Classroom of Accomplices: The Honor Student Falls by Her Hand - The Secret of Her Fingertips

July arrived, and Kasumigahara City was wrapped in the full heat of summer. The old reinforced concrete walls of Shuumon Private High School absorbed the late-morning sunlight, slowly radiating warmth. The classrooms were air-conditioned, but even so, the outside heat occasionally seeped in like a thin film through the window-side seats. Lunch break. Murakami Hiroto was about to open his lunchbox at his desk when he casually glanced to the side. Uchiyama Sara had spread a convenience store bag on her desk and was expressionlessly biting into a coppe-pan. Her glossy black long hair flowed down her back, and the bangs falling over her cheeks cast shadows over her eyes. Her deep black eyes stared only at the bread in her hands, as if completely shutting out the noise around her. (*Yesterday, she was so...*) Something deep in Murakami's chest throbbed faintly. Last night, in a room of the old apartment building "Corpo Himawari"—a twelve-minute walk from Higashi-Kasumi Station on the private Minase Line in eastern Kasumigahara City—he had definitely seen it. The quiet, gentle smile Uchiyama showed only to him. The suffocating sweetness of her whispering "You don't have to push yourself" as her fingertips softly traced the back of his hand. And yet, the Uchiyama before him now didn't seem like the same person as yesterday. (*I want to talk to her.*) But there were still many students eating lunch in the classroom. A group of girls picking at their lunches by the window, boys chatting in the hallway. If he spoke to her, surely some of them would turn around. Murakami swallowed, his throat making a small sound. He started to open his mouth, then stopped. At that moment, at the edge of his vision, Uchiyama's left hand moved slightly. Her pale, slender fingertips touched the leg of his desk—just for an instant. At an angle no one else could see. A chill ran through him. It wasn't just the air conditioning. Uchiyama's fingertips were always a little cold. As if blood didn't flow through them. That coldness felt like nails gently stroking directly over his heart. His pulse jumped with a thud. "—What are you doing, Hiroto-kun?" Suddenly, a bright voice fell from above. He turned to find Yano Yuina standing there. Brightly colored semi-long hair. The ends were curled and tied into a single ponytail with a pink scrunchie. Her large, round, charming eyes peered into Murakami's face. Dimples appeared when she smiled. In her left ear, a heart-shaped earring—against school rules—glinted faintly in the light from the window. "Your lunchbox isn't even open. Did you lose your chopsticks?" Yano's voice bounced brightly enough to lightly shake the air of the classroom. "No, it's nothing. I was just about to eat." Murakami smoothly put on a smile. The refreshing, reliable face of the class representative. He narrowed his warm brown eyes gently and waved his hand lightly. "Yeah? Well, okay then. Oh, hey, after school today, want to go to that new café in front of the station? The one near Joyful Diner." Yano leaned in toward Murakami. The sweet scent of shampoo drifted softly through the air. "Today's a bit impossible. I have to deliver correspondence course assignments to the staff room." "Ehh, seriously? Butan-kun's? Want me to help?" "Sorry. The thought's enough, Yano. That café you wanted to go to—next time." Yano's face lit up instantly. Her dimples appeared clearly. "Really? You promise! Then let's all go next time!" With that, Yano energetically headed back to her seat. Murakami watched her retreating figure with a smile still on his face. (*...It's not that I don't want to go. It's that I can't.*) A cold voice echoed in his chest. He had responded to Yano with a smile. That was the correct answer. The class representative Murakami Hiroto couldn't possibly brush off an invitation from Yano Yuina, who was at the center of the class. That was the rule of this small society called Class 2-1. Murakami opened the lid of the lunchbox in his hands. Faded side dishes lined up on top of white rice. His mother packed it every morning, calculating nutritional balance. He split his chopsticks. But somehow, he didn't feel like he could swallow anything. Beside him, Uchiyama was still biting into her bread. Her finger touched the leg of his desk again. This time, a little longer. Murakami pretended to bring food to his mouth and let out a small breath. (*If we get caught, what happens?*) That thought made his back sweat. A contact of just a few seconds under the desk, unnoticed by anyone. Why did that alone make his heart pound so violently? --- During fifth period, Japanese History class. Murakami was copying the teacher's blackboard notes into his notebook. Only the sound of the air conditioning and chalk striking the blackboard echoed through the quiet classroom. "Now then, next—why did the shogunate restrict trade—" Listening to the teacher's voice, Murakami lowered his left hand under the desk to turn the page of his textbook. That's when it happened. Something touched his pinky finger. "...!" Murakami bit his lip to keep from making a sound. Under the desk. Outside his field of vision. Uchiyama's pinky was gently entwined with his. Cold. Her fingers were cold, as always. But only the parts touching were slowly, slowly growing warm. Melting, unraveling—their pinkies intertwined like cats' tails. Murakami gathered his courage and looked to the side. Uchiyama was facing the blackboard. Back straight, right hand moving a mechanical pencil. Her profile was expressionless as always, looking for all the world like she was seriously listening to the teacher. But her left hand had crossed the boundary between their desks and was definitely capturing his pinky. (*How can she look so calm...*) Murakami felt his heart pounding like a rapid bell. We'll get caught. If someone bent down to pick up a dropped eraser right now. If the teacher came around to check on students. Just thinking about it made something cold spread from his fingertips, and sweat seeped into his back. And yet, he couldn't shake off Uchiyama's pinky. He didn't want to. (*This is a secret.