Honestly, cultural festivals are scams.
Whoever decided teenagers should build decorations, move furniture, cook for strangers, and still pass exams… I hope they're happy. I'm running on convenience‑store energy drinks and spite.
I was still exhausted from the tour. Yeah, the kind of tired where your bones feel heavy.
And on top of all this festival chaos, I still had one more problem to deal with. A certain unbelievably annoying boy who somehow managed to make me question my own judgment every five minutes.
"...Shiba-kun! Stop standing around and help with the tables already!"
"I am helping," he replied, leaning against the wall like a depressed houseplant.
"That's not helping!"
"It's moral support for the people actually working."
I stared at him.
He stared back.
He wasn't joking.
I swear, sometimes that guy exists just to annoy me.
Before I could even open my mouth, Yamashita-san looked up from the decorations she was hanging and shot Shiba-kun a quiet look.
She let out a small sigh, smoothing out one of the paper banners before speaking.
"...Shiba-kun, if you're done supervising from the wall, could you please help us a little?"
He sighed dramatically, pushed himself off the wall, and grabbed one side of the folding table.
"...Fine."
He muttered something under his breath as he picked up the tables.
"...I hate my life. I hope I get isekai'd as a fly or something."
Yamashita-san and I looked at each other.
She simply blinked.
I clicked my tongue.
Honestly...
What kind of person even says something like that?
Seriously.
Why is he like this?
In the end, though, even Shiba-kun gave up arguing and actually started helping.
For a moment, I caught myself watching him carry chairs around. It was honestly ridiculous.
This was the same guy who had somehow managed to fly all the way to South Korea, record a song with Daeun, film a music video, and come back acting like nothing happened.
And yet carrying a few tables for the class apparently counted as cruel and unusual punishment.
...I had listened to the song. It was... good.
I quickly looked away before he could catch me staring.
Anyway.
Before long, the entire class had settled into rhythm, everyone running around with a job to do and pretending they weren't completely exhausted.
The whole class had decided on a maid café this year. Apparently it was "traditional."
Personally, I think it's just an excuse to make the girls do all the work while the boys had to carry one chair and act like they built the school.
Yamashita-san and Inazuki-san were hanging decorations. A few others were working on the menu. Meanwhile, Shiba‑kun looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Serves him right. He skipped half the planning meetings.
"...Oi, Suzuki."
I looked over.
"What?"
"You put the ribbon backwards."
I blinked.
Looked down.
...It was backwards.
Before I could say anything, he reached over and fixed it in two seconds.
"There."
"...Thanks."
"You're welcome, Princess."
"...I'm not a princess."
The idiot actually laughed.
Ugh.
I turned away before he noticed my face getting warm.
Anyway.
At least I wasn't Kurumi. I still had no idea where she disappeared to after the concert. She came back looking drained, barely talked, stared out the bus window the whole ride. I wanted to ask if she was okay, but… she'd probably just brush me off...
"Aikaaaa," Kokoro-chan called, holding up one of the maid uniforms. "It's your turn."
I stared at the outfit.
Then at the class.
Then at Shiba-kun, who had the nerve to smirk.
"...If any of you laugh," I said slowly, "I'm actually going to kill somebody."
Shiba-kun raised a hand.
"I haven't said anything yet."
"You were thinking it."
"Totally was."
God.
This class is going to kill me.
And now I had to wear a maid outfit. Me and every other girl in class.
Whose stupid idea was this again?
Inazuki-san looked completely at home in it, like she'd walked straight out of a fashion magazine. Honestly, it fit her gyaru vibe way too well.
Yamashita-san, meanwhile, looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. She kept clutching the hem of her skirt and avoiding eye contact with everyone.
Minami-san, Nakamura-san, Shinozaki-san, Kokoro-chan... Everyone looked really good.
And then there was me.
Running on Red Bull, covering the dark circles under my eyes with enough makeup to fool people into thinking I actually slept.
The moment we stepped out, a few of the boys froze.
"...Whoa," Kenta-kun blurted out, eyes going wide. "You guys look amazing."
Mori-kun immediately smacked him on the shoulder.
"Don't say it like that, idiot. They're trying to run a café, not audition for your weird fantasies."
"Huh? What? I was just giving a compliment!" Kenta-kun protested, throwing his hands up. "Am I not allowed to appreciate beauty anymore?"
"You make it sound creepy."
"I wasn't!"
"You were."
The two of them kept bickering while the rest of the class laughed.
...
I glanced toward Shiba-kun.
He looked over for maybe half a second.
"Hm."
That was it.
A tiny nod.
Then he looked back out the window like the clouds were somehow more interesting.
