Sakamoto's service, fluid as a rehearsed performance, held their attention a moment longer. In the quiet hum of the afternoon café, his innate composure formed a focal point of unsettling grace.
Ayanokōji was the first to look away. His eyes scanned the room with detached efficiency, quickly identifying a vacancy. "There," he said, his voice low, indicating a recently vacated table in a corner. It was secluded yet afforded a clear line of sight—both into the café's interior and out through the window.
Horikita offered no objection, following silently. They wound through the scattered tables and took their seats in the ambient noise. Horikita's gaze drifted back to the center of the room, tracking Sakamoto as he moved with unimpeachable precision, a figure of calm industry amidst the gentle chaos.
"Doesn't the school prohibit part-time work?" Her voice cut the quiet between them, her eyes still fixed on Sakamoto. "Why is he here?"
Ayanokōji didn't answer immediately. He allowed a deliberate pause, as if weighing his words. "It's possible he secured the position by exploiting a loophole in the regulations," he said slowly. "Many of this school's rules appear... deliberately porous."
Horikita's head turned sharply, her cold eyes narrowing on him. "Are you implying he has deciphered the system?"
Ayanokōji met her gaze, his own inscrutable. It was neither a confirmation nor a denial, but an invitation to follow the thread further.
A flicker of unease crossed Horikita's features. His words resonated with her own deepening suspicions. This school, Koudo Ikusei, with its grand "meritocracy" façade and unparalleled resources, had felt off from the beginning. The cryptic S-point system, the strangely permissive yet opaque regulations, and now an A-Class student openly working in a public café—it all pointed to a hidden layer of logic. Was this truly just a state-run elite academy? The indolence of Class D seemed a grotesque parody of its stated purpose.
And Sakamoto… that figure of effortless capability, quietly operating outside the apparent rules. Did he hold a key to the school's true nature?
She opened her mouth to press Ayanokōji further, to dissect this notion of "rules"—
"Horikita-san! Ayanokōji-kun! What a coincidence!"
A voice, bright and melodious, sliced through the heavy air between them. Both turned.
Kushida Kikyō stood beside their table, her face alight with a brilliant, practiced smile, her magenta eyes sparkling with feigned surprise. She radiated a vibrant, approachable energy that felt utterly alien in that moment.
"Do you two come here often?" she asked, her tone effortlessly casual.
"This is my first time," Ayanokōji replied, his expression flat.
The instant Horikita saw Kushida, her face hardened into a mask of frost. The puzzle pieces clicked into a bitter, obvious picture. Ayanokōji's sudden invitation, his flimsy excuse about courage—none of it was his own initiative. It was a maneuver engineered by this perpetually smiling girl before her. This woman, with her hollow goal of befriending "everyone," had even leveraged Ayanokōji, another isolate, as a tool to corner her.
A wave of intense revulsion washed over Horikita. She hated being manipulated, despised being dragged into these contrived social games. She wanted only solitude—to study, to observe, to unravel the school's mysteries on her own terms. Being alone was her default state, her safeguard.
Yet, Ayanokōji's cryptic comments about the rules and Sakamoto had hooked her curiosity. The school's secrets, the possibility of a key… these questions held a gravitational pull she couldn't easily escape.
Caught between the urge to flee and the desire to understand, Horikita fell silent. She looked down, her profile rigid, engaged in a silent internal war.
"Is that so? I came by myself, so running into you both is such wonderful luck!" Kushida chirped, utterly undeterred by the glacial atmosphere. With natural ease, she pulled out the empty chair beside Horikita and sat down, claiming her space at the table.
Ayanokōji offered a noncommittal hum, his eyes briefly catching the tense line of Horikita's averted jaw. A faint, unreadable glint passed through his gaze.
Given Horikita's character, the moment she realized she had been maneuvered—especially by Kushida—should have triggered an immediate, frosty departure. Her continued silence was anomalous. Was it Sakamoto's enigmatic presence that anchored her? Or the tantalizing puzzle of the "rules" Ayanokōji had just dangled before her? Her internal conflict suspended her usual reflexes, creating a fragile, charged stalemate.
The atmosphere around the small table grew thick with unspoken tension. Kushida's radiant enthusiasm met an invisible, chilling barrier. Horikita's silent withdrawal emitted a warning frost, while Ayanokōji's detached indifference seemed to lower the temperature further, freezing the air into a palpable stillness.
It was at this precise moment of suspended equilibrium that another voice intervened.
"Kushida-san? What a wonderful coincidence!"
The voice was pleasant, bright, and carried a genuine warmth that seemed to gently fracture the stiffness around the table. All three looked up.
A few steps away stood a tall girl with a gentle demeanor and a soft smile. Her long, smooth pink hair held a subtle sheen under the café's ambient lighting. Her features were lovely, her eyes clear and intelligent, radiating an innate, approachable kindness. She wore the standard uniform, but her posture spoke of a natural, graceful confidence—a blend of cheerful vitality and perceptive calm.
Kushida's reaction was instantaneous, her smile widening into a beacon of practiced sociability. "Ichinose-san! It really is!" She then pivoted seamlessly, gesturing to her companions. "Ayanokōji-kun, Horikita-san, this is Ichinose Honami from Class B!"
Ichinose's gaze shifted, taking in Ayanokōji's placid face and Horikita's resolutely downcast profile. If she sensed the fraught atmosphere, she gave no sign, her smile remaining warm and inclusive as she offered a slight, polite bow. "Hello. I'm Ichinose Honami from Class B. It's nice to meet you."
Horikita did not stir, remaining within her fortress of silence. Ayanokōji gave a curt, wordless nod of acknowledgment.
"Please, join us, Ichinose-san!" Kushida invited brightly, already making space.
As Ichinose gracefully took a seat, the dynamic at the corner table shifted yet again. The ambient noise of the café seemed to recede, amplifying the complex silence among its occupants. Here, now, sat a confluence of contrasting forces: the detached isolationists of Class D, the consummate social operator, and the charismatic, unifying presence from Class B. And at the center of it all, both literally and figuratively, was Sakamoto—the silent enigma moving through the room like a calm, untouchable eye in a gathering storm. This unassuming café had inadvertently become a quiet stage where the year's key players were beginning to orbit one another.
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