The weekend passed, and by Monday morning the world smelled like wet grass and new air. Clouds hung low, sunlight slipping between them in thin stripes.

The halls were calm. Only the hum of lessons came through the doors – chalk, whispers, a laugh that got shushed right away.

Ayato’s footsteps echoed as he walked, clipboard tucked under one arm, white coat swaying with each step. He paused now and then to glance into classrooms, noting attendance for the upcoming fire drill.

At the end of the hall, the library waited – cooler, quieter, touched by the faint smell of paper and dust. As he pushed the door open, a pair of sparrows startled from the sill and darted past the windows.

Ayato blinked, seeing the familiar figure. “Ishikawa-sensei?” he asked, surprised.

The woman behind the counter looked up with a bright smile. “Ah, Hayashi-san! Good morning.” Her cheerful tone carried across the still air.

He approached the desk, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you here?”

“Helping out a little. The librarian’s off today.” She handed him a few papers.

“I see…” He signed his name neatly on the top page. “Didn’t expect to find you doing this.”

Before she could answer, the door opened again with a soft thud, and a rush of air fluttered the curtains.

“Good morning, Ishikawa-sensei. I was looking for you,” Yamamoto-sensei said, stepping inside. His eyes flicked between them, amused. “Oh—and Hayashi-san? I didn’t know you were the reading type.”

“I’m not,” Ayato replied dryly, catching Ishikawa-sensei’s mischievous grin. “Just making sure no one’s skipping before the fire drill.”

“Ah, right,” Yamamoto nodded, glancing at his watch. “It’s scheduled for today, isn’t it?”

Ayato hummed a quiet yes and moved off between the shelves. Dust motes drifted in thin beams of light, the teachers’ voices fading behind him.

As he turned the corner, something familiar caught his eye – four desks pushed together, a small handmade sign above them.

Readers’ Club.

Ishikawa and Yamamoto were still talking when Ayato finished his notes. He was about to leave, but a familiar name made him pause mid-step, pretending to check his clipboard.

“Anything I should know about him?” Yamamoto asked.

“Nothing besides what I mentioned last week,” Ishikawa replied. “Though I noticed he’s been hiding his neck lately – first a bandage, now a turtleneck.”

Yamamoto frowned thoughtfully. “You think he’s hiding something?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her tone softer now. “He’s had a few small clashes with alphas before. Maybe he’s just trying not to attract attention.”

Ayato quietly stepped out, closing the door behind him before the conversation could go further.

The corridor outside was still empty, faintly echoing with the hum of the building. He exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. Of course, they were talking about Yahiko.

If thinking about it logically, the mark wasn’t a bad thing. It protected the boy, stabilized his pheromones, and gave the teachers less to worry about. A practical solution for every part of the team – if not for the unwanted questions. And questions were the last thing Ayato wanted.

He started up the stairs, lost in thought, when a flash of movement caught his eye. Yahiko came running down the opposite side, head lowered, the echo of quick steps bouncing against the walls. Ayato stopped at the landing, watching as the boy bent to drink from the fountain.

A black turtleneck under the uniform. In this weather? No.

Ayato’s brow furrowed. He was hiding it. But why? He’d asked for it himself, begged for it even. Wasn’t this what Yahiko had wanted – to be left alone, protected? Now he was pretending it never happened.

“Hayashi-senpai, is everything okay?”

Was he ashamed? Angry? Both?

The voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Yahiko was looking up at him.

“Yes,” Ayato said evenly. “Everything’s fine.”

Yahiko nodded, took a few steps, then turned back as if remembering something. “I brought your umbrella back to the shop. You can pick it up anytime.”

He hesitated, then added quietly, “Thanks… for that day.”

Ayato watched him disappear into the classroom.

Ayato’s gaze lingered on the closed door. His hand rose to his face, the words escaping in a low whisper:

“What are you doing, Ayato…”

He headed toward the nurse’s office to signal that the fire drill could begin. A few minutes later the alarm would blare, the halls would fill with voices and laughter again, and among them, Yahiko would smile as if everything was fine – though somewhere beneath that smile, a quiet unease would linger.