The Golden Twilight of Spring.
Spring evenings were always beautiful, especially when the setting sun painted the world in shades of crimson. People would stop and stare, mesmerized by the sight.
The curtains in the room were open, allowing the warm glow of dusk to spill through the window. Two figures sat bathed in that light—a young girl at the long table, her slender fingers turning the pages of a book, the scent of ink and paper lingering in the air. Beside her, a boy lay slumped over the table, seemingly asleep. The fading light brushed his brow, and his eyelashes fluttered slightly.
Li Mo opened his bleary eyes, his gaze settling first on the girl illuminated by twilight.
There was no denying it—Yukinoshita Yukino, reading quietly, was a vision of pure beauty. But the moment you spoke to her, the urge to tease inevitably surfaced. In this day and age, someone like Yukinoshita was rare. That unspoiled, earnest demeanor was endlessly amusing.
"You're awake?"
"Yeah, just woke up. That was a great nap. Did Hachiman and Yui already leave?" Li Mo stretched, his joints popping pleasantly. Sleep wasn't a necessity for him, but the contentment it brought was enjoyable—like eating, it was a simple pleasure. Especially now that he could sleep soundly anytime, anywhere.
"They left. It's getting late; we should go too."
"Sure thing."
Another week had passed, and the weekend arrived with light footsteps—a luxury office workers could never enjoy. School had been uneventful, almost boringly so. No system notifications demanding attention. No meteorites crashing from the sky. No rainstorms requiring sacrifices to dispel. Not even an earthquake.
Honestly, with so much supernatural activity in this world, why wasn't there at least one planet-ending crisis? This was Japan, the birthplace of "high schoolers saving the world" stories! How could there not be an apocalyptic scenario?
Yet Yukinoshita Yukino remained unchanged. Just like the Service Club, which had gone a full week without a single request. Had the Service Club devolved into a glorified tea party? No activities, just snacks and idle chatter.
"President, speaking of which… hasn't Hiratsuka-sensei been freeloading in our club these past few days?"
"Probably."
"*Probably?*"
"Weren't you the one stating the obvious first?"
A boy and a girl rode their bicycles side by side down the bike lane. Classmates. Clubmates. Neighbors.
What exactly was his relationship with Yukinoshita? Li Mo wasn't entirely sure. And he didn't want to be sure. Being with Yukinoshita was undeniably easy, undeniably pleasant. Around her, he didn't have to think about complicated things. But what if the system had never appeared? What would his life have been like?
Who knew?
He lifted his hands from the handlebars, stretching his arms wide as the wind rushed past.
"What are you doing, Li-kun? Did your brief period of sanity just expire?"
"Nah. Just doing reckless teenage things."
"Idiot."
Yukinoshita's assessment was blunt. After spending so much time together, she'd grown accustomed to Li Mo's antics. He was the type to do strange things and bring up bizarre topics without warning. He fixated on whatever amused him and dismissed everything else with a blunt "Not my problem"—a habit that could infuriate anyone.
In a way, wasn't that a kind of freedom?
"President."
"What now?"
"Let's race home. The loser cooks dinner for the other."
"No."
"Great, President forfeits in advance."
"Li-kun, are you a child? Or just incapable of understanding basic language?"
"I'm eternally eight years young!"
Not eighteen, not seventeen—eternally eight. Li Mo delivered this declaration without blinking.
Yukinoshita sighed. "Go buy groceries."
"Roger that," Li Mo replied cheerfully.
Neighbors were supposed to help each other. At least, that's what Yukinoshita believed. But normal neighbors maintained boundaries—you lived your life, they lived theirs, exchanging greetings and occasional gifts. Someone like Li Mo, who ignored all boundaries, was rare.
And yet…
Hadn't he been distant before?
Yukinoshita's musings were cut short as Li Mo chattered away, listing dishes he wanted for dinner. His so-called "Three Great Questions of Life" were: *What's for breakfast? Lunch? Dinner? And midnight snacks?*
He'd even argued that "three questions having four items is perfectly normal."
Sometimes, he was exhausting.
"Stop reciting menus at me. I'm not cooking any of that," Yukinoshita said flatly.
Just now, he'd switched to Chinese, rapid-firing a string of dish names in a theatrical rhythm. She recognized the cadence—he'd once explained it was called "Baocaiming," a comedic recitation of dishes.
Yukinoshita didn't understand Chinese. And even if she did, those dishes were Chinese cuisine—something she couldn't cook.
To derail his nonsense, she changed the subject. "Li-kun, have you heard of *Adolescence Syndrome*?"
"Eh? What's that?" Li Mo switched back to Japanese mid-sentence.
"Adolescence Syndrome," Yukinoshita repeated.
"Oh, *that*. Yeah, I know about it," Li Mo said, blinking. "But hasn't Sakurajima Mai still been active lately?"
"…What does that actress have to do with this?"
Both paused, equally confused. Li Mo wondered why Yukinoshita would bring up Adolescence Syndrome. Yukinoshita wondered why Li Mo dragged Sakurajima Mai into it.
The conversation stalled. They detoured to a supermarket for ingredients. Li Mo trailed behind Yukinoshita, offering unsolicited commentary until his ignorance about flour types (high-gluten vs. low-gluten) got him banished to the bike parking area.
He waited there, kicking pebbles, until Yukinoshita emerged.
Then—side by side again, they pedaled home.
Li Mo dumped his bags at his apartment and immediately invaded Yukinoshita's. He had his own slippers there now, a testament to how often he mooched meals.