The last traces of summer had finally burned away, replaced by the sharp, cool air of early autumn. The leaves on the Keyaki Mall boulevard had begun to turn a faint orange, and the buzz of the upcoming Sports Festival filled the school grounds. Students hurried between classes, their voices echoing through the courtyards—some talking about strategies, others gossiping about who would take first place.
Class D, now accustomed to the relentless rhythm of exams and competition, found itself at the heart of yet another test—not one of written answers or psychological endurance, but of teamwork, coordination, and hidden motives.
And somewhere in the midst of that energy, Soshi Miyamoto—could sense it:Something was quietly stirring beneath the surface.
The Recon War
"All classes are stepping up reconnaissance," Hirata announced during homeroom, his usual calm tone tinged with concern. "It's not just us—B-Class has been watching our practice sessions from the far field, and A-Class seems to be monitoring Sudō and Miyamoto specifically."
At that, the class laughed. Sudō smirked proudly, but I only leaned back in my chair, expression unreadable.
"Of course they're watching me," Sudō boasted, folding his arms. "They know I'm going to crush them. Ain't that right, Miyamoto?"
I shrugged lightly. "If you don't trip over your own ego first, maybe."
The class burst into light laughter, and even Suzune's lips curved slightly upward. But beneath that humor, there was an air of tension. Everyone knew that Class C, Ryūen's class, was silent—too silent. While A and B were collecting data, C wasn't doing anything. No scouting, no visible practice.
That silence was more terrifying than noise.
After homeroom, Ayanokōji approached Suzune and me. His eyes, as always, were calm—unreadable, calculating.
"Horikita," he began softly. "There's something I'd like to discuss with you tomorrow. And Miyamoto, you should probably hear it too."
Suzune frowned, suspicious. "Discuss what, exactly?"
"You'll see," he replied. Then, glancing past her shoulder, he spotted Kushida talking to Karuizawa and added, "Actually, make sure Kushida joins us tomorrow at ten. Tell her it's for reconnaissance. She won't refuse."
Suzune crossed her arms. "And why do you need me for reconnaissance? You could easily do it yourself."
Ayanokōji paused. His expression didn't change, but there was something sharper in his eyes now. "Because this isn't just about the sports festival. It's about the cruise ship exam."
That stopped her cold.
As the rest of the class dispersed, I lingered long enough to catch Ayanokōji's tone—subtle but edged with something deeper. I had learned to read that look; whenever he said little, he was preparing something big.
Later that night, as the dormitory lights dimmed and the murmur of other students faded, I found myself walking past the vending machines. The air was cool, and the metallic click of the cans dropping echoed faintly through the corridor.
I spotted Ayanokōji leaning against the railing, a can of black coffee in hand.
"Couldn't sleep?" I asked.
He didn't turn. "You could say that."
I joined him, watching the faint glow of the main building's lights in the distance. "You're testing Kushida tomorrow."
He glanced sideways. "You catch on quickly."
"I'd be a fool not to. You suspect she's the traitor from the cruise exam, don't you?"
He didn't deny it. "I do."
"And you're dragging Horikita into it to confirm your theory."
"Exactly."
There was silence between us. Only the faint hum of the vending machine filled the air.
"You think she'll confess?" I asked finally.
Ayanokōji took a slow sip of coffee, his eyes distant. "No. But I think I'll find something even more useful."
Saturday arrived. The sun cut through the dorm windows, bathing everything in a soft golden hue. I spent my morning lounging with the "Three Idiots" — Sudō, Ike, and Yamauchi — in my room.
"Man, Miyamoto, you think Sakayanagi's gonna actually show up at the festival?" Ike asked between bites of instant noodles.
"Probably not," I said. "She's got her own way of competing. She doesn't need to run around a track to win."
Yamauchi leaned back. "Still, that girl's creepy smart. I bet she's already planned how to mess with us without moving an inch."
"Wouldn't surprise me," I muttered.
The conversation drifted from Sakayanagi to Horikita—then, inevitably, to Sudō's hopeless crush on her.
"I swear, man," Yamauchi said, grinning, "if Sudō wins all his events, she's totally gonna fall for him."
Sudō went red. "Shut it, dumbass! Horikita ain't that kinda girl."
