The heavy, studious silence of exam season had lifted, replaced by a buzzing, creative chaos. Summer vacation was over, and Sakuragaoka High was now consumed by the frantic, joyful preparations for the annual Cultural Festival.
The atmosphere in Class 1-B was transformed. The tension of gossip and social maneuvering had dissolved, replaced by a shared, positive goal. Posters plastered the walls, not with rankings, but with hand-drawn ghosts and promises of "The Chamber of Silent Screams!"—their class's haunted house.
Kaito found himself in a new, unfamiliar role: logistics coordinator. His talent for order and meticulous planning, once solely dedicated to his own academic supremacy, was now being harnessed for the collective good. He sat at a desk pushed to the side, surrounded by spreadsheets and lists—inventory for black cloth and fake cobwebs, a volunteer schedule for manning the ticket booth, a budget tracking every yen spent on glow-in-the-dark paint. It was inefficient, messy work, but he approached it with the same calm precision, earning quiet nods of respect from his classmates who came to him with questions.
"Sato-kun, do we have enough extension cords for the strobe light by the 'well'?"
"The invoice from the prop rental is here. The total is within the allocated budget."
His answers were swift, factual, and solved problems. For the first time, his perfectionism was a public utility, not a private monument.
Across the room, a different kind of focus was happening. Hikari stood on a small platform, surrounded by a group of girls who were usually too intimidated to approach her. They were fitting her for her costume: the lead ghost, a "Silent Weeping Maiden" who would be the final, chilling encounter of the haunted house.
The costume was a tattered, once-white kimono, artfully stained and ripped. One of the girls, Yumi, carefully applied pale makeup to Hikari's face while another, Sachi, worked on artfully tangling her long, dark hair with spirit gum and gray powder.
"Hold still, Tanaka-san… just a little more shadow under the eyes… perfect."
Hikari endured the process with a stiff patience that was slowly melting into something like bemusement. This was so far outside her usual realm of scowling from the back row.
"Okay," Sachi said, stepping back. "Look in the mirror."
Hikari turned. The reflection that stared back was haunting. The makeup hollowed her cheeks and darkened her eyes into bottomless pits. The tangled hair framed a face that was pale as death. But it was her natural, sharp features and intense gaze that truly sold the effect. She didn't look like someone wearing a costume; she looked like she'd walked out of a sad, old ghost story.
"Whoa," Yumi whispered.
"You look amazing!" Sachi cheered. "Now, try the walk. Slow, gliding… and the expression. You're a lonely spirit, forgotten for centuries…"
Hikari took a slow step off the platform. She let her shoulders slump, her head tilt slightly. She didn't force a grimace; she just let her face go blank, her eyes distant and sorrowful. She glided a few feet across the classroom floor, the tattered hem of the kimono whispering against the linoleum.
It was so unnervingly good that a boy carrying a box of rubber bats froze, his eyes wide. "C-creepy…"
Then, as part of the rehearsal, the girl playing the "brave guide" was supposed to shine a flashlight on her. "And now… behold the Weeping Maiden!"
On cue, Hikari slowly lifted her head. But instead of weeping, the corners of her pale lips twitched, then stretched into a wide, slow, utterly terrifying smile. It wasn't a happy smile. It was the smile of something that had finally caught you.
"GYAH!"
The boy with the bats stumbled back, dropping the box with a clatter. Several girls shrieked, then immediately burst into laughter and applause.
"That was PERFECT, Tanaka-san!"
"The smile! I got chills!"
"You're a natural!"
For a moment, Hikari just stood there, the terrifying smile fading into a look of genuine shock. She was being… praised. Not for a grade, not for staying quiet, but for a performance. For being effectively scary. It was absurd. And a warm, unfamiliar feeling bloomed in her chest.
She caught Kaito's eye from across the room. He had looked up from his spreadsheets at the commotion. He didn't smile, but he gave her a single, slow nod of assessment and approval—the same nod he'd given when she finally grasped a difficult concept. It meant: Objective achieved. Effect optimal.
The rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind of construction. Boys (including a reluctantly conscripted Kenji, who'd stopped by to "supervise") built labyrinthine walls from moving boxes and black curtains, creating narrow, twisting corridors. Kaito's diagrams were taped to the walls, a blueprint for fear. The air smelled of paint and sawdust, and the classroom, usually a place of rigid order, was transformed into a collaborative, creative workshop.
As the cleaning bell rang, students stepped back to admire their handiwork—the skeleton of something spooky and fun. There was a collective sense of exhausted accomplishment. The vibes were positive, not because all was perfect, but because everyone was too busy building something together to have time for anything else.
Kaito packed his meticulous notes into his bag. Hikari, her makeup mostly wiped off but a faint smudge of gray still in her hair, grabbed her own things. They met at the doorway, not by plan, but by the natural convergence of their paths.
Outside, the autumn air was crisp. The haunted house was a week away. But for now, the unseen festival had already begun—in the spreadsheets, the fake cobwebs, the terrifying smile of a lonely ghost, and the simple, positive focus of a class finally united by something other than gossip or grades.
(End of Chapter 26)