Real World, Sōbu High School, Service Club.
The afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, yet it couldn't dispel the icy chill within the room. Yukinoshita Yukino's face was as pale as paper, her slender fingers tightly clutching the hem of her skirt, her knuckles white from the exertion. Her eyes, usually cool and confident, were now filled with an unbelievable sense of panic.
Beside her, Yui Yuigahama had long since been terrified by the brutal scenes on the light screen and had hidden behind Hachiman Hikigaya. Her hands gripped his coat, her voice trembling with a sob: "Yu... Yukino... that... that name..."
Hachiman Hikigaya's dead-fish eyes had also uncharacteristically lost their usual lethargy, becoming incredibly sharp and solemn. He stared fixedly at the light screen in the sky, which was frozen on the name "Yota Yukinoshita," his mind racing at high speed.
"Yukinoshita," Hachiman's voice was low and serious, breaking the suffocating silence, "Your father... is he... really doing that kind of... 'cleanup' work for the government?"
Yukinoshita Yukino snapped back to her senses and shook her head vigorously, her voice trembling slightly: "I... I don't know! Father... he never talks about work matters at home. He is indeed very busy, often coming home very late or even not at all... but I never thought..."
She could not reconcile the memory of her father—who, though strict and distant, was always dignified and elegant—with the cold-blooded mastermind on the light screen who ordered the silencing of witnesses to cover up the truth of the apocalypse.
"But..." Yui Yuigahama added in a small, fearful voice, "The light screen... the light screen seems to have never been wrong... the things about those scholars... didn't they all match up..."
Hachiman Hikigaya adjusted his non-existent glasses, his tone becoming even heavier: "The problem isn't whether your father actually did it or not. The problem is that right now, billions of people across the globe 'believe' he did."
He looked up, his gaze sweeping over Yukinoshita Yukino's pale face: "By making this name public, the light screen has effectively placed a massive target on the Yukinoshita Family. The families and friends of those silenced scholars... the 'nameless ones' sacrificed for the 'end of the world' truth... their pain and hatred now finally have a concrete object to pour onto."
He paused, stating the cruelest possibility: "Even if your father is innocent, even if there's more to this story, will the angry masses and potential avengers need concrete evidence? They only need a name, a symbol to carry their hate. Yukinoshita, you and your family... are in extreme danger right now."
Upon hearing this, Yukinoshita Yukino's body involuntarily shuddered. She swallowed hard, a cold sense of dread climbing up her spine.
She instantly understood the meaning behind Hachiman's words. The blood debts and karma carried by the lies and killings woven to cover up an 'end of the world' truth—one capable of triggering global panic—formed a vortex massive enough to swallow everything. Once this vortex was exposed, anyone associated with that name, innocent or not, would find it difficult to escape being dragged in and torn apart.
"I... what should I do?" The usually calm and independent Yukinoshita Yukino now had a hint of rare helplessness in her voice.
The light screen content continued.
(By the stream, Kuchiba Hiro's brow furrowed slightly when he heard the surname 'Yukinoshita.' He did indeed have some impression of it. On the Sōbu High sophomore exam rankings, the name that always stayed one step ahead of him, ranked first in the grade, seemed to be... 'Yukinoshita...' He mused for a moment, looking at the dying Kazami Yuya, 'Does he have a daughter named Yukinoshita Yukino?'
Kazami Yuya nodded weakly and with great difficulty, confirming his guess.
Having obtained the most critical information, Kuchiba Hiro's eyes instantly became vacant and resolute. Without the slightest hesitation, he raised his hand and pointed the muzzle at Kazami Yuya's forehead.
"Wait... you promised..." A final burst of the will to survive erupted in Kazami Yuya's eyes.
Bang!
The gunshot was crisp, echoing between the valley and the stream. Kazami Yuya's head snapped back, completely devoid of life, as blood slowly stained the surrounding stream water red.
Promised? Kuchiba Hiro looked indifferently at the corpse. In this life-or-death struggle, believing in an enemy's promise was, in itself, the most naive of fantasies.
The primary target was now clear—Yota Yukinoshita. But directly attacking a place like the Public Security Bureau to assassinate him would be no different from walking into a trap; it was the most foolish approach.
Seizing a weakness to force him out was a more efficient choice. That top-ranked student, Yukinoshita Yukino, was undoubtedly the perfect bait.
He skillfully removed an extremely small, still-functioning recorder from the inside of Kazami Yuya's collar.
With an expressionless face, Kuchiba Hiro crushed it with force, then threw the fragments into the flowing stream. This way, the enemy would most likely remain unaware of the intelligence that Kazami Yuya had ultimately betrayed them and given up Yota Yukinoshita's name. This was a precious information gap that could buy him crucial time for his next move.
He quickly left the stream, diving back into the mountain forest like a ghost, making a flanking maneuver toward the highway.
By the highway, next to a reporter's van.
"Senior! We really should leave! That gunshot just now sounded very close to us! It's too dangerous!" A young male photographer anxiously tried to persuade a more ambitious-looking female reporter.
"Shut up! Do you know what it means to get first-hand information? Wealth is found in danger! This is a shocking case that could make us famous in one fell swoop!" Although the female reporter's face was also pale, her eyes flickered with a fanatical obsession for news.
Just as the two were arguing, a cold voice suddenly came from behind the female reporter:
"Sorry, excuse me."
The two stiffened and whipped their heads around. They saw a black-haired youth who had appeared beside the car like a phantom at some unknown point. His clothes were torn, stained with mud and dark spots. He held an assault rifle that was clearly standard-issue equipment. Although the muzzle was pointed down, the cold metallic luster and the faint scent of blood emanating from the youth were terrifying.
The male photographer's mouth fell open in instant terror. His finger trembled as he pointed behind the female reporter, his throat making a 'clucking' sound, unable to utter a single word.
The female reporter turned around and let out a scream of fright, backing away repeatedly, nearly collapsing to the ground.
Kuchiba Hiro's gaze swept over their van, his tone even bordering on 'polite':
"Your car, could I borrow it for a moment?"
He didn't make any obvious threatening movements, but the rifle in his hand and the air-freezing pressure contained beneath his calm gaze made any thought of refusal seem like an unthinkable luxury.
The female reporter and the photographer stood as stiff as wooden chickens, only able to nod their heads instinctively in terror.)