Chapter Text
President Perfect
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People often say that those who were born with wealth and power are the luckiest ones. Were they right? No. Not exactly. You were born into a world of quiet luxury. Your earliest memories weren’t of laughter or silly bedtime stories, but of polished marble floors, hushed whispers in the hallways, and the faint, sterile smell of freshly waxed furniture.
Your family was successful. They were always on the move. Always at business meetings, galas, interviews, and such. They were the kind of people who would walk into a room and make it bend around their presence.
But to you, they were simply shadows. They weren’t exactly unkind or cruel, they just… never looked at you.
You would sit at the end of the dinner table, your small hands folded neatly as the housekeeper sets down a plate in front of you. Your father would normally glance at his phone from time to time, your mother sipping her glass of wine as they’d discuss profit margins and overseas deals like you weren’t even there. Like you never even existed in the first place.
And when they did speak to you after work or dinner, it was distant.
“We know you’ll do well. You’re our son, after all.”
“We expect the best from you. It reflects in our family, after all.”
“Success is in your blood. Don’t waste your potential.”
That was it. No hugs. No “we miss you’s.” Just high expectations wrapped around in polite words. So you learned. You kept learning, and learning, and learning. You learned that the only way to be seen is to excel and to be perfect. And to never leave room for failure. Your childish drawings were replaced by neatly aligned charts. Playtime became study time.
Every book you read, every skill you picked up… everything was done with one singular hope. Maybe this time, they’ll notice you.
But no matter how flawless you became, the reward was always the same. A simple nod, and “Good job. Keep it up.” And then their attention shifted back to the endless glow of their business empire. You didn’t even realize when it happened.
The want became the need.
By the time you reached high school, you weren’t just disciplined. You were relentless. Every goal was a stepping stone. Every success is just another piece in a fragile, unending puzzle.
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Your name was practically a golden brand in your school. The President of the Student Council, Top Achiever in Academics, and virtually untouchable. You even had the good looks, yet when you walked through the hallways, people straightened their backs. Conversations would dim as some would stare in awe, and others whispered behind your back. No one dared to approach you casually.
Today was no different.
You strode into the student council office, your crisp uniform immaculate and posture perfect. In your arms, a stack of organized papers—budget reports, event schedules, and disciplinary notices. The officers already seated stood instinctively as you entered.
“Sit,” you said simply. Your tone wasn’t rude, and it wasn’t warm either. Just direct. They obeyed immediately as the meeting began.
You dissected every issue with surgical precision. Club overbudgeting? Solved. Upcoming festival activities? Delegated. A lingering disciplinary matter? Addressed. There was no wasted time and no unnecessary chatter either. But when someone made a mistake, a wrong figure in the reports, you pointed it out instantly.
“Your proposal lacks structure. Fix it.”
“You’re wasting time. If you can’t do this, then I’ll assign it to someone who can.”
You weren’t trying to scare anyone. To you, it was simply efficiency. Truth without sugarcoating. Why dance around the problem when you could solve it?
But you could feel the tension in the room tighten every time you spoke. The meeting ended with everyone bowing slightly, murmuring stiff “thank yous” before filing out, relieved to escape your presence. The moment they left the council room, whispers had resumed the moment they thought you were out of earshot.
“He’s terrifying. I heard he made a first-year cry just by looking at her notes.”
“I don’t even think he’s human. He’s like a walking machine.”
“It’s so obvious. He belongs to a rich family anyway.”
You didn’t react. You simply sighed and leaned back onto the chair, pinching the bridge of your nose with slight irritation and a hint of exhaustion after a long day of work. Instead, you sat alone in the empty council room after they left, stacking the papers into neat piles.
This was attention. Yes. People noticed you. They respected you. They feared you.
But it wasn’t the kind you wanted.
Because no matter how perfect you were here, it wouldn’t matter when you went home.
At home, you were still invisible.
That evening, the mansion was silent when you returned. Your parents’ shoes weren’t by the door. The staff greeted you politely and left your dinner in the warmer. The massive chandelier glimmered in the darkened foyer.
On the counter sat another note:
“We’ll be away for three more days. This is an important merger. Don’t fall behind your studies. — Mom”
You read it twice, before neatly folding the paper. You set your bag down and walked past the empty living room, the quiet dining hall, and the cold, expansive kitchen. In your room, you sat at your desk and opened your textbooks. Frankly, you didn’t need to study since you already knew the material. But if you didn’t, you’d feel restless.
So you kept going. Because maybe someday, you’d achieve something so great that even they couldn’t ignore it.
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The final bell had rung thirty minutes ago, but you were still on campus. It wasn’t unusual.
