Kamuro Masumi stepped out of the café, the afternoon sunlight striking her like a physical blow. She raised a hand, shielding her eyes as they narrowed against the glare. Inside, the brief, puzzling exchange between Sakamoto and that teacher—Hoshinomiya, was it?—lingered in her mind like a discordant note. She gave a sharp shake of her head, scattering the thought. It was irrelevant.
She merged into the weekend current of the shopping concourse, her pace deliberately measured as she headed toward the dormitory district. Around her, students mingled and couples strolled, a scene of casual weekend leisure. Her own gaze, however, was habitually analytical, skimming over reflections in storefront glass, noting the flow of pedestrians, the rhythm of footsteps that fell just a little too consistently behind her own.
Her steps hitched, almost imperceptibly.
Something was wrong.
A familiar, cold prickle traced its way up her spine—the unmistakable sensation of being watched. It was a feeling carved into her from a less savory past, from middle school days spent looking over her shoulder after petty thefts. A flicker of pure, instinctive wariness passed behind her purple eyes.
Slowing her pace, she pretended to examine a display window, using the dark glass as a mirror to scan the crowd behind her. A sea of unfamiliar faces ebbed and flowed. No single figure stood out, yet the pressure of observation didn't lift. It felt focused, intentional. And it wasn't solitary. At least two distinct points of focus pinned her in place.
Her heart gave a hard, sinking thud.
Who? Her mind raced. What had she done? Her daily pilgrimage to the café to observe Sakamoto was the only notable deviation in her routine. Had Sakayanagi discovered her eavesdropping? Or was this Ryuuen's doing? The thought sent an icy trickle down her back, but she dismissed it just as quickly. If either of them had definitive proof, they wouldn't have waited a week. And they wouldn't use something as blunt as simple pursuit.
A steadying breath filled her lungs. The 'who' didn't matter now. She had to lose them.
She stopped pretending. Her stride lengthened, her steps quickening with sudden purpose. Ahead lay the main boulevard back to the dorms—wide, sunlit, teeming with witnesses and security cameras. The logical, safe choice.
But logic was a thin veneer. When the primal alarm of being hunted screamed through her nerves, it was the ingrained habits of a stray that took command. Her body moved before her mind could catch up, veering sharply off the bright thoroughfare and into the mouth of a narrow, shadowed alley.
The world constricted. High walls of apartment buildings rose on either side, cutting the sun into thin, dusty stripes. The familiar gloom of secluded spaces, once a refuge in her old life, wrapped around her tense nerves with a false sense of security. The crisp tap of her loafers against the concrete echoed, a frantic rhythm in the sudden quiet.
But the feeling of pursuit didn't fade. It intensified. Her evasive turns, meant to shake a tail, were met not with confusion but with a dreadful, pre-emptive precision. Each potential route she considered seemed to be subtly blocked before she could reach it, herding her deeper into the maze. Her breathing grew shallow, a fine sweat beading on her temple.
A cold, stunning realization dawned.
She had made a catastrophic error. The shortcut, the alley—it was the instinct of a petty thief, not the strategy of a student at Koudo Ikusei. This wasn't an escape; it was a trap she had sprinted into willingly. The walls felt less like shelter and more like the sides of a closing vise.
Panic, sharp and acrid, flooded her system. She had to get back to the light, to the crowd.
She spun around a final corner, and her blood ran cold.
A dead end. A sheer wall of stained gray concrete loomed before her, adorned only with soggy cardboard boxes and the scent of damp decay. Her escape route had dissolved.
Whirling on her heel, she faced the way she came.
The light at the distant alley entrance was now completely eclipsed by two broad-shouldered silhouettes. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, a living barricade clad in the burgundy of their school uniforms. The one on the left was a monument of muscle and dark skin, his face obscured by sunglasses, his silence more threatening than any shout.
The pressure in the alley became a physical weight. The figure on the left was a monolith of muscle, his crossed arms testing the seams of his uniform, his silent presence a wall of implied force. On the right, a boy of average build wore a rogue's smirk, his hands tucked casually in his pockets as his eyes roamed over her with open, predatory interest.
Kamuro's pulse hammered against her ribs. She didn't recognize them. A cold dread, sharper than fear, washed through her. Instinctively, she retreated a step until her back met the unyielding, grimy wall. No escape.
"Oh? What a coincidence."
The voice, laced with a mocking chill, slithered from the shadows behind the two sentinels. Kamuro's head snapped toward the sound.
Ryuuen Kakeru emerged with a languid, deliberate stride, his hands buried in his pockets. He didn't need to push through his lackeys; they parted for him as a matter of course. His chin was tilted, and his gaze—a cold, surgical instrument—cut through the alley's gloom and pinned her in place. A slow, unnerving smile played on his lips, the expression of a predator who has successfully corralled its prey.
"Kamuro Masumi."
His voice was low, yet it carried with perfect clarity in the confined space. It wasn't a question. "We meet again."
Her heart clenched, a visceral squeeze of terror. He knew her name. This was no accident, no random intimidation. The cold tide of fear threatened to drown her reason. He knows. He knows I overheard. He knows everything. For a second, her mind screamed in panic.
Then, a spark of survival instinct flared. If he knew for sure, he wouldn't be playing games. He'd have acted already. This was an interrogation, not an execution. She bit the inside of her cheek, the sharp pain cutting through the fog of panic. She forced her spine straight, meeting his sinister stare with what she hoped was a convincing mask of confused defiance.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice tighter than she wanted, a tremor underlying the words. "Why are you following me? What do you want?"
Ryuuen didn't answer directly. He took two deliberate steps closer, closing the distance. The air around him seemed to grow colder.
"Who am I?" he echoed with a derisive snort. "Kamuro Masumi. Class A's diligent little student. Sakamoto's faithful puppy… or should I say, his stalker?" His eyes glinted with cruel amusement. "You watch him in that café every single day. Have you forgotten what your own classmates look like?"
The insult—puppy, stalker—barely registered. It was the terrifying specificity of his knowledge that turned her blood to ice. He hadn't just seen her once; he'd been watching. Logging her patterns. Monitoring Sakamoto. Humiliation and a fierce, sudden anger burned away some of the paralyzing fear.
"What are you talking about?" she shot back, her voice gaining an edge. "I just… I like the coffee there!"
"Like the coffee?" Ryuuen's laugh was a short, ugly sound. "You show up like clockwork. One coffee. Eyes glued to him the entire time. That's a peculiar way to enjoy a beverage, Masumi."
He took another step, the space between them now charged and oppressive. His voice dropped, each word a measured drop of venom. "So, which is it? Did he put you up to this? Or are you just a lonely little shadow, desperate to cling to someone so far out of your league?"
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