Things weren't falling apart—they were shifting.
And that was even harder to notice.
The group still met every afternoon. Study sessions still ran late. Jokes still flew between problem sets. But something had changed.
It started with Yuto and Aya.
One day, they walked into the study room holding hands, casually, like it had always been that way. The group paused, exchanged looks, then said nothing.
They didn't need to. The air around them spoke enough—calm, happy, quietly new.
Then Kenji surprised everyone by mentioning his girlfriend during lunch.
"Wait, what?" Mika blinked. "Who?"
He shrugged, biting into his sandwich. "Natsumi. From the debate club."
Yuto nearly choked. "Since when?!"
"Couple weeks," Kenji said. "Didn't think it mattered."
It did.
Not in a bad way—just… enough to make everyone realize the dynamic was evolving.
Even Mika.
Mao and Mika were still close. Still dating, quietly, without drama. But Mika had become more distant lately. More thoughtful. Less playful. She was kind, still supportive, but often distracted when Mao spoke.
He noticed.
And then, without warning, he began to notice Sora more.
Not because she was louder. She wasn't.
But because she started hesitating around him.
Lingering glances. Questions asked only to him. Little laughs that didn't reach the others.
And Mao, perceptive as ever, recognized the signs.
Sora had a crush on him.
She didn't say it. She didn't need to. But it was there—in how she stayed behind after group sessions, how she asked about his writing, how she looked away when Mika sat beside him.
It made things complicated. Quietly so.
And then there was Arisa.
The more Mao spent time with her, the more protective she became.
Not possessive—but aware.
She noticed when he looked tired. She noticed when Mika's energy shifted. And she definitely noticed Sora's glances.
"You're not great at setting boundaries, are you?" she asked one day, sketching by the window while he read.
Mao looked up. "I don't think anyone's crossing them."
Arisa smirked. "That's the problem."
He didn't answer.
She didn't press.
But he felt it—how she shielded him in her own way, even if no one else saw it.
The group still laughed. Still worked hard.
But behind the notes and rankings and tea breaks, feelings were stirring.
Lines were being drawn, erased, and redrawn—subtly, silently.
And Mao, once again, stood at the center of something unspoken.