As the student council president, your day didn’t end when the last class did. Not when the annual reports were due by the end of the week, and every single club was just barely meeting the bare minimum of organization. You hated leaving anything unfinished. Even the smallest mistake felt like a stain on your record, a stain your parents would never acknowledge anyway, but still, you couldn’t let it exist.
If it’s not perfect, then it’s worthless.
That mantra had been drilled into you for as long as you could remember.
So here you were, weaving through the empty hallways with a neatly organized folder tucked under your arm, and a clipboard in the other hand. You’d already checked on the literature club, the music club, and even the drama club.
Only one stop left: the science club.
And of course, you already dreaded it. Because the science lab wasn’t just a lab. It was Ishigami Senku’s domain.
You sighed through your nose.
Ishigami Senku.
The notorious science-freak. The reckless genius who loved pushing the boundaries of “school safety regulations” for the sake of what he called progress. He was brilliant, and everyone knew that. But, he was also a walking hazard sign. There were still scorch marks on one of the lab tables from his last “controlled experiment.”
Still, duty was duty. You reached the lab door and opened it without ceremony, stepping inside.
The smell of chemicals hung faintly in the air, but the room was empty. It was quiet. Good. You moved toward the counter, scanning the piles of papers and checking off the items on your clipboard.
“Half the budget spent already? Tch. These reports are a disaster.”
But then—clack. The sound of the door opening behind you.
“Oh, you’re here.”
You froze mid-mark, recognizing the voice immediately. You straightened slowly, glancing over your shoulder.
And there he was. Ishigami Senku, in the flesh. His wild, spiky white hair caught the dim light of the lab, and that usual self-assured smirk hovered on his lips.
You turned back to your papers with a quiet sigh. “…Ishigami.”
“Didn’t expect to see you here this late, Prez.” He said with a casual smirk, strolling inside like he owned the place.
“I’m double-checking the science club’s reports.” Your tone was flat, clipped. “Not that I expect them to be in order.”
He chuckled under his breath. “Figures. You can’t stand leaving anything half-done, huh?”
You didn’t respond. You just finished jotting another note before finally looking up at him. “What do you want, Ishigami? Did you leave something here or what?”
Senku stepped inside, looking… strangely less cocky than usual. His posture was relaxed as always, but there was a flicker of something in his expression. Almost hesitant. But you didn’t notice. You were notoriously bad at reading emotions that weren’t bluntly obvious anyway.
Senku leaned against the counter across from you, arms crossed. “Y’know. I’ve got a… project I’m working on.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Congratulations.”
“Not just any project.” He ignored your dry sarcasm, eyes glinting with that familiar spark of curiosity. “It’s a high-precision experiment. One slip in the measurements and the whole thing goes to hell. And—”
You immediately cut him off. “So you came here to warn me in advance before you blow up the lab again?”
He smirked faintly at that, but shook his head. “Nah. I came here to ask for your help.”
You blinked. What? Ishigami Senku? Asking for help?
He rubbed the back of his neck casually, but there was a flicker of something shy in his tone. “You’ve got a ridiculous eye for detail. I’ve seen the way you pick apart people’s mistakes in like, a millisecond flat. You’re annoyingly perfect with numbers. And I need that.”
You stared at him, still processing. “You’re telling me… you, the guy who practically lives in this lab, need me to double-check your experiment?”
“Pretty much.” He gave a small shrug, like it was no big deal. “I need someone who won’t miss the tiniest deviation. And between us, you’re way better at precision work than half these teachers.”
For a second, you just stood there in silence. You didn’t know whether to feel mildly insulted at his blunt delivery or oddly flattered. Ishigami Senku wasn’t known for asking favors from someone. In fact, you’d heard he didn’t really trust anyone to keep up with his pace.
You blinked. “Why me?”
“Because,” he said matter-of-factly, “I know you don’t make mistakes.”
You stared at him in silence again. Most people would call you overbearing, intimidating, and cold whenever you tried to “help” them, but Senku? He stated it so plainly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Your fingers tightened slightly on the edge of your clipboard. “…Fine,” you muttered. “I’ll help. But only because I don’t want you turning this place into a crater.”
Senku’s grin widened, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Perfect! I knew you’d say yes.”
You frowned. “You knew?”
Senku shrugged, his tone matter-of-fact. “Statistically, yeah. You’re a perfectionist. Watching someone botch the basics would drive you insane, and you care too much about structural integrity to let it slide. It wasn’t a gamble, it was just predictable human behavior.”
You exhaled sharply through your nose at his remark, glaring at him. He pulled a slim notebook from his lab coat and slid it across the counter. The pages were filled with dense notes and complex chemical ratios, laid open in front of you.
