The midday bell rang, marking the end of morning classes. Nagumo Miyabi left the classroom, his mind still wrestling with the morning's bizarre events. As he turned a corner into a quieter hallway, he nearly collided with Asahina Natsume.
"Nagumo! There you are," she said, her expression a mix of concern and frustration. "I need to talk to you. Now."
He gestured dismissively. "Not now, Asahina. I have... things to handle."
"It's about Sakamoto-kun," she insisted, lowering her voice. "And whatever you're doing."
That stopped him. He glanced around before pulling her into an empty classroom. "What about him?"
"I warned you," she said, her hands on her hips. "I told you to leave him alone. But you didn't listen, did you? You set him up with those exam papers."
"So what if I did?" Nagumo shrugged, trying to regain his usual nonchalance. "It was a simple test. To see if the 'legendary first-year' would take the bait and corrupt his own class's perfect record."
"And? What happened?"
Nagumo's smirk faltered. "He... didn't. The papers are being ignored or investigated. The plan failed."
Asahina's eyes narrowed. "Failed? Is that all? Look at you. You're jumpy. What did he do?"
"Nothing," Nagumo snapped too quickly. "He's just... following orders."
"Orders?"
Realizing he'd said too much, Nagumo tried to brush past her. "Forget it. It's under control."
But Asahina blocked his path. "Nagumo. Listen to me. I've seen him. I've talked to him. He's not like anyone else here. You're playing with something you don't understand."
"He's just a first-year," Nagumo scoffed, but the conviction was gone from his voice.
"Is he?" Asahina leaned closer. "Then why are you so unsettled? A first-year serving you breakfast on his knees in front of half the school? A first-year who can vanish and make you feel watched without being seen? That's not normal, Nagumo. That's a message."
"A message?"
"A message that he knows it was you," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And that your little games don't work on him. He's turning your own power play against you. He's making you the spectacle. He's making you uncomfortable. And he's doing it without breaking a single rule."
Nagumo was silent. The uncomfortable truth of her words settled over him like a cold blanket.
"What are you going to do?" Asahina asked.
"I..." Nagumo trailed off. For the first time in a long time, he had no ready answer, no clever next move. The puppet master felt his own strings being pulled.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the school grounds. In a secluded corner of the courtyard, Hashimoto Masayoshi leaned against a tree, a knowing smile on his face as he scrolled through messages on his phone. The fragmented alliance's information network was humming.
A text from Kanzaki Ryūji: Confirmed. Third-year source validates paper authenticity. Recycling pattern is real.
A message from an unnamed second-year contact: Nagumo-senpai seems... off today. Agitated. Asking about surveillance protocols.
And a final, telling observation he'd made himself: Sakamoto, after his morning performance, had been seen calmly reading in the library, utterly unperturbed. The eye of the storm was perfectly still.
Hashimoto chuckled to himself. Nagumo had tried to set a trap, only to find himself caught in a far more intricate and humiliating one. The exam paper plot had fizzled, failing to ignite the desired chaos. And now, the would-be puppeteer was dancing on strings of his own making.
He picked the wrong person to make an enemy of, Hashimoto thought, putting his phone away. Sakamoto wasn't just a piece on the board; he was a force that reshaped the board itself. And Nagumo Miyabi was just beginning to learn that lesson—the hard way.
The midterm exams would proceed. The classes would be tested. But a different kind of test was already underway in the shadows, and the vice president was currently failing it spectacularly. All that remained was to see how Sakamoto chose to end the lesson.
The day proceeded with a tense, unspoken rhythm. For Nagumo Miyabi, every open doorway, every shifting shadow in his peripheral vision, felt like a potential aperture for that silent, unnerving observation. He attended his classes, held a Student Council meeting—where his usual confident swagger was noticeably subdued—and went through the motions of his day, all under the weight of an invisible gaze.
He tried to dismiss it as paranoia, but the sensation was too precise, too persistent. It was the feeling of being a specimen under glass.
