Wednesday. The final day before Golden Week.
On the podium, the homeroom teacher droned through the obligatory pre-holiday litany—avoid dangerous places, remember the post-break monthly exams, don't neglect your studies, complete your Golden Week homework…
Inside Classroom 2-A, Kaguya Shinomiya's analytical gaze was fixed not on the teacher, but on Sakurai Saki.
He is acting strangely today.
To be fair, Sakurai Saki was perpetually strange, but today's flavor was distinct: a palpable, arctic coldness. The boy who usually offered polite, if minimal, morning greetings to his classmates offered none today. Kaguya cared little for the insignificant masses, but one detail was a glaring anomaly:
Today, he did not even acknowledge Hayasaka Ai.
His entire demeanor was a calculated withdrawal, a deliberate creation of distance. It was a strategy Kaguya understood intimately.
'Did some unforeseen variable disrupt his equilibrium?'
Her deduction was, for once, entirely correct.
Sakurai Saki was in a catastrophic mood.
He had always known his abilities were a double-edged sword, but today's edge was lethally sharp. The primary effect was something he dared not even contemplate using.
But the side effect was an active sabotage:
[Side Effect: Emotional agitation will cause mental and physical regression. Duration is proportional to the intensity of the emotional fluctuation.]
At 6:00 AM, upon realizing the day's power was a tactical nightmare, his frustration triggered the regression. For thirty minutes, his mind and body had rewound to their state one year prior—a colder, more isolated version of himself.
It was a small mercy that Sakurai Saki of one year ago lacked overt destructive urges. The planet, at least, was safe.
The logical move was to skip school. But what excuse would suffice? 'Feeling unwell' would inevitably summon a concerned Miyuki for a visit, potentially escalating the disaster. Moreover, skipping would add another unreliable variable to the already treacherous calculus of the Future Diary.
No. He had to attend. And he had to maintain a strategic quarantine.
This included deliberately deflecting Hayasaka Ai's affectionate advances—a primary vector for emotional disturbance.
"Alright, everyone. Homeroom is dismissed." The ponytailed teacher concluded the session and departed.
Sakurai Saki stared fixedly out the window, a silent sentinel. From a few seats away, Hayasaka Ai watched him, a knot of anxiety tightening in her chest.
'The distance… it's growing.'
She didn't know the reason, only the chilling effect. Ai had always operated on the confident assumption that she occupied the innermost ring of Sakurai Saki's limited social sphere. While Fujiwara Chika harbored feelings, she lacked the nerve to act. Other girls were irrelevant. Ai's position felt secure.
Yet this morning, when she moved to greet him with her usual familiar closeness, she was met not with passive acceptance, but with an active, glacial rebuff—a look so cold it stopped her in her tracks. No words. Just a wall.
'Does he… dislike me now?'
The sudden shift in a constant is deeply unnerving. Hayasaka Ai, master of a hundred disguises, felt disarmed by a single, genuine frown.
During the break, she approached his desk, her voice carefully light. "Sakura-chan, are you feeling unwell today?"
Sakurai Saki turned. His eyes were distant. "Please don't speak to me."
The words were a tactical necessity. Any interaction was a risk. If she were to hug him in this state, the resulting emotional spike could trigger another, potentially longer regression. The only girls in school capable of causing such significant fluctuations were, unfortunately, the two currently in his immediate vicinity.
"…I see."
He really does dislike me.
The thought was a quiet sting. She returned to her seat and laid her head on her desk, a portrait of subdued dejection.
Seeing her posture, Sakurai Saki felt a pang of guilt—an emotion he quickly stifled. "My mood is poor today," he stated, his tone softening by a fraction of a degree. "My earlier words were not directed at you personally."
Hayasaka Ai didn't lift her head, but the deliberate, almost clumsy clarification sent her heart into a frantic, hopeful rhythm. The paradox was exquisite: his coldness was proof of a specific, considered effort. He is thinking about how to handle me.
Noon. The Student Council Room.