*) Something black and sickly sweet swirled deep in Murakami's chest. We absolutely cannot get caught. But I don't want anyone to take this away. This finger. This warmth. It's mine. Until the bell rang, their pinkies remained intertwined the entire time. --- Break time. Murakami stood from his seat and leaned against the window facing the hallway. He picked up his phone. The class messaging app showed notifications like "today's homework" and "what to bring tomorrow." (*...She's watching.*) He felt a gaze from behind. Without turning around, he scrolled through his phone screen. Inside the classroom, Yano Yuina was at the center of a group of girls, talking cheerfully about something. "—and like, that girl seriously can't read the room—" Yano's bright voice pulled the classroom's atmosphere along. "Hey, look at that. Uchiyama-san's reading alone again today, right? As usual, no idea what she's thinking." A voice deliberately loud enough to be heard. Murakami put a slight amount of force into the hand holding his phone. "She's so plain, seriously. Doesn't talk. Oh, but hey, lately, isn't she kind of close with Hiroto-kun?" Another girl said in a whisper. Yano stopped talking for just a moment. A pause of only a fraction of a second. But to Murakami, that silence felt abnormally heavy. "Huh? Seriously? What would Hiroto-kun see in her?" Yano's voice was laughing. While laughing, Yano's gaze stole a quick glance at Murakami by the window. (*Hiroto-kun is looking at Uchiyama-san.*) Deep in Yano Yuina's gut, a black flame slowly ignited. Something was different from the smile Murakami directed at her. The gaze he cast toward the window seat. Its heat. She was certain. (*If only Uchiyama-san weren't here.*) Yano twisted the hem of her dress around her fingertips. Her nails dug into her palm. But her face was smiling. With dimples showing, nodding along to her friends' conversation, she stared at Uchiyama's back—spread open with a paperback in the corner of the classroom—as if burning it into the edge of her vision. --- After school. After finishing his errand to the staff room, Murakami had watched Uchiyama leave the classroom during break. Normally, their secret time would begin right after. But today, Uchiyama's destination was the library. The library, with its twelve thousand volumes, was located at the west end of the main building's second floor. After-school users averaged only five to eight people. The librarian, Kakinuma Mari, was facing her computer behind the counter. Murakami stood at the library entrance and peered inside. Evening light dyed the rows of bookshelves orange. The usual spot by the window. Uchiyama was reading a paperback, clutching her school bag. Her black hair flowing down her back glowed quietly in the sunset. (*Is it weird to follow her?*) Murakami placed a hand on his chest. His heart was pounding noisily. He took a step forward. Uchiyama didn't look up. Murakami came to her side and, hiding in the shadow of the bookshelf, spoke softly. "...Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?" Uchiyama's finger stopped on the page. "The rule in the library is to be quiet, Hiroto." A voice with no readable emotion. "I know. But—" Murakami gently grabbed Uchiyama's wrist. Cold. Uchiyama slowly raised her face. Her deep black eyes stared up at him. Transparent pupils that seemed to pull him in. "Let's go outside. Somewhere no one's around." Murakami's voice was hoarse, even to his own surprise. Uchiyama tilted her head slightly. "...Do you really need to?" "I really need to." He looked at the library entrance. No one was there. The only sound was the low hum of the air conditioning. Still holding Uchiyama's wrist, Murakami left the library. "Hiroto, my hand hurts." Uchiyama laughed softly behind him. A quiet laugh, without making a sound. The emergency stairwell landing. Between the fourth floor and the rooftop. A hidden hangout spot for students, with little foot traffic even during the day. Murakami released Uchiyama's wrist, leaned his back against the wall, and steadied his ragged breathing. "...Why?" "Why what?" "You're so cold at school." Murakami's voice trembled pathetically, even to himself. "At night, you... you smile so much." Uchiyama tilted her head. Her bangs swayed softly. "That's obvious. Because it's a secret." Murakami looked up. Uchiyama took a step closer. "If I smiled at school, you'd be in trouble, wouldn't you, Hiroto? You want to be the perfect class representative, don't you?" As she spoke, Uchiyama took his hand. Her fingertips traced the nail of his index finger. Cold. A shiver ran down his spine. "When you're alone with me, Hiroto, you make such a wonderful face. It would be interesting if you could make that face at school." Uchiyama's voice sounded somehow amused. "...There's no way I could do that." "Right. So we keep it secret. It's our secret, just the two of us, isn't it?" Uchiyama's fingers traced his palm, tickling. "Your face at school remains the mask you wear for my sake. But when you're with me, you can show your true face." Uchiyama entwined her fingers with his. "The fact that you show your true face only in front of me—that makes me happiest of all." Those words nearly stopped Murakami's breath. Then Uchiyama pulled his hand. "Let's go. You'll come again today, won't you? To that house." --- Corpo Himawari. It was nearly an hour later when they arrived at the Uchiyama family's room. It wasn't raining, but the humid July heat had dampened their clothes. "Excuse me..." Murakami murmured at the entrance, as always. "Come in. My father is still at work. He won't be back until morning." Uchiyama went in first and turned on the lights. Murakami entered U

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Episode 3

Name: Classroom of Accomplices: The Honor Student Falls by Her Hand
Author: Novelia

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