"Maybe not," I said, smirking. "But you could start by not yelling at her every other sentence."
Before the argument could continue, Ayanokōji's message pinged on my phone:
"Heading to the lobby. You coming?"
I excused myself and left.
By the time I reached the dorm lobby, Ayanokōji and Horikita were already there. Kushida appeared moments later, her perfect smile radiating warmth that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Alright," Ayanokōji said, hands in his pockets. "Let's go."
The three of them began walking toward the sports grounds, and I followed behind just far enough to observe. There was a quiet intensity between them—like an invisible thread connecting past secrets to present tension.
We arrived at the soccer field just as practice was ending. The ball cut through the air, and the sound of cleats scraping turf echoed sharply. At the center of it all was a tall, confident second-year with an easy smile and eyes that radiated leadership: Miyabi Nagumo.
Even standing still, he commanded attention.
"Ah, the famous first-years," Nagumo said, noticing us. "Scouting, are we?"
He grinned as his teammates jogged off. "Well, good luck. The Sports Festival is as much about politics as it is about athletics."
As he walked off, Kushida smiled faintly. "He's incredible, isn't he?"
"Too incredible," Horikita murmured. "People like him don't act without reason."
After the practice ended and Hirata joined them briefly, Ayanokōji found a moment to corner Kushida quietly.
"What caused your relationship with Horikita to fall apart?" he asked.
Her smile froze for a fraction of a second. Then she looked away, the sunlight catching her eyes like shards of glass. "Because of her," she said softly.
That was all.
When Ayanokōji didn't press further, I realized he'd gotten exactly what he needed—not an answer, but confirmation.
Kushida's mask slipped, just for a heartbeat.
As they watched the field empty, Horikita turned to Kushida, voice calm but edged with hesitation.
"Did you work with Ryūen or Katsuragi during the cruise ship exam?"
Kushida blinked. "Why would you think that?"
"I don't," Horikita said. "It doesn't matter who you helped before. What matters is whether I can trust you now."
Kushida's expression softened, her practiced warmth returning. "Of course you can, Horikita-san. We're classmates, after all."
It was a perfect lie—or maybe the truth. With Kushida, no one could tell the difference.
Ayanokōji gave a faint smile. "I'll leave the rest to you two," he said, turning away.
And just like that, he was gone.
Days blurred into a rhythm of training, sweat, and quiet tension. Sudō pushed everyone to their limits. Hirata coordinated with Katsuragi from Class A to ensure cooperation between Red Team members. The campus buzzed with energy and rivalry.
One afternoon, as we finalized the event roster, Suzune spoke up."I'd like to be the anchor for the 1200-metre relay."
The room fell silent.
Even Sudō, who had naturally assumed he'd take that position, froze. "You serious?"
Horikita nodded firmly. "Yes."
Hirata frowned gently. "That's unusual, Horikita-san. You're capable, but why not let Sudō handle the anchor?"
"The reason…" she began, then hesitated.
The room was growing tense. People exchanged glances. Her words faltered—until Ayanokōji, who had been silent in the corner, finally spoke.
"She wants a chance to reconcile with her brother," he said plainly.
Every head turned. Horikita's eyes widened in shock.
"That's why she wants to anchor," he continued. "Her brother, Manabu Horikita, will probably be the anchor for his team. This might be her only chance to face him directly."
The room fell into silence again—this time, softer. Understanding dawned.
Even Sudō looked down, rubbing his neck awkwardly. "Well, if that's the case, then... yeah. She should do it."
One by one, the others nodded in agreement.
For the first time in a long while, Horikita's eyes softened with something fragile—gratitude.
As evening fell and the gym lights flickered off, I lingered on the track, watching the empty lanes stretch into the shadows. The faint scent of chalk and sweat hung in the air.
Everything was calm now—but it wouldn't last.
Kushida's secret was out, at least to Ayanokōji. Ryūen was plotting something behind closed doors. And the Sports Festival, meant to measure strength and unity, was becoming another battlefield of manipulation.
Ayanokōji passed by, his steps quiet. He didn't stop, but as he walked past, he said quietly:
"The lines are drawn, Miyamoto. All that's left is to see who crosses them first."
I looked up at the dim lights above the track.