"I don't mind people thinking there's something between me and Kotomi. In fact, I'm a little happy about it."
Utaha Kasumigaoka said with complete nonchalance. If Kotomi had been beside her right now, she might have pulled her into a hug and shouted to Kisara Tendo: "That's right, she's my girlfriend!"
"Don't daydream in broad daylight, will you?"
Kisara Tendo shot back sarcastically, unable to hold back her irritation. Was it jealousy? She suddenly realized she might be a little jealous that Utaha could declare so casually that Kotomi was her girlfriend. Especially when, in truth, they were still just upperclassman and underclassman.
In contrast, her own relationship with Kotomi hadn't changed much despite the time that had passed. Their dynamic was still the same as when they first met. Saying they had made no progress felt harsh, but it was definitely slow-going.
"Hmph, your jealousy is about to overflow, pfft." Utaha's beautiful eyes curved into crescent moons as she smiled confidently, a radiant grin lighting up her lovely face.
Still, she handed the binoculars back to Kisara Tendo and then raised her phone, opened the camera, zoomed in to the max, and continued watching Kotomi standing at the start of lane 8.
Kisara also raised the binoculars and looked over.
"Why doesn't Kotomi look like she's about to start a long-distance run? She's just casually standing there, like she's enjoying the breeze," Kisara commented after seeing Kotomi through the lens.
The girls standing at the other lane starting points all looked serious, eyes fixed straight ahead, already in full starting posture—like arrows nocked to a bowstring, focused entirely on the starting signal.
After all, the other runners were all from the athletic department—you could tell just from their aura.
Kotomi Izumi, though mimicking their posture, still gave off a soft and relaxed vibe. Compared to her tightly-wound, ready-to-sprint competitors, she didn't show a shred of nervousness. It made people wonder if she was already thinking about how many bowls of rice she'd eat at dinner.
"Not bad, though. If you made me run this 800-meter race, I'd be just like Kotomi at the starting line. After all, Kotomi and I are part of the 'hate PE, love staying home' faction! We absolutely won't step out the front door during breaks unless the delivery guy rings."
"You're an upperclassman already—please don't say that with pride," Kisara said helplessly. No doubt, Utaha would once again scrape by with a barely passing score on the semester's PE final. And even if she failed, it wouldn't be surprising.
"Phew! I'm back with drinks. Utaha, here's your peach juice. Kisara, the stand was out of Sprite, so I got you Pepsi instead. That okay?"
Mai Sakurajima returned carrying a plastic bag full of drinks and snacks. If you weren't participating in the sports festival events and were just spectating, then most of the time it was pretty dull. The best way to pass the time was to sip on a drink, munch on snacks, and chat with friends.
The homeroom teachers were aware that watching the sports festival wasn't exactly thrilling. So when students snuck off to buy drinks and snacks, most teachers turned a blind eye. The friendlier ones might even ask students to bring something back for them.
2nd Year Class B's homeroom teacher was just like that. Mai Sakurajima pulled out a bottle of hawthorn tea from the plastic bag and handed it to her. "Sensei, your hawthorn tea."
"Thank you, Sakurajima-san." The always-gentle middle-aged woman, who served as their homeroom teacher, accepted the drink and thanked her warmly.
"I searched forever and finally found this way at the back of the hot drinks section. But it's not even cold today—does Sensei really like hot drinks that much?"
"I don't even know if I like hot drinks or not. Maybe it's just an age thing—whether it's water or juice, I prefer it warm. In a few more years, I might be at the age where people start calling me 'granny,'" the 2nd Year Class B homeroom teacher laughed as she took a sip of warm hawthorn tea.
Mai Sakurajima rummaged through the plastic bag again and pulled out a bottle of green tea, handing it to Hibiki Naegi. "Hibiki, your green tea. Hibiki? Hibiki?"
She called a few times before Hibiki, who had been staring at her phone like she was completely absorbed, finally snapped out of it. She instinctively turned her phone screen face down—she didn't want anyone seeing what was on it right now.
Realizing Mai was talking to her, Hibiki quickly apologized:
"Sorry, Mai. I was just thinking about something. What is it?"
"You're asking me? I bought your green tea already!" Mai replied while handing it over, studying Hibiki curiously. As far as she could remember, Hibiki wasn't the type of girl who got so into her phone that she couldn't hear people calling her.
