The heavy oak door of the Student Council office closed gently behind them, sealing away the lingering tension of the confrontation inside. In the corridor, the setting sun slanted through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the quiet hallway. A faint stillness filled the air, broken only by the soft echo of footsteps.
Katsuragi Kohei walked ahead, his burly frame stiff and upright, his brows drawn tight. Horikita Manabu's calm refusal—no new plans for additional members—echoed like a cold verdict. His hopes of entering the Student Council were stalled, at least for now.
Yet the disappointment wasn't what weighed on his mind most. Instead, it was the memory of what had happened in that office: Sakamoto's poised answers to the President's probing questions, and that impossible moment when a single pen stopped a falling teacup. The image looped in his thoughts, unsettling him far more than the denial he'd just received.
Ichinose Honami walked in the middle, her soft pink hair glowing in the golden light. She carried a trace of lingering shock, mixed with an even stronger curiosity. Horikita's refusal had stung, but her disappointment had been instantly overshadowed by Sakamoto's performance.
His comments on "rules."
That breathtaking, precise motion with the fountain pen.
Everything felt mysterious and inexplicable.
She stole a quiet glance toward the back of the corridor.
Sakamoto walked a few steps behind them, his stride light and measured, as if he were moving to an inaudible rhythm. Behind his black-rimmed glasses, his gaze remained calm, unshaken—almost detached. It was as if the tension-filled exchange earlier had been nothing more than a casual conversation to him. His eyes drifted briefly to the garden outside, where the trees were bathed in amber light, though it felt as if his thoughts went far beyond anything visible.
The silence stretched on.
"Sakamoto-kun…" Ichinose finally called, her clear, soft voice breaking the stillness. She turned slightly toward him, her pale-violet eyes shining with open admiration.
"Your actions just now were incredible. Both your response to President Horikita and… that move with the pen. It looked like magic. You really live up to your reputation."
Her praise was earnest and bright.
Sakamoto paused subtly, his attention returning from the window. He offered a small nod, steady and elegant.
"Ichinose-san, you flatter me. It was merely a coincidence—nothing more."
"A coincidence?" she murmured, blinking in confusion. She turned toward Katsuragi. "Katsuragi-kun, is Sakamoto-kun always like this in Class A? I mean… always so elegant and impressive?"
Katsuragi stopped walking and faced her. His gaze flicked to Sakamoto's serenely unreadable expression, then back to Ichinose.
"Sakamoto-kun… is indeed unique."
He left it at that, though the complicated emotion in his tone revealed far more than his words.
"Oh…" Ichinose murmured, looking even more intrigued.
Her eyes moved between the two boys, hesitation flickering across her face before she finally voiced the question weighing on her mind.
"Um, Katsuragi-kun, Sakamoto-kun… what Sakamoto-kun said about 'rules' earlier sounded so profound. So I was wondering… does Class A already know some of the school's special rules?"
She asked it naturally, guided by pure curiosity. She had no reason to suspect that the disparity between classes was far greater than simple academic ability. If Sakamoto could speak with such depth before the Student Council—and if Katsuragi didn't dispute him—then perhaps Class A had already uncovered secrets about the school.
After all, she herself felt that the school's rules were strange: the points system, the unclear boundaries, the mysterious criteria. Sakamoto's exchange with Horikita Manabu only deepened that sense of strangeness.
But the moment the words left her lips—
Katsuragi's expression sharpened. The muscles in his face tightened; not enough to be rude, but enough to betray his guard being raised. He didn't step back or show hostility, but the vigilance in his eyes was unmistakable.
"Ichinose-san," he said, his deep voice steady but carrying weight, "your question extends beyond casual peer discussion."
He paused deliberately, emphasizing each word.
"Class A's internal affairs are not something we can disclose to others."
He did not scold her outright, but the thinly veiled warning in his tone rang clear.
They did know certain rules—rules tied to class points and advantage. And those were not to be shared lightly.
This girl from Class B—whether intentionally or not—had brushed against a red line that absolutely could not be crossed.
Ichinose's breath caught. She froze at Katsuragi's sudden, icy tone.
Her pale violet eyes widened, filled with confusion and alarm, and she instinctively stepped back half a pace.
"K–Katsuragi-kun? I… I was just asking casually."
Seeing his distant, guarded expression, she hurried to explain, her voice quivering with a hint of grievance.
"It's just… what Sakamoto-kun said earlier sounded really profound. It felt like he already understood something important, so I wondered if Class A might've figured things out. I didn't mean anything else."
She truly had asked out of simple curiosity—completely unaware that she had touched the core of inter-class competition.
Katsuragi studied her closely, searching her clear eyes for deceit.
The shock and hurt on her face didn't seem fabricated. His shoulders eased by a fraction—but the steel in his expression did not soften.
He exhaled slowly.
"No comment," he said, voice hard and unyielding.
His gaze sharpened like an eagle's.
"And please focus on Class B's affairs."
He emphasized the class names, drawing an unmistakable line between them.
Ichinose's smile faltered. Disappointment washed over her features.
She lowered her head slightly, her voice shrinking into a whisper.
"…I'm sorry. I spoke out of turn."
An awkward, heavy silence fell upon the corridor.
At that moment, Sakamoto—who had been quietly observing—finally moved.
He neither looked at Katsuragi nor at the dejected Ichinose.
Instead, he lifted his right hand, and the silver fountain pen that had steadied the teacup earlier appeared between his fingers once more.
The slanted sunset caught the metal, painting a gleaming ribbon of silver across the hallway.
With a natural turn of his wrist, the pen spun fluidly across his fingers. It danced gracefully, carving smooth arcs in the air—alive, intentional, hypnotic. The elegance of the motion pulled both their gazes toward him without effort.
Then, with a soft click, the spinning slowed and stopped, resting perfectly between his thumb and forefinger.
Sakamoto's eyes drifted to the pen tip.
His voice was calm, serene—neither comforting nor lecturing, but simply true.
"Rules are like rivers. Classes are like the riverbeds."
He lifted his gaze slightly, as though looking through the two students toward the golden horizon at the end of the corridor.
"Water flows as it must. Riverbeds remain distinct.
To go with the current… is to go far."
He offered no further explanation.
A flick of his fingers—silver flashed—and the pen slipped smoothly back into the breast pocket of his uniform.
Then he turned and dipped his head politely toward them, elegant to the last detail.
"Excuse me, both of you."
Without waiting for a response, he stepped forward, walking toward the end of the corridor.
His stride remained steady, unhurried, each step quiet yet confident—as if he moved along an invisible path only he could see.
When he reached the stairwell, his footsteps paused.
Katsuragi and Ichinose found themselves trailing him unconsciously, though neither spoke.
Sakamoto didn't look back.
He merely tilted his head slightly, his glasses catching a faint gleam of sunset—like a final, fleeting signal.
Then he turned and walked down the stairs alone.
His figure slipped around the corner and vanished, the last rays of the setting sun tracing a golden outline along the edge of his silhouette as it disappeared.
Katsuragi stood motionless for several seconds, his jaw tight, his brows furrowed. The look he cast toward Ichinose was complicated—more than annoyance, less than sympathy.
Ichinose's eyes remained fixed on the stairwell where Sakamoto had disappeared. Her lips pressed together, faint uncertainty clouding her normally bright expression.
Sakamoto-kun… just what does he know?