The chatter in the classroom was hitting that pre-class "maximum noise" setting when a crisp, almost crystal-clear voice sliced through it like a perfectly sharpened paper cutter.

"Everyone, please return to your seats. I have an announcement to make."

Standing at the podium was none other than Mizutani Yuki, our class rep. Short, neatly-trimmed hair, thick glasses, posture so straight she could probably balance a ruler on her head. Rumor says she's been sitting on the top spot of the grade rankings for over a year now. In other words—the kind of girl who reads textbooks like bedtime stories.

To be honest, since I transferred here, my mental file on her is pretty much empty except for the "genius honor student" label.

The few guys crowding around me earlier scurried back to their seats, their faces screaming "We've been caught."

"As you all know," Mizutani continued, adjusting her glasses with the kind of precision that could cut glass, "the annual school festival is coming up. I will be serving as the executive committee representative for our class."

Ah, the school festival. That one week where the entire campus transforms into a mash-up of a theme park, a street market, and a fever dream.

"As for our class's booth concept, if you have any good proposals, please let me know as soon as possible. And—" She paused, her gaze narrowing like a sniper scope, "please refrain from… questionable suggestions such as 'Wet T-Shirt Contest' or 'Maid Café' like last year. They will not be approved."

Her eyes locked on Okamoto Ryuichi.

Oh. So that was him. A tragic hero in the war of bad ideas.

After her announcement, Mizutani stepped down from the podium. But instead of returning to her desk, she made a beeline straight toward… me?

"Ginjo-san," she said, stopping at my desk in the very last row. "Do you have any proposals for the festival?"

Whoa—this was the first time our Class Rep had ever initiated a one-on-one with me. I straightened in my seat.

"Eh? Not really. Nothing comes to mind at the moment…"

"You're quite popular in school," she pressed on, completely ignoring my evasive tone. "If you came up with something, our class would probably have a higher chance of winning the competition."

She tilted her head slightly, and there was this faint calculating gleam behind her glasses.

"You're from Hokkaido, right? Any regional specialties we could incorporate into a booth?"

Ah. So that's it.

She wanted to use my brand name.

Being handsome is exhausting.

Hokkaido specialties, huh?

…Does the "God of War of Hokkaido" count?

No, bad. That's clearly Ryuichi-level thinking.

"Ahem… hometown specialties… I'll think about it tonight and get back to you, Mizutani-san."

"Alright. I'll be counting on you then, Ginjo-san."

With that, she returned to her seat. The bell rang, and class began.

Since my finger's still wrapped in a binder, not writing in class felt… justifiable. Instead, I leaned back and stared out the window, my brain drifting.

The school festival was apparently the big event for university students here. And Mizutani's request… well, refusing wasn't really an option now.

Trouble is, I've never been the "proposal guy." My past festival involvement amounted to hammering nails into plywood.

That's when a name floated into my head.

Kobayakawa Kana.

She's from Hokkaido too, and knowing her, she's probably done a ton of festivals. Might be worth messaging her on LINE tonight.

For now, though, I'd just endure the slow crawl of lectures.

By lunch break, I was heading up to the rooftop with the guys when—

"Ginjo-san, please wait a moment."

I froze. That voice. That precise, almost soothing tone.

The guys all gave me that "You lucky bastard" look, tossed in some quick-fire teasing, and left me behind.

I turned around—

White blouse, navy skirt, silver hair in a neat bun, frameless glasses catching the light. Shiraishi Lisa-senpai.

If her swimsuit version is the poster girl for sporty vitality, then this uniform version is the distilled essence of refined youth. The one thing that stays consistent between the two is the… umm… gravity-defying, perfectly-proportioned figure. Honestly, every time I see it, I have to wonder if reality's physics engine is malfunctioning.

"How's your finger now, Ginjo-san?" she asked, her voice tinged with genuine concern.

"As expected of Shiraishi-senpai, remembering… It's much better. Barely hurts now, just a little inconvenient with the binder." I flexed it for demonstration.

"That's good. Did you take your medicine on time?"

She stepped closer and—without hesitation—took my injured hand, turning it gently as her cool fingers brushed my skin.

"When I left yesterday, I ran into your apartment manager. I asked her to take care of you. She seemed like such a gentle woman."

"Matsumoto-san? Yeah… she's been great. Even… treated me yesterday."

Though 'treatment' might have a slightly broader definition in my mind now…

"That's a relief," she smiled softly. "I can tell the others you're fine. When I got back yesterday, my LINE was flooded with messages from my teammates. They were all worried. If you couldn't train anymore, they'd be heartbroken."

Hearing that made something warm stir in my chest. I really was starting to feel like part of the club.

"Please tell everyone thanks for me. I'll still come to Sunday's training, even if I'm just standing by to cheer."

"Thank you, Ginjo-san. But… training will be paused this week for the festival. Preparations are taking priority."

"Oh, right. Mizutani mentioned that this morning. Will Senpai be busy too?"

"Of course. The student council handles the entire festival's organization. It's our top priority right now."

Then she added with a faint chuckle, "But on the day itself, it'll be calmer. I'll just wander around like a normal visitor. I'll definitely stop by your class's booth."

And with that, she gave a graceful nod and turned away.

A "normal visitor," huh?

In my mind, "visitor" instantly translated to "wearing a kimono." And… yeah. My imagination immediately went there.