"This is an intervention," Hori said, not even bothering to look up from his notebook. "Sit down. We are covering basic algebra."
"Screw this," Igarashi muttered, his face turning bright red from humiliation. "I'm out of here."
"Yeah, this is a waste of time," Utsuroda agreed, already taking a step backward.
Sugimoto did not say anything. He just turned around to leave.
I waited until they had taken two steps away from the table.
"You were right," I said. My voice was slightly louder than usual, carrying clearly across the quiet library. I kept my eyes fixed on Hori. "You calculated they would run away within ten seconds of seeing a textbook. They really are just cowards."
The three retreating boys froze.
The psychological lock snapped shut. It was a basic application of reverse psychology targeting male ego.
Sugimoto's shoulders tensed. He slowly turned his head. The anger in his eyes was palpable. He could not walk away now. If he left, he validated the insult.
Right on cue, footsteps approached from the other side of the bookshelf.
Hirano Yui walked around the corner, holding a small stack of notes. She looked at the three boys standing frozen in the aisle, then looked at me.
"Don't say that, Asakura-san," Hirano said, her voice soft and full of genuine distress. She looked directly at the three boys. "Igarashi-kun, Utsuroda-kun, Sugimoto-kun... they are not cowards. I know they're not. They're just nervous about the exams like the rest of us."
She offered them a bright, encouraging smile. "Isn't that right?"
The combination of the hard insult from me and the soft, validating defense from the most popular girl in class was completely inescapable.
Igarashi rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. "Yeah. Of course!"
"We weren't running," Utsuroda muttered, avoiding eye contact with Hirano.
Sugimoto scowled, but he grabbed a chair and yanked it out, sitting down heavily. "Whatever. Let's just get this over with."
The other two reluctantly took their seats. The trap was fully deployed.
The tutoring session began.
Hori opened a Math textbook to a section on basic algebraic isolation. It was material covered in middle school.
"The equation is 3x + 12 = 27," Hori stated, tapping his pencil against the paper. "Solve for x."
Sugimoto stared at the paper. Igarashi frowned. Utsuroda looked at the ceiling.
"You move the twelve?" Igarashi guessed.
"You subtract twelve from both sides to isolate the variable," Hori corrected, his voice already carrying a trace of irritation. "Basic inverse operations. Do it."
Sugimoto scribbled something on his paper. "3x = 15."
"Correct. Now finish it," Hori demanded.
Sugimoto stared at the 3x. "So... x is 12?"
Hori stopped tapping his pencil. He slowly lifted his head and stared at Sugimoto. The look of disgust on his face was entirely authentic.
"You subtracted three from fifteen," Hori said, his voice dropping. "The 3 is a coefficient. It denotes multiplication. You're supposed to divide it. Even a grade-schooler knows this."
Sugimoto's face darkened. "Hey. I made a mistake. You don't have to be a jerk about it."
"It is not a mistake," Hori sneered. "A mistake is dropping a negative sign. This is a fundamental failure of logic. You are a bunch of stupid people who cannot even understand simple algebra. It's a miracle you managed to graduate from middle school."
The table spiked violently.
Sugimoto surged to his feet. His chair tipped backward, crashing onto the carpeted floor. He reached across the table, his large hand grabbing the collar of Hori's immaculate blazer.
"Say that again, you arrogant prick," Sugimoto roared as he pulled Hori half-way out of his seat.
Hori did not flinch, nor did he attempt to break the grip.
"Only an idiot resorts to violence when they lose an argument," Hori stated coldly. "Release me before I report you for assault and ensure your immediate expulsion."
"Guys, please! Stop!" Hirano cried out, jumping up from her chair. She grabbed Sugimoto's arm and tried to pull him back. "We're in the library! You're going to get in trouble!"
Sugimoto breathed heavily, his fists trembling. He glared at Hori for three more seconds before shoving him backward. Hori stumbled slightly but caught his balance, adjusting his collar with a look of absolute disdain.
"I'm not doing this," Sugimoto spat as he grabbed his bag. "I'd rather fail than listen to this guy for another second."
He stormed off.
"Yeah, this is garbage," Igarashi said while grabbing his own things. Utsuroda followed right behind him.
Within ten seconds, the three of them were gone. The table was quiet again.
Hori stood there in silence. He slowly picked up his pencil and placed it perfectly parallel to the edge of his notebook.
