A Liar's Truth [UNDER FINAL REVISION]

Ch 31: No free will

Third-person point of view 

The sun was already leaking through her curtains when Ginka blinked awake. She jolted upright—then winced as her neck gave a disgruntled pop. 

Wait.

She turned slowly, staring at her now immaculate workspace. Her flashcards were stacked, not exploded. Her pens had found their rightful caps. The chaos she remembered? Gone. Replaced by a neat line of notebooks, a refilled pen cup, and a notebook left open to her last correct answer, like a gold star waiting for her.

And taped to her nightstand—like some taunting little gremlin—was a note.

___

Congrats. You survived math. Barely. 
Also, Miss Perfection drools in her sleep.

PS: You're welcome. And no, don't get used to it.

—Your humble tutor, Professor K.

___

Ginka made a sound between a groan and a dying dolphin before slamming her head back into the pillow.

"He's so infuriating!" 

But also... yeah. That was kind of nice of him.

She glanced at the time. 5:02 AM. Well, if the universe woke her up early, she might as well make use of it.

Thirty minutes of their indoor gym later—followed by another thirty of Pilates and one unfortunate cramp—Ginka was sprawled on the floor like a flat pancake of exhaustion and questionable life choices.

A short break and a very judgmental glass of water later, she dragged herself into the kitchen.

"Alright, Akabane-kun." She mumbled, tying her apron. "You fed my notes knowledge. I feed your stomach in return."

She whipped up breakfast and packed two bentos: hers balanced and aesthetic, his stacked with twice the meat and rice. She even slipped a tiny flag toothpick into his tamagoyaki because presentation matters, even if he didn't care.

This boy mostly survived on convenience store food. He needed divine intervention. 

Showered, moisturized, and fresh in her uniform—she swept her messenger bag over one shoulder, slipped on sneakers, then reached for her newest stealth weapon: a beige baseball cap with a brunette bob cut attached underneath.

Messenger bag slung over her shoulder, she crossed the short path next door to the Akabane household, knocked twice, then once more for good measure.

It creaked open with suspicious ease. "Wow. So bold now," he greeted, hair messy, half in uniform, one sock on. "Didn't think you'd recover from the trauma of me witnessing your mouth fountain moment."