This… this is Ishikawa's true face.
Kita Ikuyo didn't even know what she was feeling at that moment. As an ordinary person, she couldn't comprehend the thoughts of the boy standing on that platform.
Unique? Eccentric?
No. He was someone who truly let his self spill out without holding back, someone who said it plainly, without hesitation.
He just wanted the world around him to be a better place. He wasn't out to save anyone, not trying to "help" anyone—he wanted to change the environment itself.
Alone, he stood against a wall of despair so thick that even those who agreed with him didn't dare lift a finger. Against this miniature society, he stood on his own.
Yes, even if Ishikawa Hayabusa hadn't said those words—"Don't speak up for me in class."
Even then, Kita Ikuyo knew she wouldn't have dared to say a word in his defense.
…
When he returned to his seat, he sat completely alone.
But.
By the afternoon, a boy who looked like a perennial punching bag quietly came to sit beside him.
At the same time, two students were missing from class.
Everyone knew those two were still lying in the infirmary.
Many had seen it with their own eyes at lunch—that so-called punching bag had been forced to try and attack Ishikawa Hayabusa.
The next day, at lunch, three people sat with him. They gathered around his desk and ate together.
The once-unified class had fractured, splintered into pieces. The atmosphere grew strange. Many students stole glances at the four of them—laughing together, smiling without restraint.
By the afternoon of the second day, someone who had never seemed connected to bullying at all joined their side.
And laughter began to spread from that corner of the classroom.
On the third day, that same "unrelated" student showed up with some bruises on his face.
But that morning, a full-blown fight broke out in class.
Two boys were beaten down by Ishikawa Hayabusa, without a shred of mercy, pinned to the floor with their faces forced down until they apologized. Refuse, and he'd just keep hitting them.
Other students who'd made a habit of picking on others turned pale as they watched the two humiliated, robbed of their pride.
A thug stripped of his dignity was the lowest of the low in school.
Then, during homeroom, Ishikawa Hayabusa took the stage again.
It was as though he wanted to put a final end to this play. Calmly, casually, he strolled up to the podium.
Every student's eyes followed him, watching this boy who seemed determined to change their small world.
As he walked, he spoke, casually yet clearly.
"Gentle people are fools."
"Because they can't bring themselves to hurt others. They're afraid—afraid to even witness harm—so they avoid it."
"But when you can't avoid it anymore, all that's left is to accept being hurt."
He stood at the teacher's desk.
And yet, Ishida-sensei didn't try to stop him. If anything, the man looked scared, stepping back.
"But then, there are those who are simply idiots. They follow their base instincts, still clinging to the primal malice of children who never grew up."
"They drag those habits into adulthood—aware of suffering, yet tirelessly creating more suffering for others."
Ishikawa Hayabusa pressed both palms against the podium and asked,
"What is your life?"
"Is it bullying the weak to puff yourselves up as strong? With no real power, no foundation, you puff yourselves up in your little corners."
"And then, the day you're beaten down, the balloon pops—and you're met only with disdain and scorn."
At that, someone muttered in defiance.
"Isn't that what you're doing right now? Just stronger than us, lecturing people here."
Ishikawa didn't even look to see who spoke. He didn't care in the slightest.
"That's how it looks to you, sure."
"But have you thought about why the principal stands behind me? Why a law firm supports me?"
"I'm just letting you step into the adult world ahead of schedule."
"Stupid children—accept your beating early, as a gift from adulthood."
"Oh, right."
"People like you rely on others' fear, others' awe, just to prop up your own fragile sense of dignity. I don't."
"False dignity—dignity stolen from others—is nothing but a burden on the road to happiness. I, Ishikawa Hayabusa, don't need it."
"And from here on, if anyone tries to lay a hand on me, I'll make them kneel in the schoolyard and apologize loud enough for the whole school to hear."
"You've all seen it by now. No one's been able to endure without breaking."
"Because bullies—the ones who prey on others—are always just weaklings clutching knives."
When he finished, Ishikawa stepped down from the podium.
Then, to everyone's surprise, he bowed deeply to one classmate after another who'd simply been watching the past few days unfold.
"Furuta-san, I'm terribly sorry you got dragged into all this."