Even Shirogane Miyuki, often oblivious to subtler social currents, sensed the shift. The Sakurai Saki on the sofa seemed to have time-traveled back to his most reclusive first-year self.
"Sakurai," Miyuki began, brimming with earnest dedication, "I've nearly perfected that song. This afternoon, we could—"
"Don't."
Sakurai Saki's interruption was swift, his face briefly contorting in something akin to horror. He raised a hand to his own cheek, as if checking his own stability.
That was too close. Merely the prospect of recalling Miyuki's singing nearly triggered a catastrophic emotional surge—a wave of pure, unadulterated fear that would have undoubtedly shrunk him on the spot.
"Miyuki," he said, his voice forcibly leveled. "Let's just eat."
He then placed a small, meticulously wrapped box on the low table. "The wagashi I mentioned."
"Mm." Shirogane Miyuki nodded, but a single, tragic tear betrayed him. Is my singing truly so offensive it causes this level of dread? The thought was both devastating and motivating. He would practice twice as hard!
He left the president's desk and approached, peering at the confections. "Are these… chocolate-filled?"
"Mm. And matcha flavored," Sakurai Saki confirmed, the simple act of explaining a food item representing his maximum safe capacity for social interaction for the day.
The room hung in a fragile balance, a comedy of errors where every glance and word was a potential landmine, and the greatest threat was the president's unwavering commitment to his vocal training.
He had begun to relax. Being around Shirogane Miyuki was, if nothing else, straightforward.
A few minutes later, just as Sakurai Saki bit into a crispy fried shrimp—
"Sakurai-kun. President Shirogane. Good afternoon."
Kaguya Shinomiya glided into the room.
"Shinomiya, good afternoon." Shirogane Miyuki returned the greeting, though a flicker of confusion crossed his mind. Kaguya Shinomiya was a rare visitor to the Student Council room during lunch. Could it be about tomorrow's karaoke? The thought filled him with dread. His singing, as Fujiwara and Sakurai had so vividly described, was currently on par with "a sea cucumber that's only halfway cleaned."
Sakurai Saki registered her entrance with minimal concern. Not Fujiwara. Just Kaguya.
His assessment changed the moment Kaguya Shinomiya walked directly to the sofa, placed a hand on his shoulder, and leaned in. Their faces were now a mere twenty centimeters apart.
"…" Sakurai Saki blinked slowly.
What is her objective?
"What is wrong with you today?" Her voice was low, clinical. "Are you gravely ill?"
Ill? I think your social calibration is the pathology here.
"I am in perfect health," Sakurai Saki stated flatly.
"False. You did not greet your classmates this morning. You are maintaining abnormal distance from Hayasaka-san. These are significant behavioral deviations."
"Shinomiya-san," Sakurai Saki's voice held genuine curiosity. "Are you stalking me?"
Have you been compiling a behavioral report since homeroom?
Sakurai Saki had no desire to entangle himself with Kaguya Shinomiya. Friendship with such a woman was a direct conduit for misfortune.
Do not approach. You will be cursed.
"A stalker? You interpret my attentive observation as… excessive concern?" Kaguya Shinomiya tilted her head, the picture of analytical deduction. "Hmm. From your subjective perspective, I suppose the classification fits."
She straightened up abruptly, creating distance. "Very well. Let us discontinue this line of inquiry."
"Are you changing the subject, Shinomiya-san?"
"Hmm? What suggests a subject change?"
"A sudden, jarring realization that you harbor such intense interest in a male classmate. Monitoring his daily routines. The subsequent flush of self-consciousness leading to a tactical retreat. Did I miscalculate?"
A faint, unmistakable blush colored Kaguya's cheeks. "Preposterous. A woman of the Shinomiya family does not experience 'self-consciousness' over mere observation."
"You're blushing, Shinomiya-san."
"Do you wish to perish?"
"Please refrain from over-managing my personal affairs, Kaguya-chan," Sakurai Saki said, taking a deliberate bite of rice. A strategy was crystallizing. Provocation might be the most efficient defense.
