Takumi Hayase sat in the back row of Class 1-D's classroom, the late afternoon sun slanting through the windows and casting long shadows across the desks.
It had been exactly one month since he'd arrived in this world, Classroom of the Elite, and the initial thrill of unrestricted power had curdled into something far more frustrating. He stared at the holographic interface only he could see, floating in his vision like a private taunt:
Status Update: Restrictions Active
Girlfriend Requirement: Maintain a steady romantic partner or face unknown punishment.
Manipulation Limit: Blackout's mental influence disabled. Shadow extension, sensory feedback, and physical manipulation still permitted.
Current Partner: Haruka Hasebe (Established: 3 weeks ago).
Takumi clenched his jaw, a quiet anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. A lot more restricted than I was led to believe.
The system had tricked him, promised freedom, then slapped on chains. No mind control, no subtle nudges to bend wills. Just raw shadow work and his own wits. The girlfriend rule was worse. He hadn't wanted to test the punishment, whatever it was. So he'd chosen Haruka Hasebe, beautiful, with her long sky blue hair, soft curves, and that effortless, laid-back charm.
She was kind, a little quirky, and had a quiet confidence that drew him in. But even now, after three weeks together, they hadn't gone further than kisses and hand-holding. He hadn't pushed.
In this world, with its endless scrutiny and hidden agendas, he needed to play it slower, more methodical. No forcing it. He'd build trust, then desire, then everything else.
The old Takumi would've taken what he wanted; the new one had to be careful.
The bell rang, signalling the end of class. Students shuffled out, chatting about upcoming exams and weekend plans. Takumi lingered, his eyes following Kiyotaka Ayanokouji as he slipped out the door, phone in hand.
Takumi knew this scene, remembered it from the anime he'd binged before the transfer. Ayanokouji was about to return Kushida Kikyou's lost phone, only to be confronted with her true, venomous face.
He stood, slipping out quietly, his footsteps silent as he shadowed Ayanokouji down the corridor. Blackout extended subtly, shadow tendrils along the floor, sensing vibrations, predicting movements.
He kept his distance, blending into the background like he always did.
The confrontation happened exactly as he remembered. Kushida cornered Ayanokouji in an empty hallway, her sweet facade cracking as she hissed threats, false claims of harassment, her voice dripping with malice. Ayanokouji remained calm, unflappable, but Kushida's words were sharp, cutting.
Takumi stayed hidden around the corner, phone raised, recording every word in secret. The video captured it all, her transformation from angelic to venomous, the threats, the manipulation. Perfect blackmail material, or leverage if he ever needed it.
He slipped away before they noticed, melting into the shadows, the recording saved and encrypted. The halls were quiet now, the school emptying out.
Takumi pocketed his phone, a faint smile on his lips.
___
Kushida Kikyou skipped down the dormitory hallway, her steps light and bouncy, a cheerful hum escaping her lips. The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow on her perfectly pressed uniform, her golden-brown hair swaying with each hop. She felt good, better than good, actually.
The day had gone smoothly, perfect smiles, perfect compliments, perfect little moments where everyone adored her. Even the usual annoyances, Ayanokouji's blank stare, Hirata's endless kindness, hadn't fazed her. She was in control, as always.
She reached her dorm room, unlocking the door with a soft click and stepping inside. The space was tidy, feminine, pastel curtains, a few plushies on the bed, a mirror where she could practice her expressions. She kicked off her shoes, twirling once before flopping onto the bed with a contented sigh.
Her phone buzzed.
Kushida glanced at it casually, expecting a message from one of her many "friends." But the number was unknown, encrypted, no name, no profile. She opened it.
An audio file.
Curiosity piqued, she tapped play.
Her own voice filled the room, sharp, venomous, the sweet facade stripped away.
["If you breathe a word about this to anyone, I'll make sure everyone thinks you raped me. I'll ruin you, Ayanokouji."]
Her heart stopped.
The audio ended. Silence pressed in, heavy and suffocating. Kushida's fingers trembled as she stared at the screen, the cheerful mask slipping. Her mind raced... How? Who?.... panic clawing at her chest.
Another message popped up.
Who is this?
No response.
