, things could have been different between us. Such an idea scared the wits out of me, so I preferred not to linger on the idea. But the mere thought of upsetting the balance we both had so carefully constructed within our dynamic seemed to go against our own natures as complex creatures of logic. And while I never thought in depth about it, the obvious potential for something more had always been there. I had just ignored it.

But in the end, it was just that. Potential. And as all untapped potential did, it would stagnate, before eventually withering away into the vast abyss that was the nothingness of human emotion and retrospect. Such was the cycle that would come to pass for monsters of logic such as myself.

I traveled upwards through the staircase, with no obvious destination in mind. Even despite my inner preachings, I allowed my own thoughts to linger within my conscience. This is a problem with reserving everything within the limits of your own being—the many abstract ideas and conceptualizations you may have fester and manifest into a maelstrom of personal torment. One is forced to realize the repercussions and consequences of their actions almost constantly, and for those such as myself, those actions stick with you and interject themselves into your rationale near always.

But I'm making it sound more poetic than it really is. In reality, it's simply facing the truth of responsibility that comes with growing up. I make decisions that affect me personally, and as such, I live with the choices I make. Everyone does it—I just choose to dwell on them longer than most people. Thinking about the near innumerable "what-ifs" concerning Yukinoshita only reaffirms my character, and reminds me that I'm me.

I said it myself before I started my little odyssey with Kawasaki, didn't I? "My ability to think for myself is my gift from God." Despite my false bravado, my decisions lately have me questioning whether God's gift might have been more of a curse.

I reached the top step of the flight of stairs, and lost in thought, I tripped over myself and fell unceremoniously on the solid marble. Despite the obvious pain I felt, the barely audible snickering from the people around me hurt more.

Regardless of how much I question my past decisions, I should have never made the decision to come to this damn cultural festival in the first place.

Alas, my procrastination and leisure could only save me for so long.

I made every effort to reject my duties, of course. There were more than a few instances where I felt it appropriate to leave school grounds and journey home. The more I lingered within the damnable halls of this accursed school, the more I felt my sanity and desire to participate escape me—not to imply that there was an abundance of desire within me to begin with.

The one positive was that I was able to avoid contact with most all of my other acquaintances once I escaped from Yukinoshita's clutches. Though, that seemed more akin to something of a convenience, and as I slowly waltzed my way ever closer to my classroom, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

By some insane stroke of luck (or misfortune), our classroom had garnered a massive crowd. The line outside of our class extended far throughout a majority of the hallway. First years and third years alike seemed to have flocked to our class for a chance to participate. Hell, most of them had dressed for the occasion too. Some of these dresses looked more appropriate at a royal coronation rather than a school dance.

To put it simply, I was dumbfounded. How did this get so popular so quickly? Kawasaki's advertisements were good, but certainly not professional and persuasive enough to attract this level of a mob. I had elucidated my doubts about high school students on multiple occasions, but were they that depraved of excitement and fulfillment that they'd stoop themselves to going all out for a dance at a cultural festival? Was I—heavens forbid—not cynical enough when considering the foolhardy nature of hormonal high school students?

I continued to think as the decorated entrance of my classroom entered my peripheral. No, this whole thing reeked of foul play. There had to have been an outside force at play here. There just had to be. It was the only plausible explanation. The only thing that made any of this madness feel practical.

Of course, upon reaching the entrance, Tobe, who for whatever reason was stationed directly outside the sliding doors in what looked to be his best bouncer impression, spotted me near instantly and slapped a hearty hand on my shoulder. I was quickly reminded that there was no practicality in madness.

"Hikitani! You made it, my man! Thought you might have bailed on us for a second!"

"Wouldn't dream of it... man," I spoke with as much gusto as I could muster, which meant none. Why was this idiot so compelled towards me? At the very least, his insufferability seemed to have been toned down for the occasion.

The pitiable dunce gave me an obvious look-over with what looked to be approval. "You look pretty good, Hikitani! A ton better than you normally do, at least!"

My eye twitched. Never mind, he was still insufferable.

Before I could even think of a possible retort, however, the door slid opened, revealed a well-manicured hand. A flash of blonde gave away the interjector's identity away instantly.

"Tobe! I thought we told you to clean the tabl—oh, Hikio," Miura seemed surprised to see me. Did she too forget that I attended this school? "You're here."

"Doesn't he look nice?" Tobe said, in what looked to be a weak (but surprisingly clever, at least for him) attempt to shirk off the job given to him by Miura. Were Miura as dumb as he thought she was, perhaps it might have worked.

"We told you to clean the tables half an hour ago. The table you ate your lunch at still has bits of salad dressing on it. Are you trying to make us look bad?"

Grinning nervously now, Tobe succumbed to the lioness' will—say what you will about her personality, but Miura knew how to get what she wanted. "Ah... haha! Yeah, I'll get on that! Just wanted to have a little chat with Hikigaya!

Angling around the popular girl sheepishly, Tobe left, taking with him that irredeemably stupid and crass personality with hi—

Wait.