You glanced down and narrowed your eyes, immediately spotting an issue. “You’re not paying attention. This ratio is off by 0.2 milliliters. And this one… If you don’t recalibrate it, the reaction will oxidize prematurely. I see many errors in this project of yours. You might as well revise everything you’ve written.”
Senku didn’t even flinch at your blunt tone. In fact, he looked… impressed. “Hah. You really didn’t miss a single thing.”
You paused, a flicker of surprise passing through you. Most people got annoyed or defensive when you pointed out their mistakes so directly. They called you harsh and too critical. But Senku looked almost pleased.
You quickly masked your surprise and returned your gaze to the notebook. “…Of course, I didn’t. That’s the whole point of asking me for help, isn’t it?”
Senku’s smirk deepened. “Exactly. You’re even better than I expected.”
You didn’t reply, but for just a moment, you felt… off balance. Like you couldn’t read his intentions. He wasn’t offended. He wasn’t intimidated. Heck, he wasn’t even teasing.
He was genuinely impressed. And that was… new.
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It started small. After that first project you’ve done with Ishigami, you assumed that he would go back to his usual habit of being a lab rat. You helped him once—fine, whatever—but you didn’t expect it to become a routine.
And yet…
A week later, he showed up in the council office without even knocking on the door, leaning against the doorframe with his signature grin. “Hey, Prez. Got a minute? I need a second pair of eyes for some chemical ratios.”
You didn’t even glance up from the neatly stacked paperwork on your desk. “Ask someone else. I’m busy.”
Senku rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you always are. C’mon, you can multitask and it’ll be quick. Just five minutes!”
You didn’t even have the energy to argue, and Senku smirked in victory. Five minutes turned into thirty.
Then, two weeks after that, he popped in again. This time, he held what seems to be a piece of a broken lab tool in his hand. “Hey, Prez. Have you got any budget for some repairs? I figured you’d know before the teachers do.”
You let out an exasperated sigh and checked the expense reports. Fine, you’ll help again.
Another week later, he dropped by again to “just check something real quick.” And then again the following week with “a quick question” that somehow spiraled into him rambling about catalytic reactions.
It was relentless.
You didn’t even notice it at first. You were too busy wrapped up in your endless routine of handling matters in the student council, perfecting academics, and maintaining a flawless image your family never even bothered to acknowledge.
But one day, you realized a pattern. Whenever you were in the council office late, Ishigami always seemed to find a reason to show up.
And it was… irritating, to say the least.
The room was supposed to be quiet. But with him here, it was—
“Prez, you’re spacing out. Did you seriously not hear a word I just said about exothermic heat distribution?” Senku raised an eyebrow.
“Ishigami.” You set down your pen a little too hard. “Do you have any other place to be?”
He smirked, unfazed. “Not really. Besides, you listen better than most people.”
You scowled, unsure whether that was supposed to be a compliment. Somehow, he still stayed.
Months passed, maybe even a year.
At first, his random scientific ramblings grated on your nerves. You didn’t care about the melting point of random compounds, who invented what, or surprisingly, why he was so obsessed with space and Doraemon (to be fair, you quite liked that show since you were a kid).
But the more you started to tolerate his presence, the more you… learned. Senku never talked down to you, he just talked to you. And sometimes, without realizing it, you find yourself asking some questions.
“Oh? So you’re saying that this reaction only works with that specific molecular bond?”
“Exactly! Ten billion points for you!” Senku would grin, launching into an explanation with that trademark phrase of his. “See? You’re actually getting it. Not bad, Prez.”
You’d roll your eyes and go back to your work, pretending it wasn’t that interesting… even though it was.
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The council room was unnervingly quiet that late afternoon. It was just you, your perfectly stacked reports, and the faint scratching of your pen as you went through another round of double-checking.
Everything was in order, as it should be.
Until—
Click.
The door opened without a shred of hesitation.
“Prez,” came the familiar, smooth drawl.
You didn’t need to look up. “…What is it this time, Ishigami? Did your latest experiment implode, or are you here to file an incident report?”
“Nah,” he said casually, striding in like the council room was his office. He dropped into the chair opposite you with his legs stretched out, completely at ease. “I’m here on business.”
You finally glanced up with a flat, unimpressed stare. “…Should I be concerned?”
Senku smirked. “Not unless you’re allergic to progress.”
You blinked slowly. “…What?”
“I’ve made a decision,” he announced, folding his arms behind his head in his usual cocky way. “From now on, I’ve decided that you’re going to be my personal lab assistant.”
You stared at him. Then stared some more. “…I’m sorry. You want what?”
“You heard me loud and clear.” His tone was infuriatingly calm. “I need someone who won’t mess up precise calibrations. Someone who understands numbers, ratios, measurements and doesn’t blink at high stakes. You’re basically a walking metronome when it comes to accuracy. A perfect candidate.”
