The door to the headmaster's office clicked shut behind him.Ayanokōji stood alone in the corridor, its sterile quiet pressing on his ears. The encounter with his father had drained him far more than any exam or confrontation ever could.
He exhaled slowly. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead.
Near the staircase landing stood Chabashira-sensei, her back against the wall, arms loosely crossed. She looked up the instant he appeared.
"Finally done?" she asked.
He gave no answer and started past her, intending to end this day's chain of unpleasant meetings. But her footsteps followed, brisk and determined, matching his pace.
"I'd like to hear what happened in there," she said.
He kept walking. "You mean, what happened between me and my father?"
"That's right."
He glanced sideways at her. "If you already know the answer, why ask?"
Something in his tone made her flinch.
"I take it the chairman told you everything," he added.
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. "So, he talked."
"He did. Enough to confirm what I'd already deduced."
They reached the entrance hall. The afternoon sunlight poured through the windows, long and cold, casting lines across the polished floor. Chabashira stopped walking.
"You knew?"
"From the beginning," he said. "Your story about my father ordering you to expel me— it was a fabrication. Your posture just now proves you're still trying to hide your anxiety."
She tried to hold his gaze, failed. "That's… absurd."
"The chairman clarified everything," he continued. "My father never contacted you. He had no reason to delegate that to anyone. He handles matters personally."
Chabashira opened her mouth, closed it again. The color drained slightly from her face.
"So, you tricked me," she said finally, voice small.
"No," he said. "You tricked yourself."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You pretended to have no interest in climbing the class ranks. You let people think you'd accepted Class D's failure. But the truth is, your desire to reach Class A burns hotter than any other teacher's."
Her eyes hardened. "That's nonsense."
"Is it?" he asked quietly. "When I enrolled, the chairman placed me in Class D so I could remain unnoticed. You saw an opportunity—a convenient prodigy who might drag you upward after years of stagnation. Hoshinomiya's comments about you only added to the evidence."
At the mention of Hoshinomiya, her shoulders tensed. "Speculation."
"Then look at me," he said.
She couldn't.
Silence hung between them for several seconds before she exhaled shakily. "I miscalculated. When I blackmailed you, I never expected your father to appear."
"And now?"
"I'm aware I'm at your mercy," she admitted bitterly. "Being tied to Class D— to failure— I lost perspective."
She laughed dryly, almost self-mockingly. "Horikita was supposed to be my pawn, you know. The piece to corner you. Instead, I ended up trapped."
"You were careless," he said.
"I was desperate."
Her eyes softened then, weary rather than sharp. "You're right about my dream. I wanted to see Class A. Just once."
He studied her for a moment. Then he spoke, tone even but cutting. "You could have asked for help. Instead, you resorted to threats."
"I could still expel you," she said suddenly, grasping for leverage. "A fabricated incident, a disciplinary report— you'd be gone overnight."
Ayanokōji gave a faint sigh, almost bored. "You won't."
Her mouth opened, but he continued before she could speak. "If you could, you'd have done so already. I let you threaten me to see your true colors. I'm disappointed."
Her eyes flickered with both anger and shame.
"You should be more optimistic," he said. "There are students in this class with potential— dormant, but real. Even without me, there's a chance to reach Class A."
"You mean Horikita?"
He neither confirmed nor denied. "Maybe."
She searched his expression for something— hope, sarcasm, anything—but found only neutrality.
"So you'll continue helping us?" she asked quietly.
He smiled faintly, a non-answer. "Don't mistake silence for agreement."
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"One piece of advice," he added. "Don't manipulate me again. If you do, your students will pay the price before you do. And if you persist, you'll never see Class A— not as long as you teach here."
He started to leave, then paused. "If our class points ever collapse, you're free to come after me. But remember— your own position isn't unshakable. The chairman made that clear."
She said nothing as he walked away. When he turned the corner, she remained frozen in the hall, silent and emptied of ammunition.
The sky outside had turned amber by the time Ayanokōji exited the main building. A faint chill nipped at his fingers— winter announcing itself again. Last year at this time, he would have been confined indoors, eyes fixed on white walls and the relentless hum of machinery. Now, the open air almost felt alien.
He tucked his hands into his pockets, wandering toward the dormitories.
A voice carried faintly from ahead. A girl's, sharp but restrained.
"…Nagumo-senpai, you really haven't changed."
He stopped. Around the corner, partly obscured by the vending machines, a second-year student leaned against the railing, phone pressed to her ear.
"Calling me Miyabi now?" the male voice on the other end replied, loud enough to hear.
Her tone turned playful. "Only when I'm scolding you. You got promoted, and our relationship flatlined."
"I can make it up to you," Nagumo said smoothly. "Join the council. I'll treat you—dinner, maybe something better."
She laughed. "You never give up. I heard you've been flirting with half the second-year girls."
"Jealous?"
"Hardly. You still haven't beaten Manabu-senpai. When you do, maybe I'll reconsider."
Nagumo's voice lowered. "That relic's leaving soon. His time's over."
"We'll see," she said.
The call ended with a chirp. The girl sighed and muttered, half to herself, "Manabu-senpai, you're useless. In the end, Miyabi will win."
Then she turned—and froze.
Ayanokōji stood a few meters away, expression unreadable.
"Oh," she said, flustered. "You… heard that?"
He said nothing.
She smiled awkwardly, waved, and hurried toward the second-year dorms, her shoes clicking rapidly against the pavement. Something small dropped from her hand—a charm, its silver thread glinting.
He picked it up. An amulet, embroidered with the character for victory. He turned it over once, then slipped it into his pocket to give to the dorm manager later.
