The efficiency and precision of Ryuuen Kakeru's campaign were not born from his own resources alone. Behind the swift contagion, beneath the accurate targeting, lay a second, more influential hand—one that operated from the shadows of the Student Council itself.
Nagumo Miyabi.
The alliance between Ryuuen and Nagumo was an unnatural birth, yet it had been gestating since the day Ryuuen had confronted him in the Student Council room. Ryuuen had initially dismissed Nagumo as a petty schemer, arrogant but ultimately insignificant. Yet he recognized a useful commonality: both men harbored a deep, corrosive hostility toward Sakamoto. Nagumo's hatred was the more wounded of the two—born not from competitive rivalry, but from the lingering trauma of his "interview period" subjugation. He craved retribution, but his nerve had been cauterized. He would not—could not—face Sakamoto directly again.
Ryuuen, however, was unburdened by such fear. He was the perfect blade: sharp, reckless, and pointed at the same enemy.
When Nagumo's envoy delivered a slip of paper bearing only a contact number, Ryuuen understood immediately. He reached out. Nagumo, on the other end, shed his usual languid cynicism for a cold, businesslike pragmatism. He offered information, resources, and access—everything Ryuuen lacked—in exchange for a single outcome: Sakamoto's neutralization.
For Nagumo, this was the ideal arrangement. He would remain untouched, a puppeteer in the shadows, while Ryuuen's "mad dog" did the bloody work. For Ryuuen, Nagumo was a lever—a source of leverage he could exploit and, when no longer useful, discard. A mutual parasitism, each convinced they were the predator.
Nagumo delivered. Through his position as Vice President, he accessed sensitive student records and supplied Ryuuen with dossiers on key first-year targets. This intelligence allowed Ryuuen to map the fractures within Class D with surgical precision. And, as an act of casual malice, Nagumo also shared a confidential secret—one entrusted to him in confidence by Ichinose Honami during his earlier, failed attempt to recruit her to the Student Council. A past wound, buried deep, now weaponized and handed over as a "bargaining chip."
Thus, Ryuuen's plan was no longer a solo operation. It was a coordinated campaign with two covert architects: Kushida Kikyo, the internal saboteur, and Nagumo Miyabi, the high-place informant.
The arbitration meeting continued, the air in the Student Council room dense with silent calculations.
Nagumo Miyabi presided with an air of detached authority, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He surveyed the assembled representatives—Kanzaki's rigid determination, Sudo's simmering resentment, Horikita's guarded analysis, Ayanokoji's opaque stillness—and felt a quiet satisfaction. He was the arbiter, the impartial judge. His hands were clean. His connection to the conflict was invisible.
And beside him, seated in dutiful silence with pen and paper, was the very man he sought to destroy. Sakamoto, the record-keeper. His subordinate. His witness. His potential scapegoat.
Perfect.
Nagumo allowed the silence to stretch, then spoke. "Now. Class C representative. State the events of yesterday and your claims."
Kanzaki Ryuji inhaled deeply and rose. His voice was steady, his account meticulous. He detailed the corridor confrontation, the sudden aggression from Sudo Ken, the intervention of Sakamoto. He then pivoted to the larger context: the malicious, targeted rumors that had been poisoning the grade for days, their specific harm to Class C's cohesion and Ichinose Honami's reputation. He presented it not as accusation, but as a formal request for clarity and justice.
His gaze, when he finished, flickered briefly to Sakamoto—the silent recorder—then back to Nagumo. The weight of his unspoken question hung in the air: Whose side will the record reflect?
Kanzaki's voice was steel wrapped in civility. "We assert that Sudo Ken's conduct was overtly aggressive and posed a genuine threat of physical violence. Furthermore, the systematic rumor campaign has inflicted measurable damage upon Class C's cohesion and Ichinose-san's personal reputation. We formally request a comprehensive investigation into the origin of these rumors and appropriate disciplinary measures against those responsible."
Shiraha Chihiro, seated beside him, added in a small, trembling voice: "S-Sudo-san... he was really scary..."
Nagumo received this with a neutral nod, then turned his languid gaze upon the opposing table. "Class D. Your statement."
Horikita Suzune rose with crisp, controlled precision. "Regarding the rumors, we acknowledge their initial appearance on Class D's anonymous forum. However, the publisher remains unidentified, and the propagation network extends far beyond our class's borders. To conclude internal conspiracy is speculative, not evidentiary. Regarding yesterday's incident, our understanding is that it stemmed from a verbal misunderstanding between two students. Sudo-san did not initiate physical contact; the situation was de-escalated prior to escalation. We do not believe this isolated incident warrants elevation to inter-class hostility. We support the school's investigation, but oppose unsubstantiated accusations."
Sudo Ken shifted in his seat, a low mutter escaping him. "They started it..."
Chabashira Sae's cold gaze cut to him. He fell silent, jaw tight.
Nagumo absorbed both statements, his expression one of measured impartiality. Then, with deliberate slowness, he turned to his left.
"Sakamoto-kun."
The room's ambient tension sharpened, focusing on the silent figure with the pen.
"Secretary Sakamoto. School records indicate your presence at the incident scene and your active intervention. As this meeting's recorder, and as a direct participant-observer, please provide your account of the events."
Every gaze pivoted to Sakamoto. Kanzaki's was wary, calculating. Sudo's was sullen but watchful. Horikita's analytical. Ayanokoji's flatly curious. Nagumo's, a mask of procedural neutrality, beneath which lurked something hungrier.
Sakamoto set down his pen. The click of plastic against wood was absurdly loud in the silence.
He adjusted his glasses.
"I was, at the time, on the balcony of the dormitory building."
A pause—not hesitation, but the precise placement of a period.
"Observing the evening flight paths of local passerine birds."
Silence. A very specific, very dense silence.
Kanzaki's brow furrowed. Sudo blinked. Horikita's lips pressed into a thin line. Ayanokoji's expression remained a perfect void, but his eyes had not left Sakamoto's face.
Nagumo's smile flickered at the edges.
Sakamoto continued, undisturbed by the collective cognitive dissonance he had just generated. "From my vantage point, I observed two students in a state of heightened agitation. In accordance with campus harmony preservation protocols, I proceeded to the location. Upon arrival, both individuals were emotionally elevated but had not yet engaged in physical contact. I performed minimal, necessary intervention to de-escalate the situation and restore equilibrium."
Another pause. Another deliberate adjustment of his glasses.
"Regarding the antecedent circumstances of the conflict, the catalyst of the verbal dispute, or the broader context of circulating unverified statements—"
His voice was calm, clinical, detached.
"—I did not witness such events, nor do I possess any relevant knowledge pertaining to them."
He picked up his pen and resumed writing.
The silence that followed was not the silence of satisfaction. It was the silence of a room recalibrating around a statement that had, with surgical precision, neutralized itself. He had confirmed his presence and his actions. He had confirmed nothing else.
Nagumo's fingers, resting on the table, twitched almost imperceptibly. This was not the testimony of a cooperative witness. This was the testimony of a man who had just built an impregnable wall of plausible deniability and then calmly stepped behind it.
The trap Nagumo had so carefully laid—the expectation that Sakamoto, cornered by procedural obligation, would be forced to take a side, to expose bias, to reveal vulnerability—had closed on empty air.
Nagumo's smile remained fixed, but behind his eyes, something cold and frustrated coiled tighter.