"I don't care anymore," Hori said. His voice was flat, devoid of its usual sharp arrogance. It sounded completely hollow. "They are defective. Let them fail. I will find another way to ascend to Class A."
He packed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked away without looking back.
I watched him go as I remained seated.
I knew this would happen. The moment he opened his mouth, the plane was destined to crash.
My mission was simply to bring them to the runway. I succeeded. My transaction was already done. Hori will not bother me anymore. I do not really care anyway.
I looked across the table.
Hirano was still standing. Her bright, energetic facade had completely collapsed. Her shoulders were slumped, and she was staring at the empty chairs where the boys had been sitting. She looked genuinely sad.
"I couldn't stop them," Hirano said, her voice slightly watery. "They hate each other. If they fail the exams, they're going to be expelled, Asakura-san. Our class is going to fall apart."
I looked at her posture. She was emotionally vulnerable.
If I offer generic advice or tell her it is not her fault, it will sound like an empty platitude. A popular girl hears cheap comforts every day.
I cannot act like an adviser. I need to use strategic self-disclosure. I have to act like a comrade.
I needed a story that mirrored her pain. Something solitary.
"In middle school, our homeroom was given a small garden box behind the gym," I said. My voice was quiet. I stared at the table to simulate a painful memory. "Everyone was supposed to take turns watering the flowers. But after a week, they got bored. They stopped caring. I ended up doing it alone every afternoon because it was quiet. I didn't mind."
Hirano stopped wiping her eyes. She looked up at me, caught off guard.
"But then a few guys from our class started playing soccer near it," I continued, keeping my tone perfectly flat. "They were careless. They didn't pay attention to where they were stepping. One day, they kicked the ball right into the box. They trampled the whole thing trying to get it back. All those weeks of keeping it alive, ruined in five seconds."
I did not offer her a solution or tell her to cheer up. I chose a different approach. I mirrored her exact current trauma through a fictional past.
"It is an awful feeling," I said, using simple words. "Watching something get destroyed just because some people are too stubborn and careless to pay attention. You try to keep it alive, but you can't force them to respect it. You just have to sit there and watch it get crushed."
I paused, letting the silence stretch for a second.
"I really hated that feeling," I added softly, looking up to meet her watery eyes. "I told myself I wouldn't care about things like that ever again. But looking at our class now... it feels like it's happening all over again."
It is a lie, of course. But it is a lie with a necessary purpose. If she thinks she is the only one who has ever failed to keep a group from falling apart, she will likely break under the pressure.
But if I show her that someone else experienced the exact same helpless frustration and survived, it will give her the emotional strength to stand back up.
Hirano stared at me. The rigid tension in her shoulders slowly dropped. The invisible wall between the popular girl and the quiet girl in the back row seemed to vanish. She probably realized we were looking at the exact same wreckage.
"They really just stepped right on it, didn't they?" Hirano whispered. Her voice was barely audible. A weak, tired smile broke through her sadness. "Even after you watered it every day. That isn't fair at all."
"No," I said quietly. "It isn't."
She let out a long, shaky breath. The rigid posture she had been holding for the last twenty minutes finally collapsed. She reached up and carefully wiped the corners of her eyes, making sure not to smudge her makeup.
"We should probably head back," Hirano said. Her voice was steadier now.
I nodded.
We walked out of the library together. The hallway was quiet, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the floor.
We stopped near the stairwell where our paths to the dormitories split. Then, I remembered our talk this morning.
"Thanks for coming," I said, keeping my voice low.
Hirano paused. The sadness in her eyes shifted, replaced briefly by that familiar, reliable smile she wore for the rest of the class. She gave a small, knowing nod.
"Of course," Hirano replied softly. "Anything for you, Asakura-san."
She turned and walked down the stairs.
I watched her go. The loop was closed. My transaction was complete.
---
The sun was beginning to set, casting long, gray shadows across the campus.
I walked toward the dormitory path. I stopped by a small rest area near the athletic field. There was a wooden bench beside a row of illuminated vending machines.
I pressed a button. A plastic bottle of water dropped into the bin. I retrieved it, unscrewed the cap, and sat down on the bench. The cold liquid was refreshing.
I stared out at the empty field, enjoying the silence.
Then, I noticed a shadow.
It stretched across the pavement, intersecting with mine. It stopped a few paces away.