The presentation had gone wrong. Everything was in disarray. He rummaged through his bag for what felt like an eternity, fingers frantically searching for the missing flash drive. His frustration grew with every passing second. The professor had already extended the deadline for his presentation, but the more he searched, the more it became clear he wouldn't make it in time.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, a sense of dread creeping over him.

He narrowed his eyes, his thoughts immediately going to Zenjiro. There was no way it could just disappear like that. His suspicion bubbled to the surface—Zenjiro was always around, and always watching. Something about the situation didn't sit right. He needed answers.

Without wasting another moment, he made his way to Zenjiro's classroom. When he arrived, he didn't hesitate to excuse his younger brother from the class. The professor gave a questioning look but ultimately accepted the request, and Zenjiro followed without a word.

Now, they were standing outside at the back of the school, the area secluded and far from the busy campus. The only sound was the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind, and the distant hum of traffic from the street.

Zenjiro leaned casually against a nearby wall, his hands in his pockets, looking the picture of innocence. He didn't seem the least bit concerned.

He crossed his arms, still reeling from the chaos. His eyes locked onto Zenjiro, suspicion simmering in his gaze.

"So," Zenjiro said, his voice playful, almost too sweet, "what's all this about, Nii-san? You look like you've seen a ghost."

There was a pause as Zenjiro gave a lazy shrug, an innocent smile on his lips. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly unfazed by the tension in the air. His hands remained in his pockets, but anyone paying close attention would notice his subtle movements—too controlled, too composed.

A soft chuckle escaped Zenjiro's lips as he tilted his head, still acting oblivious. "You seem upset," he said, his tone light. "Did you lose something important?"

But the way Zenjiro was standing, the way his eyes flickered toward his pockets, made it clear to anyone paying attention: he knew exactly what was happening.

Zenjiro didn't seem in a hurry to speak any further, instead watching quietly, his smile never faltering. The silence between them stretched, heavy and thick.

And Zenjiro's casual demeanor made it all too clear—he was enjoying this, the unease, the tension, the suspicion.

The flash drive was still in his pocket, and he was in no rush to hand it over.