The lunch bell had rung, but Class 1-A was not empty. A quiet contingent remained, seeking refuge from the cafeteria's chaos. Some ate their homemade meals at their desks, while others used the precious time to review notes, the looming First Year Midterm Exam already casting its shadow. The atmosphere was one of subdued concentration, a fragile peace.
In the midst of it, Sakamoto sat perfectly upright. An open reference book lay before him, his eyes methodically tracing lines of text and complex formulas. The spectacle he had orchestrated at noon—the event that had electrified the cafeteria and was already burning through the school's forums—might as well have been a forgotten footnote. To him, it was merely a concluded task.
The classroom's calm was brittle. It first fractured with a wave of hushed whispers, then broke entirely as students who had just returned from lunch or were glued to their phones began sharing screens. The video played on a dozen devices: Sakamoto presenting a gourmet meal to Nagumo and Asahina-senpai, followed by his flawless, almost surgical cleaning performance. He had become the eye of a sudden, noisy storm.
Yet, at the epicenter, there was only serene focus. Sakamoto did not flinch, his attention never wavering from his book. This tranquility was pierced not by murmurs, but by motion. A petite figure darted across the room like a excited sparrow, her blue braids bouncing. It was Morishita Ai.
Her face was flushed with unabashed admiration, violet eyes sparkling as she thrust her phone toward him, the screen frozen on his own image kneeling with a dish. "Sakamoto-kun! This! On the forum!" she exclaimed, her voice a thrilled whisper-shout. "That was incredible! The plating, the sauce, the way you cleaned—it was like magic! You really are the strongest!"
Her tone held no judgment, only pure, radiant wonder. In Morishita's world, Sakamoto's actions required no explanation; they were simply proof of his extraordinary nature.
Sakamoto glanced up, adjusting his glasses with a deliberate motion. "Good afternoon, Morishita-san." His reply was a study in calm contrast to her energy. "It was merely the execution of a prescribed process. There is nothing remarkable about it."
"How can you say that?!" she protested, a playful grin spreading across her face. In a flash, her hand flicked. A small eraser, conjured from nowhere, shot like a silent projectile toward his forehead—her peculiar signature greeting.
Without looking away from her, Sakamoto's right hand moved. The pencil he held simply rose, its tip meeting the eraser's path with a soft, precise tap. The projectile halted instantly, balanced perfectly on the graphite point. His other hand never paused in its note-taking.
"Amazing! Just as expected!" Morishita's glee only intensified. She fired off a few more breathless questions about culinary techniques, and after receiving his characteristically succinct answers, she practically floated back to her seat, radiating vicarious pride.
A new, deliberate sound filled the brief silence that followed: the gentle, rhythmic tap of a cane on linoleum. Sakayanagi Arisu approached, a faint, unreadable smile gracing her lips. She came to a halt before his desk, the silver cane planted firmly.
"Good afternoon, Sakamoto-kun. Your lunch break appears to have been… eventful," she began, her voice melodious and light. "While my constitution prevented me from attending, modern technology is a wonderful thing. I witnessed your captivating 'performance' in full."
She tilted her head, the smile never reaching her cool, analytical eyes. "Indulge my curiosity. What, precisely, is your relationship with Second Year Vice President Nagumo? To what end do you perform such… meticulous services? As I understand, he is the Student Council's vice president, is he not?"
She had been patient, observing the board, waiting for his move. She had not anticipated he would flip the entire table so spectacularly.
Sakamoto set his pen down and met her gaze squarely. "Good afternoon, Sakayanagi-san. There is no special relationship. I am currently undergoing a one-week interview period for the Student Council. Vice President Nagumo is my assigned interviewer. His assessment criterion is my complete compliance with his commands for the duration." His tone was flat, factual. "The lunch service was merely a duty fulfilled within that framework. Nothing more."
His explanation was a precise echo of the one given to Ryuuen—clear, direct, and offering no further entry point.
"An interview period? Complete obedience?" Sakayanagi repeated, a delicate furrow appearing between her brows. "How peculiar. To my knowledge, final authority for Student Council recruitment rests solely with President Horikita Manabu. For a Vice President to unilaterally institute an 'interview period,' especially one with conditions bordering on personal servitude… it seems to fall quite outside standard procedure."
She paused, her words a carefully placed scalpel. "Have you considered, Sakamoto-kun, that this arrangement may not be an official council process at all, but rather… Vice President Nagumo's own personal invention?"
Her logic was impeccable, slicing through the pretense to expose the irregularity beneath. Yet, Sakamoto's composure did not crack. He merely adjusted his glasses with a faint, deliberate motion.
"Thank you for your insight, Sakayanagi-san. I am familiar with the council's bylaws." His tone was placid, suggesting a landscape already surveyed and mapped. "However, as the applicant, my role is not to audit the interviewer's authority. It is to demonstrate my capability by fulfilling the requests presented to me. Sincerity is shown through execution, not through questioning the validity of the test itself."
Sakayanagi's eyes, sharp and appraising, held his serene expression for a long moment. Then, a soft, understanding laugh escaped her lips.
"I see. Of course you do."
No further elaboration was needed. Between those who calculate, truths are conveyed in silence. She saw now that his compliance was not ignorance, but a deliberate, chosen tactic—a move in a game whose rules only he seemed to fully grasp. Her interest, already piqued, sharpened into a keen anticipation for the week to come.
She inclined her head gracefully, the silver cane tapping once. "Then I shall not interrupt your studies further. I wish you… productive interviews, Sakamoto-kun."
From the back of the classroom, Hashimoto Masayoshi stared at the frozen video on his phone, his brow deeply knotted. He had been in the cafeteria; he had seen the absurd, theatrical spectacle firsthand and dismissed it as another of Sakamoto's bizarre performances.
But now, having overheard the calm admission—"interview period", "obey Vice President Nagumo's command"—the scene reconfigured itself in his mind.
"He's established a direct subordinate link to a second-year powerhouse…" Hashimoto muttered, his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on the desk. A suspicion that Ryuuen had forcefully dismissed now came roaring back, given terrifying credence by Sakamoto's own testimony.
The pieces, once scattered, slammed together with a jarring logic. The leaked exam, the sudden connection to Nagumo, this very public demonstration of loyalty…
A cold realization dawned. 'Could it be… the leaked paper in his name wasn't a frame-up at all? What if it was actually related to him?'
His deduction, however, was fatally slow. And in his haste to connect the dots, he was meticulously drawing the wrong lines, constructing a perfectly plausible—and utterly incorrect—conclusion.
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