"Ryugu-san…"
"Mizutani-san…"
On and on.
And with the students staring at him, utterly unable to comprehend, Ishikawa Hayabusa calmly returned to his seat.
…
After homeroom ended, Kita Ikuyo felt that, strangely enough, the classroom atmosphere had actually improved.
Everyone now fully understood what kind of person Ishikawa Hayabusa was. They realized that gathering around him meant being protected—without the suffocating pressure of little cliques.
At lunch, most of the class greeted him warmly, asked him questions, got curious about his band. Many promised to come see his performance.
But Ishikawa just told them the band wasn't fully formed yet—once it was, then they could all enjoy the music together.
By the fourth day, the entire class atmosphere had shifted. It was lighter, freer.
Those who had lorded over others, bullies who had ruled from above, suddenly found themselves isolated.
Ishikawa Hayabusa had changed the environment.
He had shattered the circles and hierarchies that had formed since the beginning of the school year, and remade them.
To Kita Ikuyo, it felt as though a god had looked down on her boredom and dropped a hero into her lap.
A perverted hero.
And tomorrow—the live performance would take place.
A shadow fell over her heart. Ryo-senpai, Ishikawa, Ichiji-senpai—their band would be incredible, no doubt about it.
She wanted to join. And yet, she knew it was something that would never happen again.
…
"Pervert—arrives!"
At the entrance of Starry, Ishikawa Hayabusa suddenly yelled out, vaulting over the railing in one breath and landing in front of them.
He dropped into a half-kneel on the floor, lifting his head with an expression that all but screamed, Come on, praise me already.
"If you break anything, you'll have to pay for it."
Sitting at the bar, Seika turned her head and shot him a cold glance.
His heart ached… Ishikawa Hayabusa's wallet hadn't recovered to safe levels yet.
He instantly grew meek, bowing to Seika.
"Sorry, won't happen again…"
But as soon as he said it, he swapped that meek look for a carefree grin, strolling over to Niji and Ryo.
That switch of expression made Seika pause—how could someone apologize so seriously, yet leave the impression he hadn't apologized at all?
"Niji~"
With a crooked grin, he walked up to her. Niji shivered at the way he said her name.
Sliding into the seat across from her, Ishikawa leaned in with that teasing smile.
"Just now, the way you were watching the door so expectantly—so cute."
"I mean, come on…"
Niji sighed helplessly, refusing to follow his lead.
"Tomorrow's the performance, Hayabusa-kun. You could at least be a little nervous."
She knew all too well—if she let him steer the conversation, there'd be no escape. Even her own train of thought would end up derailed by him.
Looking at the two sitting beside her, Niji grew worried. Neither Hayabusa nor Ryo showed a hint of nerves. Calm, unbothered, as if they'd forgotten tomorrow was a live show. It was like all their nervousness had somehow transferred onto her.
She hadn't been able to relax for a single moment.
"I perform every day. Tomorrow's just a different stage, that's all—no problem!"
Ishikawa Hayabusa blinked repeatedly at Ryo, signaling.
Ryo hesitated, uncertain. But in Ishikawa's eyes she caught the message: Let's test Niji's reaction.
So, she moved.
Seeing her join in, Ishikawa knew his trap had worked.
"Because we are…"
Niji stared at the two of them, baffled.
Ishikawa leaned closer to Ryo. The two stood back-to-back, arms crossed over their chests, in perfect unison.
"Freaks," Ryo declared.
"Perverts," Ishikawa agreed with a nod.
Thud.
That was the sound of Niji slamming her forehead into the table—her way of providing percussion. Truly, a desperate drummer.
Slumped over the desk, her stress level skyrocketed.
"Pfft."
Ryo covered her mouth, chuckling softly.
…
A moment later, Ryo watched Ishikawa Hayabusa fussing over Niji, trying to comfort her pout.
She remembered his reason for joining the band, and the information Ikuyo had once shown her.
I want to make music that lets people feel relaxed, at ease. I want others to hear it too—so we can all relax, all enjoy it together.
Others. Together. Relaxing. Enjoying.
Others.
This man really did live as though he were free to do whatever he pleased.