The library was unusually quiet that afternoon, even for a place meant for silence. Dust motes drifted through the air like faint, slow-moving snowflakes, suspended between the thin rays of sunlight cutting through the blinds. The smell of old paper lingered in the air — calm, soothing, yet oddly suffocating when combined with the weight of the upcoming exams.
Ayanokōji sat beside Satō, his posture unassuming as always. He was the type of person who could fade into the background even when someone was staring directly at him — like a ghost who chose to remain visible only to those who wanted to see him. Unfortunately for him, Satō was one of those people.
"So, Ayanokōji-kun," Satō started, leaning closer as she twirled her pen nervously between her fingers, "what do you think about… um, couples studying together?"
Ayanokōji's eyes didn't waver from the test sheet. His pencil moved with deliberate slowness, a form of calculated restraint. "I think it depends on the subject," he said flatly.
The girl blinked, unsure whether he was being serious or evading her question. "Eh? That's not what I meant!"
I, sitting across from them, hid a small smile behind my notes. Watching Ayanokōji maneuver through awkward social territory was like watching a cat trapped in a room full of balloons — quiet panic hidden behind a blank stare.
Around the table, Horikita stood with her usual commanding posture, watching over the group's progress. "Please stay focused, Satō-san," she said curtly. "We're not here to discuss relationships."
Satō puffed her cheeks, muttering under her breath as she returned to her worksheet. A few tables over, Ichinose Honami entered the library, her cheerful presence shifting the air instantly. Students who'd been slouching straightened up. Even those pretending to study lifted their eyes, drawn to her bright smile.
"Sorry for the intrusion, everyone," Ichinose said warmly, bowing slightly before approaching Horikita. "I heard your study group was open to collaboration."
Horikita gave a small nod. "You're always welcome. Our classes can both benefit."
As Ichinose took a seat, I noticed Ayanokōji subtly adjust his attention — his eyes flickering toward Horikita for just a fraction of a second before returning to his notes. He was gauging reactions, reading the invisible tensions between people like a script written in air.
For the next hour, the study group worked in quiet focus — or as close to quiet as possible, given Satō's occasional attempts to start small talk with Ayanokōji. I intervened once or twice, redirecting the discussion to actual academic questions before Horikita lost her patience completely.
When the session finally ended, Ichinose and Horikita gathered their materials, standing near the library window. Their conversation drifted softly but audibly.
"You know," Ichinose began, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "I really envy your class sometimes, Horikita-san. You have such strong individuals — Ayanokōji-kun, Kushida-san, and even Miyamoto-kun here. You all seem… determined."
Horikita gave a light, tired exhale. "You envy us? That's surprising. I thought B-Class had everything — stability, leadership, unity."
Ichinose smiled shyly. "We have unity, yes. But that also means we avoid confrontation. Sometimes, I wonder if that's why we can't grow faster."
Her words carried more weight than she intended. For a moment, Horikita seemed to genuinely reflect. Then, in a tone that was softer than usual, she said, "You're a genuinely good person, Ichinose."
Ichinose froze mid-step, her face immediately turning pink. "E-Eh? Th-that's… that's not true! I just do what anyone else would!"
I couldn't help but smirk. Horikita's blunt honesty could cut sharper than any insult — even when she meant well.
After Ichinose excused herself, Horikita crossed her arms and turned to Ayanokōji. "She's too good for this school."
Ayanokōji's tone remained indifferent. "That's probably true. People like her tend to get crushed here."
Their conversation drifted back toward business. The Kushida problem — the one shadow still hanging over D-Class like a persistent storm cloud. I joined them near the exit, listening quietly.
Ayanokōji suggested something interesting — using Ichinose as a mediator. Horikita, however, shook her head almost instantly. "No. I'll solve this directly. I don't want to rely on anyone else."
I sighed quietly. That was just like her. Prideful. Independent. Determined to win on her own terms. And perhaps… that was what Kushida hated most about her.
They left the library and, as if fate had arranged it, Kushida Kikyou was standing there — smiling as sweetly as ever. A perfect mask.
"Ah, Horikita-san! Ayanokōji-kun! Miyamoto-kun!" she said, waving. "What a coincidence."
Her voice was sugar-coated, but her eyes… they didn't smile. There was a glassy stillness in them, like someone performing a role she no longer wanted to play.
"Let's talk," Horikita said. "Privately."
Kushida's expression flickered for a second before she nodded. "Of course."
We followed her to a quiet area behind one of the unused classrooms. The air felt heavier there, as if the walls themselves were eavesdropping.
Once seated, Kushida turned to Ayanokōji. "I think it's better if you leave this conversation, Ayanokōji-kun."
"Fine," he replied, stepping aside.
I stayed, leaning casually against the wall. Horikita didn't object, so I remained silent — observing.
Ayanokōji slipped his phone out of his pocket and placed it on a nearby shelf, screen facing down. I knew what he was doing even without asking — setting up to listen remotely. Subtle, clever, and perfectly in character.
The room fell into an uneasy stillness as Horikita began. "Kushida. I'm not going to sugarcoat anything. You hate me. I know that. But this feud of yours is holding D-Class back."
