Kamuro's face flushed, a hot wave of indignation fighting the chill of fear. Ryuuen's words were poisoned needles, each one seeking a seam in her armor, probing for the nature of her connection to Sakamoto. But beneath the venom, she saw the strategy. He's fishing. He's not sure. He was watching her reactions like a scientist observing a specimen, trying to deduce Sakamoto's potential investment in her.
She couldn't give him anything. A sharp, controlled breath steadied her. "Ryuuen-kun," she said, forcing a tone of cold, dismissive formality. "I have no idea what you're implying. My personal habits are my own business and require no explanation to you. This is a school. Now, please move. I'm returning to my dorm." She clung to the thin hope of institutional safety—surely even Ryuuen wouldn't escalate to outright violence here.
Ryuuen's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Her shift from panic to this brittle, defiant calm was telling. It confirmed his hypothesis: her relationship with Sakamoto wasn't casual. It had weight. And weight could be used as a counterbalance. The first phase—confirmation—was complete.
He eased the direct pressure, his demeanor shifting to a taunting, conversational bait. "So eager to get back? Running off to text Sakamoto? To tell him you were cornered in an alley by the big, bad Class C students?" His voice was a lazy drawl, each word designed to fray her nerves. "Or are you worried you'll miss the end of his shift? You're so… punctual with your observations. Does he even appreciate your dedication?"
Kamuro pressed her lips into a thin line, refusing to rise to the bait. Her eyes darted past him to the two sentinels at the alley's mouth. Escape was impossible. All she could do was endure, a silent plea for a random passerby to break the deadlock.
The oppressive silence stretched. Ryuuen's mocking expression began to harden into faint irritation. He was waiting. According to his script, Sakamoto—having received the carefully crafted distress signal—should have arrived by now. The trap was set, the bait was trembling… but the main prize was conspicuously absent. Had he overestimated her value? A sliver of doubt, cold and unwelcome, snaked into his calculations.
Then, the silence shattered.
From beyond the alley entrance, a wave of sound rolled in—not the scuffle of a rescue, but the bustling, mundane noise of a gathering crowd. Murmurs, shuffling footsteps, the low hum of many people in close quarters. It was utterly, bizarrely out of place in this secluded service corridor.
All four occupants of the alley stiffened, their attention snapping toward the source of the disturbance. Even the impassive Yamada Albert turned his head slightly.
Ryuuen's eyes flashed with sharp suspicion. He gave Ishizaki a curt nod.
Ishizaki edged to the corner and peeked out. When he pulled back, his face was a mask of stunned confusion. He hurried to Ryuuen's side, voice a hushed, bewildered rasp. "Ryuuen… it's him. Sakamoto. He's here. But… there's a whole crowd out there. They're… they're forming a line."
"A line?" Ryuuen repeated, the word tasting absurd. His brow furrowed deeply.
At the sound of Sakamoto's name, a dizzying wave of relief washed over Kamuro, momentarily eclipsing her fear. He came.
But… a line? What did that mean?
The commotion outside grew unmistakable—the sound of organized movement, of dozens of people shifting in place. Shadows of figures now fell across the alley's entrance, not of a few pursuers, but of a small crowd.
The stark sunlight was a physical shock after the alley's gloom. Kamuro blinked, her vision clearing to reveal a scene of such utter absurdity that her mind, still ringing with threats, struggled to process it.
Before her stretched a long, orderly queue of students, snaking down the path toward the dormitories. Dozens of them, chatting quietly, their attention fixed not on a confrontation, but on a small, improvised stall.
Under a large parasol, a folding table was laden with neatly arranged takeaway coffees. And behind it, dispensing them with the serene efficiency of a seasoned barista, stood Sakamoto. His burgundy uniform was impeccable, his movements a study in calm precision as he handed a cup to the next person in line. "Your latte." "Americano, please." His clear, composed voice cut through the low murmur of the crowd.
It was a pop-up café. In the middle of a path. Surrounded by a captive audience.
Ryuuen Kakeru's face was a mask of frozen rage. His perfect, private trap had been upstaged by a public spectacle. The sinister atmosphere he'd cultivated in the alley dissipated like smoke in the face of this bizarre, mundane commerce. Yet, a grim satisfaction flickered beneath his fury. He came. The target is in the open.
He strode through the curious onlookers, Ishizaki and Albert flanking him, and stopped before the table. His voice was a low, venomous hiss meant for Sakamoto alone. "Clever. Turn a rescue into a sideshow. Do you think a crowd changes anything?" He leaned in slightly, a predator's grin twisting his lips. "But you took the bait. Check your phone again. My 'surprise' for you has more than one stage."
Sakamoto didn't look up. He completed the transaction in front of him, his movements uninterrupted. "Next, please," he said, his tone inviting the next customer as if Ryuuen were merely part of the scenery.
A visible tic jumped in Ryuuen's jaw. The absolute, dismissive indifference was more infuriating than any retort. He held Sakamoto's placid gaze for a long, charged second, the air between them crackling with silent, promised violence.
"Hmph." The sound was a release of stifled fury. Without another word, Ryuuen turned on his heel, his two enforcers falling in behind him. They retreated through the crowd, their departure charged with a palpable, simmering threat. The first move was his. The connection was made. The next stage was already in motion.
Kamuro stood frozen, watching Ryuuen disappear, then turning her wide, bewildered eyes back to Sakamoto. The fear was gone, replaced by a swirling vortex of confusion and a strange, fluttering relief. How had he done this? What was he planning?
The afternoon sun bathed the scene in a normal, almost cheerful light. Sakamoto handed another coffee to a waiting student, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable. The dark alley, the threatening words, Ryuuen's sinister presence—it all felt like a fever dream dispelled by the simple, inexplicable reality of a boy selling coffee in the sunshine.