The halls had filled in now.
Noise. Momentum. Performances resuming.
You took your usual shortcut to the side wing stairwell, en route to homeroom from the restroom, when you heard them.
"Dude, that angle's perfect, she's doing the stretch again!"
"Shut up, shut up, you'll ruin it!"
Issei Hyoudou. Motohama. Matsuda.
The infamous "Perverted Trio."
You didn't hate them. You didn't really know them.
You just… observed. Like always.
And what you observed didn't sit right.
It wasn't just that they were ogling the track girls.
It was the performative nature of it.
Like they thought they were supposed to act this way. Like they were cosplaying themselves.
One of the girls noticed. Flinched. Glanced around.
And that's when your stomach clenched.
You didn't do it for moral superiority. Or reputation. Or retribution.
You just… couldn't leave the moment unchallenged.
You passed the faculty office a few minutes later, paused, and knocked.
"Sorry to interrupt. There were some students near the stairwell by the gym. Acting sort of inappropriate? I thought someone should know. That's all."
You didn't give your name. You didn't wait for praise.
Just correction. Gentle. Invisible.
Like tuning a note that was just slightly flat.