The next day at noon, as the 11:30 bell rang promptly, the entire css buzzed with the cheerful atmosphere of the upcoming holiday.

  “Finally, vacation time! I’m going to sleep in so much when I get home!”

  “High school life is such a drag, and having a sneaky supervisor like Teacher Emmanuel is just pin bad luck.”

  “Why can’t we have a kind, beautiful homeroom teacher like the ones in novels? Ugh.”

  “Anyone up for a five-man team match this afternoon? Let’s set it up!”

  “Wait, aren’t you guys worried about the monthly exams?”

  “Exactly because of the monthly exams, we need to rex before the break. We can focus on studying in the st few days.”

  “You make a good point, but if we have too much fun, we might overdo it.”

  “This school does one decent thing with breaks—they start at noon. It feels like getting an extra half-day off for free. It’s like winning!”

  Thessaloniki First High School had a small but appreciated perk: monthly breaks began at noon, giving students the illusion of an extended vacation. It felt like a minor triumph.

  However, the time deducted from summer and winter breaks far outweighed this half-day illusion.

  Some students, too eager to waste time returning to their dorms, brought their luggage to the cssroom in the morning and stored it in a small room at the back. When the bell rang, they would rush to grab their bags and leave directly.

  For those living far from the school, parents sometimes came to pick them up. Some students ate lunch in the school cafeteria before heading home, while others, unimpressed with the food, had their parents bring home-cooked meals or opted for restaurants outside the school.

  Xanthia’s deskmate, Dematero, was among those who had prepared everything in advance. Knowing his parents were waiting at the school gate, he was eager to leave.

  When the bell rang, however, Dematero didn’t head to the back room immediately. Instead, he carefully packed textbooks, supplementary materials, and handouts to take home.

  He packed extensively, feeling it was still not enough. Determined to study hard for the upcoming monthly exams, he often made such resolutions but frequently struggled with procrastination. He would chastise himself for wasting time yet fall into the same patterns when the moment came.

  Regardless, Dematero aimed to maintain his standing within the top 10 of the css, with seventh pce as his personal benchmark. In middle school, his lowest rank had been sixteenth, a result he considered humiliating.

  Secretly, he hoped to surpass Elena La Loannou, viewing it as a personal comeback. In his mind, outperforming Elena would make him feel more confident and worthy of his growing affection for her.

  Don’t scoff at Dematero’s thoughts; such innocent aspirations are typical of high school crushes.

  Despite his confidence in the upcoming exam, Dematero failed to notice how his previous strong performance had made him compcent. Preoccupied with budding romantic feelings, he spent more time writing than studying, leading to a shaky foundation in subjects like math, physics, and chemistry.

  While Dematero packed, he noticed Xanthia sitting idly, showing no intention of packing. Curiously, he asked, “Xanthia, why aren’t you packing? Is your dad or mom picking you up today?”

  Xanthia always radiated a cheerful, rexed demeanor, as if nothing could upset her. Yet, Dematero couldn’t shake the feeling of a subtle shift in their dynamic ever since Jimmy’s peculiar lecture, where he had cimed Dematero didn’t truly like Xanthia but merely pitied her. From that point onward, Dematero felt a natural distance between them.

  In reality, this “rift” existed only in Dematero’s imagination. Xanthia felt no such change; she had simply stopped forcing herself to participate in the “Battle of the Queen of Heartst” scenario out of practicality.

  Yes, Xanthia had abandoned her “Tea Sommelier” mode, preferring instead to enjoy her time in other ways, free from the constraints of artificial pyacting.

  After returning to her usual self, Xanthia was much easier for Dematero to get along with, though he occasionally felt a twinge of loss. He had found that particur side of Xanthia somewhat endearing.

  As time passed, Dematero stopped dwelling on it. His true affection y with Elena La Loannou, and he was content to consider Xanthia a good friend.

  “No one’s coming to pick me up,” Xanthia replied casually. “I’m a day student. I live nearby, so I can just walk home.”

  Dematero nodded, realizing this was true. He couldn’t help but feel envious. “Living close is so convenient. My home isn’t even in this city. It’s in another town, and it takes an hour and a half to drive back on the highway. Thankfully, we have a car; otherwise, it’d be such a hassle.”

  High school students, unlike college students, rarely traveled long distances alone unless family circumstances demanded it. Dematero’s family wasn’t wealthy, but they were comfortable. His mother was an elementary school teacher, and his father worked as a minor government official. As their only child, Dematero grew up with everything he needed, supported by stable family incomes.

  His parents also encouraged him to pursue interests beyond academics. As a result, he developed excellent writing skills and elegant handwriting, earning praise from Teacher Emmanuel.

  However, children from such backgrounds often cked a certain toughness. Dematero had a mild temper and rarely got angry. The only time he had truly lost his temper was for Xanthia—when Jimmy’s behavior had been excessively inappropriate. It was a testament to how much Dematero cared for her.

  But after Jimmy’s “social death”—becoming the butt of jokes among cssmates—Dematero felt pity and refrained from adding to Jimmy’s humiliation.

  What comforted Dematero was that Xanthia, who had every reason to resent Jimmy, didn’t use the opportunity to seek revenge. Her kindness made Dematero admire her even more.

  He shared his thoughts with his friend Glen. Glen, who also admired Xanthia, often criticized Dematero for not seizing the chance to be with her.

  “Dematero, you’re going to regret this someday,” Glen said, his tone heavy with meaning.