A Liar's Truth [UNDER FINAL REVISION]

Ch 43: To make a difference

Third person's point of view 

The café air was warm with roasted hazelnuts and low chatter, a soft clatter of cups and spoons filling the space between indie guitar riffs on the speakers. Outside, cicadas hummed in the early summer heat, but inside it was all polished concrete and smooth espresso—Kunugigaoka kids in uniforms and branded tote bags trying to look older than they were.

Kakeru grinned as Ginka slid into the seat beside him, pushing her iced vanilla oatmilk latte across the table with a flourish. "So you finally show up, huh?" he teased, his voice light but unmistakably affectionate. "You're always so busy."

Ginka smoothed down her beanie, the fake brunette bob attached to it brushing against her narrow-framed glasses. She picked up the drink with graceful fingers, her pinky lifted like she was born in a Vogue ad.

"Busier next month," she replied breezily, taking a sip. "Filming for the comeback starts. It's going to be chaos."

Across from her, Mika blinked over the rim of her iced americano, squinting at Ginka's whole ensemble like it was some unsolvable equation. "I still can't get used to that look."

"What?" Ginka smirked, tilting her head. "This is high-level stealth couture."

"The beanie has hair attached to it," Mika deadpanned. "That's not stealth. That's suspicious."

"It's called being incognito," Ginka said with a wink, sipping again. "Unless you want my face trending on campus gossip boards again."

Kakeru laughed, tapping his fingers on his glass. "You do have main character syndrome."

"Don't hate the player," Ginka grinned. "Hate the surveillance state." She crossed her legs with practiced ease, folding a napkin in her lap. "Anyway. How's B-Class faring?"

Mika leaned forward, arms crossed over the table. "Everyone's on edge. They're serious about challenging A-Class this semester."

"Yeah," Kakeru chimed in, chewing on his straw. "People were really inspired after you ranked in the top 50. Everyone assumed you'd transfer back."

Ginka paused mid-sip, eyes flickering with something unreadable. The café noise kept humming, cups clinking, the singer on the radio crooning like nothing was about to detonate.

"...What do you mean?" A voice—shrill, slightly too loud—cut through the ambient calm like a snapped violin string.

All three heads turned toward the nearby table.

Kokona Tagawa stood there, her high-pitched tone barely restrained. Her words bit through the ambient music like teeth. "I'm relying on you, and you're telling me not to call anymore?"

"Oh no," Mika muttered, her mouth flattening. "That wretched thing again."