#kyohiru

author's note: this scene was based on the Chapter 23 of Assassination Classroom. all characters and original plot (except Y/n and Shiori Takada) belongs to Yusei Matsui.

The rainy season had arrived.

Dark clouds loomed over the campus, casting everything in a dull silver hue. Raindrops hammered against the classroom windows, creating a steady rhythm, a soft, endless percussion. The air was thick with the sultry scent of wet earth, petrichor rising with each drop.

It’s June, and there are 9 months left before graduation. 

Inside, the air smelled faintly of damp uniforms, wet concrete, and newly sharpened pencils. Students leaned lazily over their desks, heads resting on their arms, as if the weight of the sky pressed down on them too.

In the dreariness of the rainy season, people also feel somewhat dispirited.

When the bell finally rang, students hastened to gather their things and rushed for home, umbrellas popping open like flowers under the drizzle. 

“Y/n-san. Got a minute?” you turned, surprised. 

It was Shiori Takada, one of the top 10 ranked students from Class A— quiet, often overlooked, and always absurdly precise with her notes.

“I know we have the mock exams next week,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear “but I was thinking—maybe we should propose a tutoring rotation for the bottom 10 students in our class.”

You blinked. “Class A students helping Class A students?”

She looked down shyly, her fingers brushing her notebook. “It’s still a competition, but dragging the bottom slows the curve. If we all score higher, our class average rises — and that reflects better on our records.”

You considered it. The idea was cold, but smart just like Class A.

“…Send me the outline. I’ll polish the wording.”

“Ah—thank you. I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.” She quickly tucks her hair behind her ear again, a faint blush rising on her cheeks as she hurries out of the classroom.

You watched the door swing shut, then exhaled not from exhaustion, just habit.

As you slipped the last document into your bag, the classroom door creaked open again.

“Leaving so early, Vice President?” You turned.

Asano Gakushu, A top-ranked student and the student council president — calm, composed, expression unreadable as always. He stood beneath the stairwell lights, arms crossed, a file folder in one hand.

You kept your tone neutral. “We’re done for the day.”

“So I heard,” he replied, stepping down the last few steps to your level. “I also heard you agreed to support Takada’s tutoring initiative.”

“She made a valid point,” you replied. “Raising the class average helps everyone.”

Asano tilted his head slightly, like a chess master re-evaluating a board.

“Strategic. I expected no less from you,” he said.“Still… helping weaker students doesn’t always guarantee strength. Sometimes it simply shows how vulnerable we are when we slow down.”

You didn’t take the bait.

Instead, you met his gaze evenly. “Or maybe it shows how strong we are when we don’t leave anyone behind.”

Asano’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind his eyes — recognition, perhaps. Or interest.

You adjusted your bag strap, the rain tapping faintly against the window panes behind you.

“If that’s all, I’ll be heading out,” you said, voice calm. “I’d rather not miss the last shuttle.”

You turned before he could reply, footsteps echoing softly down the empty hallway.

Behind you, Asano didn’t call out.

He never did.

But you could feel his eyes on your back — watching, calculating, the way he always did.

Kunugigaoka Academy. A prestigious private institution admired across the country — pristine, towering, efficient. Its reputation was built on excellence, its students polished into perfection.

A hierarchy carved deep into its foundation.

Class A sat at the top: privilege, pressure, prestige.

Class E was exiled to the bottom: shame, silence, stigma.

A line that was never meant to be crossed.

It was quiet at this hour. The corridors had emptied. Most of the shuttles had departed. You walked alone past the manicured gardens, down the wide walkway that split the elite from the forgotten.

Stepping past the academy’s grand front gate — the iron bars cool and slick with rain — the air outside felt just a little freer. Or perhaps just lonelier.

But something off caught your eye.

Across the sidewalk, near the old bus stop where Class E students sometimes passed, a small group had gathered. Teppei Araki. Seo Tomoya. Another Class A student — all familiar faces, all wearing the same smug posture.

And in front of them stood Maehara Hiroto, a student from Class E. Beside him, a girl you didn’t recognize. Probably from Class C or D. Her posture was tense, uncertain.

“You’ve got it all wrong, Seo-kun!” the girl cried, voice trembling as she ran toward him. “I didn’t have an umbrella, and he just happened to come along and offer his…”

Her words faltered under Seo’s stare. She clutched the hem of her skirt tightly, head bowed, as if begging him — not just to believe her, but to accept the lie she’d chosen.