She typed frantically, Who is this? How did you get that?
Still nothing.
Then a photo loaded, a grainy shot of Ayanokouji walking home, head down, hands in pockets. Unremarkable, but unmistakable.
Kushida's breath hitched. Ayanokouji? But he wouldn't... would he?
Another message, Don't release it?
Her fingers shook. Please don't. I'll do anything. Just delete it.
The reply came instantly Good girl. Send me a picture of yourself in underwear. Now.
Kushida's eyes widened, rage bubbling beneath the fear. "You bastard," she whispered, her voice trembling. She typed back: No. Absolutely not.
The next message was a screenshot, a draft email, addressed to the student council, her homeroom teacher, and the principal.
The subject line, Kushida Kikyou's True Nature - Audio Evidence. Attached: the recording.
Her stomach dropped. The world narrowed to the screen, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst.
She typed, fingers numb, Fine. I'll do it.
She stood, legs shaky, and walked to her mirror. Her reflection stared back, perfect, angelic, the mask everyone loved. But now it felt like a lie crumbling.
She stripped quickly skin prickling in the cool air. She grabbed her phone, angling it carefully, no face, just her body from the neck down, full breasts, slim waist, hips flaring into soft curves.
She sent it.
The reply came almost immediately, laughing emojis, followed by a single message, Good. We'll talk soon.
Kushida stared at the screen, fury boiling in her chest. She sank onto the bed, phone clutched in her hand, eyes blazing.
Whoever you are... I'll find you. And when I do, you'll suffer.
___
Kikyou Kushida sat at her desk in Class 1-D, her head propped up on one hand, eyelids heavy as lead. The classroom was quiet now, the bell having rung minutes ago, students filtering out in chattering groups. The teacher's voice from the lesson still echoed faintly in her ears, something about Japanese history, but it blurred into meaningless noise.
She blinked slowly, fighting the fog that had settled over her mind like a thick blanket.
Weeks. It had been weeks since the first message. The audio of her true self threatening Ayanokouji, the demands, the photos she'd been forced to send, each one more humiliating than the last. She had ruled out almost all of her classmates. None of them had the skill or the motive to pull this off so cleanly.
She'd even gone to a phone store, trying to get the creepy vendor to trace the number, but the phone was a burner, unregistered, no owner. And when she thought it might end, a new number appeared, repeating the same cycle. The harassment was relentless, calculated, and always one step ahead.
She was drained. Physically, emotionally. The fake smile she wore every day felt heavier, like a mask cracking at the edges. Her hands trembled when she thought no one was looking. Sleep came in fits and starts, haunted by the fear of what might come next.
The classroom emptied. Kushida remained seated, half-asleep, her head nodding forward.
A hand touched her shoulder.
She snapped awake, panic surging through her like electricity. Without thinking, she swung, wild, frantic punches aimed at whoever was behind her.
"Stop! Just stop! Leave me alone! Please, stop!"
Her fists connected with a solid chest, but the person didn't flinch. She kept swinging, tears streaming down her face, voice cracking.
"Stop it! I can't... I can't anymore!"
"Kushida!"
The voice cut through her haze. She froze, fists still raised, breathing ragged. Her vision cleared.
Takumi Hayase stood in front of her, hands up in a placating gesture. He looked calm, concerned, but not angry.
A quiet classmate, someone she barely noticed most days.
She lowered her hands slowly, shame flooding her. "I...I'm sorry. I thought... I didn't mean to..."
Takumi's gaze softened. "Are you okay?"
She forced a smile, weak, trembling. "Y-Yeah. I'm fine. Just... haven't gotten enough sleep lately."
He studied her for a moment, his dark eyes searching. "You sure? We can go to the student council. Or a teacher. If something's wrong..."
"No!" she said quickly, too quickly. "No, really. I'm okay. It's nothing."
Takumi nodded slowly, not entirely convinced but respecting her refusal. "Alright. Just... take care of yourself, Kushida."
He turned and walked away, joining Haruka Hasebe at the door. They left together, Hasebe glancing back once with a curious look.
Kushida stayed seated, alone in the empty classroom, the weight of exhaustion and fear pressing down on her once more.