He got my name right.

He said it perfectly. Without any hint of mispronunciation or stuttering. It was so casual and fleeting that I almost missed it. What the hell? Has he always known my name? Why does he even bother calling me Hikitani if he knows my actual name?

Has Tobe been toying with me all this time, and made me out to be the fool instead?

Suddenly, I was pissed. Enraged. Infuriated. Whatever other adjective you could use to describe how livid I was. Very rarely was I made a fool out of—Yukinoshita and Hiratsuka were the only two to ever achieve such a feat. Those two had an unfair advantage over me, however; they were women, and thus had a leg up on me in terms of privilege and stature. I was doomed to be held at the whims of females since my conception, as all men were. So, in reality, no one normal had ever made a fool out of me. Ever.

The very thought that Tobe—renowned village idiot Tobe—had outsmarted me was enough to drive my rationale off a cliff.

I made to confront him. I stormed past Miura, who seemed to be motioning for me to come into the classroom anyways. "Let's get you inside, Hikio. People will think that we've opened if you keep—hey, where are you going?"

I didn't hear the rest of what she had to say. I was so focused on Tobe right now (just thinking that sentence sounded unnatural in my head) that I couldn't think straight. Yes, it was stupid, and petty, and pretty silly of me to get so worked up over what he did and didn't call me, but could you blame me? I had been at this school for nearly the entire day, I was at my wit's end. I was sick of everyone here, and frankly, I wanted to go home. It was obvious that I wasn't thinking straight.

Fortunately, clarity returned when I saw a long silver ponytail.

She was stunning. In every sense of the word. It was odd to hear myself think that, but in those few instances, I seriously couldn't think of anything else to describe her. Her ponytail was the same as it always was—in that it was long—but it looked different. It was a tad lower on her head than it normally was, and was substantially sleeker, and straighter. I was tempted to call it shinier, but I felt that would have been too weird.

Strangely enough, I wasn't all that focused on her actual wardrobe—a beautifully modest navy dress that fluttered daintily over her partially exposed shoulders and ended a few inches below her kneecaps— but rather, my eyes were drawn to the expression she held. She stood apart from everyone else, independent as she ever was, but rather than the disinterested scowl she normally wore, she seemed at peace. Comfortable, despite all the chaos surrounding her. She looked, dare I say it, content.

Oddly enough, a feeling I would later deduce as the faint, fleeting feeling of comfort brushed its elusive fingers over my own heartstrings.

I could feel myself losing to these feelings of... something or other (Respect? Affection? Amity?), thus I made to quell my racing heart. I appealed to the more logical side of me I knew still existed. At the end of the day, under all that glamour and serenity that seemed to surround her like the very air she breathed, she was still Kawasaki Saki. Sobu High's biggest delinquent girl. An Ice Queen well within her own right. No amount of hairstyling or perfume or perfectly-applied-but-wonderfully-subtle makeup could change that fact.

It didn't matter that we'd gotten closer over the past few months. Or that she was actually a really sweet and hardworking girl under that rebellious exterior she gave off. Kawasaki Saki was still the same girl she'd always been.

Right?

Then, like moths to a flame, her eyes found and latched onto my own. Time seemed to stop. She looked as surprised as I assumed I looked, judging by the way her lips parted ever so slightly. I felt that uneasy but warm feeling I felt on so many occasions return in a flash, though unlike the times before, I had neither the will nor the way to fight it. She took a subtle step back in her heels, and in a moment that felt privy to only the two of us, we gazed upon each other, sealed within a silent flurry of intimacy and unexplored emotions.

For the first time in a long time, I, Hikigaya Hachiman, didn't know what to do.

Tobe sensed this, and in true Tobe fashion, used his mouth before his brain.

"Hey Hikitani, your girlfriend looks pretty good, too!"

Bold of you to assume I had given up on this story.

Yes, I'm aware of how long this chapter took. I actually had the outline for this finished way earlier (around March/April), but the actual writing process was just a pain. There was also an instance in which I lost the entirety of my data and notes for this story, but I won't get into that.

It has come to my attention that this story has, by some stroke of luck, hit 300+ favs and follows. What's wrong with you all? Why do you love this garbage? There are stories within this community that feature Hachiman fighting cancer, stopping crime, and getting laid by Yanderes, and you chose to read a story where Hachiman tries to bone a character with less than 24 minutes of combined screentime? Do you have nothing better to do?

But in all seriousness, thanks. You make the months (yes, months) of planning and writing this silly story of mine worth it. Your support means the world to me, and seeing so many people favorite and follow the story literally months since the last update makes all of this feel worthwhile. Seriously, you guys rock.

The next update will be... sometime. I'll likely finish the outline in a few days, and after that, who knows where the actual writing process will take me. You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?

If you're new (or old), don't forget to Fav, Follow, Review, all that jazz. At this point, it doesn't make the process any faster, but it makes me feel good.

I'll see you all again soon.

~Slalem