* * *
It was none other than his seatmate.
This man, a prankster named Magnus, was a friend who—strangely enough—always walked around with a grin on his face as if everything in the world was hilarious.
“Exactly. That’s why I’m already exhausted. I want to go back to the dorm and lie down right now.”
“But did you do all that tidying up by yourself?”
“Huh?”
“I saw Professor Harold asking Chester to do it earlier. You guys did it together, right?”
“Ah…….”
Ruite scratched his cheek. He could have just told the truth—that they did it together.
They were classmates, after all; who would suspect anything just because they fulfilled a professor’s request together?
But perhaps he was still under the influence of the grand assurance he’d given Chester back at the training hall.
“Chester finished most of it before he left, so I just prepped whatever was left.”
The lie slipped out of his mouth effortlessly.
Even Ruite was surprised by how smoothly it came out.
But maybe this was for the best. Chester would likely hate the idea of Ruite going around telling people they had been stuck together.
Turning his head instinctively, Ruite’s eyes met Chester’s.
Since their seats weren’t that far apart, Chester had undoubtedly overheard the conversation.
Ruite gave a couple of small nods to himself, as if to say, ‘See? I covered for you.’
He didn’t even notice Chester’s brow furrowing.
“By the way, Ruite, you haven’t packed your things at all.”
Magnus pointed to a corner of Ruite’s desk.
Seeing the various textbooks and papers still piled there, he tilted his head in confusion.
“Packing?”
“It’s the new semester. What else would our professor do?”
“Oh, right.”
Ruite had completely forgotten that particular tradition.
No wonder everyone else’s desk was so clean.
With a reluctant hand, Ruite began stacking his belongings.
“It’s been an honor, mate.”
Magnus jokingly wiped away a fake tear and offered a hand for a farewell shake.
Ruite grabbed his friend’s hand firmly in response.
“Whoa, hey now.”
Perhaps it was because Ruite gripped too hard and wouldn’t let go.
Magnus, who had started the joke, began to stutter in surprise.
“Can’t we just stay mates? I think you’re the best seatmate I’ve ever had.”
“What are you talking about? Just the other day you said I was so loud your ears were bleeding.”
“They say you only realize the value of something once you’ve lost it.”
“Did you eat something weird this morning?”
Ignoring Magnus’s look of disgust, Ruite held onto his hand with a gloomy expression.
However, the situation came to an end as Professor Harold entered the room.
“Everyone looks much more dignified now that it’s the new semester. And your expressions are all so bright!”
When Magnus asked if the professor truly believed that, the classroom erupted in laughter.
Professor Harold was a gentle soul; unlike the more stern professors, he often played along with student jokes and maintained a friendly rapport.
“Now, before I give the announcements—Rona, make sure you clear out those flowers you grew on the walls before the lectures end today, okay?”
‘Darn.’
Ruite thought they’d last at least three days, but they didn’t even survive one.
Glancing over, he saw Rona’s eyebrows droop in disappointment.
“And before we start the lecture, shall we do our usual routine?”
With an expectant look, Harold placed a square, red wooden box on the podium.
It gave off a somewhat mystical vibe, but in reality, it was just a simple box with a hole big enough for a hand to reach inside.
Everyone in the class knew exactly what was in there: wooden sticks with numbers on them.
Those numbers corresponded to desk locations.
In short, Harold was about to shuffle the seating chart.
Since the students had been in the same class since their second year, the professors occasionally changed the seating, and Harold did it quite often.
He’d bring out that box at the start of a semester or even at random times during the term.
This was why everyone had cleared their desks. Ruite had clung to Magnus because he didn’t like bothersome events and had no desire for a “better” seat.
Magnus was loud, but things were fine the way they were.
Plus, with random seating, there was always a chance of being paired with Chester—something Chester would absolutely loathe.
“Come up one by one and pick.”
The students in the front row began reaching into the box. Ruite watched them blankly.
Then, thinking that every little bit of help counted, he pressed his hands together in prayer.
‘I don’t care if I get paired with noisy Magnus again, but please, just let me avoid Chester. Chester is probably wishing for the same thing even harder than I am, so couldn’t you grant us this? I’ve avoided him well so far, so please let it happen again,’ he pleaded internally.
“Ruite, what are you praying so hard for?”
Magnus snickered and whispered to him.
“Is there someone you really want to be mates with? Are you aiming for Chester too? I know how you feel.”
“How I feel?”
‘Does he mean the feeling of wanting to avoid him at all costs?’
“Chester is a genius. Top of every class, straight A’s on assignments. I heard if his seatmate asks, he even shares his research materials. I’d love to be paired with him. It’s my first wish of the new semester.”
‘Ah, so that’s what he meant.’
Chester was undeniably popular, so it was natural for everyone to want that.
Even though people knew he was cold, they praised it as “cool.”
But for Ruite, there was zero benefit to being Chester’s seatmate.
Especially since he needed to avoid provoking Chester until the engagement was broken, it was much better to be paired with any other classmate.
“I hope your wish comes true then.”
Ruite nodded and folded his hands again.
Meanwhile, sitting a bit further away, Chester maintained his rigid posture, waiting for his turn.
Since it would take a while, his gaze drifted until it landed on Ruite.
He saw Ruite with his eyes tightly shut, hands pressed together.
Chester’s gaze only pulled away when it was finally his turn.
He stood up slowly and drew a number.
While the rest of the class secretly prayed to be the one sitting next to him, Ruite’s head was filled with entirely different thoughts.
“Ruite, it’s your turn.”
“Ah, okay.”
Finally, the moment arrived. Ruite walked up to the box.
Passing Harold, who was thoroughly enjoying the moment, he slowly reached inside.
There were twenty students in the class.
Excluding himself, the probability of being Chester’s partner was $1/19$.
As he was wondering if those odds were in his favor or not, his eyes locked onto Chester’s.
‘Don’t worry, Chester. I’ll try my best not to pick the seat next to you.’
With a look of grim determination, Ruite grabbed a wooden stick that felt “lucky.”
Once the drawing was over, Harold told everyone to find their seats according to their numbers.
The class instantly became noisy as students packed their bags and started moving.
Ruite saw Chester heading toward the very back of the center row.
Vague whispers drifted through the crowd: “I think Chester’s number is 12.”
Someone else asked, “Then who’s number 11?”
Only then did Ruite look down at the wooden stick he was clutching.
“……”
All around him, friends were cheering as they got paired together.
Even those who jokingly complained about being stuck together again were busy moving.
In the middle of the bustling classroom, Ruite stood frozen.
He held the wooden stick right up to his eyes to double-check the number, then approached Professor Harold, who was waiting at the front.
“Hm? What is it, Ruite?”
“I’m just asking just in case… can the seats…”
“They cannot be changed. No swapping allowed.”
As if he had heard the question a thousand times, Harold wore an even wider smile.
Occasionally, students paired with someone they didn’t get along with would beg for a change, but Harold was always ruthlessly fair.
“Let’s see, Ruite’s number is……”
Harold leaned in to check the stick in Ruite’s hand.
“Ah, 11. Right next to Chester.”
At those words, the classroom fell into a deathly silence.
Those who had been secretly aiming for the spot next to Chester glared at Ruite with fire in their eyes.
Nearby, Magnus joked that Ruite’s prayers must have been answered.
Ruite wanted to scream that it was the exact opposite, but instead, he just ruffled his low-saturation silver hair, packed his bags, and headed toward the seat next to Chester.
* * *
