"Minano-san, did you notice if someone was by the door just now?" Kuroha Ayumu turned his gaze from the rooftop entrance and asked Minano Hina.

He’d been sitting on the bench’s door-side the whole time, back turned. Minano faced the entrance—which was why he asked. Earlier, while eating, he’d felt a faint prickling on his back. He hadn’t dwelled on it then, but the distant *thump-thump* of someone banging on the door confirmed someone had been there. Just a flicker of curiosity stirred.

"No."

Minano Hina shook her head vigorously like a rattle drum. She was too flustered to admit she’d been watching *him* the entire time—how could she have noticed anything else?

Kuroha wasn’t disappointed. He didn’t dwell on it. Honestly? He couldn’t care less who’d been banging out of boredom. None of his business.

He’d only bought one bento box. Even packed full, portions were modest. Plenty for one person. Slightly tight for two.

"Minano-san, are you full?"

Seeing her finish yet linger with that wistful look, Kuroha suspected she hadn’t eaten her fill.

"Don’t worry, Kuroha-san. I have a small appetite. It’s just… your bento was so delicious. Finishing it left a tiny pang of sadness."

She meant every word. No politeness, no exaggeration. She couldn’t remember the last time a meal felt this joyful.

*If only I could eat Kuroha-kun’s bento forever…*

Sadly, she only dared whisper it in her heart. Too shy to say aloud. Even if she did, he’d likely miss it—or laugh it off as a joke.

Kuroha himself hadn’t eaten enough either. But he wouldn’t say it. Wouldn’t slip off to the convenience store right in front of her. He’d bear it. That was just him: thoughtful, meddlesome. Back in China, Zhang Chufan was called a "pushover," even a "doormat." Reborn as Kuroha Ayumu, that core hadn’t changed. Character forged over years runs too deep for a new body or world to erase.

After packing the bento box, they left the rooftop together. But near the classroom door, Minano halted.

Heading out earlier? Either calling the other would’ve drawn eyes. Returning together? No one would blink. To Kuroha, her pause felt unnecessary.

Still, he said nothing. Pretended not to notice. Stepped into the classroom alone—to let her have her moment.

Only two afternoon classes. Time flew. By day’s end, Kuroha’s biggest takeaway: his new clean-cut haircut drew noticeably more glances—mostly from girls. *Just a haircut, not a face transplant!* He hadn’t expected this effect.

One gaze stood out: Asō Yui’s. Her look always carried hidden weight, a hint of ill intent. Earlier, slipping in through the back door post-lunch, her glance sent a chill down his spine. He was genuinely puzzled. Had he offended her? Why did things suddenly feel… colder?

He shelved Asō Yui for now. Bigger priority: the 6 p.m. Chinese tutoring interview at Mrs. Miyamoto’s. Preparing? He barely needed to. Chinese and Japanese were both native to him now. No language exam—no panic. Only real prep: change out of school uniform. Showing up in it would scream "high school student." Might skip the written test entirely. He wasn’t hiding his age—but first impressions mattered. Years of workplace instinct wouldn’t let him slip on details.

Home by 4:10. Plenty of time. Since he was changing anyway, he took a quick shower. A small gesture of seriousness for his first job interview in this world.

The apartment was modest; the bathroom tiny. Yet a bathtub remained—a quiet nod to Japan’s bathing culture. Kuroha had soaked in it for days. The novelty had faded, but the comfort remained.

Not time for leisure now. Heating bathwater took too long. He rinsed quickly. *Save the real soak for tonight—after good news.*

Back in his room—barely fitting a bed and closet—the only decoration was a poster above the bed: Oguri Shun as Izaki in *Crows Zero*.

Leaning slightly, slicked-back hair damp with sweat, strands falling loose. A confident, unruly smirk playing on his lips—charismatic, infectious.

Made sense. As a former delinquent, Kuroha’d always liked this vibe. Zhang Chufan had loved the film too, back in high school. One rare thread tying past and present selves.

Only regret? No computer. All that tech knowledge—useless. Like a chef without fire, a swordsman without steel. Skill with nowhere to land.

So Kuroha’s top priority was clear: get a computer.