The bell rang, a shrill, merciless sound that signaled the end of first period. Immediately, the hallways flooded with students, a chaotic river of bodies and chatter flowing in every direction like ants from a kicked nest.
And Arien was pissed.
Arien: AAAAA where the hell did this guy go? Maybe he went home. But—
She'd spent the entire period after SR class turning the whole damn academy upside down looking for Shiro. It wasn't out of fondness, but a burning, desperate need to apologize for the whole thinking he was a girl misunderstanding. The guilt was eating her alive, and he had just... vanished.
Meanwhile, in a dusty, disused classroom on the third floor that was definitely not an official nap zone, Shiro slept like the dead, his breathing deep and even, his face smushed against a desk that hadn't seen a student in years.
RRRRIIINNNGGG!
The interval bell for the next class was like a physical shockwave. It jolted him awake, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Shiro: Five... more... minutes... he mumbled, swatting weakly at the air as if he could shoo the sound away.
Then—
GRRRRRRRR
His stomach roared, a deep, guttural sound that spoke of profound emptiness. It was the battle cry of a starved beast, more effective than any alarm bell.
Shiro: Fine! I'm going!
He stumbled out of the classroom, bleary-eyed and disoriented, and immediately turned left—the exact opposite direction of the canteen.
Arien, scanning the crowds desperately, spotted a familiar head of now-short white hair bobbing through the throng. A surge of adrenaline-fueled relief and fury shot through her. She sprinted, weaving through students with a determination that made a few upperclassmen stare.
Arien: Oh... There... you... are, she gasped, skidding to a halt in front of him, hands on her knees as she fought for breath. Her face was flushed a bright red from the effort. I... was... looking... everywhere... for you!
Shiro: Me? he asked, genuinely perplexed. Why?
Arien: Why?! You're asking why?! You clearly ditched me after class! And I wanted to say sorry!
Shiro: Mmm... I'm sorry too, he said, his brain still booting up. But why are you sorry?
Arien's eye twitched. She angrily punched him softly on the arm, a gesture that was more frustration than violence.
Arien: You... don't need to know that!
Shiro (thinking): No, I definitely need to know that.
Arien: So where are you going? And where were you all this time? You didn't go to any classes after 1st period!
Shiro: I'm hungry, so I'm going to eat something. It was the most obvious statement in the world to him.
Arien: And...? she prompted, expecting more.
Shiro: And what?
Arien: Where. Were. You? she pressed, her voice tight.
Shiro: Sleeping.
Arien: You were sleeping in the middle of the day?! That's why you didn't come to any other classes?! Where were you sleeping, huh?!
Shiro (annoyed): Why should I tell you? I'm leaving.Bye.
He started walking in a random direction, his hunger a compass pointing toward nowhere in particular.
Shiro: See ya tomorrow... if I get lucky.
Arien (confused, pointing the right way): Uh... the canteen's this way, Genius!
Shiro, clueless, bowed his head a little in a gesture of thanks and shuffled in the direction she pointed.
Arien: What's the rush? I'm hungry too. Let's go.
She fell into step beside him as if they'd been friends for years, acting like his keeper. Shiro was usually the type to voice his displeasure loudly and clearly if he didn't like something. But even though he wasn't crazy about being attached to this human whirlwind, he found he didn't mind the company. A faint, soft smile touched his lips.
Shiro: Okay.
At the Canteen
The smell of fried food, stew, and fresh bread hit them like a physical wall as they pushed through the heavy double doors. The canteen was a microcosm of the academy's social structure, brutally clear in its divisions.
To the right: The Noble Line. Plush velvet ropes, students lounging in high-backed chairs, being served on silver trays by silent attendants who fanned them. It was a display of effortless privilege.
To the left: The Peasant Line. A single, sad-looking rope on two stands and the constant, palpable fear of the food running out before you reached the front.
Shiro shuffled without hesitation into the peasant line. When Arien joined him, he gave her a long, sideways look, a flicker of surprise in his blue eyes.
Shiro: You're... not noble?
Arien: Do I look like I bathe in gold to you? she retorted, a slight defensive edge to her voice.
Their arrival didn't go unnoticed. Nearby whispers exploded like a flock of startled birds.
Student 1: That's the guy who fought Lucien!
Student 2: No way. This twig? He looks like he'd faint if you sneezed on him.
Shiro ignored them all. His entire world had narrowed to a single point: the last meat bun sitting in the steam tray. It was perfect. Golden-brown, glazed with a shiny sauce, little tendrils of steam rising from it like it was calling his name, begging to be eaten.
His meat bun.
Then—
A shadow fell over him, blocking the light. The air around them grew still.
???: Shiro Asahina? If I'm right.
The voice was smooth. Calm. It was the kind of voice that didn't need to be loud to command attention, the kind that made palace guards snap to attention.
Shiro turned slowly. A tall, older student stood there, his posture radiating a lazy confidence that felt more dangerous than outright aggression.
Shiro: Mmm..... Yes. Who might you be?
???: I thought I was popular around here, the upperclassman said with a faint, amused smirk. But if you don't know me, don't think about it. Can I talk to you in private?
Other students nearby started to mumble, their eyes wide.
Student 1: Oi, is.. Is that—
Student 2: Yes, it's him. Rowan Ashford. But why is he here? And what could he possibly want with Shiro Asahina?
And Shiro's answer was silence. ........
He was weighing his options. The man was clearly trouble. But trouble was a lot of effort.
Ashford: Oh, don't worry. It will only take about five minutes.
But the real reason for Shiro's hesitation was unfolding behind him. As Ashford spoke, the lunch lady, with brutal, unthinking efficiency, used her tongs to pick up the last, perfect meat bun—his meat bun—and plop it onto the tray of some random, gangly student with terrible posture.
For Shiro, time stopped.
He watched in abject horror as his beautiful meat bun, his reason for living, his light at the end of the tunnel, was handed away to some unworthy nobody. The student, oblivious to the cosmic crime being committed, took a massive, crunching bite.
CRUNCH.
The sound echoed in the silent, hollowed-out cavern of Shiro's soul.
A single, crystalline tear of pure, unadulterated grief rolled down his cheek.
Shiro: Goodbye... my love...
His hands shook. That meat bun had been HIS. That glorious, perfect, steamy—
Arien (elbowing him sharply): Hey! Snap out of it!
Shiro blinked, the world crashing back in. He looked from Arien's concerned face to Ashford's patiently waiting one. With all hope for his lunch utterly extinguished, his will to resist any other nuisance died with it. His voice was flat, devoid of all emotion, a dead thing.
Shiro: ...Take me away.
As he was led off by the smirking Ashford, Arien could only stare, her own hunger forgotten.
Arien: Why is Shiro so important? What the hell happened on the exam day? I need to know toooo...