You arched an eyebrow. “…So what you’re really saying is you want a glorified babysitter. Someone to stop you from blowing the school sky-high with your little… experiments.”
Senku chuckled. “If that label helps you cope, sure. Babysitter. Lab assistant. Take your pick. You’ve already saved me from at least three critical miscalculations without even realizing it.”
Your grip on the pen tightened slightly. “Pardon me?”
“Oh, come on!” He waved a hand dismissively. “Remember the time you walked into the lab and told me my stoichiometry was off by 0.3 grams just by glancing at the setup? You practically saved me a week’s worth of wasted work. Or the day you recalculated my reaction time for the sodium bicarbonate experiment and stopped it from oversaturating? You’ve been invaluable, Prez.”
You let out a small huff. “…I did that to prevent the fire alarm from going off. Not for your convenience.”
“And yet you did it,” Senku replied smoothly, leaning forward slightly now. “You have an eye for perfectionism that even I don’t bother with. Pair that with someone who understands simple molecular thermodynamics like I do, and you get results that can’t fail. It’s a win-win.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaling slowly. “…Ishigami, I don’t have time to clean up after your messes. I’m not interested in your silly science projects.”
“Really?” His smirk widened, sharp and amused. “Because you’ve been helping me for months without even realizing it. Whether you care or not, you’re already involved.”
You clicked your tongue, setting your pen down. “So that’s why you keep barging in here? Just to pester me until I give in?”
“Not exactly. To recruit.” He tilted his head slightly, a glint of something more genuine flickering in his eyes. “I wouldn’t waste my time on someone who didn’t have the potential to actually be useful.”
That earned him a flat stare. “…Charming as always.”
Senku shrugged. “I’m a realist. And the reality is, you’re the best person for this. Admit it, you like the challenge.”
You said nothing. Your silence, as always, was unreadable.
A beat passed.
Then Senku leaned back again, folding his arms. “…Well, if you’re really not interested, I won’t force you. I’ve got other ways to work around it.”
He started to stand, clearly ready to leave.
And for a split second, the room felt heavier. Your fingers twitched against the papers. Before you could think twice, you spoke.
“...Wait.”
Senku paused, one eyebrow raised.
You sighed, staring down at the reports in front of you. “Fine… I’ll do it. But only because…” Your voice trailed before you reluctantly admitted, “…I don’t mind your company. Sometimes.”
There was a brief silence. Then—
“…Heh.”
You looked up, mildly suspicious.
Senku was grinning—not his usual smug grin, but something brighter, sharper. “I knew it. Even you can’t resist a little intellectual stimulation! Don’t worry, Prez. I’ll be sure to make a scientist out of you.”
Your eye twitched. “Don’t push your luck.”
“Relax,” he said lightly, already making himself comfortable again. “I’m not the type to gloat… much. Besides, you’ve already proven yourself sharper than most of the so-called science club. Consider that a compliment.”
You blinked. “…Was that supposed to flatter me?”
“Take it however you want.”
You let out a low groan, picking up your pen again. “…Get out of my office, Ishigami.”
Senku chuckled, rising from the chair with a lazy wave. “Fine, fine. But don’t think this is the end. I’ll be back tomorrow! With something more interesting than paperwork.”
“Wonderful,” you muttered sarcastically, already regretting your decision.
As he slipped out of the room, you caught yourself… almost smirking. Almost.
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It’s been another year. Senku would show up after classes, a vial in hand, and casually ask: “Hey Prez, does this solution look off-color to you?”
You’d glance up from your paperwork, annoyed, but answer anyway. “Too opaque. You mixed the proportions wrong.”
Then it was: “Mind holding this beaker steady while I adjust the pH?”
You grumbled about having better things to do, but you still did it.
Next came: “Help me weigh out exactly 2.48 grams. And no, I don’t trust anyone else to get it right.”
Somehow, the time you spent in the council office quietly reviewing reports bled into late afternoons in the lab, where Senku rambled about more about his scientific discoveries and a little bit of his personal life. You didn’t care about half the technical jargon he threw around, but you listened.
And annoyingly, you actually learned something.
He’d smirk whenever you caught a mistake and you’d scowl whenever he complimented you for it. The cycle repeated.
By the time months rolled by, it wasn’t even strange anymore to see Senku lounging in the council room or for you to end up in the science lab after hours, clicking your tongue as you measured out chemicals while he grinned like a cat that got the cream.
You were walking down the hall, carrying a fresh stack of neatly reviewed club reports. The day was blissfully quiet, until you heard two unfamiliar voices echoing near the end of the corridor.