...What the hell was that supposed to mean?
It's not like I wanted some big reaction from him.
...Still.
A simple "you look nice" wouldn't have killed him.
Then, he looked back at us.
"You look nice, Suzuki," he said, completely flat, like he was commenting on the weather. His eyes shifted for a second. "You too, Yamashita."
"...Thanks," I mumbled before I could stop myself, immediately looking away.
Why was I even getting embarrassed?
"Thank you, Shiba-kun," Yamashita-san replied with her usual gentle smile.
For some reason, that annoyed me a little.
I glared at her.
She glared back at me.
...What?
Before I could think about it, Shiba-kun's eyes drifted toward Inazuki-san.
Just for a second.
Then he looked away again, like seeing her physically hurt.
"Tch..."
Inazuki-san clicked her tongue and turned her head.
I blinked.
...Wasn't Inazuki-san always hanging around Shiba-kun lately?
She'd been talking to him all the time these past few weeks. Defending him in class, following him on breaks, when she thinks no one's watching. And now they couldn't even look at each other...
Yeah, something definitely happened.
I might look into it. Not because I care or anything, don't get me wrong, it's just weird.
Weird makes good tea.
And honestly, it's easier hanging around him when Inazuki-san or Yamashita-san aren't glued to his side.
I mean, I'm his first friend anyway.
…Wait.
Why was I even thinking about that?
I shook my head and slapped both cheeks lightly.
Focus, Aika.
There were far more important things to worry about than whatever weird social habits Shiba‑kun had. Like the fact that our class had somehow become one of the most popular attractions at the entire festival.
The maid café was packed.
Completely packed.
The line outside the classroom had been growing since opening hour, and every time it looked like it was finally shrinking, another group of students or parents would show up. Honestly, it was terrifying.
I stood behind the counter, taking orders and handling reservations while trying not to drown in paperwork.
"Two omurice sets."
"Table six."
"One parfait."
"Three coffees."
My entire existence had been reduced to writing things down and hoping my brain didn't short‑circuit.
Not exactly the glamorous cultural festival experience I imagined.
Still… it was working.
The decorations looked surprisingly decent. The food wasn't poisoning anyone. The customers seemed happy. Even Kenta‑kun had managed to behave for more than 30 minutes — a small miracle.
The classroom buzzed with conversation, laughter and the usual clattering of dishes. The smell of coffee and warm food filled the air while students rushed between tables carrying trays.
Every now and then, I'd catch glimpses of everyone working.
Inazuki‑san was thriving — obviously. She somehow convinced customers to order extra just by smiling at them.
Yamashita‑san was doing her best, even though she looked like she wanted to apologize every time someone complimented her.
The boys were handling kitchen duty surprisingly well.
Well… most of them.
Shiba‑kun still looked like a hostage being forced to participate in society against his will.
Some things never changed.
But as much as I hated admitting it, the café was a success.
A genuine success.
And after weeks of planning meetings, arguments, decorations, and everyone complaining about the workload, seeing the classroom packed with customers felt…
Nice.
A little exhausting.
But nice.
I glanced toward the kitchen window again — just to check if Shiba‑kun was still there and not hiding somewhere...
He was there. Good.
…Why did that make me feel relieved?
Whatever.
I had work to do.
Before I knew it, the day had flown by.
The maid café ended up being a ridiculous success.
Every time we thought the rush was finally slowing down, another group would walk through the door. Parents, students from other years, alumni, random people from the neighborhood—it felt like the entire city had collectively decided they wanted overpriced omurice and mediocre coffee.
Not that I was complaining.
Well.
Maybe a little.
My feet hurt.
My back hurt.
I was pretty sure I had consumed enough caffeine to medically qualify as an energy drink.
But despite all the chaos, it worked.
Nobody set the classroom on fire or poisoned the customers. The decorations stayed attached to the walls.
And by the end of the afternoon, we'd made more money than anyone expected.
The whole class was exhausted, but there was a weird sense of accomplishment hanging in the air while we cleaned up.
Even Shiba-kun had stopped complaining.
Mostly.
"...I'm never working in customer service," he muttered while carrying a stack of chairs.
"Nobody was planning to hire you," I shot back.
"I worked as a bartender, remember?," he said, clicking his tongue. "At the bar, though, I got paid to deal with people. Here I'm doing it for free, so, sorry for lacking motivation."
I sighed.
A heavier one.
Why am I even getting on his case? He kinda has a point.
"...You know," I said, rubbing at my temple, "you could just say you're tired like a normal person."
"I am tired."
"Then say that."
"I prefer complaining."
"...Of course you do."
