her. I already had a brief encounter with Hanekawa during spring break, and afterwards, as soon as our new classes were announced and we found out we’d be together, she declared to me, “I’m gonna make sure you turn your life around.” I’m no juvenile delinquent, nor really a problem child. I was a mere class ornament, according to my own assessment, so her proclamation struck me like a bolt from the blue. But no amount of convincing could halt her single-minded delusion, and before I knew it, I was appointed class vice president, which is why, at that moment, after school on the eighth of May, I was still in my classroom alone with Hanekawa hashing out what to do for the mid-June culture festival. “Culture festival or not, we’re third-years now,” Hanekawa said. “We won’t be doing much. Studying for college exams is more important.” Prioritizing exam prep over the culture festival, without batting an eye, indeed made her a class president among class presidents. “With a vague survey, the suggestions would be all over the board and just a waste of time. We could go ahead and narrow down the options between us and have everyone vote on those. Are you good with that?” “Why not? It has a nice democratic veneer.” “You always make things sound so awful, Araragi. Such cynicism.” “That’s not cynicism. Hey, you’re making me feel like a cartoon sidekick. Tongari, to be exact.” “For reference, Araragi, what did your class do for the culture festival last year and the year before?”