“Ah… so that’s how it is,” Maehara said. His voice was low but clear, cutting through the rain.

The girl froze, turning toward him slowly, panic in her eyes.

“Lately, you've hardly answered the phone,” he said, tone even. “And you suddenly switched from bicycling to commuting by train.”

Rain dripped steadily from his bangs, but his expression didn’t waver.

“So, you figured you'd keep me around for when your new boyfriend's busy?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came.

“Kaho, you little—”

Seo’s voice cracked through the rain like a whip. His fist clenched at his side, eyes narrowing — not just at her, but at the embarrassment. At being dragged into something this messy.

“H-he’s wrong!” Kaho stammered, nearly slipping on the slick pavement. “I-it’s not like that at all…”

She was stuttering now, scrambling for something to fix it — a lie, an angle, a way out.

Then she snapped.

“Hey!” she shouted, spinning toward Maehara. Her eyes wide, voice rising.

“Don’t you know you’re bad news?”

The shift was sharp. Panic giving way to blame.

“You didn’t put in enough effort and ended up in Class E,” she said, pointing with a trembling finger. “The bottom of the pack, Maehara-kun.”

The words echoed louder than the rain.

This was it. The boundary. Not the grade sheets. Not the ranking boards.But this — a girl clawing for her dignity by kicking someone already on the ground. And you had seen enough.

“Maehara.”

You stepped forward, lifting your umbrella slightly higher. Your voice was calm.

“There you are. I’ve been waiting.”

They all froze.

Seo turned sharply. Kaho blinked, thrown. Even Maehara looked up — eyes narrowing slightly in disbelief.

You kept your expression even. Then, with a faint smile, you extended your hand in his direction.

“You said you’d walk me to the station, didn’t you?”

Maehara’s mouth twitched — not a smile, but something like relief. He stood straighter.

“Right,” he said, playing along. “Sorry I’m late.”

He walked toward you without another glance at the others.

Kaho looked stunned. Seo stepped back, visibly off balance.

You turned, holding the umbrella between you both.

“Next time,” you said without looking back, “try blaming someone who isn’t already carrying more than they should.”

And with that, you walked off into the rain — leaving behind the scene, and the system that allowed it.

The rain followed in soft percussion as you walked side by side. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable — just full of things unspoken.

You didn’t speak until you reached the station overhang, the warm glow of the lights casting long shadows on the pavement.

Maehara exhaled, leaning against a pillar. His sleeves were still dripping, his face unreadable.

“…Thanks,” he said, after a moment. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You shrugged, folding the umbrella carefully. “Didn’t feel right walking away.”

“You’re Class A. You’re supposed to walk away.”

“I’m also supposed to pretend people like Seo are worth admiring,” you muttered. “So I guess we’re both bad at following expectations.”

Maehara let out a dry laugh — short, but real.

You looked at him then. Not a delinquent. Not a rank. Just a boy with rain-soaked sleeves, pride barely intact, and eyes that hadn’t expected anyone to stand beside him.

“…Did you mean it?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked. “Mean what?”

“That we’re friends.”

“I meant that I could be.”

Maehara didn’t smile. But something in his eyes softened — something quiet and tired, like a guard lowering for the first time in a long while.

The Next Morning - Class E

“You really didn’t see us?” Sugino asked, sliding into his seat beside Maehara with a knowing grin.

Maehara didn’t look up from his textbook. “See who?”

“Sugino, Nagisa, Okano and me,” Kayano answered brightly, propping her chin on her hands across from him. “We were heading back from practice. We saw everything.”

“…You could’ve helped,” Maehara muttered, flipping a page with a bit more force than necessary.

“We didn’t have to,” Okano said, smirking. “She had it under control.”

“She?” Nagisa asked innocently. “You mean the vice president of Class A? Y/n-san?”

Maehara exhaled sharply. “Yes, her.”

“She called you her friend,” Kayano teased. “I never thought I'd see the day Maehara Hiroto got saved romantically under an umbrella.”

“It wasn’t romantic,” Maehara snapped quickly, face heating up. “She was just.. handling the situation.”

“Handling you, more like,” Sugino said.

“Nyurufufufu~” Korosensei suddenly slipped in through the back, clearly eavesdropping. “A forbidden friendship! A budding affection across class lines! This is exactly the kind of subplot I live for!”

Maehara groaned, burying his face in his arms. “Shut it.”

The class erupted into laughter. And for a brief moment, despite the gloom outside, everything felt a little lighter.