At this point, I was too exhausted to argue with him properly.
The final customers eventually left, the tables were folded away, and everyone slowly started relaxing now that the hard part was over.
Then the announcement came through the school speakers.
"Attention students and guests. The cultural festival's final special stage performance will begin in fifteen minutes at the main outdoor stage."
The classroom immediately erupted.
"Let's go!"
"I heard they got some famous performer!"
"No way, seriously?"
"Better than cleaning!"
A lot of people started heading for the door almost immediately.
Even I was curious.
A special performance wasn't exactly a normal part of the festival.
As everyone gathered their things, my eyes drifted around the classroom.
Then I frowned.
...Wait.
Where was Shiba-kun?
I hadn't seen him for a while.
Not during cleanup, not during the last rush and not now. Which was strange.
Because for once he'd actually been helping.
I scanned the room again... There was no sign of him anywhere.
I clicked my tongue.
That idiot better not have disappeared before helping finish everything.
"...Suzuki-san?"
I turned around.
Yamashita-san was standing by the door, coat already in hand.
"Everyone's heading over," she said with a small smile. "Apparently the final stage performance is about to start."
"Oh."
Right.
The concert.
Around us, the classroom was already emptying out.
Kenta-kun practically bounced toward the hallway.
"C'mon! It's the last event of the festival!"
Mori-kun adjusted his glasses.
"Anything beats staying here to clean."
"We're still coming back afterward," Yamashita-san reminded him gently.
"Yeah, yeah."
I glanced back into the classroom one last time.
Still no Shiba-kun.
Honestly...
If he really ditched us right before cleanup was finished, I was going to kill him.
"...Fine," I sighed. "Let's go."
And with that, our class joined the stream of students making their way toward the main stage, curious to see who had managed to land the closing act for this year's cultural festival.
When we got there...
The entire courtyard was already packed.
Students. Parents. Teachers. People standing on benches just to get a better view.
And standing under the stage lights, microphone in hand, wearing the black mask he always used for live performances...
Was Forsaken.
No.
Shiba-kun.
"What's good, Matsumoto?!" he shouted into the microphone, earning a roar from the crowd.
"I just got back from Seoul, and I figured I'd stop by my school."
He paused.
"Well. Former school. I don't even study here anymore."
...
Liar.
I slowly turned my head.
Yamashita-san was looking at the stage too.
She noticed me staring.
I noticed her staring.
...
So she knew.
And judging by the way Inazuki-san frowned nearby, arms crossed tightly over her chest...
She knew too.
"...Tch. Show-off," Inazuki-san muttered under her breath.
Meanwhile, Kenta-kun practically lost his mind.
"FORSAKEN!!"
He threw his fist into the air.
"Dude's actually here!!"
Mori-kun adjusted his glasses.
"Interesting."
But I wasn't listening.
I was still staring.
At Shiba-kun.
At the idiot who spent half the day complaining about carrying chairs, who called himself tired, dramatic, and underpaid.
At the idiot who disappeared right before cleanup.
And now...
He was standing in front of hundreds of people like he'd been born there.
...It felt a little unfair.
SIX STAR had ten thousand people at concerts. We had labels, managers, schedules, producers.
And yet, if I asked my agency whether I could perform at my old school's cultural festival, they'd probably send me a three-page document explaining why it was impossible.
Shiba-kun just...
Did it.
I don't know how he did it. What kind of strings he pulled (he definitely pulled some). And yet, there he was...
How annoying.
I folded my arms, then immediately looked away. It's not like I wanted to perform here or anything.
It just...
Would've been nice.
Shiba-kun smiled beneath the mask.
"Anyway," he said.
"Let's go."
The speakers crackled.
Then a melancholic melody poured through the courtyard.
"I think that I'm depressed
This stuff I got inside my chest
It's like a test, I'm dying out west
Like Lil Peep
I wanna rest, driving fast inside my jeep
I detest all this numbness, I can't fucking feel a thing..."
The courtyard went quiet.
The song was… so him. Dramatic, messy, too honest for his own good. Classic Shiba‑kun, spilling his entire soul into a microphone like he didn't know how to hold anything back.
I crossed my arms, watching him. For someone who complained about carrying chairs for ten minutes, he looked annoyingly natural up there. Like falling apart in front of hundreds of people was easier for him than doing basic human tasks.
It irritated me.
And for some reason, I still couldn't look away.
When the last note faded, the crowd hesitated before clapping. He didn't react. He just stepped off the stage like he hadn't just ripped himself open in front of everyone.
I clicked my tongue and looked away.
He's impossible.
Completely impossible.
…And I already knew I'd be thinking about that song later.