Back in his room, the lights dimmed to a soft glow, he stared at the quiet screen of his phone.
Should I keep helping Class D?
He leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed. Progress invited attention. If the class climbed too high, he'd draw scrutiny from all directions. Sakayanagi already knew fragments of his past. Ichinose, with her intuition, probably suspected something too. And Ryūen—he was persistent.
The safety measure he'd placed, Horikita, might not be enough to shield him forever.
He sighed, opened his contacts, and selected Karuizawa Kei.
The call connected on the first ring.
"What's up?" she said briskly. No teasing, no hesitation.
"You answered fast," he noted.
"I figured you had a reason."
He hesitated, attempting casual small talk, but she cut him off. "Just say what you need."
Typical Karuizawa—direct when nervous.
"Why hide your intelligence?" she asked suddenly. "In a class full of idiots, you could lead us. People would actually like you. You could be like Yōsuke—popular, admired."
There was a strange excitement in her tone, half admiration, half exasperation.
"You should know me better," he said. "I don't need admiration."
"You helped us win so many times. Why pretend otherwise?"
"Because I was forced to help," he said plainly. "Left alone, I'd have stayed in the background."
He paused. "I'll never take control. It only invites trouble."
Silence stretched across the line. Then, quietly, he added, "I was the one known as X."
Her breath caught.
"But my reason for helping Class D is gone. I won't use you anymore. We should cut contact."
She didn't reply.
"You exceeded my expectations," he said honestly. "I'm grateful."
Even through the phone, he could sense her tension—relief, confusion, something heavier underneath.
"I'll still keep my promise," he continued. "If you're ever in danger, call me. I'll help once. After that, erase every message between us."
"…So this is really goodbye?"
"Yes."
"That's cold, you know."
"You never liked being used," he said. "This should make you happy."
She exhaled shakily. "I thought it'd feel better."
"It rarely does."
He ended the call.
He sat there for a moment, phone in hand, listening to the low hum of the heater. Karuizawa had tied her sense of safety to him like a lifeline. Now that it was severed, her anxiety would surge back. If Ryūen targeted her again, she would break easily.
But sentiment had no place here. Whether it was Sakayanagi, Horikita, Karuizawa, or Ryūen—none of them mattered anymore. He had reclaimed solitude.
He tidied the room mechanically, then found himself scrolling through the school's application feed, reading aimless posts about club activities and cafeteria menus.
The White Room…
He remembered the endless routines, the data sheets, the sterile praise of instructors who called him a "masterpiece." He had never been dissatisfied there, yet it lacked something fundamental—choice.
It gave him everything except the right to decide who he wanted to be.
Was that perfection, or imprisonment?
He poured hot water into a cup and watched the steam rise, fading into the dim air.
Three ordinary years—that had been his goal. Ordinary classes, ordinary grades, an invisible existence. Reaching Class A had never been necessary. People like Ichinose or Sakayanagi would lose interest eventually if he withdrew from view. Only Ryūen remained unpredictable, his obsession gnawing toward the truth.
The uncertainty around Karuizawa's vulnerability annoyed him. If Ryūen moved now, she'd collapse. But it no longer concerned him—except that it might ripple back to expose him.
He sipped the tea, eyes half-lidded.
Then a faint chime from his door panel. Someone at the entrance.
He checked the camera feed—surprise flickered across his face. The visitor was none other than Horikita Manabu.
Ayanokōji unlocked the door. "It's rare for you to come unannounced."
"I preferred speaking privately," Manabu said, stepping inside. "If we were seen together outside, rumors would spread."
He declined the offered seat and remained standing, posture straight as a blade.
"This will be brief," he began. "I came to warn you about Nagumo."
"The new student council president," Ayanokōji said.
Manabu nodded. "He's altering the structure too rapidly. The changes may trigger mass expulsions next term. I made a mistake in grooming him as successor. Our philosophies differ completely."
"Yet you recognize his capability," Ayanokōji said.
"Of course. Talent isn't the issue—ethics are."
Manabu's tone darkened. "He's consolidated nearly all second-years under his command. Even Katsuragi and Ichinose attempted to apply for the council this year, but I rejected them. I knew Nagumo would claim them. He did it anyway—forcing Ichinose's induction without approval."
"So the council's integrity is gone," Ayanokōji summarized.
"Precisely. I need someone to counterbalance him."
Ayanokōji regarded him steadily. "You're asking me to act."
"I'm giving you permission to use both Horikitas," Manabu said—his voice colder, measured. "Suzune as the public face, me as your lever within the council."
"That's quite the proposal," Ayanokōji murmured. "But times change. Systems evolve. Maybe Nagumo's chaos is simply evolution."
"Spare me the philosophy," Manabu said sharply. "You understand the danger. You're the only one who can restrain him."
Ayanokōji tilted his head slightly. "You've swallowed your pride to come here."
"I have."
He gave a faint smile. "That alone proves you're desperate."
Manabu exhaled, conceding. "Perhaps. Either way, I've said my piece." He turned toward the door.
"Wait," Ayanokōji said. "Give me your contact information. I'll think it over."
Manabu paused, clearly surprised. "I expected outright refusal."
"I'm not promising anything," Ayanokōji said. "But information never hurts."
Manabu handed over his number. "I don't expect results. But I'll be waiting."
He left as quietly as he'd arrived.
Ayanokōji stood for a moment, staring at the closed door, the faint warmth of the teacup seeping into his palm.
Nagumo… Manabu… Suzune.
He sighed, the smallest trace of weariness slipping through his composure.
Even when he tried to step away, the world insisted on drawing him back in.