During lunch, as he picked at his food in the cafeteria, a first-year from Class B—a girl with sharp eyes—approached his table. It was Shiina Hiyori. She placed a single, folded note beside his tray without a word, then melted back into the crowd.
Nagumo stared at the note, a fresh wave of cold dread washing over him. He unfolded it with slightly unsteady fingers.
Vice President Nagumo,
A reminder that the library's historical archives require reorganization before the end-of-term audit. As per your standing directive on preparatory diligence, this task falls within the purview of probationary assessment.
The work awaits your inspection at 3:00 PM.
- S
The note was typed, impersonal. But the initial, and the timing… It was him. Sakamoto. Not only was he observing, he was now issuing assignments. And framing them as Nagumo's own prior commands.
At 2:55 PM, Nagumo stood outside the seldom-used historical archives room in the library's oldest wing. He took a steadying breath and pushed the door open.
The scene inside stopped him dead.
The archives, formerly a chaotic maze of overstuffed shelves and dusty boxes, had been transformed. The air smelled of lemon and old paper, not mildew. Every shelf was meticulously labeled in crisp, calligraphic script. Boxes were sorted, indexed, and stacked with geometric precision. In the center of the room, a lone reading desk held a single, open ledger, a pen placed neatly beside it.
And there, standing by the desk, was Sakamoto. He was not kneeling, not serving. He simply stood, awaiting inspection, his posture relaxed yet attentive. The afternoon sun from a high window cut across the room, illuminating the motes of dust his work had stirred, making him look like an apparition in a cathedral of knowledge.
"The reorganization is complete, Vice President," Sakamoto stated, his voice calm in the profound quiet. "The Dewey Decimal System has been cross-referenced with the school's proprietary archival codes. A digital index has been initiated on the library's secondary server. All is ready for your audit."
Nagumo could only stare. The scale of the work that must have been required… It was impossible for one person in a few hours. Yet here it was, flawless. It was another display, not of servitude this time, but of staggering, silent competence. A demonstration that whatever task Nagumo could conceive, Sakamoto could not only complete but transcend.
"Why?" The word escaped Nagumo's lips before he could stop it, stripped of its usual arrogance, revealing the raw confusion beneath.
Sakamoto tilted his head slightly, as if the question was puzzling. "You established the parameters, Vice President. I am operating within them. Efficiency and order benefit the entire school, do they not?" He paused, then added, his tone devoid of malice yet heavy with meaning, "It is important that a leader's directives are carried out with… exacting fidelity. It reflects on the integrity of the chain of command."
The message was clear. You set the rules. I am simply following them to the letter. Your every move, your every order, will be reflected back at you with a perfection that exposes its own absurdity. You wanted to test me? You are now being tested.
Nagumo had no rebuttal. The trap was of his own design, but Sakamoto had stepped into it and dismantited it from the inside, turning the very mechanism of control into a cage for the controller.
"The assessment for today is concluded," Nagumo managed to say, his voice tight. "You are dismissed."
Sakamoto bowed, that same infuriatingly perfect bow. "As you command." He walked to the door, but paused on the threshold. He did not look back.
"Vice President," he said, his voice soft but clear in the silent room. "A suggestion. The forthcoming midterm examinations will require significant administrative oversight. It would be prudent to ensure your own preparations are equally… meticulous."
Then he was gone.
Nagumo stood alone in the immaculate archives, the ghost of that unseen gaze finally lifted, replaced by the heavier, colder weight of a truth he could no longer ignore.
He had not contained Sakamoto. He had unleashed him. And the interview period had seven days left.
In the courtyard below, unseen by Nagumo, Sakamoto paused beneath a tree. He took out his phone and sent a single, brief message.
To: Shiina Hiyori
Phase one complete. The archive is secure. Thank you for the access key.
He put the phone away and looked up at the school building, his expression unreadable. The counter-offensive was not merely about humiliation or defense. It was about restructuring the landscape. Nagumo had sought to spread chaos using his name. Sakamoto's response was to demonstrate, publicly and unequivocally, what true control—and true service to order—looked like.
The midterms were coming. But the most important test was already in session, and the vice president was rapidly running out of time to find the right answers.
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