"Tokyo Bay is in need of a new concrete support pillar. Your scheduling appears clear for tomorrow." Kaguya Shinomiya mentally revised his life expectancy to 24 hours. "And that form of address is forbidden."
She had established this boundary before!
Sakurai Saki, however, was testing its structural integrity. "Could it be… you've fallen for me? Kaguya-chan~"
"With a passion that makes me contemplate homicide. And optimal corpse preservation techniques." She unwrapped her bento with precise, violent movements.
"Your affection is too intense, Kaguya-chan. I must respectfully decline." Sakurai Saki's face remained a placid mask.
Shirogane Miyuki listened, chewing thoughtfully. Their rapport seems quite lively. It was just the complete lack of tonal inflection that made it sound like a prelude to mutually assured destruction.
Sakurai Saki was operating in his "aloof housecat" mode from a year ago.
Kaguya Shinomiya was fully encased in her "Ice Queen" persona.
To Miyuki, it seemed entirely plausible they would come to blows. They had, after all, engaged in several "disciplinary exchanges" the previous year.
"Ahem… perhaps we could strive for a more harmonious atmosphere?" Shirogane Miyuki ventured, playing the thankless role of peacemaker.
"This does not concern you, Miyuki."
"President Shirogane, are you volunteering to be the second pillar for Tokyo Bay?"
Shirogane Miyuki: "…"
This council is a hierarchy of oppression, and I am at the bottom.
"I do not enjoy extended discourse with insects," Kaguya stated, picking at her food. "Observation is merely a intellectual exercise. Comparable to a human studying an anthill."
"Then I hope a particularly persistent insect develops a fondness for you one day, Shinomiya-san," Sakurai Saki retorted.
Their relationship had always been fractious. The presence of Fujiwara and Ishigami had imposed a temporary, fragile detente. With only the three of them present today, the gloves were off.
"The insect in question is a fickle creature," Kaguya's gaze slid meaningfully toward Shirogane Miyuki. "Its primary preoccupation seems to be determining which female ant is most to its taste. Don't you find such behavior reprehensible, President Shirogane?"
Shirogane Miyuki, wisely, chose that moment to become profoundly interested in the contents of his lunchbox, his head dipping so low his forehead nearly touched the table. Survival, not mediation, was now the priority.
Shirogane Miyuki most certainly knew who she was implicating. He sank lower into his chair, wishing for a sudden, localized earthquake to swallow him whole.
"Shinomiya-san, there's no need for such elaborate circumlocution," Sakurai Saki set down his chopsticks, his tone weary. "The core of the issue remains: what business is it of yours?"
Her barbed commentary was irritating, but it didn't spark true anger. Perhaps because her accusation held a kernel of uncomfortable truth. While his intent wasn't to lead anyone on, he was waiting—waiting for a clear signal, a confession that would demand a response. Sakurai Saki was, at his core, a creature who required unambiguous data points. He needed the courage that comes from certainty.
"Hayasaka-san is my…" Kaguya Shinomiya's sentence hitched, a rare glitch in her programming. "…Good friend."
"So this is a knightly crusade? Even if she does like me and wishes to pursue a relationship, what jurisdiction do you hold here?" Sakurai Saki almost smiled. It was absurd. Her previous interference regarding Hayasaka's confessed admirer now seemed like a telling piece of evidence.
"What… jurisdiction?" Kaguya's voice, so confident a moment ago, lost its steel. "She likes you. Is that not significant?"
"You're evading. My question stands: what does this have to do with you?"
"You insufferable cad! You're fully aware of her feelings!" Kaguya's composure cracked, her eyes flashing with genuine outrage. He knows! He knows and he does nothing!
"A cad?" Sakurai Saki took a slow sip of canned coffee, the picture of detached logic. "On what evidence? I have never overstepped the boundaries of friendship with her." He was, technically, spotless—a virgin whose romantic experience was largely theoretical. In his own assessment, he was morally unimpeachable.
