The afternoon sun was dazzling, spilling its heat onto the path before the dormitory entrance. The air hung heavy with the rich scent of coffee and the idle chatter of a gathered crowd, a scene of mundane weekend leisure that felt utterly alien to Kamuro Masumi.
She stood rooted to the spot, her gaze locked onto the orderly figure under the parasol—Sakamoto.
Ryuuen Kakeru, flanked by Ishizaki and Albert, had long since vanished into the campus maze, leaving behind only a silent, swirling storm within her. A profound bewilderment anchored her to the pavement. Had she just been saved by Sakamoto? Ryuuen's malicious obstruction, his venomous probing, had dissipated like mist the moment Sakamoto appeared and that inexplicable crowd coalesced around him. The realization was cold and clarifying: Ryuuen's true target had always been Sakamoto. She was merely the chosen bait, a piece leveraged to lure the real prey into the open.
A subtle, corrosive guilt wrapped around her ribs. She had brought this trouble to his doorstep. If not for Sakamoto's impossible, theatrical intervention—summoning both coffee and witnesses from thin air—would Ryuuen have ever let her walk away? She doubted it.
Her eyes swept over the orderly line. Students wore expressions of simple satisfaction or casual curiosity, as if queuing for a trendy pop-up stall. How did he do it? The question burned. How, in mere minutes, did he orchestrate this perfect, crowd-drawing alibi right at the dormitory gate?
But a sharper, more insistent question soon pierced through the shock: How did he know?
In that alley, she had been utterly isolated, phone useless in her pocket. There was no signal, no opportunity to call for help. So how did Sakamoto know she was in danger? Had he been… watching her? The thought sent an unwelcome, irrational jolt through her, quickly smothered by cold reason. Impossible. In the cafe, his gaze had slid over her with the same detached indifference he showed to the furniture. He displayed no particular interest.
Yet, he appeared. Precisely. And resolved everything with this bizarre, public spectacle.
She desperately needed the answer. But before her, Sakamoto was absorbed in his role, deftly handling a transaction. To storm over and demand explanations now would be as graceless as Ryuuen's brutish tactics. And there were still students waiting.
Taking a steadying breath, Kamuro quelled the anxious turmoil inside. She made a decision. Wordlessly, she walked to the very end of the line. The dormitory was right there; she had time. Perhaps when it was her turn, she could find the right moment to ask.
As she waited, head bowed, trying to order her chaotic thoughts, she felt it again—that prickle of being observed. Her instincts snapped her gaze upward, directly meeting the eyes of a girl a few places ahead in the line.
The girl had long, blonde hair tied in a high ponytail that swayed with her movements. Dressed in a fashionable short skirt and jacket, she was the picture of a trendy First-Year gyaru. And she was staring back with naked, unguarded curiosity.
Did she see what happened at the alley? Irritation, hot and familiar, rose in Kamuro's throat. She hated being a spectacle.
Without hesitation, Kamuro let her purple eyes harden, turning her glare into a blade of pure ice aimed directly at the blonde. The girl flinched, a flash of panic crossing her features before she spun her head away, properly chastised. Kamuro gave a faint, internal sniff of disdain and returned her attention to the front.
The line inched forward. One by one, students collected their cups and drifted away, until finally, it was her turn.
She approached the simple folding table. It was nearly barren now, save for one final paper cup sitting alone in the center.
Sakamoto looked up. His gaze, framed by those black-rimmed glasses, settled on her with a practiced, neutral calm.
"Student," he asked, his tone identical to the one he used for every other customer, as if she were a stranger, as if the last twenty minutes had never happened. "What would you like?"
The impulse to speak surged once more, only to be choked back by a peculiar, uncharacteristic hesitation. Instead, she merely gestured toward the solitary cup.
"That one will do."
Sakamoto gave a slight nod. His movements, however, diverged from the routine efficiency shown to other customers. He did not pass the cup directly. Instead, he selected a cardboard sleeve from the side, fitted it around the cup with deliberate care, and presented it to her with both hands—a small, formal ceremony.
"Your coffee. Please enjoy."
His demeanor was impeccable, a model of service. Kamuro accepted the warm cup, her fingertips registering the contrasting coolness of the sleeve. She watched his flawless performance, the question she had rehearsed in line poised on her tongue. But Sakamoto did not grant her the opening.
Turning slightly, he addressed the few remaining students behind her, his voice clear and carrying. "My apologies. We are now sold out for today. For further purchases, please visit the main cafe in the shopping center."
With murmurs of disappointment, the small crowd dispersed, leaving the path suddenly quiet. The weekend bustle evaporated, leaving only Kamuro, holding her coffee, and Sakamoto, who had begun calmly breaking down his makeshift stand.
She stood motionless, watching him fold the parasol and table with the same unhurried precision. The moment stretched. Finally, she spoke, her voice cutting through the quiet.
"Sakamoto-kun. Why were you selling coffee here?"
He secured the last strap and turned to face her fully, the folded equipment in hand. "I concluded my shift at the cafe early due to a personal matter. However, my sales target for the day had not yet been met. I obtained permission to operate a temporary stall here to bridge the gap." His gaze met hers, utterly placid. "I did not anticipate encountering you here, Kamuro-san."
The explanation was absurdly logical. So watertight it felt like a wall. A coincidence? A mere accidental encounter? Just steps away, she had been trapped and interrogated by Ryuuen. Her eyes searched his face, scanning for the slightest crack in that calm facade, a flicker of deceit in his eyes. She found nothing. Only a polite, impenetrable blankness.
Sakamoto offered a shallow, polite bow. "If that is all, Kamuro-san, I must return these items to the shop. Please excuse me."
Without another word, he turned and walked away, his figure retreating swiftly toward the shopping center. Kamuro remained rooted, the warmth of the coffee in her hand seeming to leach away into the cooling air. She stared down at the dark liquid, her thoughts a snarled knot of suspicion, relief, and gnawing uncertainty.
She was so absorbed in her turmoil that she failed to notice an observer lingering in the shadows of the path's lush cherry blossom trees. Karuizawa Kei, her blonde ponytail catching a dappled ray of sun, peered from behind the trunk. Her expression was complex as she watched Kamuro's solitary, confused figure, then glanced thoughtfully in the direction where Sakamoto had vanished. A silent witness to a puzzle that had only grown more intricate.
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