Mai was certain the problem lay in whatever Hibiki had been looking at.
"Sorry about that. I've already sent the money over," Hibiki said with an apologetic smile.
"No worries. But what were you looking at so intently just now? I had to call your name several times before you noticed. Was it a novel or manga?"
Feigning nonchalance, Hibiki casually placed her right hand over the phone—actually pressing down on it, as if afraid someone might snatch it away and see what was on the screen. Her smile was slightly stiff as she said:
"Um... I found a novel recently. It's kind of addictive."
A lie.
As an actress, the first thing one needs to master is human facial expression. Understanding what every micro-expression means.
Mai Sakurajima didn't need to listen to Hibiki's words. Just from her face, she could tell she was lying. Hibiki hadn't been reading a novel.
Mai wasn't some kind of psychological expert who could read minds from expressions alone, but she had once starred in a suspense drama where the main character, despite being mostly kind, had a dark, twisted personality—what people called a split personality.
In one pivotal scene, Mai's character accidentally discovered that her mentor of many years—the kind-looking, glasses-wearing professor who always wore a kind smile and treated every student like a cherished grandchild, admired by all in academia—was actually the true culprit behind the infamous nationwide "dismemberment puzzle murder case."
When the protagonist was eleven, her younger brother had been one of the victims.
She could never forget that nightmarish day. Her parents were out on a business trip. She had come home from school, called out to her brother, but got no answer. Thinking he was out playing again, she hadn't worried. She dropped her bag on a chair, returned to her room, and decided to nap. She'd ask him what he wanted for dinner when he came home.
She didn't know how long she had slept, but suddenly, a soft sound echoed in the quiet room. Groggily, she opened her eyes, thinking her brother had returned. She got up and walked into the living room. The twilight had long since vanished, and now a pale moon hung in the sky. Night had fallen completely.
But at the entryway, there were still no shoes belonging to her brother.
Sensing something was wrong, the protagonist quickly called her parents. Upon hearing their son still hadn't come home, they said they would call his school and the parents of his friends.
Just before hanging up, her mother said, "Oh, and the bathroom door's broken. It won't lock no matter what, so don't worry about it. We'll fix it when we get home."
Her parents were busy, and after saying that, they hung up.
But after hearing her mother's comment, the protagonist froze.
Her gaze slowly turned toward the tightly shut bathroom door.
The once warm and cozy home of the protagonist instantly turned eerie and cold. Cautiously, she walked to the bathroom door. The moment her hand touched the doorknob, she felt a bone-chilling cold and an overwhelming despair rise from deep within her.
Her instincts screamed at her to let go. She stumbled backward, her legs trembling.
Outside the bathroom was bright. Inside, not a sliver of light.
The door, which was supposedly broken and couldn't close properly, was now tightly shut. As if something behind it was holding it shut.
There should have been no one in the bathroom. But just as the protagonist let go of the doorknob—without opening the door as the person inside might have hoped—the doorknob slowly began to turn on its own.
The room was lit. The bathroom was not. As the door creaked open just a crack, the light from the room distorted and poured into the darkness.
As the crack widened, more light spilled in.
The protagonist's pupils shrank. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it might explode. The bathroom door opened halfway, and what appeared in her view was a pile of "LEGO."
LEGO—a puzzle toy that had been popular even before the protagonist was born. Kids loved it, and her little brother had been especially fond of it. Their parents always brought him back several flashy LEGO sets after business trips.
But now, the protagonist's blood ran cold. Her beloved little brother—had become LEGO.
His limbs had been carefully severed into tiny, neat pieces. His bones protruded like the connecting nubs of LEGO blocks—able to snap into another piece.
Her brother had been turned into a "puzzle."
Blood streamed from the bathroom to the living room. The light not only revealed her brother's dismembered body, now shaped like a grotesque LEGO set, but also illuminated the true killer.
The murderer, who had been hiding in the dark bathroom all along, face smeared with blood and twisted into a horrific smile.
The killer emerged from the shadows.
The protagonist, by sheer luck, managed to flee to her bedroom. Before the killer could break in, she jumped out the window—thanks to living on the first floor of the apartment.
When she reached the street and turned back, she saw the killer standing behind her bedroom window, smiling at her.
By the time she called the police and they arrived, the killer had already vanished—leaving only the assembled LEGO-like remains of her brother in the bathroom.
