The Student Council general assembly was a model of structured decorum. Rows of members sat attentively as President Hoshino Shizuka presided from the podium, her voice clear and measured. The air hummed with a quiet sense of purpose.
"Before we proceed to the agenda," Hoshino stated, her gaze sweeping the room, "we have a new member to welcome. She has been approved and will join the Logistics Committee. Aoyama Riko, from Class 2-B."
All eyes turned as Riko stood from her seat near the back. She walked to the front with a poised elegance that seemed to command the room's attention. She gave a perfect, respectful bow.
"Thank you, President Hoshino. Honored members," she began, her voice melodious and confident. "I am Aoyama Riko, transferring from Keimei Academy. I believe in order, excellence, and contributing to the foundation of our school's legacy. I joined the Council to serve, to learn, and to uphold the standards that make Sakuragaoka distinguished. I look forward to working with all of you and proving my dedication."
Her introduction was flawless—respectful, ambitious, and reassuring. She saw nods of approval, thoughtful looks, and even a few appreciative smiles from the members. The trust of the room, or at least its willingness to accept her, was visibly won. Her eyes subtly scanned the faces as she returned to her seat, cataloging each reaction.
And then she saw him.
Sitting near the center-left, slightly apart from the clustered groups, was Kaito Sato. His expression was a blank page. No nod, no smile, no frown, no interest. His face was a mask of pure, unreacting neutrality. While others leaned in or exchanged glances, he simply sat, his posture correct but detached, as if the entire proceeding were a mildly necessary background process. He offered no hostility, but his lack of any positive reaction was a void in the room's acceptance. He was the one piece that did not click into place.
Riko's internal satisfaction cooled. The most important one, she realized. The one whose opinion, by virtue of his inexplicable social weight and her own curiosity, mattered disproportionately.
President Hoshino's sharp eyes had not missed it either. The atmosphere in the room, previously warm with welcome, seemed to grow denser, charged with that one pocket of absolute zero. After a beat of silence that felt longer than it was, Hoshino spoke, her tone deliberately neutral.
"Sato-senpai. Is there any concern with this decision?"
Every head turned toward Kaito. He didn't fidget. He merely lifted his gaze to meet Hoshino's, then let it flicker toward Riko for a microsecond before returning to the President.
"No," he said. His voice was cold, flat, devoid of any inflection of hospitality or antagonism. It was a statement of pure function. "It is fine. As long as she fulfills her duties and does not create problems, it will be fine."
The words were an assessment, not a welcome. A set of conditions for acceptable existence within his peripheral vision. Then he looked down at the agenda sheet before him, the discussion clearly ended as far as he was concerned.
The meeting continued, covering budget approvals and festival planning, but a new tension lingered. When it concluded and members began filing out with chatter, Kaito was among the first to leave, slipping out silently without a word to anyone.
Soon, only Hoshino and Riko remained in the emptying room. The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows, highlighting the dust motes in the silent air.
Riko, her composure slightly frayed by the puzzle, approached the President's desk. "President Hoshino… may I ask something?"
Hoshino was organizing papers, not looking up. "About Sato-senpai."
It wasn't a question. Riko nodded, then remembered Hoshino wasn't looking. "Yes. His reaction was… notably absent."
Hoshino finally looked up, her expression unreadable. "He is always like that. Cold. A loner who builds boundaries like fortress walls. No one gets in." She paused, and something distant flickered in her eyes. "Almost no one. I hope his attitude does not bother you. It is not personal; it is his default state."
"It is fine, I suppose," Riko said, though it wasn't. "He must have his reasons. But, if I may… why isn't Tanaka-senpai here? I assumed, given the… history, the Council might have some relation with her as well."
Hoshino's gaze sharpened, turning guarded. "Tanaka-senpai will not join. And no teacher would ever approve her for the Council. Her relationship with authority is… solitary. Antagonistic, by default. She prefers it that way." She closed her binder with a definitive snap. "If your questions have ended, you may leave. Prepare for your duties on the Logistics Committee."
The dismissal was clear and carried a note of finality. The archive was closed for the day.
"Thank you, President," Riko said, bowing slightly. She collected her things and left the council room.
The walk home felt longer than usual. The image of Kaito's emotionless face and Hoshino's cryptic words churned in her mind. She had gained entry, won superficial trust, but had been met with a wall of cold neutrality from one and a guarded warning about the other. The unseen approval she sought was, it seemed, the most difficult kind to earn—the kind that came from those who cared least about giving it.
(End of Chapter 36)