“You just don’t get it, do you?” she said, not to anyone in particular, but loud enough for the whole room to hear.

That’s half the fun.

The room was dead quiet. The teacher, halfway through writing a quadratic equation, had frozen mid-chalk stroke.

She pulled out her phone, already bored again. But the faint blush creeping up his neck? That was the part she’d replay tonight.

Across the aisle, the transfer student—polite, earnest, and tragically boring—flinched. “Get what?”

Mesugaki-chan winked, then skipped back to her seat. “Just something to think about, hero-kun .”

Mesugaki-chan slid out of her seat and sauntered over, each step deliberate. She stopped just inside his personal space, tilted her head, and let the bell of her laugh ring out. “That your ‘kindness’ isn’t kindness. It’s performance . You hold doors open so people will thank you. You share your lunch so they’ll owe you.” She leaned in, breath warm against his ear. “That’s not nice. That’s transactional .”