Years later, when she discovered that her beloved college professor was the one behind the LEGO murder case—the one who had killed her brother—
Seeing that warm, kindly smile again, she no longer felt comforted. Instead, it brought back the memory of that night: the killer, face covered in blood, smiling at her.
The smile was identical.
Enraged, the protagonist's mind fractured. Her hidden second personality surfaced. Just like the professor had done to her brother years ago, she used the same method to kill him.
And just like the original LEGO case, her crime was nearly perfect.
During the police investigation, Mai Sakurajima's character fooled everyone with lies. That performance stunned the audience and became the most iconic scene of the entire series, still highly acclaimed to this day.
Back when she first received the script, Mai put in endless effort to perfect that segment. She practiced in front of the mirror constantly, tirelessly repeating her lines and adjusting her expressions over and over again.
She analyzed every detail—what expression to use with each line, how to transition to the next one, and which small gestures to add. For example, subtly moving a hand resting on the table.
Perhaps because she had immersed herself so deeply into practicing that "lie" scene, Mai became extremely familiar with the micro-expressions people make when lying.
And the expression Hibiki had just shown—was exactly one of them.
Mai Sakurajima thought for a moment, then finally said, "Oh, is that so? I've been reading a pretty good novel lately too. Want me to recommend it to you sometime?"
"Deal," Hibiki Naegi nodded.
Mai didn't expose Hibiki's lie. Instead, she simply played along, confirming that Hibiki definitely hadn't been reading a novel on her phone. As for what she had actually been looking at, Mai didn't ask. She just picked up her drink and returned to her seat.
The fact that Hibiki chose to lie meant she didn't want anyone to know. Pressing her further now would only make things awkward.
"Utaha, Kisara, what are you two doing?"
Mai looked at the two—one holding binoculars, the other with a phone raised—and couldn't help but feel like they were acting like children. Couldn't they learn to be a little more composed like her?
"We're watching your beloved Kotomi-chan! You missed it while buying drinks, but she's about to run in the upcoming 800-meter race. She's standing at the starting line right now."
"Tch, tch, tch… Kotomi, my dear Kotomi. Those exposed thighs under the shorts—elegant yet full. And that big, big, big, big, big 'Big Mochi'... Just imagining how it'll bounce when she runs—what a breathtaking view that will be."
Utaha Kasumigaoka mumbled softly, then couldn't help but gulp and grin like a lovesick fool.
"So Kotomi's running the 800-meter? And you two are acting like this? You seriously don't resemble respectable upperclassmen at all," Mai said, pulling out her phone—not to take pictures, but to zoom in, locate Kotomi, lock on, and begin recording.
Now it was Kisara and Utaha's turn to be speechless.
"Are you serious right now? You're already recording? Planning to film the entire race or something?" Kisara Tendo commented. Yet she hadn't lowered her binoculars at all—making her protest quite unconvincing.
"I just enjoy watching long-distance races, that's all. I like to record them and then savor the experience later," Mai said with a light laugh, her expression perfectly composed.
Truly a top-tier actress—her ability to think on the fly was impressive.
In response to her words, Utaha, who was still snapping away wildly with her phone zoomed in on Kotomi, shot back with evident disdain:
"You call that enjoying a long-distance race? I'm almost embarrassed to expose you. If my little Kotomi weren't running, you'd be busy stuffing your face with snacks right now."
"Utaha, are you really that close with Kotomi-chan? Since when do you just casually use her first name? Also, when did she become 'yours'? Kotomi's sixteen, you know! Calling her 'little Kotomi' like she's a kid—isn't that going to offend her?" Mai countered.
"Oh, I'm very close with little Kotomi~ Last time we watched a movie together—it was your horror film, by the way—she saw your performance as Sadako and her serotonin transporter activation sequence shortened," Utaha said with a mischievous smile.
Mai tilted her head in confusion. That last sentence… what did it even mean? She didn't quite get it.
But one thing was clear: her portrayal of Sadako had definitely scared Kotomi.
Mai was quiet for a moment. She didn't feel guilty—in horror films, if the ghost character managed to scare the audience, that meant the performance was successful. Instead, she began imagining Kotomi's facial expression and reflexive reaction when she got scared.
After a pause, Mai finally said:
"Utaha, I envy you so much."
"Eh? A celebrity envies me?"
"I envy that you got to watch a horror movie with Kotomi-chan!"
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