Knock. Knock.
A measured knocking echoed down the quiet hallway of the Advanced Nurturing High School dorms.
Inside Room 401, Kiyotaka Ayanokōji paused mid-sentence in a book, his eyes flickering toward the door. With the same expressionless calm he wore in class, he set the book down and rose to his feet. Each movement was precise—neither hurried nor sluggish, just... efficient.
He opened the door.
Standing in the hallway was a boy who looked to be around the same age. His appearance was neat but unassuming—light pastel-colored hair parted into a gentle comb-over, features symmetrical yet average in a way that made him easy to forget. His school uniform was slightly creased, as though he'd tried to smooth it but gave up halfway. Still, he smiled—wide, genuine, maybe too genuine.
"Hey there! I'm Norihito Watanabe—I just moved into Room 402, so I guess we're neighbors," the boy chirped, a bit too eagerly. His voice held an upbeat cadence that felt rehearsed, like someone trying to practice social etiquette they'd only read about in a guidebook. "Anyway, I thought I'd come introduce myself—and, y'know, offer a little gift."
He extended a small plastic-wrapped package. Milk bread. Two slightly flattened buns, still soft to the touch, from the school's commissary or free in most of the shops in the commercial zone .
Odd choice, Ayanokōji noted silently.
In Japanese custom, housewarming gifts often leaned toward luxury fruits or neatly wrapped confectionery—something symbolic of effort or cost. Milk bread, on the other hand, was cheap, accessible. Either Norihito didn't care for tradition, or he was trying to present himself as casually friendly, humble even.
…Or he was conserving points.
Ayanokōji's face remained impassive. "Thank you," he said politely, accepting the package with both hands, as courtesy dictated.
His tone was mild, almost bland, but not impolite. Just enough warmth to avoid being rude, just enough detachment to keep the conversation from continuing.
He made no move to invite Norihito inside.
Norihito's smile twitched—just slightly—but remained fixed. His eyes squinted into crescent shapes, locked in a cheerful expression. If he noticed the cold reception, he didn't show it. Or maybe he did—but chose to ignore it.
"Well then," Norihito said with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess I'll be seeing you around! Hope we can get along!"
Ayanokōji gave a light nod.
The door clicked shut.
Norihito remained in the hallway for a moment, still smiling, still holding that same practiced posture. His back straight. His hands calmly folded behind him. His breathing didn't change.
It was only after a few seconds that he turned and walked two paces to the next door over—Room 403.
The smile never left his face.
The squint in his eyes never deepened nor dimmed.
He raised his hand and knocked again, just as politely.
Knock. Knock.