Ichinose Honami's arrival introduced a new, complicating frequency into the already discordant atmosphere around the small table.
"Please, Ichinose-san, join us!" Kushida chirped, her enthusiasm undimmed. She seemed either genuinely oblivious to Horikita's glacial aura and Ayanokōji's detachment, or masterfully adept at ignoring them.
With a graceful ease, Ichinose took the vacant seat. Her pink hair settled neatly over her shoulders as her warm, observant gaze swept across the trio. "What a lovely coincidence. Kushida-san, are these your friends?"
"Let me introduce them!" Kushida interjected brightly. "This is Ayanokōji Kiyotaka, and this is Horikita Suzune. Both are my classmates in Class D."
"I'm Ichinose Honami from Class B," she said, offering another polite smile and a slight incline of her head. "It's a pleasure."
Ayanokōji responded with a silent, impassive nod. Horikita did not look up, her bowed head and rigid posture forming a silent, impenetrable barrier.
Unfazed, Kushida turned the full force of her sociability onto Ichinose. "We're practically celebrities, meeting again like this! Wasn't it at the entrance ceremony?"
"At the club recruitment briefing, yes," Ichinose recalled with a gentle laugh. "You were so energetic, asking all sorts of questions. It's very memorable. I've also heard you're incredibly active in Class D, always helping others. That's really admirable."
"Oh, not at all! I just want everyone to get along!" Kushida demurred, batting away the praise before redirecting it. "Ichinose-san is the impressive one. Everyone says you're the heart of Class B—so kind and capable."
"I'm no leader," Ichinose replied modestly. "I just want to do my best alongside everyone."
"Oh, that reminds me!" Kushida clapped her hands together, a note of triumph in her voice. "I saw how engrossed we all were and took the liberty of ordering coffee for everyone! It should be out soon." Her eyes danced over Ayanokōji and Horikita before settling back on Ichinose. "I hope that's alright."
"That's very thoughtful of you," Ichinose said with a smile, acknowledging the gesture. "I appreciate it."
Ayanokōji offered no reaction. Horikita remained a statue of silence.
Kushida's attempts to steer the conversation flowed with practiced ease, yet they felt like skates gliding over a thin, frozen surface—smooth, but revealing the profound chill underneath. Her efforts to manufacture camaraderie were met with a wall of disengagement.
Ichinose, perceptive to the stiffness, gently shifted the topic. "This café is lovely. The atmosphere is warm, and the coffee smells wonderful. But…" Her gaze drifted purposefully toward the center of the room. "The most striking thing here might be that waiter, Sakamoto-kun, don't you think?"
"Sakamoto-kun?" Kushida echoed, latching onto the new subject. "He is remarkable! His movements are so elegant—it's like watching a dance."
Ichinose nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I've heard he excels in Class A as well. Top grades, exceptional abilities… and a tendency to do the unexpected." She paused, her tone light but her words weighted. "Like working here, despite the school's clear rules against part-time jobs."
Ayanokōji's eyes flickered toward Ichinose. The Class B leader's focus on Sakamoto was pointed. Across the table, Horikita's stilled fingers betrayed a moment of heightened attention.
"He really is amazing!" Kushida agreed, though her interest seemed superficial. She quickly tried to pivot back to safer, social territory. "But tell me, Ichinose-san, does Class B do many group activities? The atmosphere in your class seems so positive!"
Ichinose, however, didn't immediately follow the redirect. Her gaze lingered on Sakamoto a moment longer. Her presence here was not entirely serendipitous. Her homeroom teacher, Hoshinomiya-sensei, had subtly pointed her toward Sakamoto that morning, hinting that the enigmatic A-Class student might hold clues to the school's underlying systems. Observing him now—his preternatural composure, his efficient grace—only deepened her curiosity.
"He is certainly exceptional," Ichinose finally said, bringing her focus back to the table. "I heard his performance during the Student Council interview was particularly insightful. Even President Horikita was deeply impressed." She let the statement hang, her tone casual yet probing. "Someone of his caliber must be a central figure in Class A's strategy, wouldn't you think?"