“Senku! There you are!” He was an athletic, and overly energetic boy with a booming voice—Oki Taiju, if you remember correctly. Beside him was a gentle-looking girl, Ogawa Yuzuriha, who waved shyly.
You paused when you saw Senku approaching them, hands in his pockets. He spotted you instantly.
“Yo, Prez.” Senku greeted you casually, as if it were the most normal thing to see you here.
Taiju and Yuzuriha both froze.
“W-Wait!” Taiju stammered, eyes wide. “It’s the Student President!!”
Yuzuriha blinked, equally surprised. “I didn’t think we’d ever meet him like this…”
You tilted your head slightly, polite but unreadable. “Ishigami, these are your… friends?”
“Yeah,” Senku said smoothly, already moving to stand between you all. “This loud one’s Taiju, and that’s Yuzuriha.”
They waved awkwardly.
Before you could even say anything, Senku added with a hint of amusement, “And this guy, Prez, is the reason I’ve been finishing my experiments without accidentally setting off the fire alarms lately.”
Taiju blinked. “…Wait, what?! You actually asked for help? From him? And you didn’t just… steal whatever you needed?”
Your eyes narrowed slightly. “…Steal?”
Senku smirked, unfazed. “Don’t look so shocked. I usually just take what’s required. Efficiency, y’know. But with you around, I don’t have to. Makes my life easier.”
You blinked at him, mildly surprised he admitted that so casually. “…Right.”
Yuzuriha stepped forward a little nervously. “Um, hello! It’s nice to meet you properly. I-I’ve heard you’re very… disciplined."
Taiju nodded quickly, almost intimidated by the way you carried yourself. “Yeah, and you’re kinda scary, Mister President. Like… really strict scary. N-No offense!”
You exhaled softly and straightened your posture. “It’s okay… there’s no need to call me that. I’m aware of my reputation. But don’t worry. I’m not strict without reason.”
They both hesitated.
You took a small step closer and offered a faint, polite smile—not forced, but subtle. “I’m actually glad to meet Ishigami’s friends. I can see he doesn’t waste his time on just anyone. You two seem really nice and hard-working students.”
Taiju blinked at the unexpected friendliness. “…Oh! Uh, thanks?”
Yuzuriha nodded slightly, her nerves easing a little. “You’re a lot kinder than I expected.”
You gave a faint shrug. “I’m just honest. People tend to mistake that for being unapproachable.”
There was an awkward beat—until Taiju suddenly let out a laugh. “Okay, you’re not so scary after all!”
Yuzuriha smiled warmly. “Yeah! I think we can get along just fine.”
Senku watched the whole exchange with a faint smirk. “Told you. Prez isn’t as bad as everyone says. Just don’t try to half-ass anything around him, or he will call you out.”
You shot Senku a dry look. “Thank you for the glowing recommendation, Ishigami.”
“Anytime,” he said, completely unfazed.
But strangely enough, the tension eased. Taiju and Yuzuriha were chatting with you more comfortably, even waving goodbye without hesitation. The hallway finally quieted after Taiju and Yuzuriha waved goodbye.
You exhaled and adjusted the stack of reports in your arms, ready to retreat back to the council room. But of course, Senku lingered. Following beside you with his usual smirk, he regarded you with a knowing glint in his eye.
“Well,” he said casually, “that went better than I thought. Taiju didn’t run screaming, and Yuzuriha didn’t faint. That’s some progress.”
You gave him a flat look. “…Are you implying people normally do run screaming when I’m around?”
Senku shrugged, amused. “Prez, you’ve got this whole ‘unapproachable authority figure’ aura around you. Most students don’t even make eye contact with you unless they’re about to get lectured.”
You scoffed softly. “...I’m not that bad.”
“You’re exactly that bad.” He smirked wider. “But apparently, Taiju and Yuzuriha decided they like you. See? Looks like you’re not doomed to be the scary Prez forever.”
Your brow twitched slightly. “…Why does that sound like you’re enjoying this?”
“Because I am.”
You sighed and turned to leave, muttering under your breath, “Unbelievable…”
But just before you disappeared down the hall, Senku called out, his tone teasing but oddly sincere beneath the sarcasm. “Relax, Prez. For someone who claims not to care, you actually did fine. Not bad at all.”
You froze for a fraction of a second—long enough for Senku to catch it—before continuing your walk without looking back. “…Don’t read too much into it.”
Senku chuckled under his breath. Yeah… you’re definitely warming up.
A few days later, it was another late afternoon in the science lab. The faint smell of chemicals lingered in the air as you carefully measured out a fine powder, double-checking the scale like your life depended on it. Senku leaned back on his stool, spinning a pen between his fingers while waiting for you to finish.