"Then why? Is it pride? Some warped sense of self-importance? You're nothing but a publicly-funded scholarship student from a mixed—"
Kaguya Shinomiya froze mid-sentence. The words had escaped her internal censors. She stood abruptly, her posture rigid, and offered a shallow, formal bow. "I apologize. I spoke out of turn."
She sat back down, picking up her chopsticks with mechanical precision, her gaze fixed on her untouched lunch. "I find you utterly incomprehensible, Sakurai-kun."
"Understanding is not a requirement." Sakurai Saki closed his bento box, his meal finished. The air in the room was frigid.
Shirogane Miyuki watched from the sidelines, massaging his temples. So much for improved relations. It was as if the clock had been violently rewound to their most contentious days. This council was a diplomatic minefield, and he was its ill-equipped peacekeeper.
After the meal, Kaguya Shinomiya stormed into the hallway and dialed a number with sharp, staccato jabs of her thumb.
The line connected. "Hayasaka. Go confess to him."
At the base of the school building, Hayasaka Ai nearly dropped her phone. She held it away from her ear, stared at it, then brought it back. "Kaguya-sama. Repeat that, please."
The voice on the other end was clipped, imperial, and utterly serious. "Confess. To. Him."
"If your hearing is impaired, I shall elaborate: You will locate him and say, 'I like you. Please go out with me.' Is the directive now clear?"
Hayasaka Ai felt the world tilt slightly. "Kaguya-sama, I don't believe haste is strategically advisable—"
"Coward." The word was a whip-crack. "This is no longer a suggestion. As your master, I am issuing a command. You will confess. Immediately."
"…" A beat of static silence. "Kaguya-sama. I am not your property."
"Is the phrase 'I like you' so physically debilitating?!" Kaguya's voice rose, losing its icy restraint. "I should replay his words for you! He knows! He knows you and that frivolous secretary have feelings for him! Do you comprehend the implications of his inaction?"
"I know, my lady." Hayasaka's reply was soft, steady, and utterly deflating. "I have always known."
The admission stole Kaguya's momentum. She slumped against the cool hallway wall, breathless. "You… know? Then why…?"
Hayasaka Ai lifted her gaze to the indifferent spring sky. "Precisely because I know, I cannot act rashly. There is only one victor's podium, Kaguya-sama. I refuse to believe I am inferior to Fujiwara-san. But a reckless, premature confession would not be a victory. It would be a concession—placing me permanently in the position of the one who 'chased.' I will not start this race from behind."
She had always understood Sakurai Saki's latent, unacknowledged fondness for Chika.
"A 'head start'? You're concerning yourself with placement? A successful confession renders all other competitors irrelevant! What is this pointless reservation?!"
"Chika will not make the first move. That grants me time. Time to deepen our bond, to weave my presence into the fabric of his daily life until he is the one who cannot bear the ambiguity. Until he confesses to me."
Kaguya Shinomiya found this logic not just flawed, but infuriatingly passive. "I command you again. Confess. If he refuses, you move on. Make him regret his hesitation for the rest of his days!"
Hayasaka Ai sighed, a soft, resigned sound that traveled through the receiver. A smile touched her lips—fond, exasperated, determined. "Understood. I will go and confess."
There was no reasoning with her in this state. The elegant, long-term campaign she had envisioned would have to be hastily reforged into a surprise assault.
"Excellent! Secure him swiftly! And then… you must aid me in my vengeance!" Kaguya added, the grudge from lunch still burning brightly.
"…Of course." Hayasaka ended the call.
She turned on her heel, her school shoes making a decisive click against the pavement as she marched toward the school building.
'A frontal assault it is, then.'
Her mind, trained for adaptation, began rapidly formulating a new plan. She re-entered the classroom, her eyes scanning the environment until they landed on the week's cleaning duty roster posted on the blackboard. A strategy clicked into place.
A faint, apologetic whisper touched her heart. 'Sorry, Chika.'
No more waiting. The game has just been accelerated.