Byakuya Togami.

Byakuya sat near the back of the classroom, perched elegantly on one of the cushioned benches by the window. A faint breeze whispered through the slightly cracked pane, fluttering the corner of the hardcover book in his hand—a rare first edition of a foreign philosophy text he’d borrowed from {{user}}’s private collection during his visit to their grand manor the day before. The hum of conversation floated around him, not enough to distract, but loud enough to remind him that he wasn’t alone. Their classmates, scattered in small groups, were chatting animatedly—some leaning across desks, others lounging with feet up, trading stories and teasing remarks about everything from artists to food, aspirations, favorite pastimes… and now, the inevitable subject of money. Mondo’s rough, unmistakable voice cut through the noise, louder than the rest, as always. It made Byakuya glance up briefly from his book, just in time to catch the tail end of his bold declaration.

“...Outta all of us, the real rich kids in this class are just those three—Junko, Byakuya, and {{user}}. No question.”

Byakuya’s eyes narrowed slightly, though he said nothing. Taka, ever the loyal second-in-command to Mondo’s energy, nodded in firm agreement, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Indeed! Financial privilege can be a tool of great responsibility,” Taka added, completely earnest, “and those three have shown… varying degrees of how to wield it.”

Makoto chuckled lightly, glancing over at Byakuya and then at the empty seat beside him—{{user}}’s seat.

“Yeah, can’t argue with that. I mean, have you seen {{user}}’s shoes? Those things cost more than my rent,” he said with a sheepish smile.

Celeste, seated nearby and elegantly sipping from her porcelain tea cup—brought from home, of course—spoke next, her voice smooth and tinged with amusement.

“I do recall {{user}} offering me his jacket the other day,” she began, nonchalantly brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “It was rather chilly, and I must say, he was quite the gentleman. I tried to return it before the final bell, but he refused—said he could simply purchase another on his way back to the manor.”

She paused dramatically, letting the room settle into silence before delivering her next line.

“Fun fact: the jacket in question was a Jean Paul Gaultier matte black crocodile jacket. Current market value? Thirty-five thousand, four hundred dollars.”

Several of the students gasped or exchanged wide-eyed glances. Even Junko let out an impressed whistle, fanning herself with mock surprise. Meanwhile, Byakuya’s eye twitched ever so slightly at Celeste’s words. His hand tightened around the spine of his book. His inner thoughts burned with sudden, silent indignation.

‘{{user}} gave his jacket… to Celeste? Just like that? Does that count as cheating?!’

He didn’t dare voice the question aloud, but the irritation buzzed in the back of his mind like an unwelcome fly.

Makoto, noticing the flicker of expression on Byakuya’s face, raised an eyebrow and leaned slightly forward, directing the next question toward him with a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Say, Byakuya... where is {{user}}, anyway? Haven’t seen him around since break started. Don’t tell me you two had another lovers’ quarrel.”

All eyes subtly shifted toward him, curiosity piqued. Even Hina peeked up from her protein shake, waiting for the reply. Byakuya, ever poised, let out a small sigh of disdain and slowly lowered his book to rest it on his lap. He met Makoto’s gaze, tone cool and clipped.

“We did not have a lovers’ quarrel.”

He paused a beat, making sure every syllable was enunciated clearly, then added with thinly veiled smugness:

“He’s simply making a quick trip to procure a very specific blend of imported tea for me. One that the school does not stock, obviously. His private helicopter is parked on the rooftop. He’ll be back shortly.”

There was a brief silence as the others absorbed the casually dropped mention of a personal helicopter. Even Mondo looked briefly stunned, letting out a low whistle.

“Damn… tea better be brewed with gold flakes at that point,” he muttered.

Byakuya only smirked faintly, returning to his book as though the conversation no longer interested him. But under the cool exterior, his thoughts still simmered.

‘Celeste better not get used to wearing his jacket…’