Ayanokōji remained a silent monolith, offering no entry into the conversation.
At the mention of "President Horikita," however, Horikita Suzune's head jerked up almost imperceptibly, a crack appearing in her façade of disinterest.
The indifference on Horikita's face dissolved, replaced by a flicker of genuine surprise. Her brother—Horikita Manabu. The invincible standard to which she held herself, the person whose acknowledgment she secretly sought. And he had been impressed by Sakamoto. That meant Sakamoto had not only met him but had left a mark. A sharp, restless curiosity cut through her resistance. She wanted to demand how Ichinose knew this, what exactly had been said.
Beside her, Kushida Kikyo's radiant smile grew brittle. Her eyes darted between Ichinose's composed interest and Ayanokōji's detached observation, then back to Horikita, whose silence now seemed thoughtful rather than hostile. A cold wave of disappointment washed over her. This was not the warm, friendly gathering she had orchestrated. Why had the conversation spiraled around that aloof Class A student? Her carefully staged "coincidence," her proactive ordering—all of it was fading into irrelevant background noise.
Just then, a figure moved into their periphery with silent efficiency.
Sakamoto arrived at their table like a shift in the atmosphere, carrying a tray with poised steadiness. Dressed in his crisp black apron, his posture was impeccably erect, his gaze behind the thin black frames calm and unreadable. On the tray sat four drinks. With fluid, economical motions, he placed each one before its intended recipient.
When the black coffee was set before Ayanokōji, their eyes met—a brief, neutral convergence of two fathomless pools, devoid of recognizable sentiment. A simple acknowledgment, nothing more.
"Please enjoy," Sakamoto said, his voice clear and even.
"Sakamoto-kun!" Kushida seized the moment, her voice bright with forced cheer. "You remember me, right? We met on the bus on the first day!"
Sakamoto's gaze shifted to her. "Kushida Kikyo-san," he acknowledged, naming her precisely. "A pleasure."
"You do remember! That's wonderful!" Her delight seemed genuine, a small victory in a derailed plan.
His attention then turned to Ichinose. "Ichinose Honami-san."
Ichinose's eyes warmed. "Hello, Sakamoto-kun. I'm surprised you recall."
"A pleasure to meet you both." His glance swept over Ayanokōji and the still-lowered head of Horikita before he prepared to withdraw with his tray.
Ichinose saw her opening. She lifted her coffee cup, her smile gentle and inviting. "Sakamoto-kun, you've been working hard. Would you care to join us for a moment? This one is on me." Her tone was perfectly pitched—friendly, respectful, and impossible to dismiss as mere courtesy.
Sakamoto paused. His eyes met Ichinose's, then briefly scanned the others at the table. "Thank you for your kindness, Ichinose-san. However, I still have duties to attend to…"
He left the sentence hanging and performed an unexpected gesture: a slight, formal bow. "Please excuse me for a moment."
With that, he turned and walked with measured steps toward the kitchen, leaving a faint vacuum of silence in his wake.
Ichinose's smile softened at the edges, a ghost of disappointment in her eyes. A rejection, then.
Kushida felt a prick of relief. Perhaps now the conversation could return to safer ground.
Ayanokōji picked up his black coffee and took a slow sip, his gaze fixed impassively on the kitchen doorway.
Less than a minute later, the curtain parted.
Sakamoto re-emerged.
The black apron was gone. He now wore the standard wine-red uniform of Koudo Ikusei High School. With the same composed stride, he returned to their table, gracefully pulled out the empty chair beside Ichinose, and sat.
"My apologies for the delay," he said, his voice still a model of calm. His eyes met Ichinose's mildly surprised ones. "It would be rude to decline such a sincere invitation. Thank you for the coffee."
The table was now complete. Five students, five distinct currents of intention, gathered around a small café table—an unplanned council where the undercurrents of the school year were beginning to silently converge.