It was later that evening, just before twilight.
Naoya reached the shoe rack near the entrance of the school. He leaned against a shelf, sighing to himself, “Thank God it’s finally over...”
“Hey, Naoya. Looks like we’re both doing just peachy,” a voice greeted him. It was Naoya’s friend, Tatsumi Kouno.
They’d both bombed a quiz and had to take supplementary lessons as a result. Tatsumi was reaching for his shoes when he paused, as if something occurred to him. He spoke up, “Come to think of it, it’s rare seeing you having to take supplementary lessons.”
“I’m awful at math, man. You know this,” Naoya replied.
“You’re never this awful, though.”
“Not usually, I guess,” Naoya admitted. Although he didn’t exactly want to toot his own horn or anything, he was quite skilled academically. It