Kushida smiled wider, almost too wide. "Oh? I didn't realize being honest about my feelings was a sin."
Horikita didn't flinch. "You're destructive, Kushida. You leak information, manipulate others, and put personal vendettas before the class."
The smile wavered slightly.
"I want to make a deal," Horikita said coldly. "A bet, to be exact."
Kushida's tone turned cautious. "A bet?"
"If you score higher than me in any one subject of your choice during the final exam, I'll leave this school."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Even I raised an eyebrow at the boldness of that statement.
"But if I win," Horikita continued, "you'll stop interfering with me. With the class. Permanently."
Kushida's smile returned, but this time there was a flicker of genuine amusement. "That's… bold of you, Horikita-san. Are you sure you're not afraid I might actually win?"
"I'm confident in my ability," Horikita replied simply. "And to ensure fairness, we'll have a witness."
She took out her phone and made a call. Within minutes, Horikita Manabu — her older brother and former Student Council President — appeared, calm and imposing as ever.
Kushida froze slightly at the sight of him. His presence had that effect on most people.
Manabu listened to the terms, nodded once, and then looked directly at Kushida. "If you agree, this deal will be recorded as a verbal contract under witness. Do you accept?"
Kushida's lips twitched, but she nodded. "I accept."
Manabu left as quietly as he had come, his footsteps echoing down the empty hallway.
As soon as the door closed, Kushida exhaled deeply and dropped the mask for the first time. The sweetness vanished from her tone, replaced by something raw — bitter.
"So, Horikita-san," she said softly, "you think you've won already?"
Horikita stood firm. "No. I just don't intend to lose."
Kushida's eyes flickered toward the phone that Ayanokōji had left on the shelf. "You know, I'm not stupid. I know he's listening."
Before Horikita could respond, the door creaked slightly, and Ayanokōji stepped back inside.
"Well," he said mildly, "since the act is over, maybe we can all be honest now."
Kushida's expression didn't change. "Honest, huh? Then let me tell you the truth, Ayanokōji-kun. I know you know about my past. And if you want to hear the full story… I'll tell you. But only on one condition."
Ayanokōji nodded slowly. "Go ahead."
"I want you to join the bet. If I win, you'll reveal who you really are to everyone in D-Class."
A long silence followed. Then, to my quiet surprise, Ayanokōji said simply, "Fine. In return, you'll tell us everything — the truth about what happened in middle school."
Kushida crossed her legs, leaning back slightly. Her voice softened. "You really want to know? Fine. I'll tell you."
Her story began softly, almost too softly.
"I've always needed to be loved. To be praised. To be told that I'm a good girl," she said. "When I was little, my parents compared me to other kids all the time. I learned quickly that being perfect — kind, cheerful, always smiling — was the only way to be accepted."
Her tone hardened. "But do you know how hard it is to keep smiling all the time? To fake every single emotion just to stay 'liked'?"
She gave a short, bitter laugh. "I started to pull my hair out at night. I'd vomit before going to school. But as long as everyone adored me, I could endure it. That's when I started writing a blog — a private one. I poured everything I hated into it. My classmates. My teachers. Their fake smiles. Their stupid drama."
She paused, her expression darkening. "Then… one day, someone found it."
The room went cold.
"They exposed it to everyone," she continued. "Suddenly, the 'perfect Kushida' wasn't perfect anymore. The class turned on me. I was the villain. So, I did the only thing I could — I made them hate each other instead. Shared their secrets. Twisted their words. Made them paranoid until they tore each other apart."
She smiled faintly, almost fondly. "It was truly… amazing."
Horikita's expression was unreadable. Ayanokōji, as usual, remained still, but I could sense a flicker of understanding in his gaze — not sympathy, but recognition. He knew what it meant to be shaped by a system of pressure and control.
Kushida leaned forward. "So, you see, I didn't technically do anything wrong. I just… let them destroy themselves. The school couldn't punish me because there was no proof. But now—" she looked between Horikita and Ayanokōji "—you both know exactly what I'm capable of."
Her smile widened once more — that same flawless, charming mask returning. "If I wanted to, I could do the same thing here. I could make D-Class implode from the inside."
Horikita's eyes didn't waver. "Try it. And I'll make sure you lose everything you've built."
For a moment, neither moved. Then Kushida stood, brushed off her skirt, and said quietly, "I've stopped blogging now. When I'm stressed, I just… scream. Or break things when I'm alone. It helps."
And with that, she left.
The room fell silent.
Horikita leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment. "So that's the truth…"
Ayanokōji said nothing. He simply picked up his phone and pocketed it again.
I finally broke the silence. "So that's the real Kushida, huh?"
Horikita opened her eyes, her gaze colder than usual. "Yes. But at least now, we understand what we're up against."
Ayanokōji nodded. "And how fragile her mask really is."
As we stepped out into the hallway, the evening light bled through the windows — soft, golden, fading fast. I watched the two of them walk ahead of me, side by side yet distant, each lost in their own thoughts.
Behind us, somewhere deep in the maze of classrooms, I could still faintly hear the echo of Kushida's laughter — sweet, hollow, and filled with the cracks of a mask that was finally starting to break.