By now, Mao had rebuilt himself.
Not as the old top student, not as the desperate loner—but as someone real. Someone rising again, not chasing perfection, but something better: balance.
He had his group. His quiet romance with Mika. His place at the table.
But life, as it often does, had more waiting for him—just outside the frame.
It started with a chance encounter in the library.
Mao was browsing a shelf of literary criticism books when a girl beside him suddenly dropped a thick volume on the floor with a thud. Without a word, Mao bent down and handed it to her.
"Thanks," she muttered, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
He nodded and turned away.
Then she spoke again.
"People usually avoid this section. Not enough formulas, I guess."
Mao paused. Looked back.
The girl smiled, faint but curious. "I'm Arisa. Third-year."
He nodded. "Mao. Second-year."
"Thought so. You're the one making a quiet comeback," she said bluntly.
He blinked. "...You've been watching?"
"I watch everyone," she said, holding up a sketchpad. "It's what I do."
Arisa wasn't like his other friends. She was bold, observant, and uninterested in grades or ranks. An artist through and through, her world was built on feeling, not precision.
They didn't talk for long. Just ten minutes. But it was enough.
Over the next few weeks, they crossed paths more often. In the library. At the art wing. By the garden where she sketched.
And slowly, a friendship bloomed.
Arisa wasn't impressed by his rank. She didn't care about who beat who or how well he analyzed Dostoevsky.
She liked his silences.
His thoughtfulness.
And she challenged him—not with tests, but with questions that couldn't be answered with logic.
"What's the hardest thing you've never said out loud?"
"What do you want to be when no one's looking at you?"
Mao didn't always answer. But he listened. And that was enough for her.
He didn't tell the group about her at first. Not because he was hiding something—but because this connection felt different. Not romantic. Not strategic. Just… necessary.
For the first time, Mao realized that maybe life wasn't about finding one group, one role, one version of yourself.
Maybe it was about discovering new pieces—one honest connection at a time.
And Arisa?
She was a piece he didn't know he was missing.