“Hey, what class are you from?”

The boy who called out was Shirakawa Kento, from Class C. Around him stood nearly twenty girls from the same class—none of them sat down.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Toudou Mizuki, from Class K.”

“Huh… Class K, huh…”

Kento’s gaze cut into him, as if sizing him up.

“I like guys with a good face.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, let’s be friends.”

“O-oh, sure.”

As they spoke, Mizuki glanced at the girls behind Kento.

They were still standing.

“I tried talking to a few other guys, too,” Kento went on, pulling out his wallet.

“Hey, grab me something random, would ya?”

“Yes.”

One of the Class C girls took the wallet and hurried off. Something about this felt… off.

“What were the other boys like?”

“The one in Class A’s no fun—never talks. The Class B guy only cares about girls.”

Then Kento shrugged.

“The one in Class E just slept through everything. Bunch of cold bastards, all of ’em.”

“Guess not many are looking for guy friends.”

“Maybe. Anyway—have you decided on your community service for next week yet?”

“No. I checked at home, but I still don’t really get it.”

“What, were you the type to slack off in middle school?”

“Yeah. Honestly, I barely ever did any.”

Without warning, Kento clapped a heavy hand on Mizuki’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, man. It ain’t scary.”

“O-okay…”

“Start with ceremonies—just smile and sit there, and the points rack up. That’s the easiest. Parades are good too. Or the Party’s receptions—free food, man!”

His words came so easily that Mizuki flinched.

“You’re really… knowledgeable about this.”

“Course I am. It’s right in Article 1 of the Promotion Act: All men are obligated to participate in state-designated social service activities.”

By then, one of the girls had come back with a tray of katsudon.

“Thanks,” Kento said, digging in. “It goes on to say, Service is part of character development and contributes to the maintenance of public order. In other words, it’s for our own good. Gotta thank the government, huh?”

As Kento shoveled food into his mouth, Mizuki looked past him to the girls still standing behind. Maybe they were holding back out of politeness?

“Um… aren’t you getting lunch?”

“We’ll eat after he’s finished.”

Their tone was timid. None of them seemed to be planning to eat.

Kento, meanwhile, swallowed and picked up where he left off.

“Anyway, ceremonies and parades depend on the season. You might wanna start small.”

“Where are you volunteering, Shirakawa-kun?”

“Me? Local labor club and the Seikadan. Article 7 says we gotta foster love for our hometown.”

Mizuki nodded, taking a bite of karaage.

“Didn’t know the Promotion Act is that detailed.”

“Sure does. It’s our bible, man. Article 7 encourages local service—prioritize activities that improve the lives of your community.”

Several nearby girls, who’d been listening in, nodded politely.

“That’s wonderful,” one murmured.

Seeing the mood, Mizuki turned the topic toward them.

“Do you all memorize the Promotion Act?”

“I’m ashamed to say not the whole thing.”

“I can’t recite it, but I understand its importance for men.”

“It’s a duty only men bear, after all.”

Then—the air changed.

Kento’s friendly smile began to twist.

“…You understand, huh?”

His voice dropped, flat and cold.

The sound of his chopsticks clattering onto the tray echoed sharply.

“Hey…”

Suddenly, Isshiki Shizuku pulled Mizuki protectively toward her.

At the same moment, Houjou Noa stepped in front of them.

“What the hell do you girls understand?!”

The outburst froze the entire cafeteria.

Kento shot to his feet, face flushed, eyes wild.

The girls of Class C tugged at his sleeve, but he shook them off.

“What do any of you know?! About our duty—our service—how heavy it is?!”

Mizuki couldn’t react.

Held tight in Shizuku’s arms, he could only look up at Kento, gasping.

In his eyes, there wasn’t just anger—there seemed to be a mixture of many emotions.

“…”

Silence fell again. Only Kento’s ragged breathing filled the space.

Then he exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping, as if realizing what he’d done.

“My bad… I ended up getting carried away.”

No one answered.

Mizuki heard Shizuku’s careful, tense breathing beside his ear.

“I lose my temper easily.” 

His tone suddenly changed as Kento looked around with a bitter smile.

“Sorry for making things awkward.”

He left his tray on the table, turned on his heel, and walked off.

The Class C girls hurried after him, their steps echoing behind.

His back looked small as he disappeared through the door.

“…I should’ve warned you,” Shizuku murmured.

“This isn’t public knowledge, but he has undergone ideological optimization before.”

“…”

“It was to remove trauma from sexual abuse by his mother. He’s still slightly unstable.”

There’s a concept known as reproduction.

Men were such valuable resources that, if deemed incapable of social reintegration, they were subjected to administrative personality correction.

It was the very thing Toudou Mizuki, back in his third year of middle school, had feared most.

“I’m sorry, I hesitated. I should’ve ended it sooner.”

Noa peered at the silent Mizuki, as if to soothe him.

Mizuki didn’t answer. He just kept staring at Kento’s fading silhouette.

“Shirakawa-sama is… an honorable person,” Noa added. “He’s fulfilling his duty even after ideological reconditioning.”

“…Yeah.”

He really had meant well.

He’d genuinely worried for Mizuki, who’d barely attended school or volunteered before.

That look in his eyes hadn’t been a lie.

And it reminded Mizuki of the same fear that once drove him toward death—the beginning of the Void’s call.

The silent apartment blocks for second-class citizens, the empty streets, the dim asphalt under streetlights—images flashed through his mind like a fading film reel.

And among them, memories that shouldn’t have existed—memories that had mingled when he brushed against death.

If not for that, Toudou Mizuki might have been subjected to ideological optimization too.

“…”

He rose suddenly and bolted.

“Mizuki-sama!”

Shizuku’s voice chased him down the corridor, but Mizuki didn’t stop.

By the time he reached the cafeteria doors, Kento was already outside.

“Shirakawa-kun!”

Kento turned, frowning.

Mizuki, winded from the sprint, stopped a few paces away, chest heaving.

“…What is it?”

His tone was flat, irritated—but to Mizuki, it sounded like the last roar of a wounded animal.

“I… I want us to stay friends.”

“…”

“I don’t really have any guy friends.”

“…”

“I’ve been out of school for a long time—I don’t know much about the world.”

“…”

“So… please. Let’s be friends.”

Kento’s eyes flickered through a storm of emotion—surprise, disbelief, confusion.

Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.

“You’re one weird guy, you know that?”

And just like before, he showed that friendly smile.