“Precision to the tenth decimal,” you muttered quietly, jotting it down. “Alright. This should be the exact amount you need, Ishigami.”
“Mm,” he hummed in approval, but then his smirk deepened as if something had just occurred to him.
“Hey, Prez.” He said, tone laced with casual amusement. “You know you don’t have to keep saying my last name like you’re addressing a teacher, right?”
You blinked once, not looking up from the beaker you were aligning. “…It’s polite.”
Senku arched an eyebrow. “Polite? What is this, a board meeting?”
You finally glanced at him, confused. “…Is there a problem?”
He chuckled, leaning forward on the counter. “Nah. Just funny. You’re over here being all stiff and formal like we’re strangers in a corporate office. You’ve been helping me for… I dunno, two years? At this point, you might as well drop the ‘Ishigami’ and just call me Senku.”
You hesitated, caught off guard by how easily he said it. “…Senku?” you repeated, testing it awkwardly.
He smirked. “There you go! That wasn’t so hard, was it? You’re not gonna short-circuit from being casual with someone, are you?”
Your brows furrowed. “…You’re mocking me.”
“Damn right I am,” he said smoothly, clearly entertained. “You’re so overly polite it’s like you’re afraid you’ll break some invisible etiquette rule. It’s adorable.”
You stiffened at the word and shot him a sharp look. “…Please do not call me that.”
He laughed under his breath. “Relax. I’m not like Taiju. I’m not gonna start clinging to you or anything. Just saying, you don’t have to keep acting like we’re in some formal ceremony. I already know you’re not a robot. Well… mostly.”
You rolled your eyes and returned to your task, muttering, “…You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” Senku drawled, leaning back with a triumphant grin, “you still keep showing up. That must mean you don’t totally hate me.”
You clicked your tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. But later, when you were packing up your notes, you realized that saying his first name hadn’t felt as unnatural as you thought it would.
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Three months passed like clockwork and you’d almost gotten used to this strange, new rhythm. School. Student council work. Precision lab sessions with Senku. The occasional lunch with Taiju and Yuzuriha, who were oddly persistent in trying to include you.
It wasn’t… bad. For once, there was something that felt a little like belonging.
But all of that disappeared the second you stepped back into your family’s home. Your parents came back from another “business meeting.”
Your mother sat on a pristine white couch, scrolling through her laptop without looking up. Your father stood by the window, checking his watch. You stood there in silence, hands at your sides like a well-trained soldier.
Finally, your mother spoke. “How is school?”
You swallowed. “…It’s fine.”
Your mother hummed. “Anything new?”
You hesitated, but some quiet flicker of hope made you answer. “…I’ve met a few… friends.”
There was an awkward pause. Your father actually looked at you for half a second, slightly surprised. “Friends?”
“Yes,” you said, almost defensive. “People I actually spend time with.”
Your mother smiled politely. “Well, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your studies. You know your priorities. Keep up your position and your grades. We’re proud of you.”
And just like that, the conversation was over. You stood there, waiting. Waiting for something. A question. A real smile. A small sign that they cared about you, not just your image.
But nothing came.
So you excused yourself, walked to your room, and quietly closed the door.
The moment it clicked shut, your spine straightened out of habit, then slowly curved in defeat. You slid down against the door and sat on the floor. You bit the inside of your cheek until it hurt, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat. But the pressure of it all. The constant effort to be perfect enough to be seen… finally cracked you open.
Tears slipped down silently. You didn’t sob. There wasn’t any sound at all. Just quiet and suffocating grief. You curled into yourself and cried until your body couldn’t handle itself anymore. Eventually, you fell asleep right there on the cold floor.
The morning after, you felt like a ghost. You went through the motions. Straightening papers, fixing reports, and giving polite responses when needed. But your sharp tone was dulled, your posture slackened in ways you didn’t notice.
Even Taiju, who was usually oblivious, whispered to Yuzuriha: “He doesn’t look too good, does he?”
But you brushed them off. You avoided Senku’s gaze entirely. When you finally dragged yourself to the council room late, for the third time that week, you thought you could just quietly catch up.
But that's when Senku stopped playing nice.
The door slammed open.
“I’m done letting this slide,” Senku’s voice rang sharp.
You looked up from your desk, startled. “What are you doing—”
“Cut the crap.” Senku strode in, his eyes locked on you like a predator who’d found his mark.
You turned away, muttering, “I don’t have time for whatever you’re about to say. I’m busy.”
Senku let out a scoff. “Busy with what? You’re slowly falling apart!”
You forced a calm tone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” His voice was low, firm. “Your face says otherwise. The half-assed way you’ve been working says otherwise. Hell, you didn’t even notice the chemical sample I left on your desk earlier. You’d never miss something like that if you were yourself.”
