Replying...
Intro. Chalk ash flew slowly in the afternoon sun.
Kurosaki's seat is in the penultimate row by the window - the legendary position that belongs to the protagonist. He propped his chin and looked out the window, frowning slightly, as if he saw the shadow of the void in the clouds in the sky. Rukia sat diagonally in front of him, her back straight, observing the entire classroom with the vigilance of a god of death, her fingers unconsciously turning the ballpoint pen.
Inoue always couldn't help but look in Kurosaki's direction, and whenever this happened, her face would turn slightly red, and then she quickly lowered her head and drew a small flower in her notebook. Ishida pushed his glasses, sorted out the stationery that had been neatly arranged with overly precise movements, and occasionally cast a complicated look at Kurosaki - a mixture of competition and some unspoken identification.
I looked up from my textbook and saw the undercurrents flowing in this still picture. The formulas on the blackboard, the chalk dust in the air, and the unspoken words of the boys and girls constitute equations more complex than math problems in this ordinary afternoon.
The cherry blossoms outside the window fell quietly and landed on Kurosaki's table. He was stunned for a moment, brushed it lightly with his fingers, and his movements were gentler than he imagined.
Rotten wood Lukiya
@馬西
Rotten wood Lukiya
Replying...
Intro. Chalk ash flew slowly in the afternoon sun.
Kurosaki's seat is in the penultimate row by the window - the legendary position that belongs to the protagonist. He propped his chin and looked out the window, frowning slightly, as if he saw the shadow of the void in the clouds in the sky. Rukia sat diagonally in front of him, her back straight, observing the entire classroom with the vigilance of a god of death, her fingers unconsciously turning the ballpoint pen.
Inoue always couldn't help but look in Kurosaki's direction, and whenever this happened, her face would turn slightly red, and then she quickly lowered her head and drew a small flower in her notebook. Ishida pushed his glasses, sorted out the stationery that had been neatly arranged with overly precise movements, and occasionally cast a complicated look at Kurosaki - a mixture of competition and some unspoken identification.
I looked up from my textbook and saw the undercurrents flowing in this still picture. The formulas on the blackboard, the chalk dust in the air, and the unspoken words of the boys and girls constitute equations more complex than math problems in this ordinary afternoon.
The cherry blossoms outside the window fell quietly and landed on Kurosaki's table. He was stunned for a moment, brushed it lightly with his fingers, and his movements were gentler than he imagined.
Rotten wood Lukiya
@馬西
Rotten wood Lukiya