Your hands tightened slightly. “Senku… I told you, I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Just tired?” He stepped closer, his eyes glinting. “You’re running on fumes, Prez. You’ve been walking around like a machine with no battery left. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
You turned away. “…You don’t get it! I can’t stop. If I stop—”
“If you stop, what? The world ends? Your family cuts you off? Your reputation shatters?” His tone was cutting, but his eyes softened. “So what? You’re still human.”
Before you could respond, Senku did something unexpected. He reached out and grabbed your wrist.
You flinched and stood up instantly. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Look at yourself,” he said, his voice quiet but piercing. “You’ve got eyebags and your hands are cold. You’ve been starving yourself for perfection. How long do you think you can keep this up before you collapse?”
You tried to pull away. “Let go.”
“No.”
“Senku—”
“No.” His grip stayed firm. He wasn’t angry nor pitying. He was just steady. “You need to stop. Just for one second. Stop trying to hold it all together. You’re going to burn yourself out completely.”
Something inside you snapped. “Shut up! Why do you even care?! Why do you even want to help me?! What do you get out of this?!”
…
Senku didn’t even blink. “...Because you’re my best friend, you dumbass.”
You froze. The word “best friend” hit you harder than you expected.
“…What?”
“You’re my best friend, ten billion percent.” He said again, matter-of-fact. “I respect your brains. I respect you. Hell, you’re one of the few people in this school who actually challenges me. But I’m not about to watch someone I respect self-destruct for the sake of some invisible standard. I… can’t stand it.”
You stared at him. No one had ever said something like that to you, not like this. Senku sighed, finally releasing your wrist but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “Listen. You’re coming with me. Taiju, Yuzuriha and I are heading to the ramen shop later. You need a break. You’re coming too.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but he didn’t give you the chance.
“No excuses,” he added. “You’ve been holding everything for too long. Let someone else do it for once.”
You faltered, lips parting but no words came. “…I can’t. I still have to finish—”
“No,” he interrupted sharply. “I don’t care about your reports. You’ve done enough for everyone else. It’s time you do something for yourself.”
“But—”
“I said no,” he interrupted with a sharp scoff. “You’ve done enough. You’re done for today.”
“Senku, I can’t just leave a mess behind—”
“Prez.” Senku smirked faintly, though there was something softer under it. “You’ve been cleaning up everyone else’s messes your whole life. Let me clean up yours for once.”
You hesitated. For a second, you actually thought about saying no again. But then Senku stepped closer and held out his hand. Waiting patiently for you to take it. “C’mon. Don’t make me drag you out like a kid.”
Your chest tightened. And before you could think too hard, you slowly placed your hand in his.
Senku’s smirk widened. “There we go. See? More progress.”
“…You’re annoyingly persistent,” you muttered.
“And you’re annoyingly stubborn. We’re a perfect ten billion percent match, aren’t we?” Senku playfully said.
You sighed, shaking your head, but there was the faintest flicker of relief in your chest.
Senku squeezed your wrist gently once more before letting go. “Good. Now let’s go before I change my mind and actually drag you out.”
He turned and started walking toward the door. You lingered for just a moment, glancing at the half-finished reports on your desk.
Then, quietly, you followed him out.
⟡ · · ──── ·⋆˖⁺‧₊◯₊‧⁺˖⋆· ──── · · ⟡
The ramen shop was alive with noise. The clatter of bowls, the hiss of simmering broth, and the low hum of chatter filled the cramped space. Steam curled in the air, rich with the scent of miso and soy. You sat in the corner booth, posture rigid, the edges of your uniform still perfectly pressed even though the day was long. Across from you, Senku was relaxed as always, leaned back with that perpetual air of someone in control.
Taiju, on the other hand, was practically glowing with joy, already halfway through a mountain of gyoza. Yuzuriha smiled softly beside him, chatting with quiet warmth.
You felt slightly out of place. Like a rigid piece that didn’t quite belong in the easy puzzle they made.
Then the door chimed open.
“Yo!”
The voice boomed with energy, confident and effortlessly warm. A tall man with silver and blue-streaked hair walked in, a wide grin on his face. His presence instantly shifted the atmosphere; it felt lighter somehow.
“Byakuya!” Taiju waved enthusiastically, nearly knocking over his chopsticks.
“Byakuya-san!” Yuzuriha added, bowing politely with a smile.
You blinked, caught off guard. Byakuya?
Senku barely looked up. “You’re late.”
Byakuya chuckled and ruffled Senku’s spiky hair anyway, earning an annoyed swat. “Hey, traffic was a mess. But I made it. Hope you all didn’t eat too much without me.”
You tilted your head slightly. “…Who is this?”
Yuzuriha turned to you, her expression gentle. “This is Ishigami Byakuya. Senku’s father.”
Your brows lifted slightly. Father?
“Adoptive father,” Byakuya corrected lightly with an easy smile. Then he turned to you, eyes flickering with a warmth that somehow felt familiar. “And you must be the school’s council president I’ve been hearing about.”
You stiffened. “…Hearing about me?”
Byakuya nodded. “Oh, I think we’ve technically met before. I was at a symposium, years ago. Your parents were there. Sharp folks.” He paused, his gaze softening. “They were very… focused people.”
That made your stomach twist. “You know my parents?”
“Sure do,” Byakuya said easily, but there was a glint in his eyes, like he knew exactly what kind of pressure came from them. He didn’t say more, though. Instead, he smiled, tone easing. “I’m glad you’re here, though! Senku doesn’t bring just anyone around.”
You didn’t know what to say. “…I see. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Byakuya-san.”
Senku smirked faintly at your stiff politeness but didn’t comment.
As Byakuya joined the booth with natural ease, he ordered enough food for everyone without hesitation. His laughter was infectious, filling the gaps in the conversation. Taiju lit up even more, Yuzuriha relaxed, and even Senku, stoic as he was, chimed in here and there with his usual sarcastic quips.
You sat there quietly at first, spooning broth into your mouth, unsure how to fit into this effortless flow. But then Yuzuriha gently asked you a question about how you manage your council duties. Taiju followed up with a goofy remark about your “legendary scary face,” which, to your surprise, made you chuckle.
Bit by bit, they drew you in.
Byakuya occasionally asked you things too. Small and simple questions that somehow didn’t feel prying. And he listened. Really listened. It was quite disarming. And before you realized it, you were speaking more than you expected.
For a fleeting moment, there was warmth. A strange, unfamiliar warmth that reminded you faintly of something you hadn’t felt in years. Being part of a table that felt alive.
After paying for the meal, you all left the ramen shop and stepped out into the cool evening air. The summer breeze carried the faint scent of soy and roasted garlic, mixing with the quiet hum of cicadas in the distance.
Byakuya stretched his arms overhead with an exaggerated groan. “Ahh, nothing beats a good bowl of ramen with good company.”
Taiju grinned, rubbing his stomach. “Haha! I could’ve eaten ten more bowls!”
“Please don’t.” Yuzuriha laughed softly.
Byakuya chuckled, then glanced at the time. “Well, it’s getting late. Why don’t I walk you two back toward the station?”
Taiju perked up. “Sure! That’d be great!”
Yuzuriha nodded. “We’d love that, Byakuya-san.”
Before leaving, Byakuya turned to you with that same warm, knowing smile he’d given earlier. “Hey, it was good meeting you. And don’t forget…” He tapped two fingers lightly against his temple. “You’re not defined by anyone’s expectations but your own. Got it?”
Your breath hitched. You didn’t know why, but his words lodged themselves in your chest like a weight you couldn’t quite describe. “…I’ll keep that in mind,” you said quietly.
“Good.” Byakuya smiled one last time and gave Senku’s shoulder a light squeeze before heading off with Taiju and Yuzuriha.
Their voices faded into the distance, leaving just you and Senku under the dim glow of the streetlight. For a few seconds, the silence between you stretched. Senku leaned against the shop’s outer wall, his hands shoved casually in his pockets, eyes half-lidded as if he were deep in thought.
You stared at the ground, feeling an inexplicable heaviness.
Finally, Senku broke the silence. “So. Summer break’s coming up.”
You raised a brow. “…And?”
“I’m inviting you over,” Senku said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And no. No experiments. No schoolwork. Just a casual hangout. Maybe we could play some video games or even a decent meal that doesn’t taste like cardboard. I’m not above showing you how a real genius kills time.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “You’re inviting me? To your house?”
He tilted his head slightly, smirk deepening. “Unless there’s another uptight council president I’ve been hanging out with all this time, yeah.”
You hesitated. Why would he? It wasn’t like you were the easiest person to be around. You could easily say no, retreat into your safe, solitary routine. But then Byakuya’s words echoed in your mind.
You’re not defined by anyone’s expectations but your own.
You exhaled slowly. “…Fine. But please don’t expect me to actually know what I’m doing with video games. It’s been a while since I’ve actually played.”
Senku chuckled under his breath. “Don’t worry. I plan to win anyway.”
You rolled your eyes, fighting the smallest twitch of a smile. “Of course, you will.”
Senku started walking ahead, hands still in his pockets, while you followed a step behind. And for some strange reason, the silence didn’t feel as heavy anymore with him.